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earnestly-endlessly · 3 years ago

Note

I love your fic recs! Do you have any with Protective!Erik?

Protective! Erik is one of my favourite tropes so I have a TON of fics to share with you. I hope you enjoy them as much as I do.

Protective! Erik fic recs

Erik Lehnsherr's Guide to Saving the Universe By Meeting Your Soul-Mate and Falling in Love in Less than 72 Hours – madneto, Pangea

Summary: Army Pilot Erik Lehnsherr is just trying to enjoy his day off when a mostly naked person crashes through the roof of his car. Even more alarming, the strange falling naked person—who goes by Charles Xavier when he's not speaking an ancient dead language—brings tidings of the apparent potential end of the world, and begs Erik to help him put a stop to it.

Well. His mother has been nagging at him to go out and meet new people.

In Sound and Silence – endingthemes

Summary: Erik is assigned to care for the special patient in room 301.

How Not To Meet Your Future Boyfriend – ikeracity

Summary: Erik punches Charles in the face the first time they meet. There isn't anywhere their relationship can go from there but up.

Forgotten – FuryRed

Summary: Charles is having a really bad day. Not only has he woken up in the middle of the afternoon with no idea where he is or how he got there, but when he returns home he’s confronted by a stranger with intense eyes, who insists that he knows Charles rather more intimately than Charles remembers…

Thou Shalt Not Eat Stones – valancysnaith

Summary: Two months after Washington, Raven found Erik in a skeevy motel off the Florida interstate.

“They have Charles, Erik,” she said.

The bedframe shrieked. In the bathroom, the showerhead snapped in half and clattered into the tub.

Demoted – JayPendragon

Summary: Erik Lehnsherr is a detective-specialist with the NYPD Mutant Tactical Unit, ready to help out where his skills are needed. Or he would be, if he and his partner hadn’t been demoted. For the next four months, he is patrolling the Lenox Hill precinct with Azazel – if he doesn’t die of boredom first. One night they are called in to investigate a potential case of domestic violence, yet the tenant assures them he is both alone and unharmed. However, there is something about this Charles Xavier that compels Erik to follow up.

Warning: Sensitive material, domestic abuse and dubious consent

Watch Your Back – swoopswoop

Summary: Bodyguard AU where Erik is overly protective and things aren't as simple as they seem.

If We Met Differently – swoopswoop

Summary: Erik wasn't the only mutant 'taken in' by Shaw, Erik learns this the hard way when a new mutant is dropped into his cell. They manage to escape together, but things aren't all roses after that. Erik has a score to settle and needs to make sure Charles is safe.

The Color of Love (Character Swap Remix) – BadLuckBlueEyes

Summary: Nobody sees in color until they meet their soulmates. When your soulmate dies, your vision returns to black and white. What happens when your soulmate only dies for a few minutes?

Omega Online – miss_aphelion

Summary: Newly imprinted Charles is having trouble dealing with his overly protective alpha—so in desperation he seeks advice in an omega chat room. Emma Frost is more than happy to help, Raven isn't helping at all, and Erik can't stand to be out of touch with Charles for more than five minutes at a time.

Cannot be Contained in Words – wallhaditcoming (uvcatastrophe)

Summary: Crime syndicate head Erik Lehnsherr travels to London on business, where he meets oxford student Charles Xavier. Their liaison spawns into a years long transatlantic affair, kept apart by Erik's work and Charles' studies,which Erik chronicles in photographs. When distance ceases to be an issue after four long years, the overlap between Charles' past and Erik's work create a whole new set of complications.

A Pertinent Reminder – ikeracity, Pangea

Summary: Sometimes it's easy to forget that getting involved in Erik's mob business isn't all fine dining and sex on yachts. There's nothing like taking a couple of bullets to remind Charles of the reality.

Part 3 of the Associates series

A Dangerous Game – ikeracity, pangea

Summary: When a familiar enemy of Erik's returns to the city for some old-fashioned revenge, Charles is sucked deeper into the world of the mob than ever before.

Part 6 of the Associates series

You don’t choose the thug life (except when you do) – Anonymous

Summary: Charles is kidnapped and discovers that Erik, the Alpha he has been dating for the past few months and is head-over-heels for, is not just a wealthy businessman but actually the head of a syndicate.

He is rather unhappy about this discovery and Erik gets an earful for lying to him. Then Charles is kidnapped again and really, he hopes mating Erik won't result in weekly kidnapping because he has a thesis to finish and papers to grade.

Marrying a Mob – Ook

Summary: Charles is a teacher at a very exclusive school. When armed men burst in on the trail of two children, of course he stands up to them and gets hurt. The children are Erik Lehnsherr's children (of course); a "prominent businessman" or, less politely, "mobster".

Erik is grateful to Charles for saving his children's lives at the cost of his kneecap. So very grateful.

Naturally he tries to reward Charles for his actions. Equally naturally, Charles will be having none of that.

Azazel finds the whole thing unspeakably hilarious. Naturally.

Rumor Has It – blueink3

Summary: "Did I hear the doorbell earlier?"

"Yeah, but I'd steer clear if I were you. It seemed a little tense. I don't know what's going on, but there's a kid out there who looks freakily like the prof."

Nearly six months after Cuba, Charles' life is turned upside down for the second time. Though he's slowly learning to adapt to the first, he's not sure he can handle the second. Luckily for him, there are a few people out there more than willing to help.

Forward Momentum – AsYouWish

Summary: Six months after Cuba, Charles and Erik find themselves thrown fifty years into the future, where they meet their older selves, the Avengers, and a world that's very different from their own. Faced with the pieces of their broken relationship, an unparalleled adversary, and dealing with Tony Stark on a daily basis, Charles and Erik do their best to adapt while trying to find a way back home -- and to each other.

Runs in the Family – Anonysquirrel (chibirisuchan)

Summary: Alex knew his own reputation. Hell, he'd started some of his own reputation, because it kept some of the smarter thugs off his back. Everyone knew Alex's reputation. There was no way Hank didn't know his reputation, but he'd brought Alex into a house with some really expensive things and a lot of innocent little kids and his too-friendly, too-harmless dad.

But clearly Hank hadn't told his family anything about Alex, just like he hadn't told Alex anything about his family. At least, not about the brain-breaking parts of his family.

"I didn't know where to start," Hank said, for the dozenth time.

Featuring mpreg!Charles in a Kiss The Cook apron, overprotective!Erik in wet black leather, and baked goods. Lots and lots of baked goods.

Round the Corner Waiting – swoopswoop

Summary: When things go so spectacularly wrong during a relationship, Charles - now a single dad - almost makes a big mistake, only to be stopped by a mysterious man who just might turn his life back around.

Hide Your Fires – swoopswoop

Summary: As the sole heir, Prince Charles, had no problem with the roles and responsibility that would come with ruling a kingdom. Though he was the only one who did not see a problem. After years of being shuttled back and forth between kingdoms, his Regent hoping he would find a match more suitable to being King, he is finally sent to Genosha. Though the path has never been less clear than the one to a foreign kingdom with no ties to his native land.

Shaw’s Captive – swoopswoop

Summary: Magneto killed Shaw, it had to be done for the sake of mutant-kind but what he wasn't expecting to find hidden deep with Shaw's complex was a man held captive, obviously tortured, that somehow made Magneto turn into Erik.

Erik now has a potential human in his citadel as he continues the war with the human's.

Mind’s Eye Blind – Sperare

Summary: As far as Erik is concerned, if you want to scare a person into talking, you have to present him with something more compelling than what he stands to lose...

And there is nothing in the world more compelling than Charles.

Chipped – Rosawyn

Summary: Magneto's fledgling Brotherhood find Charles Xavier in a mutations research lab as an apparently willing subject for an experimental suppression device.

Okay, I Feel Better Now – Harleydoll

Summary: The AU in which Erik is sent to a mental health facility after being convicted for Shaw's murder and pleads insanity, and Charles is his paranoid schizophrenic of a roommate. Powers, Hellfire conspiracies, protective!Erik, and of course the inevitable angst.

Five Nights in Nuremberg – FuryRed

Summary: When Charles escapes from the mutant prison he has been held in for the last two years he knows that he’s going to need help to avoid being recaptured.

What he doesn’t expect is that help will come in the form of a mysterious German man who rescues Charles and takes him to his home; a handsome stranger who, frustratingly, doesn’t speak a single word of English…

Five Bullet Points – Sperare

Summary: It was supposed to be Erik locked away in a prison one hundred stories below the ground.

Charles was never supposed to be there with him.

Notes: Unfinished but an excellent read. Highly recommend it.

Stolen – ishipitsobad

Summary: Erik is a miserable, grumpy, cantankerous bastard, and he has every fucking right to be. He drew the short end of the stick when he got the Underworld as his domain, and there isn't very much fun to be had in judging and governing dead souls who would rather be anywhere else but with Erik in the depths of Hell.

So when he meets Charles, brilliant and lovely Charles who is more popularly known amongst the mortals as Persephone, and feels the promise of something wonderful that could make his eternally doomed existence infinitely more bearable... you can bet all your drachmas Erik's not going to let Charles go any fucking time soon.

My Barbaric Darling – baehj2915

Summary: Erik is revivified caveman. Charles is the anthropologist(?) taking care of him. This is as ridiculous as it sounds. Romcom misunderstandings and prehistoric wooing ensues.

Swimming with Sharks – Not_You

Summary: Erik used to be a shark. Now he's not, and has to figure out how to be a good human father to his twins. Charles is willing to help.

Eucalyptus leaf of my soul - kageillusionz, ourgirlfriday

Summary: Zookeeper Raven at Taronga Zoo keeps having ideas on how to capitalize on interest in the zoo mascots, Koala Charles and Drop Bear Erik (the only drop bear in captivity!), who have captured the hearts and minds of the public. First it was to introduce prospective mates (It’ll generate attention, Hank. People are perverts. They’d love to see koala porn.). This idea was not effective the first through fifth attempts, as Erik and Charles seemed to show at best polite interest in the newcomer before resuming whatever marsupial debate they had going. However, the resulting lesbian koala orgies did indeed generate interest. Then Raven unveiled the Hug-A-Koala program, which was successful, as the public showed great interest in hugging Charles, and Charles seemed to enjoy being hugged.

Then Raven unveiled the Hug-A-Drop Bear program, and Hank, not for the first time, wished he had a flask handy.

Notes: Yes, they’re Koalas, yes they’re adorable, and yes, Erik is super protective even as a Drop Bear.

#cherik #cherik fic recs #fic recs #protective Erik #long post

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ofhouseadama · 3 years ago

Text

Ed gets drafted into the Navy right after high school, and in between finishing basic and getting shipped out to the Pacific, he promises Lorraine that the next time he sees her, he's going to propose.

after high school, Lorraine needs something to do so she gets a part time job as a secretary at the Diocese of Bridgeport helping wrangle parish finances and correspondence and other clerical and administrative work.

(this is where Lorraine first meets a young Father Gordon, who occasionally borrows her because she knows her way around a files room and takes excellent notes; he hears a lot about her boyfriend who's away on a ship in the Sea of Japan)

Ed and Lorraine write... a lot of letters during this time, which range from very chaste and heartfelt to NC-17 horny teenage screeds referring to their 3-day sojourn when they were seniors in high school, their many misdeeds in the back of Ed's car, and the time he snuck her into the Alamo Theatre after it closed so that they could have a "private showing" of a movie they remember very little of

when Lorraine is too anxious to sleep, she sews her wedding dress. she saw the pattern a few weeks after Ed left, and liked it, and bought it. she's been slowly buying yards and yards of satin and lace and tulle.

Ed squirrels away all the money that he can towards buying a wedding ring set for Lorraine. after he buys them while on shore leave in Tokyo, he keeps the rings in the breast pocket of his uniform shirt, next to his heart, to feel close to her.

his ship strikes a mine and goes down in the small hours of the night in June of '53; the rings are in his shirt pocket, and Lorraine feels it immediately. Father Gordon has to drive her home from work, and believes her immediately when she says she knows something bad happened to her boyfriend.

Ed makes it home to Bridgeport ten days later; he gets in a taxi at the Navy yard and immediately goes to Lorraine's house. she meets him at the front door before he can even knock and tackles him on the front lawn.

he proposes to her while very exhausted and not exactly coherent.

technically, she proposes to him because she tells him they're getting married and she's not waiting any longer.

these are two hotly contested facts for years to come.

they get one very hasty pre-cana session in as the Moran family (+ Father Gordon a little bit) cash in all their political capital with the church to expedite a wedding as soon as humanly possible.

Georgiana and her friends plan the wedding, everyone is very concerned about Lorraine's dress. Georgiana tells them they should be more concerned about Ed's dress uniform, currently at the bottom of the ocean.

(He wears a suit from Sears. It's fine.)

the story of Ed Warren, hometown boy, as the sole survivor of the sinking of the USS Saint Paul makes the local papers and absolutely no one remembers to tell his father that he made it home until a full 24 hours later.

Ed and Lorraine get married exactly two hours after the end of the legally-required 72 hour Connecticut waiting period elapses. it's a Friday afternoon.

when he sees her in his dress, Ed absolutely cries.

their wedding readings are Romans 12:1-2, 9-18 and Sirach 26: 1-4. it's not a full wedding mass, due to time restraints. it's actually nothing like Lorraine thought her wedding would be like, but she's so relieved Ed is alive, and he's not allowed to go back to the war without being her husband.

their reception is some cake and champagne in the parish hall, Ed's hands have been shaking so badly all day that he can't manage to get cake in her mouth off a fork so Lorraine grabs his hand and sucks it off his finger.

by this point she's had three glasses of champagne on an empty stomach.

it's over by the middle of the afternoon, and they're speeding off to the same aunt's beach house that they ran off to when they were seventeen, this time with permission and this time knowing the whole drive down that they're finally going to have sex.

Ed spends much of the four-hour drive from Bridgeport, CT to Cape May, NJ rucking the many layers of the skirt on Lorraine's dress up her legs, running the hand not on the steering wheel of the car up and down the inside of her thigh, keying her up.

they arrive shortly after dinner, having eaten cheeseburger and fries in the car in their wedding clothes, and are suddenly very very nervous.

even though they've done everything except the technical deed itself.

as Ed peels himself out of his suit and tries to not psyche himself out, Lorraine goes into the bathroom and changes into the peignoir and robe she made for her trousseau. she comes out of the bathroom to grab her brush to take her hair down, but Ed asks her to sit on the bed and pulls all the pins and flowers out himself, gently brushing her curls.

when he's done, he moves onto gently touching her. the last time he saw her naked was also in this bedroom, as they shook with restraint. now they're shaking for other reasons, hands rediscovering each other's bodies and warming themselves on each other's skin.

kissing her neck, he reaches one hand in-between the halves of her robe as the other moves her hair off her shoulder, exposing more skin.

he rucks the hem of the sheer white peignoir up to her knees, then her thighs, then her hips. Ed decides that he needs to make her orgasm before they have sex, because if he doesn't last long, then at least she'll be satisfied.

he eats her out like a man with a point to prove, because he's nineteen and very much is one in this moment.

it's been almost eighteen months since they've been physically present together, and they didn't have much alone time together before their wedding, and Lorraine feels like her body is on fire. it's been so long, and she feels like a bullet leaving a gun. it doesn't take much to make her cum, and Ed manages to do it several times before she's hauling him up her body.

he's still not done getting her ready, unable to not think about every horror story he's heard about bleeding and pain and discomfort and the terrible jokes from his bunkmates.

(they're all dead now. he tries to not think about that, why he lived and they all died. why did he survive, if not to make Lorraine feel good? if not to make them both feel alive? he needs to feel alive, and when he drinks her with his mouth and feels her clench around his fingers, he finally does.)

he sucks hickeys into Lorraine's neck and chest and breasts, keeping her high as he circles her clit with the fingers on one hand as he plays with her nipples with the other.

he is harder than he's ever been in his life, he thinks, pumping two and then three fingers into her. she's wet and all over his hand, dripping down onto his wrist. he wants to eat her out again, taste her again. his mind is a feedback loop of her pleasure.

Lorraine is trying to touch him, but her hands don't feel entirely attached to her body. she ends up curling her fingers into his hair and pulling. the sharp pain is delicious, and he moans while lapping at her nipple and thinks he might see God.

eventually he realizes that she's begging, chanting "now, now, please now, Ed, please--"

they both feel lust drunk and clumsy, all limbs as they take their clothes off, as Ed slots himself between her thighs.

she hasn't touched him at all, and he thinks if she does he'll cum immediately.

he pushes into her slowly, incrementally, watching her face the whole time.

she gasps, bites her lip, scrunches her face up. then, it starts to feel good, and her eyes flutter closed, and she moans.

he doesn't want to move. he wants to move more than he's wanted anything in his whole life. dropping down on his elbows and forearms, he shakes while hovering above her.

Lorraine's mouth is a perfect "o," and slowly she tests out how she wants her legs, first pressing her heels into his calves, then his hamstrings, before pressing her knees in at the sides of his hips. it feels incredibly intense, and she's not quite sure what to do with herself. she no longer feels in control of her body. all of her gifts of perception narrow down to hyper-perceiving Ed, the red sheen to his face, the flop of dark hair over his forehead, the sweat dotting his brow, his heart in his chest. his racing thoughts, his love for her. she feels him inside her body and inside her head. she shivers.

she squirms, trying to get him to move.

he does not, burying his face in her neck.

eventually he realizes that, as she traces her hands up and down the side of his spine, she's whispering, "move, honey, you gotta move, oh God please move, Ed honey please--"

something in his head breaks loose a little bit, and he snaps his hips into hers. when she moves with him, it breaks loose entirely.

it's entirely unskillful and uncoordinated, but Lorraine is already so close to orgasming again that it doesn't matter. when she cums again, Ed's entire brain malfunctions and he stops, watching her, feeling it and feeling her. she reaches down and straight up spanks him, telling him to keep moving.

doubling down, he sucks on the tendon where her neck meets her shoulder, and doesn't last much longer than her.

he thinks his vision almost whites out, gripping her hips tightly as he cums inside of her before pulling out of her and collapsing, happily burrowing his face into her breasts.

Lorraine laughs, wrapping her arms and legs around him, holding him to her tightly.

the insides of her thighs chafe a little, and she feels a bit raw, but she likes it.

they almost fall asleep that way, but Lorraine knows that's probably not a good idea. her mother knew enough about their relationship to know that Lorraine needed a little bit of motherly advice before her wedding night, but not that much. after rolling him off her, Ed promptly falls asleep on his side of the bed.

he didn't sleep the night before.

Lorraine takes a quick shower, washing the shellac out of her hair and scrubbing the make up off her face. she doesn't bother to redress, just gets into bed with him. he feels her weight on the mattress and rolls over, blearily reaching for her to pull her against him. he's half in between dreaming and wakefulness, and slides his hand up to cup her breast in his hand.

"can we do it again?"

#this is deeply unhinged #ed warren #lorraine warren #emily watches the conjuring #otp: i forgot my pills #this is sam and brittanys fault they encouraged it

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maggies-scribblings · 3 years ago

Text

Yarning For Her

Adrien is smitten with the girl who's always been there, in the row behind him. But when his plans to ask Marinette out unravel, a secret throws him for a loop…

Written for the Miraculous Writer's Guild April Event 2021: Followers sent five emojis as prompts to the @mlwritersguild Tumblr for the writers to pick one to write for. I chose the emojis sent by @ladycat1: ✨ 😊 👀 👩🏻 🧵

Canon compliant up to Season 4, Episode 4: M. Pigeon 72.

👩🏻

It was finally happening. The event everyone was waiting for… well, everyone except the main protagonist of said event.

Marinette could feel it, though she could hardly believe it. She noticed Adrien looking at her with more intensity, when he thought she wasn’t looking. How he had trouble finding the right words when talking to her. All the tiny gestures of attention, like offering to help with a difficult subject or a complex art project, or praising her outfit every day, even if she’d worn it several times before.

Nino could tell, too: questions about Marinette and her favourite colour, food, flower, or whatever else were whispered in his right ear all day.

Actually, the whole class noticed Adrien’s marked change in behaviour. His cheerful hellos were now stuttered in Marinette’s general direction. His head hid on his shoulders whenever Marinette sighed or yawned, as if his neck couldn’t handle her fresh breaths. Even his athletic skills were now replaced with an unexplained jerkiness. The fact that the weather was warmer and the girls’ gym suits gave way to short shorts and strappy tops might have had something to do with it.

In short, Adrien fell in love with Marinette. Hard.

👀

When it started, Adrien couldn’t exactly tell. Ever since that first day of school, Marinette had held a special space in his heart (most of which had been stolen by Ladybug the previous day). She was one of his first and dearest friends.

But now… after getting to know Marinette, her loving and kind nature, after seeing her helping others without asking for anything back, after finally noticing how pretty she was… he wasn’t so sure.

That day at the pool was definitely a turning point.

First there was that unplanned double dive. During those milliseconds when they were falling, Adrien’s thought process went something like this:

Danger!—Why is Marinette here?—Protect!—Wow, she looks so cute in that swimsuit!

As they hit the water, their arms instinctively reached out to the other as they sank, swirling back up to the surface in a soft embrace — just like that night in New York, when they had danced floating in the air, under the full moon.

And when they were leaving the pool, Adrien was so happy and surprised to see she still had the umbrella he’d given her way back then! Sweet as always, she offered to give it back to him, even though it was raining and she had to walk home.

She was standing next to him (she linked her arm in his!) when that pesky umbrella decided to close on them, and they were pulled even closer for a few seconds. Very close. He could smell the chlorine in her hair mixed with the scent of sweets that always surrounded her. He thought he felt her heart beating faster and faster. Maybe it wasn’t. His heart certainly was. He could feel her warm breath through his shirt, and it drove him a little crazy.

When they said goodbye that day, he could hardly take his eyes off her. He even bumped his head on the car door frame. Ladies and gentlemen, here’s the charming, elegant model Adrien Agreste, unable to enter a car (come to think of it, he seemed to have a bit of a problem with doors whenever Marinette was around).

✨

The few weeks that went by did nothing to sort out Adrien’s feelings about the two black-haired girls in his life. His days were mortifying, his nights restless. On one such night, Adrien tossed and turned, but sleep wouldn’t come. The full moon and bright stars shining through the window frames painted his room with grid patterns, a constant reminder of his confined life.

Adding to that, his mind was racing with memories of his (now frequent) clumsiness and embarrassment at school. He recalled the fumble of the day: going into the classroom while trying to look cool, he managed to snag his bag strap on the door handle, causing him to jerk back and hit the ground on his butt in front of the whole class.

Adrien groaned and turned again. Worst thing was, he had no idea how she felt for him. She kept sending mixed signals. Her behaviour towards him wasn’t as weird as it had been, but that didn’t mean a lot. He’d even asked her a couple of times. He remembered the time they visited the wax museum, when she said she didn’t like him like that.

“What’s the matter, kid?” Plagg yawned from his side of the pillow, annoyed by his bearer’s restlessness. “Who is it this time? Spots or bakery girl?”

Adrien didn’t bite, going back into his musings instead.

His mind turned to Ladybug… These days, Spots occupied a much smaller part of his thoughts. He still got the occasional butterflies in his stomach when he saw her, or when she praised him and his humour. She would always be his first love, and not an easy girl to forget… but she was right, of course — she was always right — as long as they had enemies, they couldn’t reveal their identities, much less deepen their relationship. Back when Bunnyx first showed up, they found out that there would be a new Hawkmoth and countless akumas in the future, and who knew when that would end?

Plagg was still grumbling about sleep and cheese. Adrien playfully flicked his kwami’s ear.

“Shut up, Plagg! I’m trying to sleep!”

“Very unsuccessfully, I might say,” Plagg flew out of his reach. “You sighed four-hundred and fifty-eight times in the last hour.”

“Come on… can’t you see I’m in turmoil here?” Adrien turned his back to the kwami. It was no use arguing with a deity, no matter how minuscule.

“Four-hundred and fifty-ni—” Plagg’s teasing was interrupted by a pillow hitting him.

😊

This wouldn’t do. Adrien couldn’t stand his own indecisiveness any more. He decided to ask Marinette out, that very day. After a reviving shower, he got dressed and looked in the mirror. The dark circles around his eyes were evident, but he hated wearing concealer to school. He might as well add a couple of details to his usual get-up: a pair of Gabriel’s new collection sunglasses and his favourite blue scarf.

He arrived at school early, and while most of the class was either chatting in the courtyard or going into the classroom, Marinette was nowhere to be seen. Adrien went into the locker room, and lurked behind the last row of lockers while students got in, got their things and left.

Finally, the hurricane that was late-for-class-Marinette thundered in, scolding herself for oversleeping as she got her books for the morning. When she closed the door, there was Adrien, leaning against the cabinets with his best Chat Noir smirk as he looked over the rim of his sunglasses and greeted her.

“Good morn—”

He didn’t have time to finish his line, as a very startled Marinette squeaked and grabbed his free arm to spin him around and pin him to the lockers with an elbow to his throat.

It took a few moments for Adrien realise exactly what had happened, before she released her hold.

“I’m sorry, I… panicked,” Marinette said, as she stepped back and continued to gesticulate wildly and mumble more awkward apologies.

Still frozen in place, Adrien managed to adjusted his crooked sunglasses.

“Marin—” he had to clear his throat. “No, I— It’s o-ow!”

Adrien tried and failed to step forward, as he heard a ripping sound — his scarf was caught in Marinette’s locker, and the momentum slammed him back into the metal doors with a loud bang.

The proverbial stars that blurred his vision cleared up to show Marinette very close to him, fumbling with the lock to release the scarf.

“Sorry, so sorry, I’m such a klutz!”

“It’s okay, no harm do—”

Adrien stopped talking when he saw that the scarf had a large rip, disappointment obvious upon his face.

“Oh no!” Marinette covered her mouth as she saw the damage. “Your scarf! I ruined it!”

At this point, Adrien would usually smile and say something like ‘it’s okay’ or ‘no worries’, but he couldn’t lie: he really loved that scarf. It was his favourite colour, warm and cosy, yet light enough to wear on a spring day, and a rare thoughtful gift from his father. He pouted a little as his fingers traced the tear.

“I can fix it!”

He lifted his eyes to Marinette as she got on her tiptoes to unwind the scarf from his neck.

“I can make it look as good as new. I know you’re worried, after all it’s your dad’s birthday gift,” she rambled as she delicately folded it, “but I have leftover yarn— I mean, I think I have the same colour, and it’s a simple pattern.”

There was something odd about the way she worded that, but Adrien dismissed it. He must have made a weird face, because now she had a concerned expression.

“I mean, if you trust me with it… I wouldn’t blame you if you didn’t after I destroyed it. ”

“No—I mean, don’t be silly, it was an accident… I shouldn’t have sneaked up on you like that!” He managed a relieved little smile. “Still, my father might be upset if he saw I ripped it. Are you sure you can fix it?”

Marinette’s eyes averted his for a moment, as she returned the folded up scarf.

“I’ll do my best! I’m not a pro like your father, but I’m sure I can make it as good as new in no time at all!”

They agreed to go to Marinette’s place after school so that she could start working on it right away, then ran off to class as the second bell rang.

Not exactly the way I planned it, Adrien thought as he scrambled onto his seat, but I guess it worked!

🧵

Adrien reclined in the chaise-longue and looked around Marinette’s bedroom. It was the total opposite of his, huge and aseptic and cold. On the contrary, these walls had warm colours and pictures everywhere, and it smelled amazing, fruity shampoo mixed with glue and ink from her many design projects, mixed with sweets from the bakery, and everything about it was so welcoming and cosy and so… Marinette.

“Yes!” Her delighted voice interrupted his reveries. “I knew I still had it!”

Adrien chuckled as he saw Marinette triumphantly holding a ball of light blue yarn, then get several needles from her yarn basket and sit at her sewing station to start working. He switched seats to her desk chair and rolled close to her.

“Can I help?”

“Sure! Let me just…”

Marinette picked up a long, thin knitting needle and started to thread it on the scarf, just above the tear. She was so concentrated and her movements so careful and precise, she might as well be defusing a bomb. Adrien noticed her tongue sticking out the corner of her mouth and wondered what her kisses would taste like.

“There. I have the brakes on, now let’s get going.”

Marinette found the end stitch at the corner of the scarf and cut it. Giving Adrien the end of the yarn, she continued.

“Hold this. Make a ball while I unravel it.”

“Huh? Un-what?” Much as Adrien trusted her skills, he panicked. “Won’t you make it worse?”

“No, because I’m holding the knitting with this,” she pointed at the longer needle she had threaded through the scarf.

Marinette turned her chair, so they were sitting face to face, knees almost touching, and started to quickly unravel the bottom part of the scarf, while he rolled up the thread in a ball, both enjoying the comfortable silence. He noticed a small piece of fabric falling from one of the edges and bent down to pick it up.

“What’s this?” Adrien thought out loud while examining it.

As soon as Marinette lifted her eyes from her work and saw what he was holding, her eyes went wide and her cheeks red.

“Oh, it’s nothing—” she tried unsuccessfully to snatch the fabric from his hand. ��Probably just the washing inst—”

It was not an ordinary washing instructions tag. It was tiny and had been woven into the knitting, so discreetly he’d never noticed it before. He turned the fabric over to see a recognisable signature.

Marinette

“Wait— you made this?” Adrien picked up the other end of the scarf from her lap and examined like he’d never seen it before. “Wha—? How? D-did my father buy it off your website?”

So that’s why she was so confident about fixing it. He searched Marinette’s face for an explanation, but she just shook her head and kept looking down, unravelling the loops one by one.

“No— of course not— your site wasn't set up back then, we only took those photos later…”

Adrien thought back to the time Nathalie handed him the present, neatly packed in a box with a ribbon. He’d never seen that kind of care in his father’s presents, just standard gift bags with expensive pens, straight from a corporate catalogue. His train of thought was broken by a couple of tears falling on his hands.

“Marinette…” he murmured, lifting her chin to look into her misty eyes. “Did you make this for me?”

She nodded with a tiny smile. He moved his hand from her chin to cup her cheek, wiping her tears with his thumb.

“Was this supposed to be your present for me?” Another nod. “How did this mess happen then?”

“I…” Marinette had to clear her throat and finally looked at him. Something in her eyes changed from avoidance to determination. “I wanted to give it to you personally, but I couldn’t gather the nerve… then one thing led to another, and I left it in your house, and I even signed it, but…” she shrugged.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I just… couldn’t. You were so happy with the present from your dad. I couldn’t ruin it for you.”

Adrien made a mental note to find out exactly what had happened, then set all his negative feelings aside. His heart was too full of love to think about anything other than the girl in front of him.

“Oh, Marinette…” he softly chided as he hugged her. How could this girl be so selfless, on top of everything else? She cared for him, really cared for him, even back then. “I wish you’d told me.”

He released the hug and pulled her closer, into his lap. Marinette set the scarf on the sewing table and put her arms around his neck. Her tears were gone and a hint of a smile played on her lips.

“That way,” Adrien caressed her nose with his, “I would have thanked you properly.”

“Oh yeah?” Marinette breathed, her lips very close to his. “You can thank me now.”

They closed the distance between them, their lips melding into a sweet kiss, then another, and then a few more. Adrien’s heart was beating so fast he could hardly bear it. Then he remembered he should probably breathe at some point.

“Wow.”

“If that’s the way you thank a person for a present, I’ll start giving them more often,” Marinette joked.

“Not anyone.” He pecked her lips. “Only you.”

They kissed again, this time more passionately. He kissed her eyes, the tip of her nose, her forehead, her neck, then back up to her lips…

The scarf was left forgotten on the sewing table. It could wait a few more hours before repairing.

Fin

Thanks to @hari-writes and @deinde-prandium for the beta read! ❤️

Constructive criticism is welcome and appreciated. English is not my first language and I tend to use UK English. If you catch any inconsistencies, please let me know.

My AO3. My Twitter. My Instagram.

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my-emotional-self · 4 years ago

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Toxic Love Chapter 9

Pairings: Steve Rogers x Reader, Bucky Barnes x Reader, Steve Rogers x Reader x Bucky Barnes

Summary: Finding out your soulmates were Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes was one thing. But when someone from your past comes back to haunt you, you have to figure out if a relationship with two super soldiers is something you really want to pursue or if you’d rather go back to your comfortable single life.

Series Warnings: 18+, Swearing, Angst, Fluff, past mentions of rape, self-harm, attempted rape, domestic violence, stalking, death threats, possible Dark!Steve?, Steve will be an asshole a LOT in this series but I don’t know how dark it will get, explicit sexual content, mental health issues, kind of A/B/O dynamics but not really (no they are not actual wolves, more like the hierarchy), mentions of suicide, flashbacks of suicide, nightmares

A/N: There will be no taglist for this story! I apologize in advance!

Three nights. Three blissful sleep filled nights. It had been awhile since you slept the whole night through. Whether it be stress, nightmares, your other medication keep you up or having to work, there was always something that stopped you from getting a full nights rest. But this new one week trial of sleep medication that Dr. Wang put you on was a miracle worker. The only downside was that you only had four tablets left. If you wanted more, you would have to make an appointment with her. It was necessarily a bad thing, but how you would go about getting out of the tower without the buddy system was beyond you.

The downside of the last three days? The new dosage of your medication didn’t seem to be working. And Dr. Wang had discussed that with you too. If the dosing wasn’t working, you may have to switch medications all together and that too would require an in office visit.

Your irritation had gotten downright horrible along with your intense bouts of anger. Even if someone was chewing their food a certain way, it drove you crazy. So, instead of trying to hang out with Darcy or Pepper or Clint, you found yourself stuck in your room for almost 72 hours straight.

But then you started to have the ongoing feelings of emptiness. Without Steve or Bucky and you being cooped up in your room because you just couldn’t handle the sound or annoyance of anyone at the moment, you were lonely. So lonely. The last thing you wanted to do was let Steve or Bucky know while they were on a mission. You didn’t want to distract them and get them hurt.

At times you found your thoughts racing a mile a minute. ‘What if they just decide one day they no longer like me and want nothing to do with me’ or ‘what if they find out about my mental health and leave me’. Yep. A lot of thoughts of rejection and abandonment were also starting to creep into your mind.

But at least you were getting good sleep. And no more threats either. You hadn’t worked in a few days and as much as you wanted to, it was hard to get out of bed.

By day nine you were going absolute out of your mind. Your medications clearly weren’t working anymore and now you had run out of the sleep medicine too. You emailed Dr. Wang but with your stroke of luck, she was out of the office for the rest of the week and her scheduled was booked up for another two weeks after that. They marked you down for an appointment in exactly 19 days. You weren’t sure how you were supposed to last that long, but you decided to dig deep and find as much willpower as possible.

On day ten, you were just about to head down to your game room and get to work. You needed the distraction.

Walking out of your room you were shocked to see Steve and Bucky coming off the elevator. They were supposed to be gone for another two days you thought.

“Hey! Welcome back!” you cheered, happy to see them. Bucky gave you a soft smile as Steve dropped his shield on the ground angrily; the sound echoing around the apartment. Putting your foot in your mouth, words came tumbling from your lips. “Great. Crabby Steve is back.”

His head snapped towards you, a menacing scowl on his face. “Excuse me?” he growled angrily.

You rolled your eyes, not wanting to deal with sour mood.

“Did you just roll your eyes at me?” he barked out, storming towards you. He took in your appearance and you realized you didn’t have anything covering up the dark circles under your eyes. “When’s the last time you got any sleep?” Not even answering him, you shrugged your shoulders and walked right on passed him. “You answer me when I speak to you!”

“I don’t know Steve!” you yelled back at him.

If looks could kill, you would be six feet under. “Don’t even think about going down to work right now. You get back in your room and get some goddamn rest!”

“Steve, calm down,” Bucky urged, wanting to help dissolve the tension.

“I will not calm down Bucky,” he countered, his eyes never leaving yours.

You pressed the button on the elevator. “I’m going to work Steve. You can’t stop me. I haven’t worked since the second night I moved in.”

Steve’s shoulders relaxed just an inch, but you could still tell he was pissed. “I want you back up here at a descent hour and in bed. Do you understand me?”

As the elevator doors closed, Steve could hear you say ‘Yeah, yeah, yeah’.

Alone in the elevator, you gave into your anger and punched and kicked the steel door, screaming profanities. You had to admit, it made you feel better.

Getting off on the communal floor, you saw Natasha in the kitchen.

“From the way Steve is acting, I’m going to guess the mission didn’t go as planned?” you asked.

“That would be correct,” Natasha replied, never looking up at the stack of papers in front of her. “We’ll get them next time.”

As the night went on, you realized this was the kind of distraction you needed. Why you hadn’t done this the whole time Steve and Bucky were gone was beyond you. You were having a blast, interacting with your followers, killing the villains and just having an all-around good time. Your body was less tense and for the first time in days, you were smiling.

Time got the best of you and by the time you were logging off, you realized it was after six in the morning. At this point, you didn't care. You were on a high from kicking some major gaming ass. And to top it all off, no threatening messages from JSmith20 tonight.

The communal kitchen was void of anyone and you got out the bread and plugged in the toaster, feeling hungry for the first time in days. It was only seconds later when the elevator doors opened and out walked Steve, Clint and Natasha. They were all wearing their workout clothes.

“Damn. You’re up early,” Clint joked as he began making a pot of coffee. You saw Steve come to stand next to you out of the corner of your eye. Hopefully he was in a better mood this morning.

You snorted at him, shaking your head. “More like I’m up way too late.” You didn’t even think about the words that came out of your mouth as you finished buttering your toast and placed it on a glass plate.

Grabbing your plate of toast, you turned around and started walking towards the elevator. The sound of a fist slamming on the granite table stopped you dead in y our tracks.

“I specifically told you to get to bed early last night. Did I not?” Yep, he still wasn’t in a good mood and you probably just made it ten times worse.

“You did,” came your short reply as you turned around to face him.

His jaw was clenched so hard you were surprised he didn’t break any teeth. He pointed upstairs and began to yell louder. “I want you to get your ass upstairs right now and get the fuck to bed! I don’t want you coming out of your room until I tell you to!”

Embarrassment flooded your cheeks at being yelled at in front of people. Who the hell does he think he is telling you to go to your room like a fucking child? You had never felt such intense anger than you did in this moment. Without a second thought, you chucked your glass plate at his head. You would have hit him but he saw it coming and he ducked out of the way. The glass shattering into pieces on the floor.

“Fuck you Steve!” you screamed so loud you felt your vocal cords vibrate in your throat. The room fell silent as you turned on your heels and slammed open the door to the stairs. Fuck waiting for the elevator.

You took the stairs two at a time; your hands balled into fists. Blood was rushing to your ears and you didn’t hear your name being called angrily by Steve.

As you got to your floor, you kicked open the door and headed down the hallway to your room. All you wanted to do was scream. Scream and throw something and punch things. You needed to get this pent up anger out of you somehow or you felt like you were going to explode.

You extended your arm to reach the scanner on your door but you never made it. Instead, Steve gripped onto your wrist, yanking you away.

“Let me go!” you screamed, trying to kick at him, but it was no use. He had you pinned to the wall; his legs pushed against yours and his hands against your shoulders. You were stuck. Stupid super soldier strength.

“What in the ever loving fuck is wrong with you?” Steve demanded, his face so close to yours that you could feel his warm breath.

And you didn’t even know how to answer him. Because in that moment, seeing such rage burning behind Steve’s eyes, you were turned on. Oh fuck were you so turned on in that moment. You wanted him to drag you into your room and have complete rough and carnal sex.

Your shoulders were pinned to the wall by Steve’s firm grip, but your arms were still free to move around. As your eyes never left his, you picked up your right hand and grabbed Steve’s hand. His body stiffened against you, but he didn’t move. But once he noticed what you were doing, his eyes widened.

“What the fuck is going on here?” Bucky demanded as he saw Steve’s hand around your neck.

#steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x you #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers fanfic #steve rogers smut #bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #dark!steve rogers #dark! steve rogers

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angstsfordays · 4 years ago

Text

Beautiful Pain (6)

Chapter Six- Growing Pains

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Enhanced! Reader

Summary: Post-Blip, you started to feel lost when most of the Avengers team are gone. Coping with your loss, you still find hope in the connection with your remaining friends. However, it is not easy as everyone is trying to figure their lives after the Blip.

Having a long history with Bucky ever since you both saved each other from Hydra, you were still glad you had Bucky after all this time. However, as you try to give Bucky space to find himself after being pardoned for his past, you start to wonder if you should ever cross the line of friendship before it’s too late.

That thought might have to be put on hold though, when you, Sam and Bucky find yourselves having to deal with threats that continue to rise in a post-Blip world.

Chapter synopsis: Arriving in Latvia, you find your group closing into Karli’s group. You found yourself unexpectedly in upsetting exchanges with Bucky, making you take two steps back from the progress you two had since Madripoor.

Warnings: Angst as I like it! Bucky being a dense block of wood.

Word count: 4k

Notes: It’s insane the number of followers I have gained after starting this series. I am very humbled to know that you guys take interest in my work! Appreciate all the likes and reblogs! 🙏🏼

Hope y’all would enjoy this chapter! Things cannot be forever smooth sailing and we see a roadblock to Bucky and reader’s progress. I would love to know your feedback on the story so leave a comment if you can! 🥰

The tag list is still open! Let me know if you want to join with a message or comment in the chapters!

Next: Chapter Seven

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Six years ago

The embers from the fire glowed warmly in front of you, a finger daringly reached out to touch the flames. The energy flames emitted from the tip of your finger and blended into the fire.

Turning your head back to Bucky and Ayo, you saw how Bucky was anxious and had a doubtful expression on his face. It had been a week since the programming has been removed from his system.

While he was still reassured that the worst was over, he had a lot of reservations. Having you by his side was the only source of comfort that he could through these hard times.

“I won’t let you hurt anyone,” Ayo spoke to relieved Bucky of his concerns. You flashed an encouraging smile back to him and Bucky nodded at Ayo for her to start.

As Ayo started saying the code words, you could see Bucky’s entire body tensing up as if he wanted to resist the possibility of being turned. Holding in your breath at the entire situation, you clasped your hands together in prayer, wishing that things would turn out well.

Every time each word was said, it built up hope and anxiety at the same time. You could see the dread, regret and guilt all from his eyes alone as Bucky stared intensely at the burning fire. It seemed his mind was heavy on a lot of memories and recollections that seemed to eat him away.

You wanted to take a step forward but Ayo shook her head, silently asking you to stay put.

As the number of codewords was closing into zero, your anticipation grew at how Bucky was doing well. However, your heart started breaking when you saw the tears welling up in his eyes.

Once the last code word was spoken, Bucky was sobbing. Seeing this sight, your own tears started to fall down your cheeks as you brought your clasped hands over your heart.

“You are free,” Ayo stated with a pleased smile and she looked over to you to give you a nod. Grinning a full wide smile at her, you looked down to Bucky shaking by the fire. You wondered what was wrong until he removed his clenched fist from his face. It was when he turned to face you that you both mirrored the full-blown smiles on your faces.

-------------------------//---------------------------

Stretching your limbs on the plush couch, your eyes closed wearily from the flight to Latvia. You still couldn’t process the entire series of events that had happened in the past 72 hours and your mind was mentally drained.

Hearing the door open, you lifted your head to finally see Bucky joining everyone in Zemo’s fancy place. Bucky’s eyes turned to yours and the two of you stared at each other silently for what felt like an eternity.

You first broke the stare by blinking and bit your lips in nervousness. Your mind immediately went back to what happened in Sharon’s club and you turned your back to avoid looking at him for the time being.

Bucky was thinking of the same thing and tried his best to maintain a cool façade. Seeing how you turned your back on the sofa, he felt it was best to move on to business with the others first.

“Well, the Wakandans are here. They want Zemo.” Bucky spoke to Sam before looking at an unbothered Zemo who was fresh out of the shower in his robes.

Bucky’s words managed to get you to turn back and sit up at attention.

“It was sweet of you to defend me at least.” You see Zemo looking grateful at Bucky but the super-soldier just rolled his eyes.

“Hey, you shut it. No one’s defending you.” Sam shut Zemo down as he couldn’t believe how thick-skinned the Sokovian man was. “You killed Nagel.”

Zemo tried to defend his stance while Sam definitely wasn’t buying it. You couldn’t say it out loud lest you get a look from Sam but you were glad Zemo did it. Who knows if there would be a day where you would be handed off to Nagel and he got his hands on you to do whatever he wanted?

You shuddered at the thought and as if Zemo knew what was on your mind, you see the Baron turning back to give you a wink and mouthing a ‘welcome’. Your nose scrunched in distaste, not wanting to give the man the satisfaction of him being right.

“Karli bombed a GRC supply depot,” Bucky spoke up again after looking up from his phone. Sam asked for the amount of damage to which Bucky answered that eleven were injured and three were dead.

This was getting serious. Especially when you heard Bucky saying that the Flag Smashers were promising more attacks if their demands were not met. You suddenly felt a renewed sense of responsibility and purpose to help the world once more after the last battle.

Even though you were tired of fighting, you knew that bearing the powers that you had gave you the responsibility to take action for the greater good.

Zemo then remarked that he had the will to follow through with this mission but questioned you and your friends.

“She’s just a kid,” Sam emphasized, showing his empathetic and kind heart who chose to see the good in others first. It reminded you so much of Steve and you smiled at the resemblance.

Zemo didn’t agree with Sam’s opinion and explained how Karli was a supremacist. The very idea of super-soldiers was troubling, how they viewed themselves as invincible and above others. Zemo compared it to the Nazi ideology, how it led to Ultron and the Avengers.

His last point rubbed you the wrong way because you knew your friends were never focused on themselves but rather dedicated time, effort and their lives for the world.

Sam understood that Karli had indeed been radicalised but still argued for a better way to manage the situation, one that he hoped would be peaceful and led to lesser bloodshed.

“I agree with Sam.” You spoke up for the first time. All three men focused on you as you lifted yourself from the sofa and walked towards them. “She’s not doing this for power or money, she’s doing this to help her community and the vulnerable. The least we could do is to try to talk to her first.”

Zemo tilted his head with an annoyed look, seeing how you backed Sam up in this debate.

“Y/N. The desire to become a superhuman cannot be separated from supremacist ideals. Anyone with that serum is inherently on that path. She would not stop, in fact, she will escalate unless you kill her.”

You knew that there were part truths in Zemo’s words. You kept quiet and he looked at you pleased that he probably has gotten through you in some sense.

“Or you can kill her first.” With this, Zemo stared straight at you as if he decided to give you this responsibility, knowing that you were the likeliest to overpower Karli when the time comes.

“Maybe you’re wrong, Zemo. The serum never corrupted Steve.” Speaking from behind you, Bucky refuted Zemo’s claims but Zemo seemed unaffected. He even added on that there was no other Steve Rogers. Who were you guys to presume not everyone could get corrupted once they had a taste of power?

Having enough of Zemo, Bucky suggested handing Zemo over to the Wakandans right at this moment and you wanted to agree. You were indebted to them and with their late king’s murderer right in front of you, a sense of guilt washed over you as you must have realized how livid they must be that he was walking free.

Sam then explained how Donya was an influential member of the community and related it to his own story of his TT aka his aunt. When someone who was a pillar in a close-knitted community had passed, people would gather to hold a long ceremony in memory of that person. He presumed that the same would be done for Donya and that’s where you all should lead with.

-------------------------//---------------------------

The four of you decided to venture to the streets to ask for information on Donya. As Zemo and Sam went their own ways, Bucky looked over you as if to ask if you wanted to join him.

“Uh, I-uh-I” You started stuttering without realising. Bucky knitted his brows in confusion at your sudden display and he immediately thought of your almost moment. Did you not want it? Did he overstep?

Inwardly groaning, he couldn’t believe he did something so stupid in the heat of the moment. Deciding to do something about it, he spoke up.

“Hey. About earlier-” Glancing up at Bucky, he nervously rubbed the back of his neck as he tried to find the words to say.

“Earlier?” You weren’t sure what he was referring to and returned a quizzical look. Taking a deep breath before exhaling, Bucky tried to continue the conversation.

“I mean back in Madripoor. You know that uh-” Your eyes widened realised at the particular event that he chose to bring up. Your heart quickened at how he was choosing to address it now and you stared at him expectantly. “Yeah?”

“It was stupid, all right? I didn’t think and it was all at the moment, I didn’t mean to went in like that-” Blinking your eyes as if you couldn’t process what Bucky had just said, your heart dropped at the realisation that everything turned out to be one-sided wishful thinking of yours.

In his attempt to piece his words together and play it down, Bucky didn’t realise the disappointment painted on your face and how you stopped the tears that welled up in your eyes from falling.

You felt so stupid. There was no way that Bucky would have taken interest in you. All this time, you were nothing more than friends. You didn’t doubt that that moment in Madripoor with its atmosphere could have clouded both of your senses.

“It’s okay, Buck. I totally understand.” You spoke up to prevent him from continuing to dishearten you.

“I’m cool. We were swept up in the music and the dancing- it’s natural to uh-do that.” You were starting to choke up at your words but forced yourself to swallow down the knot in your throat.

Pulling your lips into a tight grin and forcing yourself to meet Bucky’s eyes, you saw him puzzled and expectant of your next response.

“I am going to go that way.” Mustering up a cheerful voice to make it sound like you were fine, you pointed over to a random street. “We should split up and cover more ground. Bye!” Giving a quick wave to him, you hurriedly turn your back and almost broke into a sprint to get as far away from him as possible.

Bucky knew that from your reaction he must have done something wrong. He just wasn’t sure what he did. Scolding himself for being such an idiot, he looked back to where he last saw you before you turned the corner.

Bucky’s hands and jaw both clenched with tension at how things had been with you just moments ago before allowing himself to be distracted with the mission. He made a mental note that he had to catch you later and have another talk.

-------------------------//---------------------------

You were a woman with a purpose and that was to find out more about Donya Madani. You realised after the first few queries, people here were wary once you mentioned the woman’s name.

Cracking your brain to think of a strategy, your eyes roamed around the neighbourhood for some sort of idea. A familiar back caught your attention and your eyes widened in shock at who you had spotted.

The man back from the fight on the truck was here. That means Karli and her group were here too! You didn’t have the chance to see the man’s face as he had a mask on back then but you recognised him instantly.

He was alone and that gave you a good chance to corner him. You blended in with the crowd while closing in on him with every step. As he turned the corner to an alley, you quickened your steps in fear that you might be losing him.

Once you stepped foot into the alley, you were shocked to see there it was clear and empty. Running your fingers through your hair in a stressful moment, you wondered how he could have disappeared without a trace. Venturing further down the alley, you hoped that you might be able to catch sight of him once more.

Your body reacted a second later than your intuition when you felt someone grabbed you from behind, the hands covering your mouth to prevent you from screaming.

The person switched hands and used their strength to push you against the brick walls. Feeling the wind knocked out of your chest, you took quick hurried breaths to regain yourself and that’s when your eyes looked up to meet the dark eyes of the man that you had been following.

His eyes mirrored yours as they widened at the recognition of who you were and he then spoke. “How did you follow us? Where are the rest of your friends?”

Clawing at his hands to free your face, your hands started glowing a bright orange to get him to release you. The man was taken aback at the display of your powers and decided to make a run for it, knowing that you would have the upper hand eventually.

“No wait, please!” You cried for him to stop. The man’s steps slowed down at your plea and he turned back slightly to face you. You raised your hands up in surrender to show you meant no harm.

You willingly put your hands behind you, clasping them together and showing them to him.

“I just want to talk.” You continued saying. Sensing the man’s hesitation, you then emphasized please desperately. Taking a few steps closer, you still left a gap between the two of you.

“I am Y/N.” Hoping that introducing yourself showed that you were interested to get to know him, you looked on anxiously for his response.

“Dovich.” The man replied curtly before staring back at you. Repeating his name once more in your mouth, you showed off a friendly smile before resuming.

“I know what you must be thinking, but please I do not mean any harm.” You hoped that the sincerity in your voice would get his guard down but seeing Dovich squaring his shoulders to look more intimidating, you knew that he couldn’t trust you yet.

“Lies!” Dovich refuted your claims.

“What happened back there was self-defence!” He must have thought about how you were about to use your powers just moments ago. “Trust me, if I wanted to do any damage, I would be able to but I didn’t.”

Seeing how you were still standing there with your arms behind your back, Dovich’s stance seemed to ease up a little. “What do you want?”

“We- my friends and I want to talk to Karli.” You knew your words only served to upset him once more as his face distorted into a frown.

“We really want things to work out! We don’t ever want things to escalate, it is never in my interest to kill anyone.” Dovich glanced over you to see an earnest expression on your face and he couldn’t help but be a little swayed.

He knew who you were. You were less well-known but still regarded as part of the Avengers team. It would be a lie to say he wasn’t intimidated. He recalled how you fought his group back then and knew that given your powers, there was a chance to be bested even if he had taken the serum.

Dovich still clearly remembered how you pulled him up when he was about to fall off the moving truck from before. Your actions at that moment had changed his impression of you, regarding you in a better light. It matched what you had just said earlier, you weren’t interested to kill anyone.

“Karli wouldn’t listen. She is determined and resolute in our vision.” Dovich hoped you understood his perspective and you nodded in acknowledgement.

“I know but that doesn’t mean we don’t want to try settling this peacefully. We don’t want more lives gone than it already had.” You added on to your own perspective in the matter. Dovich believed you but he still wasn’t sure. He couldn’t be so easy to trust especially of all of the experiences that he and his group went through.

You were still considered a threat to the existence of the group.

“I don’t trust your group. Especially that Zemo guy. We know he hates super soldiers.” Dovich reiterated his mistrust before continuing. “Plus you guys are the Avengers, you wouldn’t know what it is like to be us. You get to live comfortable lives and do as you please.”

Hearing his assumption, you shook your head in disagreement. You closed your eyes and exhaled deeply before speaking.

“The Avengers aren’t really there anymore. Most of our group are gone. We are only what’s left but it doesn’t feel like there’s a team anymore.” Your mind to your current situation. Yes, you were with Sam and Bucky but they were just tolerating each other for the moment. You didn’t exactly feel like you were a team at all but just a group put together because you were all that’s left.

The sense of camaraderie from your previous team was gone and you were at a loss. You did what you had to do to support your two friends but you felt empty on the inside. You titled your head up to see Dovich peering at you with an almost concerned look on his face.

“Besides, that’s a bit of a generalisation you have there. We don’t live fancy lives, that’s a misconception because of uh-Tony. We all are still normal human beings dealing with struggles in our personal lives too. We gave up most of ourselves to defend this world….” Reeling from the exchange that you two had, you knew Dovich was someone that could be reasoned with.

“Of course, I am not trying to brag or anything!” You hurriedly explain before he had the thought that you were trying to make yourself look better in his eyes. “It’s just that I hope you could understand where we are coming from too.”

Dovich didn’t expect the conversation to progress in this manner. He had spotted you in the reflection of a glass window of a shop and initially wanted to get you off his tail. Despite the initial scepticism, he was starting to warm up to you. He figured you weren’t like the rest of your group and seemed down to earth despite being an Avenger.

He couldn’t lie to himself and claimed he thought of you several times ever since the first encounter. How can one not forget someone who stepped in to save their life once?

Dovich gazed at you now standing civilly with an awaiting look. He wanted to trust you, he really did. But he knew Karli was especially alert and distrustful of anyone outside her circle. Your affiliation wouldn’t help in this case either. He couldn’t make a promise that he can’t keep.

“I can’t promise you anything.” A grin formed on your face for the first time and you nodded your head in understanding.

“Of course, I just need a chance to talk. That’s all.” Dovich nodded back before he started walking back to the other end of the alleyway. He told you that he would speak with Karli after Donya’s ceremony and asked you to wait for his contact. He made you promise to not speak to your friends about this meeting and that he only trusted you.

You gave your agreement and maintained a friendly smile before he turned back to go onto another street.

-------------------------//---------------------------

Walking with lighter steps, you were glad to be able to do something right. You re-entered Zemo’s place and was greeted with the men gathering around to discuss their lack of result. You had to control yourself from revealing about your meeting with Dovich and kept quiet.

You agreed with Sam’s remarks on understanding Karli’s perspective and how she and her group were not motivated by malicious intentions.

Bucky then gave his own input that Karli would not be any different from Zemo. Recalling your last exchange with him, you suddenly felt upset with the super-soldier. You didn’t agree with his words either as you believed you understood better after talking with Dovich.

“I agree with Sam on this. Karli’s group is different and we need to give them a chance.” Bucky looked at you in disbelief. This was the first time you were ever not on the same page with him. He couldn’t agree with your views of giving the Flag Smashers a chance when they were such obvious threats.

Bucky believed that your soft-hearted nature was clouding your judgement and he thought better of you given your experience of dealing with such people.

“Can’t believe you are actually siding with terrorists Y/N.” His words came out harsher than expected and his heart twisted when he saw the tinge of sadness at how you received his words. A brief moment later, he saw your brows frowning and now looked at him with an offended stare.

“Not everything is black and white, James.” You scoffed before walking off to use the bathroom.

Sam and Zemo were surprised to hear the condescending tone in your voice towards Bucky. Knowing how you and Bucky were close-knitted, witnessing the suddenly tensed exchange between the two of you would have been baffled at what just transpired.

Hearing you calling him James was clear as day to Bucky that you were definitely not happy with him. Rubbing his temples in dismay, he wondered what have gotten over you suddenly. Sure, he was at fault for saying such a harsh comment but he still didn’t expect you to be like this.

Bucky lost his cool when Zemo stated he wanted to keep his leverage by not revealing any more information he had gotten from the little girl on the streets about Donya.

“You wanna see what someone can do we leverage?” Bucky too the glass in Zemo’s hand and threw it to the wall behind the Sokovian baron. He was silently seething at Zemo’s play on top of the unpleasant exchange that he had with you.

Sam came around to calm Bucky down before he indicated that he would make a call.

You stepped back into the common room when you heard the smashing of glass. You looked to see Bucky and Zemo in an intense standoff, well more so Bucky than Zemo.

Sam walked away first. Zemo asked Bucky if he would like some cherry blossom tea but the super-soldier refuted the offer with disdain in his tone.

“Y/N?” Zemo gestured to the lovely glass tea set on the coffee table. Glancing up to meet Bucky’s eyes, you could tell he was still bearing an annoyed look on his face.

You weren’t sure if it was his emotions from his exchange with Zemo or yours. Walking up to Zemo, you gave a polite smile before speaking.

“I would love to.” It was the second time that you acted out of character in a row. He knew that you didn’t like Zemo at all, only because of what Zemo had done to him. You were his girl (well sort of) and seeing you accepting Zemo’s offer even if it was just tea hit him differently.

Hearing how you graciously accepted the glass from Zemo and commenting on the fragrance of the brew, Bucky couldn’t believe his ears. He immediately stomped away from the scene before he felt like he would implode.

This was not right at all. Why would you suddenly act like this?

-------------------------//---------------------------

Tag list: @tanyaherondale @spookycereal-s @cataves @archaeoheart @conflicted-noxsirius @archaeoheart @idiotinnit @anxious-stitcher @lindseyrae20 @mads-weasley

#bucky x reader #bucky x y/n #marvel fanfiction #angstsfordays #beautiful pain #tfatws #thefalconandthewintersoldier #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader

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elisela · 4 years ago

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touch has a memory & mine is you buck x eddie, for @buckleysbabe on her birthday ♥️ (ao3)

----

It starts small—just Buck’s hand wrapping around his wrist to tug him close when a crowd of people at Dodger Stadium nearly separate them as they meet in front of the stadium—but when Buck starts to let go, Eddie swings his arm in closer, presses their bare forearms together. It’s been weeks since they’ve spent time together; another earthquake and dozens of first responders injured across the city meant temporary transfers and shifts being changed from 24-72 to 24-48, and they somehow hadn’t found time for anything other than phone calls and texts for nearly a month.

“God, I missed you,” Buck says, and when he swings his arm up on Eddie’s shoulders, Eddie can’t help but lean into it. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” he says, forcing himself to pull back, embarrassed. “I knew you’d be late, Buck, we’re gonna miss the first pitch.”

Buck makes a noise and pulls him closer. “Yeah, yeah, there’s at least 200 more after that,” he says.

“That’s—” he wrinkles up his nose, thinking, “seven pitches per batter on average. Kershaw is starting tonight—”

“Eddie,” Buck sighs, “are you seriously trying to lecture me about baseball already? You know I need a beer before you start in on all this.”

Eddie elbows him in retaliation, but Buck still doesn’t move his arm, so Eddie elbows him harder, until he snatches it away and hits Eddie back, the two of them play fighting like children until they get up to the gate and Buck backs away, pulling the tickets out of his pocket, and Eddie misses the heat of his body even though it’s what he had meant to happen.

----

Eddie had never realized how much Buck touched him until he wasn’t anymore. His new crew at Station 69 (which had made Buck snort milk through his nose when Bobby had given him the—temporary—transfer papers) aren’t a close bunch; they have his number and he’s gotten a few texts on his off hours, but no one is spending their days off with him, sending him pictures of cats available for adoption and whining when he points out how much work an animal is, and certainly no one has shown up at his house unannounced with take-out and a new board game. And they certainly aren’t as touchy as his team; no one squeezes his shoulder as they pass by, knocks their arms together on the way to the truck, or sprawls against his side while they play video games on the couch. They’re perfectly respectful of his personal space, and Eddie fucking hates it.

He makes it three innings before Buck twists in his seat towards him and leans in with an intense look on his face, knee bumping up against Eddie’s. “Okay, tell me what’s going on.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Uh, Betts is on first and Hernandez is up to the plate, but he’s got two strikes and—Buck, seriously, haven’t I taught you enough about baseball for you to be able to follow this?”

Buck looks unimpressed. “I meant with you. You’re—weird.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“You know what I mean,” Buck says. “Is something wrong? Am I making you uncomfortable?”

“You are now,” he says, looking away. “Let it go. And don’t you dare start singing that song.” Buck huffs out a breath next to him, and when he doesn’t move away, Eddie stands up. “I’m gonna go grab more beers,” he says, ignoring the half-full bottles in the cupholders in front of them, and he flees.

----

Chris is going through a phase.

At least, that’s what Eddie hopes it is.

Twelve is apparently too old to be hugged by your dad, to let him give you a kiss goodbye, or goodnight—too old for anything except an occasional bump against the shoulder in the kitchen, or a fist bump a second before he opens the door to the truck to be dropped off at school.

If Eddie holds his arms out, Chris looks at him flatly. If Eddie follows him to his bedroom door at night to tuck him in, Chris draws his name out through several syllables and declares that he’s not a kid and definitely doesn’t need to be tucked in. If Eddie reaches out a hand to place on his back while they go out to dinner, or to a movie, Chris ducks out of his way and shakes his head.

The touch-aversion is killing Eddie.

----

In the sixth, Buck’s fingers brush against his as he hands him a plate of nachos.

In the seventh, Seager hits a homerun and his skin buzzes after Buck gives him a high-give, lacing their fingers together briefly before Eddie pulls away.

In the eighth, he squeezes past Eddie to use the bathroom, one hand on Eddie’s waist when Eddie stands to let him through.

After the ninth, he stays in his seat, looking over at Eddie thoughtfully as they wait for the crowd to thin out before leaving. “You gonna talk to me now? No one’s around.”

“There’s nothing to talk about,” he says. There’s not. So what if no one has touched Eddie outside of calls in a month? So what if that sort of contact isn’t enough for him, if he craves the kind of touch Buck has so freely given him over the years? It’s not Buck’s problem that Eddie is touch starved, and he refuses to make it his problem. He just needs a little distance, because every time Buck touches him, it’s all Eddie can do to not plaster himself to Buck and take the comfort he desperately wants.

Buck groans. “Eds, it’s been a month since we’ve gotten to see each other and if you think I’ve forgotten how to tell when something is wrong, I haven’t. Did I do something? Did we make plans that I forgot about, or—” he reaches out and puts his hand on Eddie’s thigh, and Eddie stands up.

“Come on,” he says, “traffic’s probably died down a little by now.”

----

It’s not that he doesn’t know what his problem is, or that he hasn’t tried to solve it. He’d tried a massage—extremely uncomfortable once he’d realized that he was basically paying someone to make him feel good and couldn’t get the thought out of his head—gotten an unnecessary haircut, tried a pedicure.

Nothing worked.

He doesn’t want someone to touch him just because he wants it, he wants them to want it, too. He doesn’t want fingers digging into tired ankles, he wants someone’s palm to rest against his skin and stay there, to put down roots and make a home inside him.

He wants—deperately—Buck.

----

It doesn’t surprise him to see the Jeep’s headlights sweep across the front of his house a few minutes after he arrives home; he hadn’t bothered locking the door, knowing that ignoring four of Buck’s phone calls meant that he would surely show up.

But Buck doesn’t come in and make himself at home, just opens the door, leans against the frame with arms crossed over his chest, and says, “why don’t you want me touching you? Why didn’t you just say something? I would have stopped, Eddie.”

Eddie waves him in, but Buck stays stubbornly where he is. “It’s not a big deal,” he says. “Come on, let’s watch something.”

“It’s a big deal to me,” Buck insists. “I made you uncomfortable, and I—I’m really sorry, Eddie. I just—can you tell me why?”

Eddie tilts his head forward and pinches the bridge of his nose; Buck sounds hurt and small, and Eddie knows without a doubt that if he lets him leave feeling like this, they’re going to go weeks without seeing each other again, and the phone calls will drop off, too. He scrubs a hand across his face, takes in a deep breath and says, eyes still focused on the ground in front of him, “I haven’t—no one’s touched me in weeks.”

Buck is silent.

“I thought I might not be able to stop,” he admits. “I just want—” he stops, shakes his head. “It’s pathetic. I’m sorry.”

“Did you know if you hug someone for twenty seconds, it releases oxytocin?” Buck asks, and Eddie hears the front door closing before Buck’s footsteps sound across the floor. “There’s a surprising amount of health benefits,” he says, and Eddie looks up in time to see Buck’s hands reaching for him.

He goes willingly when Buck pulls him up, buries his head in Buck’s shoulder as he wraps his arms around him, and breathes him in. Twenty seconds—that’s new. They’re quick huggers, usually, lingering for a few seconds sometimes, hands on each other's shoulders or waists, but it’s—comforting. Buck is warm against him, and Eddie loses count when he gets to twenty in his head and Buck still doesn’t move except for the rhythmic sweep of fingertips along the back of his neck. He gives in and lets his body melt against Buck’s, lets his fingers creep up into Buck’s hair and run through the soft strands, gives up his dignity entirely and pushes the arm around Buck’s waist underneath the shirt he’s wearing and places his palm against skin.

“Eddie,” Buck sighs, and a shiver jolts up his spine, and Eddie blames that for the very stupid, very reckless thing he does next: slides his hand further up into Buck’s hair to hold his head still, tilts his own head up, and kisses him. He kisses him like he’s been wandering the desert for days and Buck has handed him water, kisses him like the last bit of air left in the world resides in Buck’s lungs, kisses him like he’s a sinner and Buck is his reconciliation.

His knees hit the back of the couch and he falls, Buck landing on his lap, and Buck only moves away to say, “this isn’t just because—please tell me this—”

“It’s not,” Eddie says, chasing after Buck’s mouth, “Jesus, you have no idea—”

“Kinda think I do,” Buck says, and he dips down to kiss him again. “Hey Eddie,” he says, hands framing Eddie’s face, thumbs brushing over his skin, “did you know that skin to skin contact reduces the amount of cortisol in your body?”

Eddie can’t stop touching him—hands on his waist, stroking up his back, digging his fingertips into Buck’s biceps as they kiss. He hums, reeling in his desperation, the desire that sings through his frantic heartbeat. “Got any suggestions?”

“I can think of a few,” Buck says, and his fingertips dance along the hemline of Eddie’s shirt.

----

Later—hours later—Eddie’s sprawled out on his front, head pillowed on Buck’s shoulder, fingertips counting out the steady beat of Buck’s pulse as Buck sweeps his hand gently up and down Eddie’s back. And he loves it, but—“you don’t have to keep touching me,” he says into Buck’s skin. “Don’t feel like—”

“Do you like it?”

“Yeah,” he says, quietly.

“Then let me keep doing it,” Buck says, pressing a kiss to the top of his head.

#buddie #buddie fic #evan buckley #eddie diaz #two touch starved fools tbh #soft soft soft #happy birthday elisa!

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marginsofmarga · 3 years ago

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You are a Survivor: A Reminder to my Future Self

Dear Survivor,

On the 12th day of January 2000, a bouncing baby girl was born and was destined to meet the world. She was innocently ecstatic, bursting into tears as a newborn, and her parents couldn’t be more grateful to have her as their daughter. As she turned eighth months, her parents were in disbelief for she had to deal with a serious medical condition called intussusception — a form of bowel obstruction in which one segment of the intestine telescopes inside of another. She was in a 50-50 situation during that time and the doctors did not provide any assurance for her to live when she had to undergo a surgical operation.

The baby girl was you.

Yes, you. Luckily, here you are. You made it. Your life started after such a tragic incident. In an early age like that, you are already a survivor. What a precious privilege it is for you to be alive. You have a purpose and it is yet to be discovered.

But brace yourself because it’s going to be one heck of a roller coaster ride.

Anxiety and the ‘new normal’

Growing up, you are this girl who is full of fears. You are afraid of anything that might put you in danger and you are terrified of the uncertainty. Diving deeper, your big fear is not knowing what the future holds. And I‘m sure a lot of people can relate.

This fear was especially present when the COVID-19 pandemic began. The world seems to have ground to a halt because of the virus. As a fearful person, this is such a big deal. In retrospect, conditions created by the pandemic were taking a psychological toll. You were full of anxieties that you even experience panic attacks. Remember how difficult it was when you couldn’t sleep? And how overthinking consumed you for months? You were drowning in pain and fright and you never knew when it will be over. You were stressed about so many things: your health if ever you and your loved ones catch the virus, the mental agony it creates, your education when setbacks and transitions happened, the stress of what this year would be like, the postponed travels, and all the uncertainty. Anxiety bugged you for too long. It took all your strength.

Think about where you were earlier last year. You were in your second year in college. Just before the world slowed down, you were just a typical college student who tries her best to go through the day of university life. Back then, you were kilometers away from home which required you to rent a dormitory. On weekdays, you basically had a routine – waking up as the sun rises, getting ready for school, wearing your neatly ironed uniform and taking a short commute when going to school. Having meaningful lessons, small talks during the breaks with your friends, exchanging information with your professors, and learning day by day made the regular jiffs worth it. Later on, the pandemic took place. It felt as if the world stopped. Everything changed in a split second. Over the past few months, you’ve experienced an unprecedented shift in your way of life due to COVID-19. Coping up with the transition from face-to-face to online classes wasn’t easy.

The journey you’ve been through was on a rugged terrain and so full of ups and downs. You were stuck at home juggling chores, classes and your side hustle, content creation. It seemed so difficult to adjust; there was a change in the situation of class’ atmosphere, you struggled with time-management and self-motivation along the way, workload is way larger than regular classes, barriers occur such as bad internet service, power interruptions and so on. Not to mention creating content when you are not at your best. All these left you in a crucial spot.

Challenges as the virus came closer

It was in the month of March when you found out that your grandmother, 72 years old, tested positive for COVID-19. Much to your disbelief, you were scared to death. It felt as if a thorn got pricked in your heart. Your grandma means so much to you. She is such a remarkable woman. A heart like hers would give so unselfishly. She’s a combination of love and laughter. The thought of losing her is painful to handle.

Fortunately, she was asymptomatic. But we never knew what might happen in a snap.

The pandemic is impacting everyone. And your family wasn’t an exception. It meant making big changes in everyday routines and raised anxiety in every household member. The alarming numbers gave you a picture of how deadly the virus is. It’s killing people on a large scale. So much about the virus is out of your control. Not just the virus itself but all other aspects of life.

Time often makes you play the waiting game. It quickly passes by when you want it to stay still, but doesn’t seem to tick at all when you want it to hurry up. At this point, you are deeply hoping that the pandemic comes to an end.

Disastrous encounters

In the early morning of November 1, 2020, Super Typhoon Rolly (International name, Goni), made its first landfall in the Philippines in Bicol – with catastrophic winds of up to 280 kilometers per hour and torrential rainfall. Reading about the weather update, you began to ponder how tormenting it is to deal with such predicament: super typhoon in time of pandemic. That’s two disasters in a row.

Can you recall waking up to howling winds and heavy-pouring rains? Of course you could. It was almost seven o’clock in the morning. Windows were intensely rattling in the wind. Some were even shattering. You were in your room full of worries, wondering when the catastrophe will end as your door started to tremble caused by the blustery weather. You immediately got up and went to your parents’ room. Your little brothers were still asleep. Your mom was securing some of your belongings and your dad wasn’t there so you looked for him outside through peeking by the window. You spotted him taking his good ‘ole motorcycles out of the garage and transferring those in the front gate. As you saw that the flood started to rise, you ran into your room and packed all of your things in plastic bags. As you finish, you prepared for breakfast. There were drizzles from the kitchen windows due to the gushing rain. Picking up new door mats was your idea but just then, the flood water began to enter. You tried to mop it out at first until it became too much too handle. It was not just a wet floor anymore. You continued to put everything on high places of the house. You weren’t sure whether the flood is going to reach above the ankle as usual but as several minutes or so passed, the water started to reach the knees and outside the house, the water reached the thighs of an average person.

It was a great relief that you were living in a two-storey house, but the second floor was usually untouched and unoccupied, and at that exceptional moment, it was your only safe refuge. That isolated part of the house had to be cleaned first so you and your brothers had to wait sitting on the stairs for the meantime. Almost everything was a bit slippery and taking a few steps to the stairs, your mom accidentally slid and fell on her buttocks, leaving her semi-injured with a small wound on the heel. Aching in pain, there she was as your anxiety began to escalate with everything that was happening.

It was past 12 o’clock during noon as the rain lie low and the strong winds stopped. Meanwhile, flood water kept entering the house. It even reached your bed. The unprecedented intensity of the calamity made the water rise so high. Other appliances were soaked in flood water. You all tried to secure everything in the house, but the sight of flood-affected area was horrible.

It seemed such a cruel irony that while battling the pandemic, a disaster as strong as Rolly made repercussions to your family and other families. It was such a struggle to recover from the losses. Some appliances were broken and your dad’s piggery was devastated. The agricultural damage it also brought to the small rice field your dad was handling affected your finances. The calamity knocked out mobile phone services, uprooted trees and destroyed critical infrastructures. The neighboring towns, particularly those which are near Mayon Volcano were engulfed in floodwater and volcanic mudflows. How awful! It was a twofold challenge on your concern. You badly want to help but you’re still a jobless student.

Just days after the onslaught of Typhoon Rolly, Typhoon Ulysses roughly crossed the same track and made landfall on November 11. Disaster after disaster. Destruction after destruction – in the midst of a pandemic. It was unbelievable, it was beyond imagination, and all at the same time, dreadful.

Multiple factors contributed to this turnabout. Most of the time, caused by circumstances beyond anybody’s control.

The rise after the fall

When you were in despair, you prayed everyday and kept your faith intact hoping and believing that everything’s going to be all right. You stayed strong when you are at your weakest and you let God move in His mysterious ways. Tomorrow awaits. There is hope. The anxieties were no longer haunting you. You realized that you are doing the best you can, you are letting go of the things you cannot control and you start to focus on things that actually matter. You learned to embrace the uncertainty by accompanying it with faith. Your greatest fears especially the consequences of this pandemic took all your strength but there was redemption. It may be chaotic as it seems but you managed to make it through. The girl who was full of fears is now full of strength.

You survived your online classes, finished the whole semester alongside content creation with new projects coming in, and you adapted to a new reality. The monstrous and unimaginable situation brought by the virus was difficult to deal with but you still took control of what you can actually muster. You learned to manage your time wisely. You created a workspace and followed a study schedule. You made learning a joy. You made content creation a passion. You tried your best in keeping your spirits up for the sake of surpassing all of the hardships.

One afternoon, while you were running errands with your mom, a notification popped. You were informed by a block mate that you are a dean’s lister. Wow. It made your parents proud. You were bursting in bliss. It was totally fulfilling. Memories suddenly flashed back. You remember all the challenges you faced, the hardwork you made and the efforts you poured bore an academic achievement in the midst of the pandemic. It all paid off.

Look at your grandmother. She’s doing well, healthy and is now back to her normal routine. You also get to spend more time with her now. A new tradition for the family was made. Every month, there is a “family day” where joyful memories are created. Being with your family is a blessing, take note of that. Don’t be so busy watching out for what’s ahead of you but rather, enjoy where you are. Never miss any opportunity to spend time with your loved ones.

When two super typhoons as powerful as Rolly and Ulysses both left trails of destruction in your region, it terribly affected many families and your family wasn’t an exception. It struck as the Philippines continues to battle the pandemic. Despite it all, your family recovered. After the previous crops have been ravaged by the merciless storms, the succeeding harvest was a bounty.

Seeing how the super typhoons affected millions of people in eight regions, it made your heart shatter. There was something in you that wanted to lend a helping hand not only to your family but to the community as well. Good thing, an opportunity came. You were asked to be the chairperson in your town for a relief operation called Barya Ni Juan, a movement made by Discover MNL in collaboration with Bicol Bloggers and other Bicolano brands, which provided aid for 1,000 families in 10 Bicolano communities that were gravely affected by Typhoon Rolly and Ulysses. Of course, you accepted the offer without thinking twice. With the help of your friends, you managed to accomplish the mission by distributing 500 peso-worth each relief pack to 100 homes. It may be a small act of kindness but you saw smiles on many faces. It felt gratifying. The greater your storm, the brighter your rainbow.

What a life! You’ve learned that things don’t always turn out the way you planned or the way you think they should. You’ve learned that you can turn pain into power and you can overcome anything that was meant to destroy you. You’ve become patient with yourself and your growth, knowing that good things take time. You fell so many times but you were able to get back up.

Be proud of how far you’ve come – the silent battles you fought, the adversities you faced, the moments you had to wipe your own tears and pat yourself on the back. You’ve gone through the dark side of life but you have gained strength, courage and confidence like no other.

Always remind yourself these:

“I surpassed many challenges.” “I am capable of everything I set my mind into.” “I take every setback and use it to my advantage.”

One day, you’ll look back and you’ll tell yourself you are indeed a survivor.

With love and light, A stronger version of yourself

_______________________________________________________________________

This story is an entry to ComCo Southeast Asia’s “Write to Ignite Blogging Project Season 2: Dear Survivor”. The initiative continues to respond to the need of our times, as every story comes a long way during this period of crisis. The initiative aims to pull and collate powerful stories from the Philippine blogging communities to inspire the nation to rise and move forward amidst the difficult situation. The “Write to Ignite Blogging Project” Season 2 is made possible by ComCo Southeast Asia, with Eastern Communications and Jobstreet as co-presenters, with AirAsia and Xiaomi as major sponsors, and with Teleperformance as sponsor.

#survivor #pandemic #writing #inspire #tumblr #inspiration #letter

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aliciameade · 4 years ago

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Desperate Measures - Ch. 4/4

Title: Desperate Measures Author: aliciameade Rating: E for Everyone in the building now hates Apartment 3N Pairing: Beca/Chloe Summary: Mid-PP3. They are quarantined. Chloe and Beca have everything they need to weather the mandated period of social distancing and staying home: food, water, shelter, games, entertainment, and each other’s company.

The one thing they don’t have?

Much-needed privacy.

Also on AO3

Dedicated to my dearest @becabottommitchell. 🎯 😘

~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~

Beca wasn’t sure how Chloe’s and her newfound dynamic would change once Fat Amy returned to their lives.

They’d had two months of isolation together and, quite frankly, Beca had all but forgotten there was an entire world filled with other people beyond their four walls. And she really wasn’t a fan of any of them.

She was, however, a big fan of the person whose fingertips were wandering inconspicuously along her left thigh.

They’re meant to be working together to clean the kitchen after the dinner the three had made but Amy had excused herself, explaining that she needed to get ready for her Hot Date with someone, conveniently leaving the mess to Chloe and Beca.

Beca had decided to take on the dishes while Chloe finished clearing the table and stove but following Chloe’s most recent trip to the sink where Beca stood, she’d dropped in the dishes instead of walking away, had stepped behind Beca.

It had made every hair on the back of her neck stand up when she sensed Chloe’s proximity and Chloe had giggled in her ear at Beca’s shiver the second her fingertips grazed the skin just below the hem of her dress.

“What are you doing?” she says under her breath, hand tightening so much on the plate she’s washing that it slips out and back into the water with a splash.

“Touching you,” Chloe answers breezily, as though she’s flipping through a magazine or shopping for shoes online. As if to reinforce her answer, her fingertips travel higher until they’re lifting Beca’s dress to glide over her hip and back down to where they tease a few inches above her knee. “Is that okay?”

“Amy’s literally right there,” she whispers, clanging a few dishes in the sink to help cover her words.

Chloe’s response is just a hum followed by her fingers meandering their way higher once again. They don’t seem to be making their destination clear, though Beca’s body has a pretty good idea regardless. She can feel the way it’s responding to Chloe and it’s almost embarrassing how quickly she’s aroused.

Amy’s loud voice cuts through her thoughts, however. “Red or black?”

She feels Chloe move away from her as though she turned around. It’s a few seconds of reprieve from the oppressive arousal that is invading her mind and body.

“Ooh, go with the black,” Chloe replies.

“Red it is,” Amy says confidently. The sound of hangers screeching across the clothing rack that serves to weakly divide Amy’s sleeping area from Chloe and Beca’s follows, as does Chloe’s presence behind Beca.

“What if I took you right now?” The words are whispered hotly in Beca’s ear and they, along with Chloe’s fingers quickly ascending her inner thigh, make her drop the same plate she’d dropped a minute earlier. “Think I can make you come before she finishes changing?”

Beca’s vision blurs. She has little doubt Chloe could make good on her hypotheticals. Maybe it’s because Amy’s return to their lives was sudden and unexpected, leaving the current evolution of their relationship without a label. Maybe it’s because they didn’t get one last grand hurrah before having a third party present almost all hours of the day. But it’s been three days since they regained their roommate and three days without what had become Beca’s new normal: frequent and often intense physical affection and attention from Chloe.

Even under the cover of darkness, in bed together at night, they seemed to silently and mutually agree to keep their distance from one another. They hadn’t so much as kissed since the day Amy returned.

To say she was horny was an understatement.

And now Chloe’s teasing her, touching her in not-quite-there places that she hasn’t touched her in what feels like an eternity with the promise for more with Amy’s departure from the apartment imminent. The first time they’ll be alone in 72 hours.

“You’re not going to answer me?” Chloe doesn’t whisper it, innocuous a question as it is out-of-context, and it, along with her finger brushing over the thin material of Beca’s underwear between her legs shakes Beca out of her reverie to send her hips rocking forward with a gasp and the word, “Shit.”

“Did you cut yourself on my Ginsu, Shawshank?”

No, Beca did not cut herself on Amy’s home shopping network-purchased knife. She might as well have, though, for as hard as her heart is beating. “Nope!” she grinds out, hoping she can deter Amy from coming to investigate. “Thought I did but I’m not bleeding.”

“Those knives can cut through a steel can and still slice tomatoes paper-thin; don’t dull them up.”

“Yep, got it!” she spits and sends a side-eye in Chloe’s direction at the satisfied chuckle next to her ear. “She’s going to catch us if you don’t stop,” she says, lowering her voice.

“Maybe if you could control yourself.” There’s a smirk in Chloe’s tone and Beca tries to brace herself for it because she knows, she knows Chloe’s going to touch her again and just when she thinks it’s coming, the warmth of Chloe’s proximity disappears, accompanied by the scrape of hangers again.

“Ooh, you look great!” Chloe says cheerfully. “Doesn’t she, Bec?”

Beca has to hang her head and gather her thoughts before slapping on a smile to turn and look. “Yep! Go get ‘em, tiger,” she says a bit disdainfully. It’s not fair how turned on she is and it’s not fair that Amy’s taking approximately three millennia to leave for her date which, if history remains true, will likely keep her out all night.

“I don’t want to come home to any broken furniture,” Amy says casually as she drops an alarming collection of items into an oversized purse, of which Beca doesn’t want to think about when she’s potentially seconds away from desperately needed release. “And I have a blacklight. I will be inspecting all communal surfaces when I return.”

“Ew,” Beca grimaces as she turns back to stare idly at the sink full of water and dishes. She should just pull the plug and give up on the task and she dries her hands on the dishtowel in resignation. She wonders if Amy’s bluffing or if she does have a blacklight and has used it and what it’s already revealed.

“You got it,” Chloe chirps. It’s not a denial that such an inspection won’t be necessary and that floors Beca even further.

To Amy’s credit, despite her tendencies to tease her friends to the point of harassment, she hasn’t said much about Chloe and Beca since her first day back. She’d called them out but had also shut up about it which Beca was very grateful for. Considering the myriad possibilities, the threat of a blacklight wasn’t much. She knew they’d hooked up. At least she wasn’t adding undue stress about defining their relationship.

Beca was putting enough pressure on herself for that, trying to figure out what to do and what to say.

But for now, she was listening to Amy and Chloe’s idle conversation and the sounds of Amy putting on her shoes and picking up her keys, all the while feeling Chloe’s presence hovering behind her. Close enough that their elbows touch.

“Don’t wait up!” is the last thing she hears Amy say before the door closes behind her.

The sound of it latching makes Beca slump against the counter. “I thought she’d never leave.”

“Stop talking,” Chloe says and her voice is so blunt it makes Beca stand up straight again, only to be pinned against the sharp edge of the counter by Chloe’s body pressing into her as their lips reconnect for the first time in days.

Beca just nods at the command and wraps her arms around Chloe’s neck to accept the hard, demanding kiss.

“Fuck, I want you so much,” Chloe breathes as her lips slide to Beca’s neck. Her hands are already on Beca’s thighs and Beca steps wider to accommodate her. She kind of wishes they would at least relocate to their bed, first, but she has no real complaints. Not when Chloe’s fingers are already between her legs, rubbing against the soaked fabric of her underwear.

Beca moans in response and pushes her hips forward. She wants more: hard, fast, wet, deep. All of it. It’s been too long. She wants Chloe, too.

The sudden onslaught of heat is, however, interrupted by the sound of the door banging open again.

“Forgot my manacles. Pretend I’m not here.”

Chloe’s mouth disappears from Beca’s skin, both of them jumping in surprise at Amy’s unexpected, loud return.

“Did she say manacles?” Beca says, voice hushed as she breathes hard, heart racing.

Despite her abruptly pulling her mouth away from Beca’s neck, Chloe’s still just as close as she had been, and her fingers are still pressing against Beca. They’re even moving, if only slightly. “Not going to think about that right now.”

“Oh, my God, stop,” Beca says when she realizes it, too startled by the interruption to notice it sooner. Her hand seizes Chloe’s forearm but she can’t quite bring herself to actually push her away, not when Chloe’s eyes are so dark and locked onto her own.

Beca can see Amy in her periphery, mostly obscured by the clothing rack as she moves around her space rifling through drawers.

Something about that, about Amy acknowledging that she was interrupting something while pointedly ignoring it while she busies herself looking for her manacles (?), scratches at a part of Beca she hadn’t really known existed, and suddenly she’s shaking her head.

“No, don’t stop,” she quietly amends, pushing Chloe’s hand harder against herself.

She watches the effect of her permission slip into Chloe’s features: a pink blush in her cheeks, eyes wide with surprise, her lower lip snagged between her teeth as her fingers keep working against Beca.

Beca can see the challenge in her eyes, can sense that Chloe’s remembering her daring questions from a few minutes ago about how quickly she could get Beca off. But Beca shakes her head; she doesn’t want that. Amy’s right there even if she is distracted and Beca really doesn’t want to be mid-orgasm when she finds what she needs and waltzes through the kitchen where Chloe is actively fucking her.

Chloe seems to understand because she does ease up the slightest bit when Beca releases her death-grip on her arm in favor of gripping the counter. She can still remember the last time she was gripping this counter; she’s been bent over their now-disposed-of kitchen table while Chloe railed her to within an inch of her sanity.

The memory zips right to her core and she can actually feel herself get wetter because of it. She knows Chloe feels it, too, because she moans, so, so quietly that it doesn’t even really leave her throat, and runs her fingers agonizingly slowly further, even teasing Beca’s entrance through her still-present underwear.

She has to close her eyes and try to focus on keeping it together. She can’t moan or work herself against Chloe’s hand or even kiss her; all of that would be too obvious. She focuses on her breathing and the way Chloe’s own warm breath drifts over her lips, a constant reminder of her closeness as if the fingers slowly driving Beca insane weren’t enough. The sound of heavy, thick metal suddenly rings out and her eyes snap open to meet Chloe’s equally surprised and somewhat amused gaze.

“Found ‘em!” Amy announces, and the clanging of metal increases as, Beca assumes based on what she can see without looking away from Chloe, she adds large metal restraints to her bag of tricks. “I’ll be outta here in a jiffy. Didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“It’s fine,” Chloe says lightly, like she’s not actively slipping her fingers under the edge of Beca’s underwear so her fingertips can massage—so, so slowly—Beca’s clit directly.

It makes a whimper escape Beca’s clenched jaw and she turns her head to appear very interested in the yellowed laminated paper glued to the side of the ceiling cabinet containing instructions on using the fire extinguisher that supposedly came with their apartment (it did not). She hears Chloe chuckle and sees Amy emerge from her area, oversized bag clanging as it swings over her shoulder. She knows Chloe’s body is obscuring what she’s doing, but that doesn’t stop the massive blush she feels hit her cheeks.

“Okay, I’m out of here once again,” Amy says, opening the door only to stop and keep talking. “I promise to knock if I need to come back for anything. I know you two have been keeping your knees closed since I got home and I can’t tell you how much I appreciate that and I realize you are probably really looking forward to my being gone tonight. But I’ll have to come back if I decide I need my strawberry-flavored—”

“Amy, leave!” Beca says, a little more forcefully than she intended it to be, but Chloe had chosen that exact moment to slip the tip of her finger inside Beca, even as she’s turning to smile at their departing roommate.

“Don’t get your panties in a twist. I’m sure Chloe could help you out of them if you needed it though,” she adds, very conspicuously under her breath. “I’m going, I’m going.”

“Have a good night!” Chloe chirps.

Together, they watch the door close, Chloe already pushing the length of her middle finger into Beca while keys and the deadbolt jangle and clunk as Amy locks it. If she returns, at least they’ll have a few extra seconds’ warning.

“Oh, my God,” Beca says, and she means to groan it but it comes out more like a desperate whine, but she doesn’t care. Chloe’s lips are waiting for her when she turns back from staring at the cabinet.

“That was so hot,” Chloe says before her tongue is filling Beca’s mouth, doing dirty things that rival what she’s doing between Beca’s legs.

Beca hums in agreement and rocks her hips forward when the heel of Chloe’s hand grinds into her clit. “You’re really gonna make me stand up for this?” she pants when Chloe’s lips travel to her neck once again.

“Just the first one,” she answers simply as a second finger slides in next to the first to make Beca lift herself up on her tiptoes for a few seconds before she’s pushing herself down onto them to try to take them deeper.

“First one?” She needs more. No, she doesn’t need more; she knows she’s going to come, and quickly. But she wants more. She wants Chloe all night. She wants to piss off their neighbors again by making Chloe scream her name. The ferocity with which she simply wants Chloe in all senses of the term is an almost startling thought to have in the middle of getting fucked in the kitchen and it takes everything she has to not say something dumb.

Instead, she moans, “Faster,” and shifts her weight to her one foot so she can wrap her leg around Chloe’s waist, but before she can, Chloe’s twisting away from her. Her free hand grabs the nearest chair to spin and drag it over and for a second, Beca thinks she’s going to get to sit down but Chloe just pushes it against the counter next to Beca.

“Here,” she says, guiding Beca’s foot to rest on the seat of the chair instead of having to balance on one foot. It also parts her legs spectacularly wide.

“Oh, fuck,” Beca manages to laugh through a moan.

“Good?” Chloe asks, but it’s rhetorical. She’s no longer kissing Beca; instead, she’s watching. Watching her face, looking down—and lifting Beca’s skirt out of the way—and watching her hand as her fingers slide and curl their way in and out of Beca again and again.

But Beca nods anyway. It’s good. It’s so, so fucking good and watching Chloe watching how she’s fucking Beca has her—

“Shit, I’m so close,” she gasps, the first pings of her orgasm already making her hips twitch as her arms loop around Chloe’s neck again to try to keep from sinking to the floor.

The words make Chloe’s eyes snap to her face, dark eyes begging before she even says, “God, yes, come for me, Bec.”

Chloe doesn’t bother kissing her to shut her up. Chloe wants to hear her so she lets her hear, moaning and swearing as she comes with Chloe’s fingers buried as deeply as they possibly can be.

She does kiss her once it’s passed and Beca’s trying to catch her breath, whining when Chloe withdraws from her because she’s not nearly ready to be finished yet. But the kiss is satisfactory enough for now because they haven’t kissed in three days and she’s pretty sure she could kiss Chloe forever and still want to kiss her again.

With Chloe’s hand no longer between them, she fits between Beca’s parted legs and Beca’s immediately grateful when Chloe’s hips, and the rough denim covering them, start to rock slowly against her. She has to hike her skirt up and out of the way, and she hates that she’s still wearing underwear, but they’re so wet they slide deliciously against her with every roll of Chloe’s hips.

She’s the one to break the kiss after a few too many just-right connections. “You said just the first one.” Maybe she should feel pathetic for how needy she is, but she can’t find it in herself to care.

“Okay, okay,” Chloe says with a playful roll of her eyes as she takes a step back and aside and gestures to let Beca pass. “After you.”

Beca rolls her eyes in return and hurries across the room on somewhat unsteady legs until she’s standing at the foot of their bed. She’s suddenly filled with uncertainty, however. Should she crawl into bed and let Chloe undress her? Should she wait and see what Chloe has in mind next?

When Chloe isn’t immediately with her, she turns around to find out why, only to see Chloe just standing where she’s been the entire time, just looking at Beca as if she’s waiting for something.

There’s a shred of being given control that comes with Chloe hanging back and it emboldens her to bring her hands to the first button on her dress, the one that sits nestled at the top of her cleavage, to unbutton it.

The action gets Chloe’s attention and her demeanor shifts from waiting for something to actively watching, eyes furtively bouncing from Beca’s fingers as they undo button after button. It’s not really necessary to be able to remove her dress; she could simply pull it up and over her head at any time. But holding Chloe’s rapt attention and seeing the excitement and desire that builds with each small button slipping out of its hole is intoxicating.

She knows her bra is visible in the small gap that lengthens with each button. It has Chloe’s attention, eyes no longer quite reaching Beca’s, fixating on the skin she’s revealing and tracking her hands’ path until she’s undoing the final button at her waist. All that’s left to do is let it slip off her shoulders and fall.

“Take it off,” Chloe finally says after Beca makes her wait too long.

All it takes is a shrug of her shoulders and a tug on the hem to let the patterned dress slink off her body to pool on the floor at her feet.

She’d expected the moment, one that has felt somewhat suspended in dreamy time, to extend further, for Chloe to stare and drink in her form the way Beca would do if their positions were reversed, to ask Beca to continue undressing for Chloe’s enjoyment.

Instead, Chloe advances so quickly she hasn’t quite finished taking the breath she knows she’ll need when Chloe’s lips are claiming hers again. Warm, strong hands are everywhere and she feels her bra loosen and get stripped away, followed by her breasts being claimed and held and squeezed in such a desperate, demanding way she realizes she hasn’t given much thought that Chloe is probably in a similar state as herself with their sudden hiatus.

“Lay down,” Chloe says with a sudden breaking of their kiss. Except she doesn’t stand back and let Beca do it herself. Her hands twist Beca by the hips to face the bed before she’s half-falling, half-crawling onto it. “Stay like that.”

The request instantly makes the back of her neck hot as she relaxes into the bed on her stomach, though nothing about her is at ease. She can hear Chloe undressing behind her, the tell-tale sounds of fabric shifting and the metal teeth of the zipper of her jeans before the soft tink of their button hitting the floor tells her Chloe’s naked. Or mostly naked. She wants to twist her neck and look but it’s more fun to not know.

She’s startled and relieved when Chloe’s hands finally land on her calves, especially when they travel higher so quickly until she can feel Chloe climbing onto the bed behind her. Hands travel higher still until they’re palming her ass and she can feel hard nipples grazing the backs of her knees before teeth lightly but pointedly sink into the soft flesh along the edge of her underwear.

“Shit,” she can’t help but gasp, her back bowing from the way her body is responding to Chloe’s almost demanding touch. Fingers curl under the waistband of her underwear and pull. They’re so ruined that she hopes Chloe notices and is proud of her work as they’re peeled down her legs and tossed aside.

“You’re so hot,” Chloe breathes, hot against her back before wet kisses start dropping in random places. Her right shoulder. The back of her neck. Along her ribs on her left side. Chloe’s hands are still seemingly everywhere, fingernails dragging lightly down her back only to warmly slide up her sides, working their way under Beca until her breasts are in her hands and Chloe’s hips grind forward against her ass.

The feeling makes her jaw drop and a shudder runs down her back as her own hips try to press up and back, wanting contact that is only being hinted at as Chloe grinds into her, mouthing at her back and neck and making every part of her ache with need.

She’s about to beg for more when she feels Chloe lift away from her, hands skirting down her ribs to start tugging on her hips until she’s pushing herself up and onto her elbows and knees. The position makes her head spin and she presses her forehead into the mattress to brace herself. She bites her lip at the memory that springs up of all the times she was “forced” to watch Chloe do yoga on the floor, and that she’s basically in frog pose. She’d laughed at its name at the time but that was only to mask all the thoughts she’d had about how it was a wildly sexual position.

And now here she is.

“Just like that,” Chloe praises and Beca feels a hand run up her back until it’s scratching at the nape of her neck and twisting into her hair. The other moves around to Beca’s stomach and then down until her fingers are slipping through Beca’s wetness again.

The sudden contact makes Beca moan and rock backward, instantly in search of more. Always more. “Fuck.”

“I can’t believe how wet you are.” Fingers sink into Beca as though to make her point and the fullness she feels with it makes her walk her knees wider.

She knows it’s three inside her, not two, and she clenches around them, moaning as she tries to pull Chloe deeper. “Fuck, Chlo. Please.”

There’s a gentle tug on her hair that feels less than accidental. It felt a lot like a reminder of who’s in charge at the moment but despite that, her hair is released and nails drag down her spine again. Fingers slip out of her, then, and she whines in irritation only to feel them slip in again, this time from another angle. This time from behind, while the three that just withdrew from her start, with no teasing or hesitation, rubbing her clit.

“Oh, fuck,” she stutters, biting her lip because she doesn’t want to get too loud too soon. She’s bent over on the bed, Chloe behind her—kneeling between her parted legs, she assumes—using both of her hands to fuck Beca. “Oh, God don’t stop.”

Chloe doesn’t answer her. She just moves more quickly. Faster circles onto her clit. Faster fingers pumping into her cunt. Except as soon as Beca starts to get close, as soon as her moan is too obviously on-edge, Chloe eases off Beca’s clit and it drops her right back down to where she started. Maybe a degree or two higher. All but back at the beginning.

It’s maddening.

And it’s thrilling.

Chloe’s not exactly teasing her, though she is pointedly denying her an inevitable release.

“So good,” she says after a groan of agony when her orgasm gets yanked away from her again, only for it to start rebuilding immediately. She’s almost nervous about how hard she’s going to come when Chloe finally lets her.

She feels Chloe moving behind her, though her pace and rhythm fucking Beca barely falters. There’s a shifting of the bed, a squeaking of a different spring that isn’t one of the ones already whining and from their motion. She can see Chloe behind her at the very edge of her vision when she opens her eyes and turns to let her cheek rest against the bed instead of her forehead. She’s not directly behind Beca anymore and she’s still trying to figure out what’s happening when she feels the hot slickness that she knows is Chloe settling over her left calf.

Chloe moans with the contact, as does Beca who flexes her leg on instinct to harden the muscle just as Chloe drags herself against it.

Neither says anything but it’s a mutual acknowledgment. Chloe is so turned on she needs relief herself but her hands are both too busy with Beca to touch herself. Beca’s happy to provide what she can in her position.

She can only watch for a few seconds before it threatens to give her a headache from straining, the blurry silhouette of Chloe astride her leg, rutting herself against it wantonly.

“Fuck, Beca,” she finally moans after what feels like several minutes of Chloe not easing up. It makes Beca shiver and tense up in anticipation that Chloe might come soon. That Chloe might let her come soon.

The spot Chloe’s reaching in her right now, though, might not give Chloe any say in the matter. It’s making Beca’s fingers twist into the bedding to ground herself because she feels like she might ascend any second.

Only Chloe fucking stops and the groan that gets ripped from Beca’s throat is ripe with frustration, enough that she hears Chloe laugh. “What’s wrong?” Chloe asks entirely too cheerfully for what’s happening. But Chloe doesn’t just stop, she actually pulls out of Beca. She almost deflates in agony but Chloe’s hands catch her hips before she can and she can tell she’s moving again.

“Fuck off,” Beca replies though it’s all sexual frustration and no ire. She’s already resigned herself to being at Chloe’s mercy for whatever she feels like doing to her tonight. She knows it will be worth it in the end if she can find the patience.

She can’t see Chloe anymore if she opens her eyes and she doesn’t bother trying to lift her head. She likes not knowing what’s going to happen next. She can tell Chloe’s moving away from her; she’s not straddling her leg anymore. The hands on her hips move to her ass to grip it, almost tugging on it possessively and Beca chokes on air when Chloe’s tongue is suddenly pressing into her.

“What...fuck…” she groans, pushing herself up onto her elbows again so she can let her head hang. It’s too hard to breathe otherwise. Not when Chloe’s tongue is inside her. Not when it audibly slides out to instead lick at her swollen clit.

There’s movement again and this time she feels Chloe’s body settling between her legs and she cranes her neck down enough to look down her own body to see Chloe on her back, already pulling Beca down toward her face. She manages to wonder if Chloe knows Beca’s looking because her tongue is literally out and waiting like she wants Beca to see and both of them moan when Beca lets her knees slide wider apart until she’s on Chloe’s tongue.

She should have known Chloe would be just as merciless with her mouth as she’d been with her hands. There are only a few seconds of gentle grazing before Chloe has her clit between her lips to suck on it.

All Beca can really do is hold on. Chloe’s grip is so tight around her thighs she can barely move. Her hips want to rock, want to ride Chloe’s face, but she can’t.

At least Chloe doesn’t let up when Beca lets a moan slip that is a dead giveaway that she’s close.

“Please,” she says between gasping breaths and moans. “Fuck, please…”

Chloe’s answering hum lilts positively and she sucks harder. Like she’s giving Beca permission. Permission she hadn’t consciously been waiting for but somehow needed because as soon as it registers as permission, the orgasm that’s been denied at least half a dozen times in the past however many minutes crashes through her with frightening intensity. She can’t breathe but somehow can’t stop moaning. She can’t hold herself up but Chloe’s hands keep her from potentially suffocating her...roommate. She can’t feel her own fingers but she can feel the way her body is pulsing around the fingers that she doesn’t remember slipping into her with the new position.

A particularly strong aftershock lurches her forward and out of Chloe’s grasp, leaving her to gasp to catch her breath and try to recover, even as she feels Chloe’s lips on the curves of her ass and up her spine and across her shoulders until she sees through blurry vision as Chloe stretches out on her back alongside her, smiling at Beca until Chloe’s eyes close with a moan. Beca doesn’t have to look down to know Chloe’s touching herself; she’s watched her do it enough times that she knows exactly what it looks and sounds like.

But she does anyway because she’ll never get tired of watching Chloe fuck herself until she’s coming and moaning Beca’s name. She wants to help. She wants to turn onto her side and push Chloe’s hand away and take over.

Her heart is still pounding, though, and all she can manage is to reach a tired hand over to rest it on Chloe’s just to feel. She’s touching herself hard and fast and it doesn’t help Beca’s pulse to slow. The connection makes Chloe moan her name and it draws Beca’s eyes back up to her face. Chloe’s gaze is on her, though it frequently drifts as her eyelashes flutter the closer she gets.

Chloe’s climax hits her hard, thighs closing to trap her and Beca’s hands between them while she rides it out.

“God, I needed that so much,” Chloe says with a sigh of relief after a minute or two, head lolling to the left to look at Beca with an easy, contented smile.

Beca’s sure she herself still looks wrecked, but she can’t find it in herself to care. She manages a breathy laugh. “You’re telling me. Fuck, dude.”

Chloe’s smile brightens and she shimmies her shoulders a little. She’s proud. “Good?”

Beca laughs again, this time in disbelief because ‘good’ doesn’t even begin to describe what she just experienced.

“Gonna assume that means yes.”

“Mm, you’d be right,” Beca replies, finally finding the strength to stretch. “I owe you.”

“You don’t owe me anything.”

Beca glances at her as she stretches until she’s working herself onto her side so they can look at each other more easily. “Still going to repay you though. Just...need a few for minutes. I can almost feel my legs again.”

Chloe bursts into laughter at that and it makes Beca’s heart skip a beat. It’s never been so easy to be with anyone. Certainly not after sex.

And the sex.

She knows it’s cliche, but she’s had the best sex of her life with Chloe.

And she’s just as happy with Chloe when they aren’t having sex; if she wasn’t, they wouldn’t have been friends for so many years.

But she really, really misses the sex when they aren’t having it.

She knows what that all means but she shoves it away and instead works on gathering her strength because she’s determined to make Chloe come just as hard as she’d been made to. She knows Chloe would be fine with things if they fell asleep right now and that only makes Beca want her more. She also can’t accept the fact that Chloe’s fucked her senseless twice already and Beca’s barely had a chance to touch her tonight.

She hasn’t touched her at all. Not really.

Even if Chloe’s insisting Beca owes her nothing in return, she’s not-subtly suggesting she wouldn’t be opposed by lifting her hand, fingers still wet from herself, to Beca’s lips.

She needed an energy shot and Chloe’s given it to her. She can’t stop the moan that comes with tasting Chloe as she parts her lips to take her slender middle finger into her mouth. It spurs her on until she’s sitting up, Chloe’s hand falling away so Beca can move over until she’s leaning down to kiss Chloe and her hips fit between Chloe’s parted thighs.

She can tell Chloe’s trying to hold back, and as thoughtful and sweet as Beca finds that to be, she doesn’t want it. She kisses harder, rolling her hips against Chloe until Chloe’s fingernails dig into Beca where her hands have been idly resting.

“I wanna fuck you,” Beca says when she breaks from their kiss. The look on Chloe’s face at her statement is very telling.

“Who’s stopping you?” She’s a little breathless and her hips are still pushing up into Beca’s in the rhythm Beca had set, though Beca’s no longer moving.

The statement is one of consent in its sexiest form. It makes her bite her lip in thought; she hadn’t gotten that far yet. She just knew she wanted to be the one responsible for Chloe’s next orgasm (or two, or three...).

“How do you want me?”

The question draws Beca out of her thoughts and she meets Chloe’s eyes. She’s looking at Beca expectantly and she’s still working herself against Beca’s hips for whatever friction she can gain. It also plants another thought in her brain.

“Like this,” she answers with a pointed roll of her hips that makes Chloe’s breath catch, only for Beca to extract herself from their embrace until she’s climbing off the bed.

She can feel Chloe’s eyes on her as she sits up to rest on her elbows, watching as Beca crouches to pull open the bottom drawer of Chloe’s nightstand.

“Oh, really?” Chloe asks in amusement and Beca tries not to blush as she slips the harness briefs Chloe had purchased—and put to good use—specifically to bend Beca over. Beca has yet to wear it.

“Shut up, you asked,” Beca huffs though she’s not genuinely defensive. She grabs the accompanying toy and bottle of lube before climbing back onto the bed to kneel between Chloe’s legs, still parted just as she’d left her, and work the toy into its O-ring.

“Can’t believe you’re trying to top me right now.”

Beca does blush at that and throws a glare her way. Beca’s affinity for being...welcoming of Chloe being in charge was something they were both aware of but never explicitly discussed. Until now, apparently. “I can always put this away, you know.” It’s an empty threat.

Chloe smiles up at her and pointedly spreads her legs wider. It’s not necessary whatsoever; Beca already had plenty of room. She does it to tell Beca she wants it—wants her—and Beca leans down to kiss her, taking care to keep her hips back so there’s nothing but the barest graze of contact for Chloe.

She melts into the kiss; Chloe’s intentionally keeping it slow and sensual even though Beca’s the one ostensibly in control. She doesn’t mind, though. The things Chloe can do with her tongue, whether it’s in Beca’s mouth or on Beca’s skin, never make Beca want to rush things.

Other than when Beca just wants to come.

She’s unhurried now, though. Satiated, mostly. She still feels warm and heavy and when she feels Chloe’s hand between them to guide the toy, Beca uses that weighty feeling to sink into her.

Chloe’s reaction is a low, throaty groan that makes Beca’s hips grind into her on instinct to prolong the sound. She’s never done this with Chloe, and it’s been a long time since she’s done it with anyone at all, but she doesn’t feel awkward like she has when she’s worn a strap-on with other women. She doesn’t feel pressured to perform and Chloe is so warm and at-ease beneath her. She knows she can take her time if she wants to, even as Chloe’s quiet whimpers and shifting hips urge her to do more than stay buried in her and grinding slowly while they kiss.

When she feels Chloe’s heel press into her lower back, she decides she can be done taking her time.

It’s easy to set a slow rhythm with her hips, especially once she lifts herself onto her elbows. It lets her look at Chloe, too, and the way her long eyelashes flutter every time Beca pushes into her.

The physical connection between them is, she knows, artificial, but the emotional one feels particularly real and resonating and for all the wild, lustful abandonment of how the night began, it feels particularly calm and almost soothing and the way Chloe’s eyes are on hers as she lifts a hand to frame Beca’s face, thumb tracing along her cheekbone until Beca’s kissing it when it presses against her lips only adds to it.

She’s filled with the urge to speak, to spill out feelings and confessions and she almost does it. Her lips even part and she takes a breath. But Chloe chooses the exact same moment to tilt her head back and moan, “Faster, Bec,” and the moment evaporates in favor of doing as Chloe’s asked.

She works her hips faster until she finds a good pace she can keep without getting too winded and it seems to work for Chloe, too, who moans her appreciation in the way Beca knows means she’s starting to lose herself to sex.

And that, the fact that Chloe can lose herself in the way Beca can make her feel, drives her. Drives her to shift herself until she can get a hand on the back of Chloe’s left knee to pull it up and then press it back, closer to Chloe’s chest. Drives her hips into Chloe with more force.

It pulls a groan of what sounds like surprise from Chloe, whose hands claw at Beca’s shoulders at the dramatic change from steady lovemaking to what Beca knows is raw fucking driven by need. A need for pleasure and release and for Beca to make Chloe piss off their neighbors.

“Oh, my God, Beca,” Chloe moans. She still sounds dazed and Beca watches as she throws a hand back to press against the back of the couch that serves as their headboard to brace herself. It helps Beca’s thrusts hit even harder and more deeply and she watches as Chloe’s other hand falls from Beca’s shoulder to move between them. All Beca has to do is glance down for a second to confirm her assumption: Chloe’s touching herself again.

It means she’s close and wants to come and Beca doesn’t try to stop her. She wants to watch Chloe come like this, neck straining and body moving higher and lower on the bed with every move Beca makes.

It’s Beca that’s doing all these things to her. Making her moan. Making her so wet Beca can hear it. Making herself come while Beca’s pushing into her again and again with a moan that sounds ripped from her throat as she shudders. Beca slows so she can watch it happen until she’s no longer moving, just breathing hard and pressed as close to Chloe as she can manage while Chloe breathes just as hard.

Beca should have known when Chloe’s body didn’t melt into the bed in relaxation, but she’s still caught off-guard when Chloe’s eyes finally open and they’re just as dark as they’d been before she came.

“Don’t stop yet.”

Beca doesn’t mean to laugh but it’s a hint of delirium and a dash of physical exhaustion that cause it and she tries to cover it up by clearing her throat and shifting her weight to her right arm instead of her left, but she knows Chloe caught it when hands come up to hold her shoulders.

“It’s okay,” Chloe says earnestly and Beca knows it is, though she doesn’t necessarily agree with the implications.

“I can do it again,” she says with determination and tries to ignore the way her weaker, non-dominant arm is already trembling.

“Bec,” Chloe says with a smile that turns into a smirk as she nudges at Beca’s shoulders. “Lay down?”

The offer comes as a relief even though her pride doesn’t want to admit it. She’s also really, really here for them rolling over because she definitely wants to watch Chloe riding her.

Except when Beca moves, Chloe doesn’t move with her and Beca finds herself alone on her back next to Chloe, who’s already sitting up, only to lean back down and kiss Beca as if she’d forgotten to do so before they parted.

“All good?” Chloe asks when they part and at Beca’s nod, the base of the strap-on grinds down against her clit.

“Fuck,” Beca gasps, hips immediately lifting in search of more. She’d been left painfully turned on with Chloe’s climax and she’s not sure how long she’ll last if Chloe’s going to keep doing what she’s doing. “Yeah, all good,” she answers after swallowing hard.

“This angle’s good?” Chloe’s purposeful with the way her hand is pressing and working the toy against Beca and Beca just nods. “Perfect,” she continues.

Beca watches her sit up again, missing her lips and the indirect friction but she knows it’s temporary.

She’s not ready for it, though, when instead of her right leg straddling Beca, Chloe’s turning her back to Beca and it’s her left leg straddling her.

“Oh, my God, what?” Beca says without thinking. She hadn’t meant to say it out loud but Chloe heard her and answers with a hum and all Beca can do is grab Chloe’s hips and watch Chloe guide the strap-on into herself until her body is flush with Beca’s. The view is different and just as sinful. Chloe’s back is all muscle and smooth skin that is already slick under Beca’s hands. Her hair hangs loose and reaches far down her back when she tips her face toward the ceiling with a moan that sounds more than satisfied.

She starts to move and immediately moans again. “You feel so good, shit, Beca.” There’s no slow increase of tempo this time; it’s clear Chloe doesn’t need the build-up. She leans forward just slightly and suddenly Beca’s the one groaning in surprise.

Now she understands what Chloe had been doing seconds ago. She wanted to figure out the angle that wasn’t just good for herself but good for Beca, too.

Chloe wants to make Beca come while she rides her.

“Good?” Chloe says with a turn of her head, though her eyes can’t meet Beca’s.

“Fuck,” Beca answers, digging her fingernails into Chloe’s hips to make her point. “Fuck, you look so hot.”

It’s not really an answer to Chloe’s question but it’s good enough. Chloe keeps the angle but works her hips even faster, her hands pushing through her own hair to lift it off her back in what is probably just need to cool off but it’s downright pornographic. It makes Beca’s hips start chasing her and Chloe feels it.

Her hands drop from her hair to cover Beca’s hands. Connection. Connection as she rides Beca so hard that the metal legs of their shitty fold-out bed are scraping against the wooden floor with her motion.

“Chlo,” Beca says. “Fuck.” She’s trying to warn her, to tell her she’s going to come any second and if the goal is to finish together, Chloe needs to slow down.

“Yes, Beca, yes,” Chloe groans in response and her long, hard thrusts shift to sitting hard against Beca and grinding down and back. “God, Beca, come with me,” she gasps, right hand shifting to pull Beca’s hand off of her and tangle their fingers together before pressing it back against her waist.

Connection.

Beca doesn’t know who’s louder or who comes harder or longer. All she knows is that it’s together and even if she can’t see Chloe’s face at the moment, she doesn’t need to feel just as close to her as she had felt earlier. It’s heady and all-encompassing and she hisses at the unexpected direct contact of fingertips against her overstimulated clit. She didn’t even notice Chloe had moved at all, let alone turned around to lay next to Beca again.

“One more?” she asks as she kisses along Beca’s cheek.

Beca genuinely doesn’t think she can, at least not so soon, but all she can manage in reply is a moan when her hips decide for her and lift up into Chloe’s hand. It’s a snug fit, her hand down the front of the briefs, but that doesn’t matter. It makes it better.

“Why?” Beca finally manages just before Chloe’s lips make it back to her own.

“Why not?” Chloe answers.

Then they’re kissing again but Beca can hardly manage more than just offering her lips and mouth and tongue to Chloe for whatever she wants; she can’t focus anymore. Not when Chloe’s fingers are swiping back and forth across her swollen clit with a lewd kind of intensity that makes Beca feel a little like she’s in an adult film. One she’s proud to be the star of at the moment.

She doubts that she’ll be able to come again even with how amazingly intense it feels. It feels like a never-ending chord that’s been struck and sustained and she thinks it’s going to fade away until something changes. Maybe the speed or the angle or the pressure but with no warning and with a gasp that only makes Chloe kiss her harder when really what she needs is oxygen her body rocks into a blinding orgasm.

She can hear words. Chloe’s voice is in her ear which lets her breathe again. She doesn’t know what she’s saying but she sounds happy. Proud, maybe. It’s hard to concentrate on language when her body won’t stop throbbing and clenching around the fingers that slipped inside her at some point.

“I could do this with you forever.”

They’re the first words that register once her brain clears. They’re whispered while lips graze her cheek and jaw but she hears them ringing like a bell in her mind and they’re echoing her own thoughts from earlier.

Beca doesn’t dwell on it. She’s not really capable of complexities and she’s already been stripped bare in so many ways tonight. She just sighs and says, “So could I,” and tilts her chin so her lips can find Chloe’s.

She doesn’t start to panic about the exchange until Chloe’s helped her get the briefs off and tossed aside and she’s settled, warm and more than satiated, tucked into Chloe’s side, head on her shoulder and Chloe says, oh so casually, “So, forever, hm?”

It makes a different kind of heat flash through her and she hides her burning face against Chloe and does little more than grunt to at least acknowledge she heard her. She doesn’t know how to talk about this. She’s bad with words. Puts her foot in her mouth all the time. She’s an expert at saying the wrong thing.

“Beca,” Chloe says with a chuckle that rumbles against Beca’s ear. “It’s okay, you know?”

She doesn’t know. She doesn’t know what Chloe is referring to. She has an idea, but right now, assumptions and misinterpretations could be deadly. So she chooses to remain silent with the hope and trust that Chloe will just keep talking and have most of this conversation herself.

“And I know things are starting to go back to how they used to be. But I don’t want us to go back to how we used to be.”

“You don’t?” Beca’s proud of herself for that response and stops pressing her face into Chloe’s shoulder and turns her cheek to it again. It helps that Chloe’s fingertips are grazing idly up and down her back in a way that could put Beca to sleep if her mind wasn’t racing.

She feels Chloe shake her head. “I really don’t.” There’s a beat of silence and Beca hears her sigh. “Do you?”

Beca feels like she could hear a pin drop if someone were to drop a pin and if she could hear over Chloe’s heart suddenly pounding in her chest beneath Beca’s ear. It betrays Chloe’s outward stillness and the notion that the question she’s posed is making her nervous, too, is somehow calming Beca. Maybe it’s that Chloe’s been thinking about it, too, and for all the same reasons Beca’s been kicking around in her mind for weeks, has been wary of bridging the topic.

It’s a yes or no question, one that will push them to one side of a line or the other: Just Friends or Something More. Chloe and Beca or Chloe and Beca. Friends or, dare she think it, girlfriends. After so many years, maybe they’re finally going to get it right.

Her fingers rap quickly in thought where they lay against Chloe’s ribs as she tries to get her mind to slow down long enough to answer. She knows she’s taking too long and Chloe’s going to interpret her silence as a bad thing if she doesn’t hurry up and speak.

“No,” she blurts. She didn’t even realize she’d committed to the decision but the word is past her lips before she can analyze it any further.

She feels Chloe’s sharp exhale. “You don’t?”

It’s out, now. She gives a shake of her head and feels Chloe’s arm moving to better wrap around her. “No. I...really, really don’t.”

Chloe giggles at that and Beca watches Chloe’s other hand come up to touch Beca’s chin so Beca leans back and lifts her head a bit so they can actually look at one another. She doesn’t overlook that Chloe’s bright eyes are a little misty in the same way they get when the little girl gets a puppy in whatever heartfelt movie they’re watching at any given time. Chloe’s smiling, too and Beca can’t help but mirror it. “So what does that mean?” Chloe asks, eyebrows lifting in a way that feels mildly like a challenge.

Beca huffs. “You’re really putting this on me, huh?”

Chloe shrugs and the hand that had grazed Beca’s chin moves to comb through Beca’s hair slowly, careful where there are tangles as she brushes it away from Beca’s face and behind her shoulder. She also worries at her bottom lip with her teeth even as she smiles.

It’s hard to imagine going back from this. That thought, and the way Chloe’s looking up at her with nervous excitement and touching her so lovingly… “Maybe that means we could try like...dating.” She has to bite her tongue to stop the ‘or whatever’ that wants to end the statement and instead rolls her eyes a little but quickly returns them to Chloe when fingernails scratch lightly at the back of her neck.

Chloe’s lip slips from between her teeth when her smile widens. “Yeah?”

“I mean…if you want.” She shrugs playfully. “I guess we could.”

“Okay,” Chloe says with a nod. “I’d like that.” Her hand tugs at Beca’s neck and Beca lets herself be reeled in for a slow kiss.

Beca would like that, too.

Very much.

The End

#bechloe #bechloe fic #beca mitchell #chloe beale #pitch perfect #fanfic #MORE SINNING #desperate measures

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skevans · 4 years ago

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Nocturne op.72 no.1 — Essay

Hi, welcome to my long-forgotten tumblr I barely remembered existed. Dust and cobwebs aside, this is an essay I initially wrote in French for a Literature class. Don't ask me how the hell I found the will to hand this in to my teacher, bless his soul.

A couple of years later, I found that essay in the depth of a folder on my computer. I remembered what was in it, to a point, but when I decided to read it again, I got very emotional (and very mortified 'cause oh god school). And during the following weeks, I started thinking about a lot of things that were still floating unresolved within my head. But then, I decided to write. And after a few days of internal debate, I posted the first chapter of A Sea of Silence.

It's been months since I finished that story, and those months have not been kind to me for many reasons. And maybe that's why, this week, I started thinking about that essay. When I did, I was overcome with a desire to share it with the world—and especially with the people who read my fic. So here it is, hastily translated but just as honest. Please note that it discusses anxiety.

And so, thank you if you take the time to read this, and an even bigger thank you if you read the essay, too!

Nocturne op.72 no.1

When I think back on my childhood, I hear the sound of piano. Various melodies follow me, accompanying me in a waltz between memories. It’s my mother’s interpretation of Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata that haunts the quiet moments. My sister and I would play in an adjacent room, glowing with delight as our mother started the first movement. It’s the piece’s somber and melancholic tone that colours my memory, but it’s a good kind of darkness—the kind that feels like the soft touch of night as you walk under the stars. My mother didn’t stop there; she would segue into the second movement, a graceful interlude that almost got swallowed in between the grandiosity of the other movements. And at last, she would tackle the final piece. I remember the anticipation; I remember wanting to watch her fingers fly over the keys. We would sneak in the living room—don’t make so much noise, you’re gonna bother her!—and thus we became the spectators to a private concert. The combination of semiquavers and staccato, everything played presto agitato, was the most fascinating thing. And despite the intensity and the tempestuous rhythm, I would sense my muscles relaxing, my thoughts lightening, the frenetic beat of my heart slowing. When I listen to this piece now, there’s still a glimpse of that long forgotten peace.

I turn six and I learn the piano. It’s a decision that comes from me, but also from my mother. It’s a decision that pleases me, even enchants me. The learning process goes well; I love to learn and I love to play—a rarely seen fervour seizes me. My motivation originates both from a desire to walk into my mother’s footsteps and from a childish inclination to create noise. The teacher likes me, and the sentiment is reciprocal; she speaks with a soft voice, but underneath there is an unyielding tone that I come to respect. She nudges me forward, constantly making sure that I don’t neglect my practice. I try to meet her expectations because I want to succeed, but also to maintain that impression of calm that possesses me when I sit at the piano.

The next step is to play at a recital, so we set off for the musical conservatory. I’m ten the first time I play before an audience. Panic controls me—I worry I won’t be able to perform, and the thought loops in my mind until I believe it. I climb on the stage in spite of my terror, and the room morphs into a cage. At 10 years-old, the size of the concert hall is intimidating, to a point that my heart crawls up my throat. The exit is far—way too far—and all the stares fixed on me feel more like I’m attending a trial than a recital. My hands become damp (how will I play if my hands slip?), but wiping them on my dress of red velvet means showing my fear—and my father always tells me not to show my fear. So I look at the floor and force my legs to move until finally, finally, I stand before the piano. I sit. Even now, I believe it’s impossible for me to play my piece, that piece I yet find so easy. I take my time adjusting the bench; once done, my hands reflexively settle over the keys. One deep breath—and I start to play. That tranquility I’m so desperate for guides me, and the audience fades from my mind. My eyes track my fingers as they find all the notes—not one mistake—and for a moment, it’s like I’m floating over my body, surrendering utter control to instinct and music. Once the piece ends and my hands lift from the piano, it’s the thunderous applause that tugs me back into reality; I walk off the stage, that paralyzing feeling of fright dismissed.

The feeling that possesses me is anxiety. At 6 years-old, as I begin learning the piano, I don’t know what anxiety is; the only thing I understand is that music offers solace. When I turn 10, I can’t find the word to explain that emotion that assaulted me as I stepped on the stage. It’s with time that I discover the word “anxiety”. I see my reflection in the definitions I find in dictionaries and on the web; it’s those definitions that grasp onto me, that glue themselves over me until I cannot dissociate them from my being without ripping out of my skin. The term “anxiety” now belongs to me—or rather, I belong to it. The years pass and my thoughts cede before it. My anxiety takes control of me for a period of my life; I have lost all mastery of myself. I graduate from high school with terrible difficulty; I drop out of college three times. But anxiety doesn’t stop there; she smears her poison throughout all spheres of my life. My relationship with my family degenerates slowly but surely—so do many of my friendships. Working becomes a hurdle because my boss at the store agitates me with her severe attitude—it feels like nothing is never enough and everything is wrong. I cannot stand myself anymore. Anxiety seeps into my body, an army of swarming bugs that infiltrate all I am as an individual. They contaminate me from the inside, and I am nothing but a puppet, subjected to circumstances out of my control. And this lasts and lasts and lasts for eight years—eight long years. I lose my footing and fall into the arms of depression several times. Appointments with doctors tell me what I already knew. We try solutions and then more solutions; there are good times, scarce but cherished. But happiness and peace of mind slip through my fingers like grains of sand; I grab another handful, but it was never meant to last. These feelings end up seeming distant, unreachable, impossible. I mind myself to the fact that I will have to live with the physical and emotional wounds my anxiety inflicts on me. Time and experience allow me to gauge my level of comfort and how to react; sometimes, I cannot step out of my apartment. And so life goes on—and I am swept away by the tides.

Thinking back on this slice of my life, I’ve come to several conclusions. There were many happenings that were completely out of my control—and yet, as I dig deeper and deeper, I realize that this deviation originates from one thing in particular.

The year I turn 15, I experience an acute pain in my right wrist. Holding a pen for longer than a few minutes is impractical; playing piano on a regular basis is impossible. Those news, validated by a medical consultation, are not surprising—but they are heartbreaking. Later, the pain extends to my shoulder. Within weeks, I become an unwilling witness to the collapse of my dream of studying and teaching piano. The problem comes from within me, within my body—my love for the piano is the trigger to this pain. I’m told that a cure is implausible—you can do exercises to lessen the pain, and you have to eliminate repetitive movements since they will worsen it, and yes, miss, that includes the piano. I used to play piano at least one hour a day, something that unconsciously kept my anxiety at bay—but the inability to play for longer than a few minutes opens the door to my anxiety. I discover myself anew when I’m 16: tirelessly worried, always anxious, terribly distrustful. It’s the start of the downward spiral. I am not me anymore, I am someone else. Anxiety is my mother, instability is my father, fear is my sister. I am reborn into an unknown world dubbed Real Life by my family, who firmly believe this is part of being a teenager. But I don’t believe in this Real Life, and I pray to all and nothing for a miracle. I only know one line of prayer so I make up my own. I fill fictive litanies with my fears and my hopes. Amen. I refuse to consider this existence as True because to me, it can only be False. But my convictions are tossed aside, their dismissal hammered into me endlessly. It’s almost as if a huge neon sign hangs on a wall of my bedroom: Welcome to Real Life! But all I see are ridiculous directives that only bring misfortune—don’t forget to register for our latest draw! Discover what setbacks you will endure next! I don’t want this—I refuse, I reject, I refute. It’s the song of my mind, playing on repeat; I want to believe it—I want to believe it more than anything else because I have exhausted all of my solutions and the future beyond is veiled in uncertainty.

But with time, I realize that simply wanting something, no matter how much, doesn’t mean it will slip into the world through the cracks of my resolve. And so, I begin to toil over my own fate. I try to shape it. I fail. I try again. It’s a cycle with no end in sight. I wander aimlessly through life, and thus I discover more of myself and I try to understand. Questions assail me; most of the time, there is no answer; when there are, they are often unpleasant. Still, I accept them—because I have learned that closing my eyes and rejecting a reality will not bring me anything. This crushing problem, this anxiety that manipulates me, I try to be aware of it—and in the end, I accept it. She is part of me, too intrinsic for me to surrender her; she welded her existence in my foundations, and if I break free, I negate myself. But what crystallizes with time is the recognition that I’m living a fight that I believed lost before even entering the arena. It’s an intimidating fight: my adversary is formidable, and there is no end in sight; it’s an everlasting battle that occurs every hour, every minute, every second. And yet, I am not done—I gather my arsenal, I warm up, and I entre the arena. No referees—this isn’t a fair fight; there cannot be a winner, only moments of victory. My adversary steps forward, and in her, I see me—me as I was for eight long years. The signal goes off and we begin. No turning back now.

Strangely, what helps me survive the daily fights is time. Throughout this turbulent journey, my wrist undertakes its never-ending recovery. Nine years later, the dreadful pain I felt at every move has become a memory. I live alone now, and getting access to a piano is not always easy; neither is it regular. But one day—one day, I decide to try again. I make my way to my mother’s house on a day where she and her husband are absent; the fragility of my resolve hangs over me, and I cannot let it waver out of self-consciousness. In the basement are all of my mother’s sheet music—all of my sheet music—and it takes a lot of searching before I finally find the last piece I learned when I was 15. The last piece I ever played. Too eager, I snatch Chopin’s Nocturne op.72 no.1 off the floor, grabbing a few more sheet music from that part of my life forever ago. At last, I sit on the piano bench. I open the booklet, flipping through the pages until I find the Nocturne; it’s one of my favourites, whether by coincidence or a design of my own. But it’s with wretched bitterness that I realize I am unable to play the piece. Not only has it been nine years, but my dexterity has vanished, bidding me goodbye with a mocking smile. My fingers each weigh a pound; I hear myself strike the keys with a mortifying clumsiness; the resulting sound is disappointing, closer to chaotic noise than the flowing music of my memories. Nothing happens like I want it to. However, the same passage of time that helped my injury gave me the strength to cross out the word “abandon” from my vocabulary. I sometimes know victory, more often I know defeat, but what has become unfamiliar is capitulation. So I close the booklet, hiding the piece I yearned for, and I pick another one. It’s an easy piece, but in truth, nothing seems easy anymore; the piece is a crutch, a stepping stone towards more. In time, I will get sick of hearing Chopin’s Waltz op.69 no.2, my mind saturated by the melody from months of practice. It’s a challenge, and I start to get obsessed with the notion of learning this piece, because learning it means I can learn more. Nothing will stop me.

There is progress, but it’s slow and it’s tedious. Each week, I ride the bus to my mother’s house so I can practice for one hour, sometimes two. These hours are precious; I try not to squander them and I try even harder to remind myself this is just the beginning. My wrist still hurts at times; whenever I test my limits, a zap of pain echoes through my hand, signalling the end of the practice. It slows me down, frustrates me to no end, but the possibility of not playing for another nice years snaps me out of those low moments. And one day, six months later, I pick up Chopin’s Nocturne op.72 no.1 again. I start with the left hand; the constant rhythm of the triplets played legato rips the stitches of a long-buried wound. A ghost rises out of it—it’s Me as I was, and it possesses me, guiding my hand with its cold touch. I play the first line, then the second; soon enough, I jump to the second page. I am not here, not really; rather, I am lost to that old fragment of beloved peace. Now that I recognize the beast in me as anxiety, I finally understand that those moments of solace happen when I hear the twinkling notes of the piano. And so I get on my feet in the arena and I stand ready to continue the eternal fight. There are other ways to keep anxiety away, to rationalize it, and I think back on my first fifteen years, nearly empty of anguish, full of other pains, but also filled with hours of music. I learn Chopin’s Nocturne in three months. It’s not perfect—it will never be—but I can play it. I play it until I can do so with my eyes closed.

The year I decide to sit at the piano again, I return to school. The first semester is trying; I haven’t studied seriously in over five years—good habits are difficult to unearth. I try to keep my demanding job despite the crushing amount of pressure, but there comes a moment where I cannot breathe under that weight, and stress wins once more. Everything appears ready to crumble before it began. Luckily, my mother realizes that my fragile pyramid of cards is about to fall, and she wakes me up with harsh and well-aimed and true words; we don’t always understand each other then, and feelings get bruised, but in time, things will change for the better. I still fail the classes I took; I search for a new job. My anxiety hit me with an uppercut that could have turned the tables in her favour, but I stand again and again—I stand long enough to finish college a year later. I am 24 the day I hand in my final project that allows me to graduate. As I walk out of the building, there is pride accompanying me, but most of all, it’s a soothing sensation of satisfaction that wraps itself around me. It resembles that peace of mind I find from the piano, and that is what makes me smile.

The next fall, I have my own piano. The opportunity to play whenever is still incredible. Not long before the purchase, the pain in my wrist flares once more, stronger than before. But this time, I know what to expect. I adapt instead of running away; I’m not 15 anymore and I have so much more experience in the suitcase I carry through life. I get tests done in hope of a permanent solution; they reveal nothing new, but the professional advice that follows those tests opens the door to new possibilities to rein in the pain. Those possibilities are comforting in their own way; that absolute sense of defeat is now barely discernable.

I still believe that the Me from over ten years ago will not come back to life; she doesn’t exist anymore; her only vestige is her love for music. But that is alright—I am not the same person I was at 6 years-old when all I knew was the music weaving through the house. I am someone else, so I baptize myself anew. I allow myself the sanctity of a second chance, that unreachable notion always evading me. But this time, I chase it. I grasp it close to my heart. I take it—and I live it.

#writing #essay #anxiety

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momosandlemonsoda · 4 years ago

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get to know me meme

tagged by @xcziel (thank you!!)

Part I

name: I’m a fandom old and I don’t use my real name, but on most platforms I’m afrikate, from which you can guess part of my real name. When I got a tumblr I wanted something different, so I’m momosandlemonsoda. At the time I was traveling to Nepal a lot for work and momos and lemon soda was one of my comfort meals.

rest behind a cut because it got long!

pronouns: she/her

star sign: I’m a pisces but I don’t really line up with most of the characteristics so, ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

height: 5'5" (165.1cm)

time: 7:18pm

birthday: end of February

nationality: american

fave bands/groups/solo artists: I don’t listen to a lot of music these days, though I’ve been through a Hamilton obsession in recent years and also loved Blackpink’s The Album. My love was 90s alternative rock, all the Brit-pop emo bands and folks like REM and the Violent Femmes. But I also love rocking out to 80s hair bands.

song stuck in your head: at any given time, probably one of the Daniel Tiger songs, sadly.

last movie you watched: I have been rewatching one of my comfort movies, The Sound of Music, in an attempt to move my kid on from animated movies a bit. So far, she’s not biting, but I find it soothing to sing along.

last show you binged: I can’t really binge adult shows--at most I generally can watch a couple episodes in the evenings. But I made my way through Sha Hai as fast as I could-- for all that The Lost Tomb Reboot holds my heart, I think Sha Hai might objectively be the best of the Tomb shows-- given plotting, production values, and the story itself. I’m making my way through Ultimate Note now, but I’m finding it slow going.

when you created your blog: I honestly can’t remember. 2011-12? Maybe? When did Teen Wolf happen?

the last thing you googled: I have no idea-- my brain is not retaining information well these days.

other blogs: I have an old skool DW and a twitter that’s locked down, but my fannish interaction is mostly confined to tumblr these days.

why i chose my url: I explained it above--I was deep in travel to Nepal at the time. Mmm… now I want momos...

how many people are you following: 224

how many followers do you have: 72

average hours of sleep: Oh god, I wish it were 7-8 hours a night. Right now, it’s probably more like 5-6 and I am feeling it.

lucky numbers: 8

instruments: long ago and far away I played viola, but I gave it up in college.

what i'm currently wearing: skinny jeans, a tunic top, and my hair is too long so it’s pulled back.

dream job: HA. HA. HA. Right now, I fantasize about owning a yarn shop / cafe / ice cream shop with my friends. We joke that we’ll run away to an island and open a store. That’s… not really likely or feasible. Once upon a time I would have said my current job is my dream job, but younger me really didn’t understand what she was signing up for.

dream trip: my current fantasy is to be in business class on one of the Gulf airlines, eating warm nuts and drinking champagne. I don’t even want to arrive anywhere, I just want to be on a plane forever. But when I get past my intense desire to be alone, I would like to go to the beach with a group of friends in a rented villa and not have to do anything at all for a couple of weeks.

fave food: too many to name. Sushi, for starters.

top three fictional universe you'd like to live in: I can’t think of any, honestly. What makes for a good story sounds exhausting to live in, and our current reality is enough (too much, really) for me.

Part II

last song: My Favorite Things from The Sound of Music

last movielast stream: I don’t watch streams.

currently reading: I started the first Mercenary Librarians book, Deal with the Devil by Kit Rocha, but I have kind of stalled out on reading a book, even with a guaranteed happy ending (it’s a romance)

currently watching: Ultimate Note, which is a tonal 180 from Sha Hai and Reboot, but better than TLT2. I miss surfer!Pangzi, who is the spiritual predecessor to best!Pangzi, but I do think that UN!Wu Xie is better than twink!Wu Xie. I also am glad to never have to see the bickering tree ever again. I would like to watch lots of different c-dramas and bl shows, but given my extremely limited free time, ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

what is antipoetry to you: is anti-poetry a thing? Or is this just like the opposite of poetry? I have no idea.

currently craving: to be alone. No one waking me up in the morning (even the cat). No one demanding something or needing help or having a crisis only I can solve. Just me and books and wifi.

tagging @uschickens and anyone who wants to! I hope no one feels obligated, though. Do whatever makes you happy!

#meme #get to know me meme #this was fun #thanks for the tag!

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livesincerely · 4 years ago

Note

I have recently discovered that both Ben Frankhauser and Jeremy Jordan have done covers for “Run Away with Me” and I’m sure I’ve worried some poor fbi analyst with how many times I’ve repeated both videos. And I am delirious with excitement for your fic. Is there updates on the fic you’re dying to share? Seriously I am constantly astonished by your incredible imagination and creativity cause of how much I love all your fics. 💗

Pretty sure this is gonna end up being a rambley disaster, so apologies in advance. 😅

So, I think i’m going to let this fic be a one-shot, and if it ends up being a 10k one-shot a la invisible strings, then that’s how it’s gonna be. I just think that’s going to work better for the vibes I’m hoping for versus a multi-chapter thing—like it’s a long marathon road trip in format as well as content, if that makes sense?

The fic is going to take place in its own universe, but probably one that’s similar to the one in the letterman fic or ‘your eyes look like coming home’—Jack lives with Medda and I was gonna have Crutchie be his brother, but I think I’m going to switch it up and have Spot be his brother, just because I’ve decided I need more of Spot & Jack in my life. I’m thinking it’s gonna kick off right near the beginning of March, as all the college acceptance letters are arriving.

We all know that my Jack is especially, impossibly in love with Davey, and I think I’m gonna treat myself and go full tilt, no holds barred, They Are So In Love with this one.

Except, they aren’t together.

There’s not going to be much, if any, pining in this one though. In a rare move for me, Jack is the one that realizes he’s in love first, and I think he’s reached a point by the start of this fic where he’s come to peace with the fact that his feelings for Davey are something that just is. Like, sure, he’d be ecstatic if Davey returned his feelings, but he’s content with just being with Davey, period, regardless of what form that takes. Plus, he recognizes that, at the start of all this, Davey just isn’t in a place where he can handle that kind of huge revelation, so Jack is happy to let his feelings simmer quietly in the background.

Davey, on the other hand, is going to realize that he’s in love with Jack over the course of the fic itself. I imagine it being something like, they’re eating lunch in a diner, Jack does something silly and ridiculous like ordering an ice cream sundae the size of his head, and Davey looks at him, shaking his head and laughing, and just absently thinks to himself, ‘wow, what an idiot, I’m so in love with him’. And then, ‘holy shit, this is the idiot I’m in love with.’

“Uh, Dave, you good?” Jack asks, frowning slightly. There’s a whipped cream mustache smeared all along his upper lip. Davey’s heart beats frantically against his rib cage. “You went all pale all’a the sudden—”

“Fine!” Davey blurts out, his voice pitching towards a squeak. “I’m fine!”

Jack does not look convinced by this, which is fair.

“You sure?” he asks. “’Cause you can tell me if somethin’s botherin’ you.”

“No, I’m—” Davey makes himself pause, takes a breath, tries to give his racing pulse a chance to slow. “I’m fine, I just... realized something.”

“Yeah?” Jack says. “Anythin’ you wanna share with the class?”

“No,” Davey says, a little too quickly. “No, I... Not yet.”

“Okay,” Jack says, watching him carefully. Davey can barely hold his gaze, feeling like at any moment those deep brown eyes are going to see right through him, as they so often do. “If you’re sure. But, it ain’t nothin’ bad, right?”

“No, Jackie,” Davey promises, ducking his head. “Nothing bad at all.”

I think Davey spends all of 72 hours quietly freaking out over the realization that he’s in love with his best friend. But he quickly comes to understand that absolutely nothing has changed or needs to change: he’s been in love with Jack this whole time, maybe even for years now, it’s just that now he knows. And similarly to Jack, Davey loves Jack to the point where it’s just a aspect of himself—there’s not something that needs to be “”done”” about it, it just is.

And also, the last thing Davey wants is to jeopardize his relationship with Jack in any way, that would be the absolute worst possible outcome of all this, so he decides to not say anything about it for now. He’s been so happy with just getting to spend time with Jack, with finding himself one day at a time with his favorite person in the world at his side—he doesn’t need anything more.

Except, now Davey knows. And now that Davey knows, he can’t help but look at all of his interactions with Jack in a new light, and because it’s Davey, it takes him less than a week to figure out that Jack’s in love with him too.

Because Jack has been making absolutely no effort to hide his feelings for Davey—he’s not actively acting on them, sure, but they’re still super obvious to anyone that thinks about it for more than a few minutes. And now that Davey’s recovering—is relearning to love himself and recognizes that he’s great just how he is and doesn’t need to live up to his parents’ expectations to have value—it’s like he’s finally shed his blinders and sees the way Jack looks at him, the way that Jack’s always looked at him. And it’s just.... 🥺💗💗💗

I love the idea of this whole fic being filled with revelations that aren’t actually revelations. Like, it’s not that they didn’t know, it’s that they didn’t know that they knew, if that makes sense?

That’s what I hope the confession and getting together feels like:

We’re in love. Oh. Oh, of course we’re in love. We’ve always been in love, haven’t we? We just didn’t realize it.

So that’s kind of where I’m at? I was gonna talk more about how seamlessly Jack and Davey interact and all their different love languages and also about how I’m actually going to use this fic as an excuse to explore a ‘Jack’s father’ storyline, but this is Long so I’ll leave it here.

I’ve been a little all over the place the last couple of days as far as what WIPs are actually managing to hold my attention, but this one feels like it’s sitting right close to my heart, so it could be out relatively soon? No promises because it is me and we know what I’m like, but the super fluffy, hurt comfort mixed with Intense Romance is really calling to me lol. 😊🌟✨

#*ask #run away with me fic #*editor's note #thank you for this ask tho i love every single one you send me #also these are very helpful in helping me focus my thoughts in a constructive manner

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adl-reborn · 3 years ago

Text

I just realized I forgot to post this here...

Tales of Metroville: Thought Experiments

Aston hadn't slept in 3 days. He had been researching non-stop to discover the ailment from which his friend, Phoenix, was currently suffering. You see, they both were invited to dinner by the president. In theory they both were to be debriefed about current affairs and of any unusual goings on that the two most powerful known mutants on the planet might be needed for. Aston, however, had no need of it - his clairvoyance had alerted him both to the topics of discussion and of all such events including many not on the agenda. Meanwhile, the normally quite outgoing Phoenix barely ate and didn't speak at all, and when they both returned home he locked himself in the master bedroom to do who knows what.

If ever there was a good time for Aston's comprehensive ability to read peoples' minds, this would be a good one, but it isn't so simple with Phoenix. Try as he might, Aston could never do this with Phoenix. Even after years of trying, Aston could only ever manage to read vague emotional states, but that only told him the obvious. Distracted by this, so too was he unable to clearly see the path ahead. And so his research continued. Depression, Anxiety, MPD, and many others. He read through the DSM5 until he reached the chapter on autism.

At this point he paused as his sleep deprived mind called back to his childhood. His odd behavior as a preteen had prompted a visit to the psychiatrist - a visit which he left with a diagnosis of "Asperger's Syndrome". It was described as a milder form of Autism - one which could lie undetected in many. Needless to say he was familiar with it and had recognized much of himself deep within Phoenix's personality, but ultimately the DSM did not help beyond providing a starting point...

Luckily Aston did not need to look far to find his answers. Where official medical documentation failed actually autistic people filled the void, and crucially the true nature of a meltdown and a new concept - burnout, were introduced to him. Additionally, Aston found himself unable to read many of the individuals presenting their point - a correlation which Aston surmised was due to a radically different mind, but finding that out for sure wouldn't be easy...

The only way Aston knew to read minds of a type he had never read before was through a technique he dubbed a "mental fusion". It's theory of operation was similar in principle to what many Trekkies call a mind meld. This was a technique Aston had only ever done once - by accident, he did this to his father on the day he ran away - a fight had broken out between the two and they had inadvertently fused for but a few seconds. In that time they could feel each other's thoughts as one, and Aston gained a roadmap of the human mind, but Aston was overwhelmed by this and ran off into the forest. It was an ability he had sworn to never use again...but his friend was in danger and he knew it.

Slowly Aston opened the door - inside was Phoenix, sitting in the fetal position rocking to soothe his frayed nerves. He held his legs tight against his belly and did not speak to greet Aston. Where Phoenix once stood a timid child remained. As Aston approached Phoenix turned and looked apprehensively in his direction. Aston could see in Phoenix's eyes that his distress was great. As Aston sat down close to Phoenix he was apprehensive at first, but a calming touch from Aston soothed him enough to stay. They sat like this for a while - Aston holding an obviously distressed Phoenix, but he knew what he must do and that it would be uncomfortable.

Slowly Aston moved his right hand to Phoenix's right temple. Phoenix became agitated for a moment and started shaking his arms but Aston calmed him with the left. Once positioned, he waited for Phoenix to calm down and gently positioned his left hand. With his hands in position a faint blue glow began to appear, glowing brighter with every second. Phoenix let out a yell..."I'm sorry..." Said Aston. They both yelled in unison as their minds became one. In an instant they both found themselves unconscious

One hour later...

Aston awoke but not in reality. His fusion was more complete than he had anticipated - he surmised he must be in a shared dream as they both were extremely exhausted. Aston, being a proficient lucid dreamer realized this straight away, but he knew if he could recognize this that the dream is important in some way. In the distance he hears a cry.

It is Phoenix - crying out for help. Alone in the distance. In this dark void he can see nothing, and conjuring a flashlight nor a vehicle has no effect. He continues to run in the direction of the yelling but to no avail - Phoenix remains out of reach. Aston calls out to Phoenix but there was no response........

2 hours later

Aston awakens once again - this time in the house but in his bedroom. Objects are not in their designated places so here too this is a dream. Aston proceeds to navigate to Phoenix's room. He lies on the bed staring at the ceiling unresponsive. As Aston approaches Phoenix apparates into a standing position and then runs up to Aston crying to which they both share embraces...

2 hours later

The sound of screaming pierces in Aaron's ear once again waking him. Again he is in Phoenix's dream - the same one as the first time. Aston remembered well how he failed to handle this dream the last time so he tries a different tactic. He calms his mind and senses Phoenix's precise location. Though they can not see each other, Aston knows he and him are now together. Aston sits down next to Phoenix.

"It's alright...I am here to comfort you." Stated Aston. What was once a cry became a whimper, and the once dark void is now illuminated by a dim yellow radiance. "I am here for you Phoenix, no matter your darkest hour nor your worst fears." The yellow radiance grows in illumination from Phoenix's chest. The two mutants once again embrace one another, and the once dark void is now pierced by a blinding light. "Do you mean it?" Replied Phoenix. "I'll let the actions do the talking..." Aston returned...

2 hours later

"So you finally found it"

Aston awoke once again - this time in a peaceful garden surrounded by a lake with small gentle waves. A fog obscures any view beyond.

"Welcome to my world" stated Phoenix to the now slowly arousing Aston. "I never thought I would see you here, but I figured one day you might show up." "What...is this place?" replied Aston, "it seems peaceful, relaxing even."

"This is my comfort zone" replied Phoenix, "I come here to escape the demands of the world when they become too much to bear." "I couldn't come here for far too long - we were too busy saving the world." continued Phoenix, "I thought I had lost it forever - in its place I only found darkness."

"That was your first dream, and the third. What about the second?" Replied Aston. "The house is where we always go when we're done for the day." Phoenix stated, "I thought maybe I could relax there." "It didn't work out as I had hoped...but at least you were there." Phoenix continued, "If I had been alone in there I don't think it would have done anything. I was just laying there, worrying about all of the drone strikes, supervillains, contingencies, space nukes. You know, all that crazy stuff they brought up at the meeting."

"It's all so stressful you know! And, it's kind of hard to explain, but the lights...they felt blinding, and the klinking of so much silverware on porcelain didn't help either. It felt like I was expending every last drop of my being to not explode from all of the stress!" "I...had no idea." Replied Aston, "I was just sitting next to you. I already knew everything they had to say but since you had said nothing I didn't know what to expect! Even now after fusing I still struggle to comprehend the sheer depth of your thoughts. To be honest the buzz from the busted TV was starting to get on my nerves though...you don't think..."

"I know what you're going to say - I was diagnosed with ADHD, not Asperger's." quipped Phoenix. "Since when have I ever lied to anyone let alone you?" Replied Aston. "I just spent 72 hours straight tearing the internet apart to figure out why you locked yourself in a room. Not because I wanted to get back to saving the world - we both know it doesn't need saving right now. I did that because I knew you were deeply distressed...but I couldn't understand why until now." "This is not a place for argument." Aston continued, "This is a place to escape to when the going gets tough. Just as I can sort of read your thoughts now you should be able to read mine. Look, and see I am not wrong. All you need to do is look at me, focus, and visualize my mind inside yours."

Phoenix was skeptical, but did as asked. To his surprise it worked - all of the research Aston had done up until the point of fusion was laid plain to see. Every disorder in the DSM5. All of the documentaries, YouTube videos, and articles read. So too was Aston's past - all of the struggle he had to endure. He had a fake ID in high school - not so he could drink, but to rent an apartment of his own away from his father's prying eyes in Metroville - far from anywhere he would think to look. His Asperger's was plain to see - a similar but less intense mirror of Phoenix's own past.

As he came out of the vision Phoenix embraced Aston. "Thank you, Aston..." He finally said, "I think you saved me...from my own mind." "It's no sweat, that's what friends do am I right? Sometimes the heroes of the story need saving too." They both stood up, and the dream ended.

Aston awoke holding Phoenix in his embrace. So too did Phoenix not long after. Aston now could see some of Phoenix's thoughts, but Phoenix still remained an enigma - further refinement would be needed to fully understand his mind. "Did you sleep well?" Aston inquired? "Yes...or at least better than I have in the past few months." Replied Phoenix. "I'm glad...seems you needed it." Aston stated. "No kidding...I guess I needed to not feel completely alone for once." Said Phoenix, "Say...that technique you used to get inside my head...I thought you couldn't get inside my head." "That's what I thought too...until I figured out just how different your mind is wired compared to the norm." Replied Aston, "I took an educated guess that you were Autistic - that led me to find out that your brain is almost 100x more complicated than a normal human, and I daresay probably more complicated than mine." "Does that mean I have the same abilities you do then?" Phoenix inquired, now intrigued. "Maybe..." Replied Aston, "You want to find out?" "Sure, but I bought pizza the last time we trained so it's on you this time." Stated Phoenix. "Gladly!" Replied Aston, "I think this will be fun!"

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beelsnack · 5 years ago

Note

Hey there! Love your Writing!! Can I request Some HC/Drabbles on the brothers and Diavolo comforting a Mc(GN) That Struggles with Migraines? (Thank you in advance if you do!)

Aw, thanks Nonnie!

I get migraines pretty frequently, so I’m pretty sure I’ve got headcanons lined up already, lol.

Content Warning: Mild description of vomit. Nothing graphic, but migraines be nasty.

(Side note: I guess these are kind of a mix between headcanons and drabbles, huh? Maybe I should combine them. Drabcanons? Headrabbles? I kind of like headrabbles.)

Lucifer: They hadn’t come down for dinner.

Usually, if they were planning on skipping dinner, they let at least one of the brothers know. But nobody had heard a sound from them after they had finished up their classes at RAD, and they weren’t answering texts or calls.

Lucifer climbed up the stairs leading to the second floor, already formulating a lecture. Tardiness would not be tolerated, neither at RAD or at home, it would reflect poorly on Diavolo if the exchange student suddenly developed a habit of skipping out of obligations, how dare they make him worry -

He was just about to knock on their door when he heard a soft noise from inside. It sounded like a whimper.

He stilled, pressing his ear against the wood of the door. There it was again. Definitely a whimper, longer this time, laced with pain. His heart seized at the sound, and without thinking he stepped inside.

The human had burrowed beneath their blankets and had pressed a pillow over their head.If it wasn’t for the lights strung up along their headboard, Lucifer would have just assumed the human hadn’t made their bed.

They whined again, spurring Lucifer in to action.

He called out their name. “What’s wrong?”

A pathetic whimper was his only response, and he swallowed down the lump of panic that was beginning to rise in his throat. He crossed the room in three big strides before kneeling beside their bed. There was a small gap between the blankets and pillow, and he could see the way their brow was furrowed, how their eyes were squeezed shut, the thin sheen of sweat that shined over their skin.

As though they could feel his gaze, they cracked open eye and managed to groan, “Too bright.”

Lucifer flicked his gaze over to the soft lights strung up along their headboard. They were so low that even he had a hard time seeing anything in detail. If they thought those were to bright...ah.

“A migraine, huh?”

He didn’t bother waiting for the human’s strained “Mhm,” before reaching behind the night stand where the outlet was. Suddenly, what little light there had been was gone, leaving only the slight glow from the hallway.

“Better?” he asked softly, gently reaching beneath the pillow to wipe their sweat-drenched hair away from their face.

“...Yeah...” they sighed, the crease in their brow easing slightly. “Thank you...”

“Of course.” Their eyes were already beginning to slip closed as he stood. “I’ll get you some water and let you rest.”

He was pretty sure they had passed out before he finished speaking. Which is why he allowed himself the small indulgence of placing a kiss on their forehead before he left.

Mammon: It seemed to come out of nowhere. One minute, they were walking through the halls at RAD killing time until their next class. The next, they were crying out like they had been stabbed, falling to their knees and clutching their head.

Immediately, he was beside them. “Hey, hey, what’s wrong? What happened?”

They were trying to respond, he could tell, but all that was coming out were short, staccato breaths that ended on a pained moan. He could see tears welling up in the corner of their eyes.

A crowd was beginning to form around them. Curious whispers and hushed gossiping echoed through the hall, and Mammon instinctively scratched his claws along the marble floor to attempt to keep his cool.

They had mentioned something like this before, hadn’t they? That sometimes they got these blinding headaches that left them completely incapacitated for at least the rest of the day?

“Hey,” he took their face in his hands, rubbing his thumbs soothingly along their jaw. Damn all the demons that had gathered around them, he had his priorities. “It’s okay, I’m right here, I gotcha.”

He vaguely remembered them saying something about light sensitivity. Honestly, this probably wasn’t going to do anything, but he plucked his sunglasses from where they were hung on his uniform and slipped them over their face. “I’m going to get you to the Student Council lounge, okay? Can you walk?”

After a few deep, shuddering breaths, they managed to stand. Mammon didn’t liek the way they were swaying on their feet, however, so, with a click on his tongue, he scooped them up bridal style. The buried their face against the column of his neck without complaint, and that was when he knew they were really in pain.

“Everything’s okay, your first man’s gonna take care of ya.”

Levi: It was obvious the human wasn’t feeling well. They had their right eye squeezed shut, just barely watching the anime through their left. Every time Luminous-chan started her transformation scene, they were cringe at the sudden flash. He swore he even heard them whimper a little bit.

“Why are you still here?” wait, no, that came out wrong. “I-I mean, like, if you feel sick or something, we can watch it later. You’re not even really paying attention!”

They winced at the volume of his voice, and Levi internally cursed himself. “Seriously, go lie down if you feel sick. I don’t want your normie germs.”

Another bright, intensely colorful scene started, and Levi belatedly realized that he probably should at least pause it.

They slumped their head against the back of the couch. They seemed to relax just a little bit without the noise. “Being in your room helps.”

“Eh?” Levi looked at them incredulously. “Why would it help?”

“The blue lights don’t hurt as much, and it’s nice and cool in here.” they muttered. “But I can leave if you really want me to.”

“N-No!” this time, both of them winced at his volume.

“You can stay here.” his voice was barely above a whisper. “I’ll just...use my headphones or whatever. You take a nap.”

Satan: With all the things that can go wrong with the human body, the species should have died out a millennia ago.

They were currently holed up in their room, trying to stave off the throbbing headache with Excedrin and sheer willpower. Satan, feeling particularly useless, was doing what he did best - research.

Obviously there were no books on human medical conditions in the Devildom, so that had led him to the internet.

“Aura? Migraines can affect your vision?” he muttered to himself, scrolling down further. “They can cause nausea? ‘May last up to 72 hours?!’“

No wonder the human wanted to be left alone. He would be in a foul mood too.

Asmo: “You know, I’m usually thrilled when my partner wakes up looking like they spent the night tumbling around, but something tells me this wasn’t nearly as enjoyable.”

They were a hot mess. Their usually neat uniform was rumpled, and they hadn’t quite been able to get the last button done right. Harsh, almost bruise-like bags stood out against their skin, which had taken on a sickly pallor.

Joking aside, Asmo didn’t like how the human looked. “What’s the matter, darling?”

They plopped down on Asmo’s bed next to him, letting him fuss with their hair. “I definitely feel a migraine coming on.”

His fingers paused in their ministrations before beginning to massage gently at their scalp. “Poor thing, why are you even up?”

“Because Lucifer will flay me alive and use my pelt to decorate his office if I skip classes.” they shot back, and Asmo was glad to see they still had their snark even though they looked dead on their feet.

“Darling, it’s not skipping if your brain in trying to escape your skull.” he stood, running his long fingers through their hair one more time and quite enjoying how they leaned into the touch. “Now, let me take care of Lucifer, you get some rest.”

“Can I stay here?” they asked, rubbing at their temple. Asmo giggled.

“Well, I’m certainly not going to turn you away from my bed.” he flicked the lights off on his way out. “There’s an eye mask in the drawer next to the lube.”

Beelzebub: The two of them had a routine. Friday night, Beel would go to the gym, come home, and they would hang out in their room and watch so-bad-they’re-good horror movies until they fell asleep.

Since this was an every week thing, Beel didn’t even think to text them and tell them he was coming over. They usually left their door unlocked when they were home anyway.

There was no answer when he knocked, which seemed strange. They were usually here at this point. Maybe something had come up? But they would have let him know, surely. A frown tugged at his lips as he tested the doorknob. Unlocked.

Slowly, he opened the door, calling out to them. “Are you in here?”

A few seconds of silence ticked by. Beel was about to call again when he heard a gagging noise coming from their bathroom. He peered a little farther in and saw the light from the bathroom spilling into the room. They hadn’t even been able to close the door.

Concern washed over him, but he was pretty sure barging into the bathroom while they were sick wouldn’t help matters. He carefully shut the bedroom door behind him. “I’m coming in okay?”

“N-No, don’t -” another gag cut them off. Beel winced in sympathy as he entered the bathroom.

The sight made him want to cry. They were clinging onto the toilet, half slumped to the floor. Their pajama shorts were all twisted around, and Beel could see red marks from where the human had been kneeling against the floor tiles. Tears were streaming down their cheeks as they took deep breaths in an attempt to fight off the nausea.

Beel knelt down next to them, and they didn’t even have the energy to protest when he swept some of their sweaty hair out of their face. “Did you eat something bad?”

They shook their head, then squeezed their eyes shut. “No...it’s a migraine.”

Beel frowned. “I thought migraines were headaches.”

“They make you nauseated, too.” they muttered, reaching up to flush the contents of their stomach down the toilet. “Sorry, I should have let you know...”

He placed a large hand on their back and they sighed, letting his presence stabilize them.

“It’s okay.” he said, rubbing small circles along their spine. “Isn’t there a drink that helps with upset stomachs?”

“Ginger ale.” they supplied, voice going a bit hoarse. “I’m pretty sure they don’t have it in the Devildom, though.”

“There might be some at that convenience store near The Fall. I could go check.” he stood up, almost instinctively reaching down to scoop them up before pausing. “Do you still feel sick?”

“No, it’s passing. I’m just super tired.” they reached out towards Beel, and he proceeded with the scooping.

“I won’t be long.” he promised as he deposited them on the bed.

“Don’t get distracted by all of the yummy snacks, okay?” they teased, and he smiled a little.

“I make no guarantees.”

Belphegor: He could practically see the irritation rolling off of them.

Movie night was always a garbage fire, but tonight was particularly bad. It had been nearly an hour and they were still arguing over what movie to watch, Mammon and Asmo had nearly come to blows, and Beel was sitting on his own island of pop cans and empty bags of popcorn.

Usually, they found the brothers’ antics amusing, but tonight, Belphegor saw murder in their eyes. And as much as he would delight in seeing his big brothers get fucking wrecked by a human, dealing with the cleanup would be a complete hassle.

“Are you feeling okay?” he leaned in to whisper. They blinked hard a few times, trying to clear their vision.

“I already felt like I was going to get a migraine,” they gritted their teeth as they spoke. “But this definitely isn’t helped.”

Belphie hummed in agreement. “Yeah, I can’t imagine it is. Think they’ll notice if we bow out?”

There was the sound of glass shattering as someone threw a couch pillow and either missed horrendously or hit precisely what they were aiming at. It was hard to tell.

“I think we’ll be fine.”

Chuckling, Belphie grabbed their hand and led them out of the living room. Of course the only one who saw them was Beel, and Belphie merely made a shushing gesture and nodded his head towards the staircase. The older twin nodded and went back to his munching without any fuss, bless his big, fluffy heart.

The human trudged after Belphie, already worn out. They walked past their room, so they assumed they were going to the twins’ room. But they passed that too.

“Belphie, where are we going?”

He stopped them at the base of the attic stairs. “Someone will just barge in if we go to one of our rooms. Nobody will think about up here, though.”

If their head wasn’t pounding, they would have asked if Belphie was okay going back into the room that had basically been his prison cell for a year. But, their head was pounding, and they didn’t have the energy to question his logic. So up to the attic they went.

It was blissfully dark in the attic. Belphie yawned as he made his way over to the bed and flopped down.

“Come on, I think we both need a nap.”

“It’s late, isn’t this just going to bed at this point?” they wiggled into bed next to Belphie anyway, snuggling deeper into the blankets as he hugged them close.

“The human doth protest too much. Shut up and go to sleep.”

Diavolo: It was irrational, he knew. The human had a migraine, not the Black Death. But still, worry and uncertainty chased each other around his skull like rabid beasts until he couldn’t take it anymore.

“Lord Diavolo?” Lucifer looked shocked to see him as he entered. “Did we have a meeting for tonight?”

“No, no, don’t worry.” he grinned. “I heard our little human friend had to leave RAD early due to a migraine, and I wanted to see how they were feeling, is all.”

Lucifer raised one delicate eyebrow, and Diavolo knew he was blushing. He had grown rather attached to the human, probably more than he should have, considering the circumstances.

“They’re resting right now.” he nodded towards the stairs. “I’m not sure it would be wise to disturb them.”

“Disturb who?”

Both demons turned to look as the human came out of the hallway that led to the kitchen. Aside from their sleep-heavy eyes and the occasional roll of their neck, they looked just fine.

“Oh, Lord Diavolo!” they smiled.

“Well, you look much better than this afternoon.” he hoped the relief in his voice wasn’t too obvious. Based on the look Lucifer shot him, it was.

They nodded. “That medicine you gave me worked wonders! Better than anything I ever took in the human world. Thank you so much.”

“Think nothing of it.” his grin softened into something warm, something he knew was professionally inappropriate to feel towards a human exchange student. “I’m glad I could help.”

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