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themurphyzone · 3 years ago

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PatB Oneshot: Poor Unfortunate Soul

Summary: Brain doesn’t think Pinky would be a very good villain. Pinky decides to prove him wrong (but mostly he wants Denny's).

AN: I’ll be honest, Dark Pinky isn’t for me. So how to compromise writing a villainous Pinky with normal Pinky? Well...you’ll see.

AO3 Link

Pinky gasped at the TV, crumbs of popcorn falling out of his mouth. Brain stopped chewing and looked away from the screen, unable to stomach the scene of Lupin and Sirius forcing Pettigrew out of rat form as he attempted to flee the Shrieking Shack.

No matter how many times he’d seen Prisoner of Azkaban, Brain always found it uncomfortable to watch Pettigrew transform into a pathetic, sniveling human who acted like he hadn’t sold his own friends out to a homicidal madman.

Sure, Voldemort was the villain while Umbridge was the personification of government corruption, but there was just something downright insidious about Pettigrew.

Pinky’s eyes were blown wide open as Pettigrew pitifully tried to plead his case. The simpleton was always so surprised about this plot twist no matter how many times he’d seen this movie.

The more he pondered, perhaps Pinky was the exact reason he found Pettigrew worse than the larger threats of the Harry Potter world. The man played into the worst of rodent stereotypes with his cowardly and backstabbing nature.

But Pinky?

Not a single disloyal bone in his body. It was a lesson Brain had taken to heart after his disastrous second birthday. Pinky was far too sweet and simple to even think about betrayal.

Tears flowed down Pinky’s face as Lupin transformed into an emaciated werewolf, so Brain discreetly nudged a pack of Kleenexes his way. Pinky flashed him a grateful, wobbly smile, then reached for a tissue and blew his nose.

Pinky always cried at this part. And while Brain found the scene emotionally gut-punching too, he considered himself above displays of crying during movies.

Mufasa’s death didn’t count. Dirt always lodged in his lacrimal ducts whenever he watched that scene. That was all.

Brain’s fists clenched as the cowardly Pettigrew abandoned everyone to die.

Though his escape was an essential plot point for the rest of the series, Brain wished the protagonists could’ve caught Pettigrew and delivered justice for betraying those who called him a friend.

He knew how the movie played out, but Pinky acted like he was watching it all for the very first time. Sometimes, watching Pinky when he didn’t care what happened on-screen was much more interesting. Especially when Pinky insisted on not skipping Order of the Phoenix.

Pinky hugged his knees, tail draped tightly around him as the Dementors attacked Harry and Sirius. The rest of the movie would be loaded with those undead abominations. Brain had learned from unfortunate experience that Pinky would have nightmares if he didn’t cut off the fear before it took root in his subconscious.

Slowly, Brain moved towards Pinky, careful not to make a sound lest Pinky catch him in the act. He took a deep breath to steel his resolve, placing a hesitant hand on Pinky’s back.

Pinky turned to look at him.

“Eyes on the screen,” Brain commanded. It was easier to do this when Pinky wasn’t watching him.

Pinky obeyed, humming softly as Brain patted soft fur. A long, flowing tail wrapped around a crooked one. Pinky sat up a little straighter.

The Dementors wouldn’t haunt Pinky’s dreams tonight. Not as long as Brain had something to say about it.

o-o-o-o-o

“-and I’m so happy Sirius and Buckbeak got away! D’you think I could ride a hippogriff? Why are they called hippos when they’re not hippos anyway? I don’t think wizards know their animals very well, Brain.” Pinky’s chatter continued into the ungodly hours of the morning. Only the people unfortunate enough to work early morning shifts on Saturday would be awake at this time.

Brain rolled onto his stomach, covering his ears with his pillow to block out all the extraneous noise. One con about taking nights off from world domination was that his body just didn’t want to sleep even when he was tired, and Pinky’s exuberance only amplified the issue.

“Troz! Prisoner of Azkaban is my favorite out of the Harry Potter movies. But my favorites are also Sorcerer’s Stone and Chamber and Goblet...oh! And Order has Luna Lovegood of course! Love her! What’s your favorite, Brain?” Pinky asked. “Ooh, you shouldn’t lay like that. You need to breathe!”

The pillow was completely ineffective as a sound buffer. Brain was sorely tempted to keep up his current position out of pure spite, but he had to give up and lay on his side so he wouldn’t suffocate.

“No favorite. Hippogriffs are fictional. Hippo is Greek for horse and does not refer to a hippopotamus in this context. You think cows cluck and chickens moo, Pinky. Now go to sleep,” Brain sighed, squeezing his eyes shut.

Perhaps he could trick his exhausted mind into believing Pinky wasn’t there if he couldn’t be seen.

He had an urge to stay awake though. If his subconscious latched onto hippopotamuses, he’d just have that nightmare with the rich hippo couple and Rockefeller baby all over again. He shuddered at that memory. The pain and humiliation from that hippo-sized booster shot had been oddly vivid.

“Okay. G’night, Brain.” The bed shifted as Pinky flopped onto his back.

All was quiet.

Brain curled into a more comfortable position, ready to drift off to a dream world where he was an emperor on a golden throne, Pinky was dressed in royal finery while leading a resounding chorus of We are the World, and all knelt before their authority.

“Brain?”

And there went the dream.

“What?” Brain snapped. Part of him wanted to knock Pinky out himself, but that would require moving his arms. He didn’t want to move out of his current position.

“Just pondering. Poit,” Pinky yawned. “Before sleep ponderings. Those kinds are the best, Brain. Cause they get weird and tangerine-y. Bet you get those too.”

It was true. When his plans weren’t derived from Pinky’s inane ramblings or current events, they were often the product of pre-sleep thoughts. While he wrote down all he could remember afterwards, the plans pulled from those tangents tended to be the craziest and illogical in hindsight.

He tried not to rely on them too much, but if his conqueror’s block was high or creativity levels were low, he didn’t have much choice.

“Yes,” Brain confirmed.

But his curt answer wasn’t enough to deter Pinky.

“Cause I was pondering about villains,” Pinky said. “Like Pettigrew. Cause what if I had something that makes me a villain?”

As much as Brain wanted to dismiss the idea of a villainous Pinky due to the sheer absurdity of the concept, he supposed it wasn’t entirely out of the realm of possibility either.

But Pinky as a villain? A mouse who gave up his soul for the sake of Brain’s desires and argued against promoting harmful cigarettes to children?

It was just ludicrous.

“Pinky, you lack many prerequisites for proper villainy,” Brain said. “Except for the dramatics. That’s the only trait you have in common.”

“Oh. Well, I could certainly try,” Pinky replied.

Yes, and someday pigs would evolve and develop flight capabilities.

If he were in a clearer state of mind, he would’ve argued out of obstinance. But right now, it was incredibly early on a Saturday morning and he wanted nothing more than to sleep. Discussions on villainy and world domination could wait a few hours.

“If you can prove me wrong, you can select the next restaurant we’ll go to,” Brain yawned.

Pinky rarely got to choose the restaurant, given Brain’s sophisticated palate, but at this point he was willing to try anything to get Pinky off his back.

Then Pinky went from figuratively being on his back to pressing against it, his tail curling around Brain’s. Pinky’s jaw rested against the back of Brain’s head. The added pressure released a tenseness around Brain’s shoulders, one that he’d been previously unaware of.

“Denny’s,” Pinky murmured, nuzzling the back of Brain’s ear. The sensitive appendage flicked. Nobody was around to witness that involuntary reflex, so Brain let it pass. “A Grand Slam with pancakes and syrup and bacon n’ eggs…”

Within seconds, Pinky was out like a light. He wouldn’t remember this conversation, too busy thinking with his stomach instead of properly pondering with that fluffball of a mind.

With Pinky’s warm fur against his back and soft narfs against his ear, Brain’s thoughts gently trickled away and yielded to peaceful sleep.

o-o-o-o-o

Though it was probably noon by now, Brain still didn’t want to open his eyes. Why bother? No scientists to pester them, no leftover plans or materials to hide away so they wouldn’t be discovered, no tedious mazes to run on Saturday.

Pinky had gotten up sometime before him, and the space beside him was empty, giving Brain room to stretch out in whatever way he liked.

Then he heard a harsh scraping noise, like someone was dragging something heavy across the counter. That wasn’t unusual for Pinky if an object caught his short attention span for some inane reason.

However, there was also the sound of laughter accompanying the noise. Pinky was giggly and bubbly to a fault, but this brand of laughter was different.

Almost malevolent.

A chill ran up his spine, but Brain ignored the feeling. Pinky’s evil laugh was still firmly in Saturday morning cartoon villain territory, he told himself.

Even if he sounded a little too good at being evil.

Apparently, Pinky had remembered the bet after all.

Brain slowly opened his eyes, about to find Pinky and tell him to knock it off, only to find that it was much darker than it should be for daytime. But it wasn’t dark enough to impede his vision. When he looked up, he found a sheet had been pulled over the entire cage. He couldn’t see anything outside the cage.

Pinky being secretive would surely spell disaster. And it hadn’t been there last night, so Pinky was the only culprit.

The wheel stood empty, a fresh oil can beside it. Brain rubbed his eyes, partly to wake himself up and partly out of disbelief. He was normally a light sleeper, but if he hadn’t heard Pinky maintain his wheel at all, then he must’ve had a deeper sleep than he thought.

He climbed out of bed and marched towards the unlatched cage door, though the corner of the sheet was pulled over it. He would’ve swept it aside, but an unopened cup of Rice Krispies with a half-empty bottle of milk, napkin, and spoon conspicuously placed next to the door gave him pause from leaving the cage.

His stomach growled.

“Well played, Pinky,” Brain admitted. A breakfast barricade to delay him? It was rather creative, not that he’d ever let Pinky know.

The Rice Krispies made satisfactory snap, crackle, and pop noises as Brain poured the milk inside. Then he scarfed down the cereal, half-expecting Pinky to come in and drag him outside for whatever he planned.

But Pinky seemed content to let him eat first.

Once he finished eating, he dragged the empty cereal cup and milk bottle behind him. But even his simple two-step plan of throwing his current load into the garbage and finding Pinky were laid to waste the moment he set foot outside the cage.

For Pinky had unleashed his inner interior designer and completely transformed the room in such a short timeframe.

Large, sweeping blackout curtains covered the windows, even the skylight. According to the digital clock atop the TV, it was 12:30 in the afternoon. But if Brain didn’t know any better, he would’ve believed it was midnight.

No wonder he’d been so inclined to sleep in.

Long strands of Christmas lights hung on each dark blue wall, which was otherwise untransformed. Other than the digital clock, they were the only available light source. But rather than their usual festive association, the unblinking reds, greens, and blues lent a rather ominous, otherworldly quality to the room.

Brain dispelled the fear. It was irrational when he’d traversed the dark lab at night a million times before.

Perhaps he was focusing too hard on dumping the leftover milk into the sink. With absolute concentration, he pushed the empty cup and bottle over the counter’s edge and into the garbage can below.

As he backed away from the edge, he saw a large mixing bowl with a stepladder set by it. Wisps of steam rose from the inside of the bowl. This must’ve been the source of the scraping sound he’d heard earlier. Curious, Brain climbed the stepladder and peered inside.

It was just warm water though.

He tried not to feel too disappointed. But even if it was mundane right now, surely it had to be here for a reason, right?

Or Pinky didn’t have any reason at all and he just wanted to fill a mixing bowl with boiled water. Both options were possibilities.

As he continued his search for Pinky, he walked past rows upon rows of test tubes filled with brightly colored substances. Electric green, dreadful purple, deceptively calm cerulean…

He wasn’t sure what kind of chemistry experiments they were running, but he wished someone had enough sense to label the test tubes.

Beakers and tubing distorted his reflection, a prickling sensation traveling down his spine and forcing his fur to stand on end. He smoothed it down so he didn’t bear a passing resemblance to a cotton ball. The slightly colder than normal temperature wasn’t helping.

The distortion was simply a natural refraction of light passing through liquids. That’s all. There was no reason to get worked up over natural phenomena.

That didn’t stop him from leaping back when a wide, smiling human face suddenly appeared as he navigated a sea of flasks.

His heart threatened to leap out of his chest, his breaths growing heavier.

There weren’t any humans in the lab right now, he reminded himself. And the smiling face was frozen and unmoving. It wasn’t real.

Brain cautiously poked his head around the flask, keeping it as a buffer between himself and the unknown threat.

Against the wall, several of Pinky’s Barbie and Ken dolls sat in a row. The one whose face appeared on the flask was on the far left, her blonde hair in a ponytail. All of the dolls were in colorful swimwear. One of the Ken dolls had a pair of sunglasses perched on his head.

The dolls were normal. No creepy alterations or missing body parts.

But as Brain approached and inspected the dolls closely, their positioning seemed...odd.

Yes, their plastic visages displayed smiles as if they were en route to a Miami beach party, but their arms were stretched above their heads or out to the sides in warning. Their legs laid flat against the ground. Duct tape trapped their legs to the ground and wrapped against their torsos, sticking them firmly to the wall and preventing them from falling over.

An interesting choice for decor, to say the least.

But enough was enough. Time to find Pinky and force a coherent explanation out of him.

One of the Barbie's arm pointed to the back of the room, so Brain followed her instruction. It led him straight to Pinky’s dollhouse, and Brain cursed himself for being so taken in with the environment that he’d neglected to check one of Pinky’s favorite toys.

The pink plastic door was wide open, a deadly invitation into danger. Brain’s ears pricked as a song floated through the air.

“Things are working out according to my ultimate design,

Soon I’ll have that little rodent and the planet shall be mine!”

The melody was accompanied by a sinister cackle.

Brain wanted to barge in and demand Pinky to cease his foolishness immediately, but his fingers curled against the doorframe instead, urging him to heed caution.

“I can hear you!” Pinky singsonged from behind a section of dollhouse that was curtained off with jingling Mardi Gras beads. “Won’t you come inside so we can talk properly?”

Brain rolled his eyes, sweeping the bead curtain away. “Pinky, I’m aware of our deal, but this is rather excess-”

Then his mind registered the scene that lay before him.

Pinky perched on a stool in front of a mirror as he applied a red coating of lipstick. That wasn’t unusual for him.

But he was also clad in a backless floor-length dress with thigh-high slits. The dress was dark as night, leaving his shoulders and arms exposed. His fur was dyed a light lavender, save for his messy white tuft, which was gelled so that it stood straight up.

A small seashell necklace sat just above the low cut dress, purple earrings hanging from each ear. Pinky didn’t turn around, blinking coyly at Brain in his reflection, which sported heavy blue eyeshadow.

He set the lipstick down, and Brain stared at the enchanting movement of manicured, polished red nails as deft fingers picked up a small brush and dipped it into a makeup kit. Then Pinky applied a beauty mark next to his lips.

The next thing out of Brain’s mouth was a very intelligent ‘um’.

“You shouldn’t lurk in doorways,” Pinky purred, his voice low and sultry. “It’s very rude. Didn’t your mother teach you manners?”

She didn’t have time to teach him a lot of things, given his kidnapping at an early age, but that wasn’t the point.

“Why in Ptolemy’s name are you Ursula out of all villains?” Brain asked, once his voice came back.

At least it explained why Pinky had redecorated the room to resemble an underwater cavern that doubled as a villainous lair. It was an excellent use of space.

And the Barbies and Kens...those were the stand-ins for the helpless sea polyps.

Pinky must’ve been deriving a lot of satisfaction at seeing that realization dawn on Brain.

“Why not?” Pinky shrugged. He puckered his lips and kissed his reflection, leaving a red lip-shaped mark behind. “Besides...isn’t there something you’re after? Something you want oh so very much, but haven’t been able to get?”

Brain scowled. “You know perfectly well that I’m trying to rule the world, Pinky.”

Pinky snapped his fingers. “And that’s what I can help you with! The only way to get what you want...is to become a human yourself.”

Well, he’d never considered that before in the pursuit of world domination. There was something about manipulating his genetic code and changing his species that didn’t sit well with him, even though he detested the challenges that came with being a lowly lab mouse.

But it made sense.

Humans only respected humans. Becoming a member of the dominant species would be an asset for sure!

But Pinky didn’t have the means to make that happen...right?

“You don’t know how to manipulate mouse DNA into a human one,” Brain said.

“Oh my dear, sweet Brain,” Pinky crooned as he stood up, slinking over to Brain. Brain crossed his arms, forcing himself to stare Pinky straight in the eye and not show any signs of yielding. He made a point out of not watching those sashaying hips and tail. “Helping poor, unfortunate mice like yourself is my one passion in life! Why, without it, I’ll have to slink away and become a crazy cat lady! And then who will those poor souls turn to?”

“A glass of alcohol, I presume,” Brain replied.

Pinky’s tail came to rest around Brain’s shoulders. The tip tickled Brain’s nose, and he held it away from his face as Pinky pulled him out of the dollhouse and back to the tied up Barbie and Ken dolls. “Maybe, maybe...but a real person they can lean on, I mean. One that knows a little...magic.”

He flicked his finger at a beaker filled with a lavender substance. The beaker sailed through the air, dumping its contents into the mixing bowl. A purple haze rose from the bowl.

“That’s telepathy, not-”

Pinky gently pressed a finger to Brain’s mouth to hush him. “Oh, ye of little faith,” he scolded. “It’s true that I did some rather — how would you phrase this gently — unsavory things before. But I’ve repented! Turned over a new leaf! Seen the light! And now I use my talents for those lonely and miserable enough to seek my services.”

Then Pinky moved away from Brain, flicking his tail against Brain’s nose to direct his attention to the wall. Pinky wrapped his arm around the Barbie with a red polka-dotted bikini. “You see, Barbie here grew up where she didn’t have much opportunity. Poor girl had to work two jobs to make ends meet, and hardly a cent to show for it! So I offered her a chance to get away from it all...and she took it.”

Brain gulped as Pinky moved onto the Ken doll next to Barbie. He was awfully convincing, even when the subject in question was inanimate. Pinky played with the ascot around Ken’s neck. “And this young man? Well, he wasn’t having much luck with the ladies. So I gave him a few pointers, maybe a knickknack or two to help speed things along. However…”

Pinky indicated the tape that bound the dolls to the wall. “I wouldn’t worry about this too much, since you’re a mouse of your word, but sometimes...they couldn’t pay me back in time. So I found a different way to collect their debt.”

“Yes, I’m sure you have much to gain from restraining children’s toys,” Brain said, tilting his head up to hide his uneasiness.

They looked less marketable and more like hapless victims wallowing in despair, despite their smiling faces. He chalked it up to the wall’s resemblance to a dimly lit marine cave.

“Oh, I get some odd complaints every now and then,” Pinky shrugged. “But alas, that’s what happens in this business.”

He plucked a purple sash from Barbie and wrapped it around his head, fluttering his eyelashes innocently.

Not that he was fooling Brain.

But he didn’t have time to process that nonverbal gesture, for Pinky threw the sash around Brain, his tail looping around Brain’s waist. With the sash locking his arms against his sides, he was helplessly corralled to the mixing bowl. He dug his feet into the surface beneath him, but it was no use. Pinky was far stronger than he.

In physical terms of course. He tried to keep his eyes on Pinky’s face and not his...well, he was a male mouse...he didn’t have...unless he padded...

Stop, Brain.

A finger slipped under Brain’s chin, tilting his head up. “Not to worry,” Pinky purred, and the room suddenly went from cold to sweltering. “I have your solution right here.”

To emphasize his point, blue and green test tubes poured their contents into the bowl. The colors melded together, the resulting haze forming a rough image of the world.

“Here’s the deal. I’ll make a potion that can turn you into a human for three days,” Pinky declared, dragging his finger along Brain’s chin. Now that Pinky’s grip had loosened, Brain ripped the sash out of Pinky’s hands and threw it aside.

The stroke of Pinky’s finger along Brain’s fur was enticing, and he pushed it away exactly for that reason.

“Before sunset on the third day, you’ve got to find someone of royal blood,” Pinky said. A golden liquid swirled out of a beaker and formed a crown in the center of the world. It was an image of which Brain had dreamed of for so long. He tried to touch it, but it was far out of reach for him. “Then this charming person has to fall in love with you.”

That sounded...feasible. Three days was a rather generous deadline. Most of the time, they were on a time crunch between eight to twelve hours.

Pinky produced a pink felt heart and held it between two fingers. “Then you have to seal your love with a kiss. And not just any old peck on the cheek, but a kiss of true love.”

A what?

Brain huffed. Of course this plan would have such a ridiculous stipulation. He’d gotten his hopes up for nothing.

...and why was he treating this like it was real?

Because Pinky.

Yes, that was the only explanation. And not even a rational one.

“Oh dear, don’t pout so,” Pinky smirked. The expression was fogging up Brain’s mind. “What else is there to seal amour but with true love’s kiss? It’s a tried and true method, after all.”

He chuckled at his own joke. Brain rolled his eyes.

“If this certain someone kisses you by sunset on the third day, you’ll have the world permanently. But if they don’t, you turn back into a mouse.”

Pinky tossed the felt heart into the mixing bowl, the solution emitting a pink puff of smoke.

“And you belong to me.”

A dangerous edge crept into Pinky’s tone as he whispered into Brain’s ear, and the appendage fluttered uncontrollably until Brain forcefully snatched it to cease its movement.

Pinky tossed a hair tie, penny, and eraser nub into the mixing bowl, then leaned against a long pencil case as he awaited Brain’s reply.

“Suppose I agree to your deal. What then?” Brain asked.

“Well, there’s the matter of payment,” Pinky admitted. He stretched his lower limbs and tail as he rolled onto his stomach, exposing his long lavender-dyed legs. Brain tried not to watch the motion too closely for fear of hypnotism. “If you want something so badly, something of equal value has to be given. Equivalent exchange, as they say.”

“And what exactly do you want?” Brain asked, though he knew the answer.

He’d seen the movie.

“Your voice.”

Pinky’s smile was too wide and manic for Brain’s comfort.

“In other words...” Pinky hummed as he leaned forward, his nose was just an inch away from Brain. “...no more talking, singing, zip!”

He popped the consonant and mimed zipping his mouth, throwing away an invisible key.

It was so warm that Brain couldn’t feel his face.

“Now, now. Don’t be alarmed, Brain.” Pinky stretched luxuriously as he stood up. His tail slinked around Brain’s waist again. “You have your pretty face. And you shouldn’t underestimate the importance of...body language.”

Pinky’s hip bumped into Brain’s, his leg sliding all the way out of the slit of his dress. He batted his eyelashes and blew a kiss to an invisible audience.

Brain covered his face, ears flat against his back. He was fine. Just had to think about...something. What was he trying to picture exactly?

No mathematical formula could save him from the horror that was stupid, sexy Pinky. Curse those mathematical miscreants! They abandoned him in his time of need!

Pinky climbed up and down the stepladder, tossing chemicals and liquids and all sorts of things inside. The bowl rocked back and forth dangerously, bubbles spilling down the sides.

Brain didn’t dare get close. The inside of the bowl surely were an unholy abomination.

But that didn’t stop Pinky.

“Now a dash of zort, a sprinkle of poit! Bubble, bubble, toil and trouble! Fire burn and cauldron bubble!” Pinky cackled, throwing his arms up in the air. “Abracadabra troz! Bibbidi bobbidi narf!”

The mixture now to his satisfaction, Pinky flicked his finger at a notepad and pen, sending them hurtling towards Brain.

“Just sign on the dotted line, you poor unfortunate soul,” Pinky said.

Well...playing along couldn’t hurt. Even when there was a biohazard right in front of him.

And no, the bowl’s contents weren’t the biohazard here.

Brain took a deep breath and signed his name.

The moment he finished, the notepad and pen flew out of his hands and into the bowl.

Pinky wiggled his fingers over the bowl, green smoke rising to the ceiling and seeping past the edges of the blackout curtains to the outside. No smoke detectors went off, though Brain wasn’t surprised. ACME was rather lax on safety protocols.

“Beluga sevruga, come winds of the Caspian Sea!

Larengix glaucitis

Et max laryngitis

La voce to me!”

With a wide grin that spread from ear to ear, Pinky climbed down the stepladder and placed one hand on his seashell necklace, the other tickling the base of Brain’s neck. Brain ducked his head instinctively to stop the ticklish sensation, trapping Pinky’s hand under his jaw.

“Now sing.”

It was rare that Pinky commanded. Brain hated taking orders, yet something compelled him to obey.

Those coy blue eyes demanded, so Brain willingly gave.

And he sang.

Though he was hoarse from surprise at first, Pinky’s finger traced the outline of his neck, up his chin, to the corner of his mouth. Brain imagined his voice growing stronger...could see his voice taking physical form, flowing out of him and into Pinky’s seashell necklace.

Pinky doubled over in laughter as an explosion rocked the counter. The bowl sparked and smoked, its base clattering against the surface with loud metallic bangs.

Brain broke out of his trance as a sludge-like wave with various melted objects slithered down the rim, creeping ever closer.

He wasn’t taking any chances.

Grabbing his maniacally howling companion by the arm, Brain quickly bopped him over the head to halt the laughter, then dragged him over to the window for a quick escape. Pinky recovered from the bop and shimmied past the blackout curtain. Brain took a moment to collect the ACME credit card he’d pilfered from an employee several weeks ago, then followed Pinky onto the windowsill.

Pinky jumped first, safely landing in the bushes below. Holding the credit card above his head, which was no easy feat since the card was about the same size as him, Brain jumped as an explosion rocked the building, and his ears flattened instinctively to shield him from the worst of the noise.

As predicted, he landed in Pinky’s arms.

And it was somewhat mortifying now that Pinky’s eyes had gone from coy to blindingly innocent, even with the heavy eyeshadow. Shoving the card between himself and Pinky’s face, Brain climbed out of his arms.

“Narf! So how’d I do, Brain?” Pinky asked. “Was I convincing?”

Brain dusted off a bit of lavender dye that had rubbed onto his arm. He hoped it was fur-friendly. “You created a dangerous biohazard, toyed with my perception of reality, and overall you were a flirtatious nuisance.”

Pinky’s tail stopped wagging.

“So yes. You were indeed a convincing villain,” Brain said. He tapped the credit card. “And to fulfill the conditions of our original deal, I shall now treat you to Denny’s.”

He was a mouse of his word.

“Hoorah!” Pinky cheered. He twirled around in excitement, his black dress swirling around him as he danced all the way to the sidewalk. “Let’s go, Brain! I wanna look at all the lovely pictures on their menu!”

“You’re going like that?” Brain called after him. Didn’t he want to change out of the Disney villainess ensemble?

“Well you’re naked! So there!” Pinky stuck his tongue out at him.

With a sigh, Brain joined his companion on the sidewalk. Pinky skipped over to a patch of white flowers blooming next to the sidewalk, gently cupping the petals and cooing at a ladybug which landed on a blade of grass next to his foot.

Truly a convincing villain.

And Brain’s poor unfortunate soul was helpless under his power.

End AN: I deny selecting Poor Unfortunate Souls over other villain songs specifically for the body language line. You can’t prove anything.

I HC that Brain would hate Pettigrew more than any other Harry Potter character. I was trying to write a villainous Pinky...somewhere along the way he turned into Pinky Suavo. I don’t get it either XD

There's some folks taking care of the biohazard the mice left behind. Don't worry, the lab's still standing. It's just their problem while the mice get Denny's.

#patb disney #patb fanfiction #pinky and the brain

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oftenderweapons · 4 years ago

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The Studio - Namjoon

Pairing: Namjoon x reader (nicknamed Vixen)

Wordcount: 9.7k words

Genre: smut, angst, fluff

Rating: 18+

I told you I’d be back really soon ;) Tonight there’s a lot on schedule! I’ve been working on this piece for two weeks, since it carries a lot for both Namjoon and Vixen, emotionally speaking. It means a lot for me too, since to me it was truly a challenge in terms of the different levels of knowledge that Joon, y/n and the narrator hold. I think I’ve grown a lot in terms of writing even from Tiktok Towel Trick, which I wrote last May, but I’m really proud of myself comparing to what I used to produce a couple years ago.

Now, let me introduce this fic. The piece takes place two or three months after the two have started sleeping together (ideally late January or February). In this piece Vixen visits Joon at the studio after a bad fight and Joon’s self-imposed isolation. The two feel like they’ve come to a dead-end as they wait for the other person to cut ties. Namjoon is suffocated by his job, his tendency to lash out at his closest ones when he’s stressed and his previous traumas; Vixen is locked in her head, shut out by Namjoon and repeatedly accused of infidelity, as a sign of Namjoon’s lack of trust. Will the two manage to work things out?

Description and trigger warnings: The piece was written referring to Namjoon’s Rkive as in his vlive log. There is ANGST. Loads. There is some crying and it is not Vixen’s. Longing and miscommunication. In terms of filth: so much dirty talking the walls exude holy water by now. Unprotected sex (STAY SAFE GUYS!!!!!!!!), DDLG/daddy kink, Masturbation paired up with Voyeurism and Exhibitionism, Fetishism (Shoes, tights and lingerie), Oral (female receiving), Cumplay (eating), Marking, Spanking, Angsty doggy fucking followed by a very soft ride on the sofa. That should be all. Fluff alarm: Namjoon doesn’t want to lose his little fox and Vixen just wants to cuddle her big teddy bear Joon.

Wordcount: 9.7k

Here is my masterlist

Enjoy!!!

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Standing in the main corridor of the studios felt very strange. You looked around, uncomfortable, while the receptionist at your side stared at you, waiting. "Don't worry, he's busy all the time. We can wait, no big deal." The fact that you'd been greeted by Namjoon's driver at the entry desk had helped you get to the studios unannounced. "That boy always gets caught up on something. He shouldn't make you wait." He tutted, looking at you with a kind smile.

"____? What are you doing here?" Taehyung smiled at you brightly, close behind him Hoseok and Yoongi approached with heavy-looking bags on them.

"Oh, hi. I sort of stopped by for Namjoon." You bit your lip, smiling embarrassedly.

"He's still in his room. I can show you the way." Taehyung said, grinning.

Yoongi seemed to be observing him closely while Hoseok looked absolutely oblivious.

"No, I only have to give him this." You showed them two small bags, one containing food and the other a few things he had left at your place.

You tried not to let your heartbreak show.

"Maybe you could bring them to him, I don't want to distract him."

You smiled but you felt the tears welling up.

Yoongi's glance moved to you. It felt scorching. "I think you should bring those to him. I think he'd like to see you." His serious tone made you realise that maybe he did know what was happening. Maybe he did know better.

"I think he'd rather not see me right now." Your lips tightened in a thin line.

Both the guys turned to Yoongi. "Go, I'll see you tomorrow."

They both patted him on the shoulder and waved at you, Taehyung hugging you close. "It'll be alright. I'll see you."

Taehyung smiled at you, his cute cheeks popping upwards. Maybe it had to do with the fact that you had just granted him an exclusive piece by one of his favourite photographers. Maybe he was just friendly, maybe he simply liked you because he deemed you a decent human being.

Right at his heels, Hoseok gave you a cute wave, saying bye-bye in a cartoonish voice.

Beside you, Yoongi shook his head, still sporting a fond smile. "Uhm, I never know whether I should introduce myself. Anyway, we've never met before, so– I'm Yoongi. " He said with a tiny smile, his cheeks jumping upwards.

You introduced yourself with a small bow.

"You are just like he described you. He talks about you a lot." He commented. You blushed, almost feeling like dissolving into thin air. You never thought you would meet his friends like this.

Yoongi looked at your face. "You're exactly his type — in the best way possible." He blushed. "Let's go." He said, leading you. "I actually want to say a few things." He threw his bag on the floor, getting comfortable on the sofa in the common room. "How are you doing?"

You stared at your feet. "Decent enough."

"I'll be honest, ____. He hasn't been doing good. Not even decent, in my opinion." Yoongi announced, as if trying to prepare you for what you were going to see. "I feel like telling you a couple things about him. He can be hot-headed, and an absolute pain in the ass. He is a perfectionist, and a terrifically clumsy one at that." Yoongi huffed out. "He holds himself to extremely high standards and punishes himself whenever he feels like he's not delivering. And he has the horrible tendency to lash out when he's stressed. He just takes it all out on those who are closest to him." Yoongi patted the spot at his side, inviting you to sit. "I'll be inappropriate, maybe, but I have to say it. You don't have to stay at his side."

The sentence was like a slap to your face. It had never come to your mind to part ways with him.

"You don't have to put yourself through his tempers and tantrums. You need to be ready to handle those emotionally. If you aren't, I don't think you'll be able to go for the long run." Yoongi looked at you in the eye. "Sorry if I overstepped, usually people come to me to talk, I'm not used to giving unsolicited advice." He blushed and laced his fingers together, laying them on his thighs.

"I don't want to let go of him, Yoongi." You confessed.

"Then you should go bring this stuff to him in person. And remember, you don't have to be his therapist. If you want, you can be his partner, walk by his side, but it's not your duty to carry him." The man was incredibly smart and thoughtful. And sensitive. The more you got to know him, the more you understood Namjoon's adoration for him.

"Thank you so much." You bowed your head briefly, placing your palm on top of his hands.

He moved one on top of yours, patting gently. "Let's go find your grumpy bear, uh?"

With a groaned "aigoo" He pushed himself up, standing on his feet like an old man before bending to catch the strap of his bag. "This way."

He led you through the winding corridors until you recognised the door to Namjoon's studio. "Go on. Knock politely and be smart. Discuss. Negotiate. Compromise. And be kind to each other." He gave you the official salute and left.

You found yourself staring at the door, wondering if he'd roar at you for interrupting him.

The room sounded quiet.

You counted to three. Knocked.

"Come in." Said his voice with a weak rumble. He was probably distracted.

His studio was warm and welcoming, if a bit clustered. The lights were low and yellowy, coming from his desk and contrasting with the white gleam of his computer screen, still you could see everything perfectly in the slight penumbra, your eyes perusing your surroundings. It was easy to see why his apartment felt like a hotel room: he barely spent time there while this place really felt like home. It felt like stepping into his soul. Small sculptures and toys and collectibles were neatly lined in his bookcase together with some books. Then the baby shoes. Art catalogues. Candles. Art. A drape too big for the wall, but still there, a painting, probably from Yoongi, since you vaguely recognised his style. On the back wall, you noticed two drapes embroidered in traditional patterns. The floor was covered in thick cream carpets with geometric prints that reminded you of tribal symbols. And sweet lord, that was his wooden, swoon-worthy, customised low table, matching with the piece by the door holding one of his bonsai. A comfy couch with a fluffy, warm blanket, and embroidered pillows. You were mesmerised. You didn't have time to take it all in, your glance running from the upright piano to the microphone standing beside his chair. He didn't turn around, he kept staring at the screen, typing every now and then. His beautiful desk was crowded with stationery, electronic devices, a keyboard and all kinds of knicknacks.

"What is– oh. Hi." His expression was ice-cold.

"Hi. I was passing by, I wanted to bring you some stuff you'd left at mine."

His heart froze. This is the end then.

He'd been avoiding it for almost two weeks, hiding from you in his studio, even though the only things he could write were heartbreaking blue rhymes that had Jimin and Jeongguk exchanging pitying glances.

The beginning of this tragedy was almost comedic in its stupid futility. It was just him incapable of perfecting a pre-chorus. A dumb verse or something. He had called you, talked it out but apparently all he did was just turn down your ideas and suggestions, snapping at you until you exhaustedly told him that you were tired and needed some sleep. He took that as you umpteenth sign that you didn't care about him — which you both knew was entirely wrong — and caused a huge fight which ended on you telling him to go fuck himself, at which he unceremoniously replied that he was okay with that since you were clearly already fucking someone else.

You didn't bother correcting him, since no matter how many times you told him, he always seemed to get back at you being unfaithful and uncaring. You were done justifying yourself, apologising for things you had never done.

"Uhm. I also brought you some food. I didn't know if you had already eaten."

He looked at you like you had finally lit a candle in a dark and cold room.

Your heart broke some more. You asked yourself if there was any more breaking to do, at this point.

You figured there was the moment you heard his hoarse voice speak. "Let's eat together."

You didn't have the guts to deny him.

You laid the bags on the small table and took off your coat. He stood on his feet immediately, crossing the room in a few broad steps and hugging you to his chest.

Let it hurt. You told yourself. It heals faster like that.

His palms settled at your waist and his eyes closed. He breathed you in. He had never felt something really end. His exes were like a song slowly slipping into a diminuendo until they became silence. His interest burned out, his curiosity simply died down and the feelings never seemed to grow fully. They felt like a balloon which was never supposed to be blown that big. This thing with you was like a song being stopped mid-chorus, silence biting in where it wasn't supposed to be. Is this what the end feels like? He asked himself as he held you tighter, one of his hands climbing up and burrowing into your hair. He pressed your face into his chest, where his heartbeat was so strong and so loud that you asked yourself if you could somehow amplify it, if your body could register it and replay it once you were alone in your bed, mourning over this. "You feel taller." He said, noticing how your forehead reached his lips instead of slotting under his jaw.

"I still have my heels on." You replied.

"Wanna take 'em off?" He asked.

You shook your head. "No, if that's not a problem.

He breathed out heavily. He interpreted your refusal as a sign that first, you were keeping your tough-woman shield up — which he couldn't blame you — and second, you weren't intending to stay long.

You tried to part yourself from him. "One more second, little Vixen. Just a second." He whispered.

You allowed him.

"Come on, dinner is getting cold." You said softly.

He didn't let you go, he simply loosened his grip and dragged you to the sofa. He was willing to keep you as close as he could until you ripped the bandaid off, unraveling this small spell that had turned his life into a perfect, dreamlike snowball.

Sitting on the sofa, he made you sit beside him, your side sticking to his from shoulder to hip to knee to ankle.

It was all too much but you didn't have the strength to part from him. He bent down and opened the small boxes.

It was fried chicken.

Like the first time at his place, at two am, naked in his bed after he had owned you in every way that mattered.

He loved fried chicken. And now it would always mean you to him.

No chimaek after fucking with anyone else. He wanted to keep it for you, in case one day you decided to come back, and he would say he had never done that with anyone else, that he had been waiting for you. Because some part of him told him that you would come back.

Both your brains were going on the same path, already mourning someone who was right there in that moment, but already felt so far away. The room was quiet but both your minds were screaming, thinking so loud that the silence was welcome.

"I got you fried chicken. I know you love it."

I love you, his brain replied. But his mouth stayed silent. It was too late anyway.

"Thank you." He said brusquely. He reprimanded himself for sounding so harsh.

"It's okay." You said quietly, using the lid to grab a couple pieces out of the ten or so. You didn't feel like eating and he always ate two thirds of the box anyway.

He exchanged one of your wings for a leg. "You prefer the leg." He said with a shy smile, trying to make up for the coldness he had shown previously.

You had been sleeping with Namjoon for three months now, spending all your spare time together at his place, sometimes moving in for the weekend, the both of you leaving your job early so you could spend Friday afternoon together and go on small dates. He usually had his schedule on Saturdays and Sundays too, so it wasn't uncommon for you to spend several hours alone at his place. You had made small improvements, making his house feel more like a home with small handmade crafts. And when he came back, you would usually try to keep it chill but eventually you ended up in bed, or on the sofa, or the kitchen counter. Or the carpet on the corridor leading to his bedroom. Or the shower. Let's just say that you would be all over each other.

You thought how different it would be now, and how difficult it would be to get him out of your system.

"How is it going." You asked quietly after you swallowed your first bite.

"Tough. I'm polishing some stuff, but this is the part where I doubt everything and want to rewrite all of it." He explained, his fingers gripping the chicken with a precision and finesse that reminded you of his delicate, careful side.

"You'll get through it. You're a pro by now. And I'm sure you have excellent taste. You know what you want and you'll find your way to it." You praised him, rubbing your shoulder against him since your fingers were dirty.

He leaned his head on your shoulder, shrinking down to reach you. "Thank you."

The more time passed, the more you realised he still hadn't said sorry for what he had implied during that phone call.

"That's okay."

"How have you been doing?" He asked, trying not to let his worry show. It still showed, though.

You decided on being honest. "I've been missing you."

He paused eating. "I've been missing you too." He put down the chicken, using the ball of his wrists to press against his temples. "I'm sorry about what I said that day. I know my past relationships and nerves are not valid excuses for how I treated you, but I got swallowed in those and I dragged you in."

You looked at the leg and finished munching on it, stripping the bone of the last few strings of meat. You put down the naked bone, licking your fingers. "You never talked about your most recent ex." You commented.

He picked up his head. "To put it simply, I was her side piece." He said, plainly. "She was getting married to someone else. And she messed around with me." He looked at his feet. "At the beginning I didn't know. It lasted around eight months, as she was waiting for her fiancé to finish his military service. After I discovered it, we kept going for a couple weeks, but I found the whole thing so upsetting and disgusting that we parted ways. Her fiance forgave her and they got married a while ago, a few weeks before I met you." He snickered sarcastically. "I even sent them flowers."

You blinked distractedly. "Joon, I'm so sorry, baby." You brushed your forehead against his arm.

"It's cool. I mean, it's not since I'm still traumatised by it. I've been talking about it with my analyst, but it's been a while since I last went, almost three weeks, because this project had been swallowing me whole — after chewing me a little, clearly." He had his exhausted laugh on.

You felt like you needed to talk about the whole story about that girl, but right now he didn't seem in the right mindset to do that. For now, knowing that he knew he had a bias and he was tackling the issue with a therapist was enough.

"Have you been sleeping, babe?" All the breaking up was momentarily suspended. There was something to save here. You had a lot you still wanted to save from this.

He seemed relieved when you called him that. Don't get your hopes up. He shook his head. "A couple hours at a time. Small naps when I'm tired."

"Okay, so once you're done eating, we're gonna take a good, long nap."

He didn't want to sleep though. He wanted to hold you close, kiss you, make sure that he did everything he could to make you stay. The meal continued quietly, and as soon as you were fed he asked you about your job, how it was going, if you had any new clients or if you had met any new artists. You replied to each question fully, telling him about curious accidents and little inconveniences.

And he listened. He had missed your voice and it felt good to listen to someone who wasn't himself or the boys' voices over speakers and headphones.

As you were both done with dinner, he guided you to the bathroom, standing behind you as you washed your hands. He took some soap, foaming it up between his hands before he caught your left palm within his, pressing and rubbing them together to clean you up. And then he laced his fingers with yours, lathering your digits in bubbles and making sure that the sticky sauce from the chicken disappeared completely. He moved to the other hand as you laid your head against his chest at his collarbone, tipping it back so you could stare at him. You were sure you had never adored someone this much. He turned slightly to look at you, smiling softly. He bent down and pressed his lips to yours gently. No man, no person in the world had ever touched you or kissed you like he has. No one has ever talked to you like him, showed you their world like he has. He reluctantly parted from your lips.

He led your joined hands to close the tap, moving to the hand dryer. It felt all too intimate.

"Joon."

"Let's get back to my studio, yeah?" He whispered in your ear. You nodded.

He laced his hand with yours.

Once you reached the studio, he quietly dragged you to the sofa, pulling at your arm so that you fell with your ass on his lap. He hugged you again. "I am so sorry about what I said. You have told me countless times that I'm the only one."

"You hurt me, Namjoon." You said quietly.

It felt like a slap, his full name.

"Let me make it right." He kissed your cheek and your eyes fell shut. "I want you."

And you wanted him too. You thought yourself crazy for wanting a man so complicated, someone who had disrespected you, who had repeatedly and blatantly demonstrated his lack of trust towards you. Still, when you needed reassurance, affection and devotion, your bodies always came into play, talking with a language so simple and obvious to each other that you simply nodded, whispering "I want you too."

With his index finger he turned your head, kissing you square on the lips and forcing you to part them, his tongue sweeping in your mouth, making your head spin with the intimacy and intensity of it all.

Let him take you, if that would reassure him that you only thought about him, you wanted only him and no one else.

His free hand curled around your thigh, climbing up under the tight knee-length dress you were wearing. The woolen grey number was the first thing to come off as he tugged it over your head and off his way. "You're so gorgeous," He murmured painfully, looking at you and taking in every small detail. "A work of art, little Vixen." He kissed your shoulder.

You smiled shyly, trying to straddle his waist. He toyed with the lace covering your breasts and nipples, teasing them with his fingers until they pressed hard against the fabric. Next he fooled around with the waistband of your tights, making you stand between his legs as he dragged the nylon down your thighs and calves. He stared at your feet, where the garment bunched up, noticing your black stilettos. "Off." He whispered, tapping his foot against yours. Once you took off the shoes, he bent down to help your feet out of your tights. He bit your leg harshly, leaving a mark behind. "Heels on again, Vixen."

Smiling darkly, you slipped them back on, shivering a little, but so happy to wear your favourite black lace set and stilettos for him.

"Walk for me?" He asked, making you put on a little show.

And God, did you enjoy it. His jaw went slack at the Brazilian cut of your panties, exposing to his hungry eyes the perfect curve of your ass, the way it swelled fully before meeting with the back of your thigh.

That was his favourite place to bite. And spank.

You did a small catwalk with your back to him, reaching his chair, which you turned around from his desk to the sofa. Facing the chair, you bent forward, your thumbs catching the fabric of your panties at your sides and pushing them down as you bent forward, offering him the whole panorama.

He groaned. "I'm gonna get an heart attack, baby."

You smiled at him viciously over your shoulder, letting your lower piece of underwear fall to the floor. Next you dragged your full palm up the curve of your ass, smacking it playfully as your fingers made their way to the clasp of your bra.

"You're gonna kill me, Vixen." He cried out.

Bra undone, you let both strings fall down your shoulders, removing one side first and letting the garment dangle from the other side, making your arm fall and drop the delicate lace ordeal.

Your smile disappeared in an innocent pout when you turned around, completely naked except for your shoes.

"I'm gonna sit here." You announced, waiting for his approval.

He nodded eagerly. "Make yourself comfy, Vixen."

You sat down, crossing your legs and propping your elbows on your knees. Shyness was not a word in your vocabulary in that moment. Your only intention was that of distracting him from whatever it was that was mauling his brain.

"Are you going to make me wait, Joon." You teased demandingly.

He stared at you, meeting your glance. "Stay there and sit still." He ordered before grabbing the hem of his sweater and pushing it upwards, taking off both sweater and undershirt in the process. His upper body appeared, a bit skinnier than two weeks ago but maybe it was just the distance and the slouching position. His sweatpants were taut around his lap and you bit your lip as your eyes traced the outline of his length. He laid his palm there, stroking himself over the cotton. "Missed you so much, baby." He groaned and huffed. His eyes closed, his hand grew tense, stronger and heavier. Licking your lips, you kept staring at him, squeezing your thighs as he touched himself for you.

He was hot, all the time, but this… This felt like a fever dream. You were soaked. Thank god his chair was leather and it could be cleaned easily.

He moaned your name, his eyes struggling to open enough to look at you. His voice was so deep and needy, mixed with heavy huffs. "Namjoon." You whined.

He opened his eyes fully, his hand coming to a halt. It was like a cold shower. He was reminded why you were doing this, why you had come to this, the sudden distance that had come within the two of you. "What is it, baby?"

You pushed your ass against the chair, looking for friction. "Come here. Touch me." You begged.

It pained him seeing you so needy and whiny and stressed. "Listen to me, baby thing. Listen very carefully." He wanted to reassure you but he couldn't come to you. "I need you to touch yourself, little one. Can you do that for me? I promise I'll touch you after you cum, baby, but I want to see you first." He asked, palming himself again.

You licked your lips. "Can I?" You questioned innocently, placing your palm on your thigh, your fingertips grazing your crotch.

"You can, doll. Do it for me." He growled, pushing his fingers under his waistband, grabbing his hard on at the base and stroking it as you parted your legs, exposing your wetness. You were beautiful, naked on his chair, dragging your middle finger along your dripping slit. Your other hand grabbed your breast.

"You're a vision, Vixen. You're magnificent, pretty thing."

"I want your tongue, daddy." You mewled, your finger dipping inside, emerging covered in glossy wetness.

He groaned, taking his cock out of his pants, moving the waistband to his thighs. “I’m gonna eat you later, pretty doll. I’ve been starving for weeks for that sweet cunt of yours.” His erection immediately sprung up, arching to his belly button, the lower tendon looking so inviting along that thick vein that always had him throwing his head back whenever you traced it with the tip of your front teeth. As your fingers met your clit, eliciting a whine from your throat, he used four fingers to press on the vein, his thumb already playing with the tip. His hands always looked incredible whenever he used them on himself, strong fingers and spidery tendons making the vision sinfully erotic. However, he was lost in you as much as you were lost in him, his lips parted, his breath panting while you opened your legs wider, using two fingers in small upward circles that teased the underside of your clit. You felt a chill run down your spine, your legs trembling and closing a little with an involuntary reflex. You giggled at that, closing your eyes and moving your grip to the armrest of the chair. Your upper body inched forward a little and your hand stopped.

“Too much, babygirl?” He asked and you smiled brightly, nodding.

You’re gonna miss it, the way she smiles when you’re doing it right, his brain reminded him and as a way to shut it up, he stroked himself faster, with more pressure, his spare hand brushing his abdomen and moving upwards, spreading over his pectoral, scratching the skin there before his thumb and forefinger curved around the base of his neck, pressing there.

You observed the motion, unpausing the movement between your thighs and humming as he gave you his desperate stare, the one that meant that he couldn’t take it anymore, that he was on the verge of it and even the smallest addition to the current situation would have him screaming and cumming.

“Joonie, lemme get close. Cum in my mouth, Joon, please.” You whined.

“No, naughty girl. Stay there and cum for daddy.” He groaned. “Come on, baby, I’m waiting for you.” He said, with a harsh and strained command.

Arching your neck, you started moving faster, opening your legs as far as the armrests allowed, but they only allowed an inch more than what you already had. Huffing with disappointment, you closed them and propped the back of your right knee on top of the armrest and repeated the gesture with your left leg, spreading yourself wide, almost hitting a split with your legs bent at the knees.

“God, you’re the dirtiest. You stretching it out for me? You’re so good, showing daddy how wet you are for him.” He teased, using that raspy voice that he knew always drives you insane.

With short, quick breaths you brought yourself closer and closer to the edge. “Daddy, please, keep talking to me.”

His hand slowed down. “Need to hear my voice, babygirl?”

You nodded and he snickered. “Then I’ll talk to you, little one. You know what I’m gonna do after you cum? I’m gonna crawl to you and kneel between those wondrous legs of yours. I’m gonna push your ass to the edge of the seat and feast on you like I’m trying to die eating that pussy. And do you know what you’re gonna do, Vixen?” He provoked.

You shook your head. “What am I going to do, daddy?” You questioned innocently, your words stumbling a few times as your breath got stuck somewhere in your throat.

“Oh, little fox, you’re gonna grab my hair and push that lovely cunt on my lips and tongue, fucking my face so hard and fast, pressing your sexy heels on my naked shoulders. I want to hear you gasp for air because I make you cum so good you forget to breathe, you forget how to speak.”

“Joon, I’m cumming.” You cried out, your legs starting to quiver and your clit getting too sensitive to stand the movement of your fingers, slipping them inside and pushing them in slow circles around your cervix.

His fingers moved back to the tip, the other hand massaging his balls. “Take it, Vixen, that’s it baby. I’m cumming, ____.” He moaned your name, spilling his release on his lower stomach.

You were still staring at each other with your chests heaving, eyes wild, hands stained by your pleasure. It was always the two of you. Always getting caught up in each other, always getting tangled in each other's fantasies with this constant lust pulling you in and never having enough. You wondered when the hunger would stop, when you would grow tired of his insecurity and possessiveness, when he would find out you're too kinky, too needy, too fucked up for a busy man like him to handle.

He cleaned his hand with one of the unused paper towels from dinner, crumbling it and throwing it in the box with the garbage from dinner.

"Joonie." You whispered, waiting.

"Coming, baby fox." He replied, standing up and taking off his sweatpants and boxers, walking straight to you. You closed your legs, a bit cold and embarrassed now that your high was over. Standing right in front of you, he cupped your cheek, making you look up at his face, however, even though your head was tipped back, aimed at his eyes, your glance hung low, staring at the droplets smearing his abdomen. "What are you looking at, spoiled little fox?" He said, with a sardonic smile.

"I wanna lick."

He grinned and scooped some liquid with his digit, bringing it to your lips.

Parting your lips, you licked your lower one first, then you let your tongue dart out and swipe at his finger, carefully sucking it into your mouth before he lowered his eyes, staring into yours and smirking seducingly as he pulled his digit out. You smacked your lips and savoured his taste, your eyelids falling shut as you hummed at his flavour.

His cock, once half soft, was now hardening again, swelling intermittently and slowly rising to his navel. But Namjoon's eyes were focused on your face. "Want more?" He asked once your eyes opened and your gaze focused on his face. With a sex-addled, lazy grin you nodded, opening your mouth.

He grinned right back. "Such a hungry little girl."

Impatient, you grabbed his hips, pulling him towards you and licking his belly clean. He groaned, observing you closely.

I'm going to teach her some patience and some manners, he thought darkly. However, he immediately reminded himself that he would never have the time, your liaison coming to an end.

With this unfortunate thought, he cupped your face. "I'm the one supposed to be eating now, ____. Let me take care of you, darling." He said, before falling to his knees. Immediately he pushed the back of the chair to the table, so that it wouldn't cartwheel out of his grasp.

Once more you asked yourself how many times he had done that before, thinking about how the relationship with the bride-to-be must have been mostly sexual, since you don't usually have much romance and dates with someone who is taken. Even though he didn't know she was taken. Whatever.

In that moment he was there, kneeling before you, placing your heels on his shoulders, cupping your ass and tipping it forward so he could easily and comfortably give you that first, glorious lick from your hole to your clit. "Taste so good." He said, nuzzling his lips side to side as he spoke, mixing the movement to the vibration of his voice. He bit the small tattoo at the top of your thigh, where it met your pelvis, just shy of your hip bone. "Sexy little thing." He kissed it. "Drove me insane since day one." As usual, he sucked at it, causing a dark purple mark to bloom over it. "Fucking perfect."

He laid his tongue flat against your slit drawing the tiniest circles with the whole length of it.

You hand-combed his hair back, holding it so you could look into his dragon eyes. He looked vicious and dangerous and so cunning, so smart in the most atrocious way.

"Namjoon." You moaned, your hips arching closer to his mouth.

He snickered cockily, moving his tongue slowly back into his mouth, allowing only the tip to wander up your crevice and reach the apex of your labia. He delivered a set of ten licks, slow and curling perfectly against your nub. "Are you good, little fox?" He asked.

You nodded and pushed his head back between your legs.

He laughed loudly, fighting against you. "I'm not done talking, brat." He bit your lower belly gently. "I'm gonna pump your clit with my mouth, Vixen. I'll suck it twenty times, then I'll let you rest until I'm ready again. I'll keep going until you cum. Remember that after twenty I'll pause. This could easily turn into edgeplay, baby, so you'd better get very horny very fast. You okay, Vixen?"

He checked on you and you nodded, impatient to simply have him on your clit.

"Be verbal, little girl." He reprimanded.

"Yes, daddy."

"Good girl. Let's get started."

He wasted no time. He wrapped his lips around your clit and started sucking, sucking so hard that you knew the following day his jaw and ears would hurt. At pump fifteen you already knew you needed more than twenty to cum. And as twenty arrived you whined but you felt confident that the next set would suffice.

This time you felt your edge at twelve, still you needed more. You were getting wetter and wetter, so soaked that his saliva and your slick mixed up and made you feel uncomfortable between your asscheeks.

"Joon–" You said, at which he mumbled "language" in between two pumps.

"Daddy, I want your fingers inside." You said, indulging his every whim.

He fumbled around with his arms, securing you with his left, making sure that your backside wouldn't get too close to the edge of the seat, and cause you to fall. His right arm moved back to your front, his index and middle finger coming to your entrance and waiting, his drool sliding from his tongue down your slit and directly on his fingers which, now lubricated, slipped in with no friction or resistance. The pressure was mind-blowing, your head spinning. "Daddy, please."

"Please what?" He said, hitting his pause.

"Make me cum. Let me." You asked, as meekly as you could.

"Why should I, uh?" He teased.

"Because I am a good girl." Because I love you, said an obnoxious part of your brain.

"Then I need you to say it one last time, Vixen. I know I've tormented you, but I need to ask it once and for all. Is there anyone else?" He said, his voice almost breaking.

"No, Namjoon. I swear to God, there's no one else. I promise it. I swear on everything that I love the most. Please." You begged, hoping that he would feel the desperate honesty in your voice. "Please. You're my only daddy. I have you, only you. I am yours." You said, and God if it felt right, if it felt true, being his, belonging to him.

Tell him you love him, your brain said again, but you refused.

He smiled brightly at your declaration. "We're done playing, if you want to, Vixen."

You simply nodded, batting your lashes at him. "I want to."

"Then hold tight because I'm not going to stop until you're fucking my face and screaming my name and shaking on this seat. Understood?" He warned you.

"Yes, daddy." You replied.

"Then hold tight, baby fox. I'm gonna eat you alive."

"Try." You challenged him.

And that's when he pounced. His pumps became longer, impossibly tighter, and the small pause between one and the next became shorter. Your eyes locked with his, brows knitting together, lips parting in a mewl as you threw your head back. "Namjoon. Please, daddy."

Smirking, he mixed the pumping motion with a barely-there curl of his tongue, teasing your clit with such delicate pressure that you couldn't even wrap your head around the incredible amount of tension that it was causing in your body. Your hands tightened in his hair, your moans dissolving into small giggles.

He wanted to tell you how good you sounded, how pretty you looked, how he wanted to see this every day for the rest of his life. He loved seeing you this happy, this carried away. He loved your morning voice and your late night cuddles. He loved breakfast in bed and midnight snacks and three a.m. quickies. He loved watching you take off your bra from under your t-shirt before going to bed, he loved seeing you shiver as you went to the bathroom early in the morning, clad in his t-shirt, plain cotton briefs and a pair of socks even in the dead of winter, since he always kept you warm under the covers by holding you close. He wanted to confess it all: the heartwarming wonder he felt staring at you had when you focused while reading and studying, when you brushed your hair, when you got dressed before leaving for the day, when you stood at the kitchen counter, cooking, with your back to him, and again when you applied lotion all over your body after showering, when he kissed your nape, standing behind you and donning the zipper of your dress.

However, he stayed silent, showing it all with the reckless ministrations of his mouth as your chest blushed, your hands grabbed his hair almost painfully and your hips snapped, your mouth opening in a silent scream.

You hadn't even bothered telling him you were cumming. He knew anyway. His mouth became more gentle, resolving to small licks while his fingers massaged your walls deep and slow, perfectly responding to the contractions of your muscles. "Here, pretty thing." He murmured, his hair tickling the skin of your stomach. "I've got you, baby. Shhh." He calmed you down, your breath coming in heavy pants, your heartbeat going like crazy. He rubbed his soaked fingers against his thigh, briefly cleaning himself before coming up to your face, cupping your cheeks. "Are you okay, little one?"

You nodded with your eyes closed, getting sleepy.

He caressed your face. "Open your eyes for me, baby girl, let me see your pretty eyes."

With a beatific smile you tried to look at him, eyelids lifting, taking a few seconds to focus on him.

"There she is, my moonshine." He cooed, pressing a kiss to your lips. "You look really happy, baby thing."

You simply moved your head in a nod.

"Do you want more, little fox?" He asked, still fussing over you. "Can you take it just one more time, babe?"

Licking your lips you nodded again with a giggle.

He smiled. "You keep nodding, baby. Are you saying yes to daddy?"

"Yes, Joonie." You whispered slowly.

"Good girl. Can you walk, Vixen?"

"Yes."

"Great. I want you to kneel in front of the coffee table, darling." He commanded, rising to his feet and helping you stand up.

This would be the last time, he decided.

He would allow himself your heaven just one more time, then he would hold you close for a few minutes, clean you up, accompany you home and let you go. He wasn't man enough to look into your eyes. He was weak and unfair. He turned you around with your back to him, his erection brushing against the small of your back. Once you were in front of the table, he moved your hair to the side, skimming the curve of your ear with his lower lip. "Kneel, Vixen."

You did.

He kneeled behind you, moving the books and magazines on the floor, away from the two of you, while the traces of your dinner were thrown into the bag, which he would discard later. With an empty table, he pushed his palm from the small of your back to your nape, making your front adhere to the table and making sure that your hair was out of the way. "I know you love this table." He murmured.

"I do."

"I do, too." His heart felt like a burden. Without further hesitation, he grabbed his length and rubbed his tip against you. "You ready, ____?"

"Please."

With a groan he slipped in, the filling sensation causing a loud whine on your behalf. "Quiet." He reprimanded.

You got a little scared at his dark voice, knowing that at this point you'd better obey. However, it lasted little. Once he bottomed out, he growled, bending down to your neck. "You good, little one?" He said, his sweet persona back in place.

"Yes, daddy."

He was breathing heavily through his nose as he sucked at the skin of your neck, marking you. As soon as he was sure the mark would bruise and stay for at least a couple days, he released your skin. "Do you want your spanks, baby girl?"

Your eyes rolling with pleasure, you hummed. "I want them so much, daddy. Spank me, please."

He simply breathed. "With pleasure, little one." He knew no one would ever be this good to him.

His chest parted from your back, a small shiver settling in instead.

The first smack was harsh, angry. You clenched around him and he thrusted in violently, growling.

The second one hit the tender skin of your outer thigh, where it met your ass. "Daddy." You whined.

"Quiet." He chastised again, his voice strained. He hammered into you four or five times.

"Daddy, it hurts." You cried out, at which he stayed silent, simply spanking you again, twice, without rubbing soothingly at your skin. You emitted a shrill huffing sound of complaint, at which he answered with violent ramming into you, using both hands to push you onto his lap.

This was not how Joon usually did it. This was not normal. With worry distracting your mind, you turned your head, looking at him. His eyes were closed, droplets falling down his cheeks. Was it sweat or tears?

"Namjoon?" You asked, alarmed.

He shook his head, biting his lip. "You good?" He asked, eyes still closed.

"Stop." You murmured.

He obeyed, exiting your warmth and opening his eyes, still avoiding your gaze contact. "Did I—?"

"Look at me."

He shook his head. "I can't."

"Namjoon." You reprimanded.

As your eyes met his, you noticed they were rimmed with tears, and he was biting his lip to hold back a sob, shaking his head in shame.

Your initial shock was followed by an overwhelming sense of tenderness for the beautiful, delicate man in front of you.

You quickly decided what to do.

You turned around fully, facing him as you stood on your knees, your hands caressing his cheeks. "What is it, Joonie bear?"

He simply frowned and hid in the crook of your neck, desperate.

"What is it?" You asked again.

He nuzzled even more into your chest, inhaling the damp feel of your skin. "I just want it to be a good memory." He huffed with a broken whisper.

A memory? "Why would it be a memory, Namjoon?" You asked, confused.

"If it's our last time, I wanna be good to you." He said, and you could feel every ounce of sadness in his voice.

Last time? "Joonie bear, why would it be our last time?"

His shoulders shook with sobs as he stopped holding back his tears. "I've been a bastard, it's okay if you want to go." He tried saying in his most composed voice.

You frowned in confusion. "No, Namjoon."

"You want to leave me. It's okay. I need it only one last time."

You shook your head, trying to grab his chin and make him look at you. However, he strongly opposed.

"Joonie." You murmured, hugging his head and caressing his hair. "I'm not here to leave you." You whispered. "I want to be with you." You continued.

He shook his head even more. "I was dumb. You have every right—"

"No." You kissed his head, caressing his shoulders, hugging him tight. "I'm not going anywhere."

He looked up at you, his face covered in tears.

"Oh, baby bear." You cooed, touching his cheeks, kissing his forehead. "Don't cry, Joonie." He disappeared even more into you, hugging your entire figure, dwarfing you. "Don't cry, my love." You whispered, the word tiptoeing out of your lips. He sobbed harder. "I'm so in love with you, Joonie bear." You crooned, offering him all your soul in those simple, childish words.

"You love me?" He asked, confused, alarmed, petrified.

"I love you, Namjoon." You repeated.

He completely forgot his messy face and brought his lips to yours, his mouth melting into you eagerly as your tongues spoke a language that came so natural to both of you.

Breathless, he parted from you. "I love you. I love you so much." He pressed tens of kisses on your face with such speed and pressure that you felt like disappearing into him.

"I love you too." You giggled, trying to clean his face.

You both laughed, elated, his hands coming to your waist, holding you closer and closer. "I wanna make love to you." He whispered. "Let me love you."

"Missionary on the carpet or cowgirl on the sofa?" You asked.

"Why choose when you can have both?" He wiggled an eyebrow. You smiled. He smiled back. "Let's get on the sofa." He replied gently. "You'll catch a cold with your sweaty back on the freezing floor."

"But no missionary on the sofa…" You cried out like a child.

He smiled. "Do you want missionary so bad?" He kissed your temple, smiling.

"I guess I'll be happy with anything you want." You pouted, still doubtful.

"C'mere." He said, getting even closer. You slipped your stilettos off and he picked you up by the back of your thighs and with some strength you didn't know he had, he carried you to the sofa, careful not to step on your shoes. "I'm going to sit. Careful with your legs." He warned, plopping down as carefully and as gently as he could, mercifully avoiding to sit with your calves underneath him.

"Don't worry, I won't make you ride me, baby." He kissed your brow. "You're too tired for that." He cradled you to his chest, offering you a bit of his body heat. "Can you push it inside you for me, love?" He asked seducingly, kissing your neck.

You smiled and reached between your bodies. He was already pulsating, you knew he would come undone in a few strokes. Slowly, you lifted your hips and pushed his tip inside, making him groan.

"You're always so tight, babylove. Fuck, you feel amazing." He sucked at your neck some more, drawing a twin bruise to the one you had on the other side of your throat. "I feel like a fucking teenager with you. I can never get enough." His hips jutted a little, pushing into you while his forearm around your waist pulled you down, his hand gripping your ass.

"Daddy." You breathed out, your forehead pressed against his neck as he bottomed out.

"Yes?" He replied, soothing you with long caresses down your spine. "Does it hurt, doll?"

He had so many nicknames for you but you couldn't wait for your next. "No, daddy." He held your face away from his shoulder. "Are you sure babylove?"

Your face stretched in a slight grimace. "Maybe."

He giggled and kissed your cheek, sliding down to your mouth. "I'm sorry, Vixen." He pressed his lips to yours once and then again. "I'm so sorry, baby. For everything." He combed your hair back. "I can't promise you I'll never hurt you, but I can promise I'll try to make it better every single time." He held you close as your brow furrowed. "I love you." He whispered, one hand cradling the back of your head, the other pressing on your lower back.

"I love you too." You said right back. "But please, Joonie…"

"Need me to move?" He asked.

"I want you to cum." You murmured.

He smirked and nodded. "Want me to finger you?" He asked, already drawing short thrusts into you and helping you ride him with his forearm around you.

"Yes, please, daddy." You whined.

His right hand left the crown of your head, coming to the top of your thighs and beginning to draw small circles at the apex of your labia, the flat of his thumb wide enough to cover your bundle of nerves entirely.

"Would you like to take your time, Vixen?" He asked kindly, knowing that sometimes it took you a bit longer than him to actually get worked up.

"I just need you to keep going exactly like this. You're perfect, Joonie."

He grunted and started pushing into you from below. "Like this?" He said, his voice a tad strained.

His thrusts were low and deep, curling just enough to hit your sweet spot. He realised you started holding your breath. Usually that meant you were close.

He bent his head, looking down where your bodies joined. It was hypnotizing, his thumb drawing perfectly identical circles. He started kissing and licking any and every inch of skin that came close to his mouth, your shoulder, your chest, your neck, sucking whenever he managed to grip the skin for long enough to bruise and mark.

When you started shoving yourself on him, bouncing in earnest, he kept his cool and stopped fooling around, staying focused on lasting long enough, doing the exact same thing, knowing that with a few thrusts delivered just right, you would become like putty in his arms and he could just get crazy and chase his high.

With your lips parting in a high pitched moan, you pressed your hips to his two more times before your chest collapsed into his with a tired whimper. "Take what you need." You murmured before propping yourself with your forearms against the back of the sofa, lifting your hips. Your face was pressed at the crook beneath his jaw, your tongue blindly chasing the droplets of sweat sliding down the column of his throat. He emitted an animalistic groan before his palms thudded heavily against your glutes, gripping your hips so hard that both his knuckles and your flesh turned white. And then he started ramming into you from below. The sounds in the room were a mix of his grunts, the smacking of flesh and the wetness between your legs, but more quietly, under all those layers, in between a groan and the next, there were his whispered love declarations, which poured out of his mouth like prayers, until he was so close, so fucked out that he could only repeat 'I love you', over and over, interrupted only by a final howl as he spilled inside you.

In all of this you had tried to stay quiet, shushing him and kissing his neck, not sure that you were allowed to mark him.

You laid both exhausted, his body sliding sideways down the sofa, trying to rest on the seats, his head laying on an armrest as his ankles dangling from the other. You covered him like a blanket, your hair draping over his chest and tumbling down the edge of the sofa.

You were both sweaty and messy with cum and drool, still you simply laid there, until you felt too cold and shivered.

"Blanket?" You asked.

He shook his head. "I'd better dress you and take you back at mine. I can go home tonight. There's no use working late. I need to rest anyway."

"Are you sure." You asked, touching his face.

He kissed your wrist. "Sure."

"I have to clean your chair first. I should have some wet wipes in my handbag." You mumbled. "And I should clean myself too before I drip on your lovely sofa."

He hummed, tired, fake-crying as he said "I don't wanna get up."

"My bag is right beside the sofa, just stretch your arm backward." You directed him.

He fumbled around a bit, moving the bag from behind his head to your side, where you could easily reach inside. After a bit of rummaging, you fished out your wipes, making a quick work of pulling him out and cleaning yourself.

"Cold." He muttered with a pout, which you kissed away from his face.

"Come on, baby bear, get up and get dressed. I wanna shower with you and shower you in kisses." You pampered him, trying to convince him to get ready to leave.

He whined as you sat up, quickly dashing to recoup your underwear. Once you were wearing it, you cleaned his chair, quite happy when you noticed that it wasn't half as bad as you though. When you turned, you noticed he was staring at you, already completely dressed, your dress in his hands. You moved closer.

"Up with your arms, love." He said gently, and for a second you realised that your simple and emotional confessions weren't a mirage caused by arousal or desperation.

You followed his instructions as he helped you wear your dress, slipping it over your head and helping you find both sleeves. Next he gripped the hem at both sides, delicately rolling the fabric down your body. Once it reached your knees, he let his hands skim back up your hips and waist, crossing his wrists behind your back before squeezing your ass. He stared at your throat.

"Will I have to wear a turtleneck for the next ten days?" You asked, slipping the neck of your dress aside and checking the damage.

"Sorry." He murmured.

"It's okay. I like it. I'm just teasing you." You said with a playful smirk.

"Brat." He mouthed with a snicker, bending down to pick up your tights.

You tutted, stealing them from his hands. "Let me do these, they're tricky."

He simply stared, his body trembling with a new tide of arousal at the mannerism you used to put on the garment, rolling up one leg between your thumbs and forefingers, pressing your toes against the stitching and dragging the nylon up your leg. He had seen this scene in an old Italian movie, but seeing the gesture in real life helped him understand the frenzy that the main character experienced after such an act. After you repeated the movement on the other leg, his mouth practically salivating, he watched some more as you fixed the gusset and the waistband, stretching the garment around the curve of your ass.

"Call me whenever you need to wear those." He whispered in marvel and agony. "I might take them off you just to see it all over again."

You smiled coquettishly, grabbing your coat and wearing it.

He kneeled in front of you, holding one of your shoes. "When's your birthday?" He asked, making you lift one foot as he slipped your heel on.

You frowned, the connection unknown to you. "Mid-november. Why?"

He held your other shoe and you held onto his shoulder as you lifted your other foot, wearing the black stiletto. "I loved seeing those on you tonight. I might buy you another pair or eight as a birthday gift."

You shook your head and laughed. "I don't need a sugar daddy, I'm happy with my plain, regular one." He rose to his feet and you grabbed his cheeks, planting a big, fat smooch on his mouth. "I'm actually very, very in love."

"Hello, Actually Very, Very in Love. My name is Head Over Heels — he pointed at your shoes — in Love. Pleased to meet you."

You laughed and he felt his heart explode with joy, his nose brushing against yours with Eskimo kisses. "Your bag." He said, bending to pick it up. "My bags." He said, collecting his tote and the small paper bag with his belongings that you had brought him. He neared his desk, checking the various devices. "Equipment off, computer off–" He mumbled as he moved the mouse to shut down the system. Meanwhile you fixed the low table, putting the magazines back on top of it. He switched off his table lamp and moved towards the door. "Dinner." He reminded himself, picking up the trash bag by the entrance. "You ready, Vixen?"

You hummed in confirmation.

"Let's go."

#bangtan smut #bts smut #bangtan sonyeondan #namjoon smut #namjoon one shot #namjoon fanfic #namjoon fic #bangtan fanfic #bangtan fic #Namjoon x reader

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gotnofucks · 4 years ago

Text

Parts of Whole

(No images are mine, but I did edit them. If anyone knows the owners, do let me know so I can credit them)

Pairing: Sam Wilson x Bucky Barnes, Sam x Steve (platonic)

Summary: Steve would see his OTP’s ship sail, even from across the grave.

Words: 3.9k

Warnings: mentions of death (nothing graphic and not very sad), language, angst + fluff

A/N: I saw the trailer for tfatws and I just had to write this. This is also my entry for the amazingly talented @sagechanoafterdark and @sweater-daddiesdumbdork challenge (pic prompts above). Thank you for hosting this and being wonderful. The beautiful dividers are made by @firefly-graphics . Huge thanks to @the-inquisitive-hobbit for beta reading and giving me her very valuable insight.

It never felt right in his hands. It was his to wield, his to claim, and yet it never felt more foreign. The concentric red and white circles with the star embedded in the blue center glared back at him from the mirror. It had been months, but Sam had never taken this shield with him to any mission. He couldn’t.

It felt starkly cold in his hands, lifeless and materialistic. It was Steve’s symbol of strength and hope. It used to hang on his back, warmed by his body heat. Now, it seemed like the shield only existed to remind him of Steve’s absence. This shield was made for Steve. It belonged to him, it always would. How could he ever stand where he stood? How could Sam ever be the captain that Steve was, take this shield that held more power than a crown on a head?

He put it down again, covering it with a cloth before shutting the door on it, leaning heavily against it. He missed him, he missed him like a throbbing wound that refused to heal. If only he could see the sun shining on those golden locks again, have those baby blue eyes smile at him again. What wouldn’t he give for that.

He didn’t notice he wasn’t alone until a heavy hand was on his shoulder, squeezing gently. Sam didn’t open his eyes, just let the weight of it anchor him, let it bring him back from the chaos that was his mind. The cold metal hand felt like a relief against the overwhelming burden of grief that penetrated his being whenever he touched the circular shield.

“I miss him too.” Bucky said, and Sam opened his eyes. Bucky’s eyes were blue too, slightly grey where Steve’s were green. He could see himself reflected in them and he straightened, looking away, hiding his weakness.

This mantle of Steve Rogers that he was supposed to assume, this legacy he was supposed to take forward felt like cheating. His friend, his mentor, his brother was no more. How could people just expect him to move on? But they did. It didn’t matter he was emotionally compromised, it didn’t matter he wanted to drown, like Steve nearly had at the Potomac all those years ago. The world didn’t wait to create one disaster after another. They needed Captain America then, and they needed him now. Like Fury said, trouble always sticks around.

Sam cleared his throat, making sure he was collected before looking at Bucky again.

“Everything loaded in the Quinjet?” He asked and Bucky nodded. They’ll be leaving for another mission soon, and Sam was glad he’ll have the sounds of battle to drown the war in his heart.

“Sam.” Bucky said once Sam started leaving. “Take it.”

Sam looked at Bucky over his shoulder, his gaze equal parts pain and accusation. Of everyone, Bucky shouldn’t be the one telling him this.

“I’ll meet you in the jet.” He said firmly and quickly marched to his room, shutting the door behind him. He hated coming back to the compound, the lingering memories of their fallen warriors whispering in his ears every time he was here. He preferred his little house in the woods where it was only Bucky and nature with him.

He took out his tactical gear, laying it on the bed and getting out his wings when he heard it.

“You are punishing yourself Sam.” Came his voice.

It was this moment where Sam broke, sliding down the wall and letting a few tears escape. He was gone but he never left him.

“How could you have been so selfish Steve. Why?” He asked, looking up to glare at Steve. Even dead he looked so handsome, so put together with his hands on his hips. He didn’t look like the old man they had buried a month after the battle. No. He was their Steve, their young, beautiful Steve who left them behind.

Sam didn’t know why he saw him. He didn’t know if this was a ghost or a creation of his mind. To him, it was Steve. It was Steve and it was a beautiful suffering to see him again every time he reappeared.

“I am sorry.” Steve said and knelt before Sam, looking apologetic. Sam didn’t try touching him. Not when the first hundred times his hand just went through him.

“You are? What for?” Sam asked. “For leaving behind your shield and title, for leaving me behind, or for abandoning a best friend you promised to walk till the end of the line with? What are you really sorry for Captain?”

Steve didn’t answer, he never did. He let Sam take out his hurt and anger, and Sam cried. In the privacy of his walls, he cried. He was so tired of pretending to be strong, to be happy. He hid behind his jokes and smiles, fooled the world which was so ready to move on while Sam was buried somewhere with Steve in the cemetery, half dead, half alive.

“I am sorry Sam, for everything.” Steve insisted. “But you need to stop punishing yourself for mistakes you never made. You can’t live this way.”

Sam snorted a laugh for even in death Steve was a humanitarian bastard. He didn’t come back to haunt his enemies; oh no the centenarian came back to help his friends. Why didn’t people see that he could never be Steve? That Sam Wilson can never, won’t ever be the Captain that Steven Rogers was.

“I hate you so much Steve, I really do.” Sam whispered, wiping his nose and getting up. Steve watched him getting changed, no barriers of shame between them from that side of the grave.

“You always said that. I have never heard a ‘I love you’ more pronounced than I do in your hate.” Steve commented with a soft smile, it widened when Sam gave him a half-hearted glare. It was amazing how they could go from having a painful conversation to joking, but that was how it worked with Steve. He knew Sam, he knew everything that made him laugh and made him smile.

“What are you doing here anyway? Don’t you have a tea party with Gandhi or some other do-gooder like you in the afterlife?” Sam grumbled, tightening the belt in his suit and attaching his wings to it. Steve chuckled, sitting on the chair and watching Sam with a relaxed smile.

“They are too uptight for me. Mother Teresa tried to adopt me the other day” Steve said, and Sam laughed. His wings were the colours of American Flag, a new change. He grabbed his weapons and fixed Steve with a look, hating and loving him for being so him.

“I’ll see you after the mission?” He asked tentatively. He would never admit it, but he feared one day Steve would disappear again. It was crazy, it was not normal to see dead people, but Sam would rather have a shadow of Steve than just a memory.

“I’ll be here as long as you need me Sam. Always.” Steve said, a sad smile on his face when he saw Sam leaving without the shield.

Sharon greeted him in the jet, talking to Bucky and the other agents over the blueprint spread before them. Sam nodded his hello, snatching the half empty pack of Cheetos from Bucky’s hand and munching on it.

“So now you want to steal the show and my food. You’re such a dick Wilson.” Bucky said, poking Sam in his shoulder and Sam poked his tongue out at him, a gap-toothed smile on his face. Their previous somber interaction would not be mentioned, filed again like so many inside the neglected corner of their minds.

“Bitch, I paid for grocery this month. This is technically mine.” Sam replied, making Bucky scowl. Sam knew there was a 70-30 chance he’ll find his bed crawling with centipedes when they got back home.

“Charming, boys.” Sharon remarked rolling her eye. “What are you guys doing for Christmas? Must be nice to have a holiday.”

Bucky shrugged, sharing a look with Sam. It was their first Christmas without Steve, a 6 feet 2-inch void always between them.

“Nothing special. Stay home, watch movies, eat a lot.” Bucky said. A lot remained unsaid, but they rarely needed words to communicate anymore. Sam bumped his shoulder in his, offering him some Cheetos to munch while he silently grieved.

“Well, I’ll leave my address here for you to deliver your presents to me.” Sharon joked and Sam laughed softly, mentally making a note to get her something.

“Alright then, and I’ll just casually remark that my phone and laptop are both in serious need for an upgrade. Just saying.” Sam said. “Hey Buck, what are you going to gift me?”

Bucky crumpled the empty chips packet before sending Sam an amused glare, flipping him off.

“A ball gag, so that I can hear something other than your stupid voice.” He snarked.

“Damn dude, at least ask me out for dinner before getting kinky.” Sam winked and Bucky swelled with indignation, pointing an accusing metal finger at Sam.

“I cook dinner 3 times a week you bastard, and I don’t even burn it!” He protested making Sam laugh louder than ever. He loved making Bucky mad, teasing him into an incensed rage that usually ended in a pillow fight or sometimes with Sam’s head in a headlock.

They straightened as they saw the incredulous looks on the new agents’ faces, baby agents as Bucky liked to call them. It was times like these, when both the battle-hardened veterans missed their lost teammates, the inside jokes that were shot around with as much precision as bullets and arrows on the battlefield.

They got to work again, discussing the mission and its details with the other agents. Sam would run point on scaling the territory and fly down to the enemy base with two agents while Bucky would guide him from up here and take out potential threats. They just needed to secure a technological innovation and it didn’t seem too like much work. As Sam poured over the briefing, his eyes subconsciously went over to Bucky who was fiddling with the equipment, making sure everything was in working condition.

If someone had told him a few years ago that Bucky would become his anchor, his solace in his darkest hours, Sam would have punched them in the face. But as it happened, they came to lean on each other, the only unchanged part of their older lives, the only person who made each feel that were still real, still alive. They were still annoyed by each other, but the arguments were more of a routine than an actual expression of resentment.

He didn’t realize he was staring until someone deliberately coughed behind him.

“He is so pretty, isn’t he?” Steve asked, though it was a rhetorical question. Bucky Barnes was a beauty, from his blue grey eyes to the new golden streaks running through his new arm. Sam tried not to notice the way Bucky’s armor clung to his muscles, his face looking almost boyish as he forgot the world and focused on his task.

“I thought you said I’ll see you after the mission.” Sam muttered, taking care that no one noticed him talking to air. He hurriedly looked away from Bucky when their eyes met, a heat rising in his cheeks that made Steve chuckle.

“I said I’ll be there when you need me. And it seems like you do.” Steve commented. He took the seat next to Sam, so near that Sam swore he could feel the heat emanating from his body.

“I don’t know what you mean.” Sam snapped, the smug look on Steve’s face making him wish he could touch him if only to be able to punch him. Stupid blonde best friends with perfect teeth and beautiful smiles and an ass that looked just as round after being dead.

“Oh, I think you do.” Steve said, shifting his gaze to Bucky. “I liked his hair longer but the shorter is going well with the new arm. Don’t you think?”

Despite himself Sam found himself nodding, admiring Bucky as he’d done a thousand times before. He liked his longer hair too, but without them falling in his face, he could see him better. And the arm. The new arm that gave Sam tingles in the most delicious ways, it had him flustered for three whole weeks after Bucky first showed up with it on him.

He didn’t know when it started, but Bucky had somehow become the most beautiful person to Sam. From the way he would make him the perfect mug of coffee to their little kitchen garden they started to keep themselves busy, he loved everything about him. Those moments where he would sense the turmoil inside Sam and silently slip his hands in Sam’s to assure him that he was there, these little moments endeared him even more.

Sam had lost count of how many times Bucky and he had woken up on the couch, sharing a blanket, both silently afraid to sleep alone. He had forgotten how many times he had spent kneeling at Bucky’s bedside, coaxing him out from a nightmare. Every moment spent in each other’s company, laughing, joking, mourning together, it brought them together in a way Sam had never imagined before.

“Tell him” Steve said, a wistful look on his face as he looked at his best friend. “He feels the same. I know.”

Sam shook his head, tearing his eyes away from Bucky with reluctance. He’d already lost so much, he wouldn’t lose Bucky too. Not because he has a minor, very minor teensy tiny crush on him.

“Man, shut the hell up.” He snapped.

“Who’re you talking to?” Bucky called out from across the jet and Sam’s head snapped up, mouth parting a little before he mumbled out a ‘no one’ and focused on the papers in his hand. Sometimes he felt guilty for keeping Steve a secret, for keeping Bucky away from his best friend. He knew Bucky cried into his pillow at nights, he knew because he’d held him then, tried his best to fill the cracks that appeared in the walls of Bucky’s heart as well as his own.

But then, Steve chose to come to him. Chose to talk to Sam. And he was afraid that telling anyone would disturb this magic, whatever this was. That he would once again have to bury Steve. So, he kept quiet. He buried this secret in the deep recesses of his mind, the initial worry of insanity long forgotten in favor of seeing his friend again.

“Do you even have a plan?” Bucky questioned, watching him prepare for the jump. Sam had a job for every agent accompanying him, but the idiot had not outlined anything for himself.

“I do.” Sam said, and when Bucky looked unconvinced, he lightly punched his shoulder. “You’re my plan, my backup. I scream, jump down and get my ass back up.”

Saying this, Sam jumped, the exasperated look on Bucky’s face imprinted behind his eyelids as his wings flared out and he floated.

Everything that could have gone wrong on this mission did, and Bucky was hysterical even before Sam’s call for backup came. He was going to kick Nick Fury’s ass, but before that he was going to bring his friend back in one-piece and chew him out for giving him a heart attack.

Sam’s wings took most of the weight of the fall, so he came back with a sprained ankle and bruises. Bucky was getting increasingly irritated when they came back home, their little secluded spot in the woods welcoming them with the smell of pine and wild grass.

“It’s not my fault Fury gave us shitty intel.” Sam groaned, “You can stop being salty now.”

Bucky remained quiet, the silent treatment going for almost the third day in row and Sam was at his wits end. It was stupid and ridiculous because Bucky almost always pulled the stupidest moves in the field, like stopping a bomb with his hand or listening to the villain’s evil monologue.

Steve was grinning as he leaned against the edge of the table, and with every suggestive wink he gave Sam, the new Captain America resisted the urge to throw a vase at him.

“He cares so much that he’s speechless.” Steve commented and Sam flipped him off. Dickhead has been giving running commentary of the thick tension in the air since they came back, and Sam was on the verge of calling for an exorcism.

“Why do you do that?” Bucky asked suddenly and Sam was so glad to hear him talk again it took him a while to understand the question.

“What?”

“This thing, looking somewhere and talking to yourself, or – I don’t know, you keep being weird.”

“You’re the one with the cyborg brain and arm and I’m weird” Sam tried deflecting. Bucky frowned, coming closer to sit near Sam, leaving abandoned Christmas decorations scattered around them. Clint had delivered it for them but neither had the heart to put them up.

“Sam.” Bucky deadpanned, and Sam sighed, resting his head back and avoiding eye contact. He looked at Steve who was still smiling, his beautiful face like a slap on the face and caress on the head at the same time.

It was more difficult than one would assume to explain. Why did Sam see Steve, and why did only Sam see Steve? Was it a hallucination, or his spirit? Would Steve go away if Sam confided in Bucky? Would Bucky be mad he didn’t tell him? There were so many questions, so many doubts, and yet as Sam looked into Bucky’s eyes, shining like sapphires, he couldn’t keep it to himself.

“Its…Its Steve.” He said, looking down and playing with the soft lint on his blanket. He didn’t hear Bucky say anything but moments later a metal hand gripped his, stopping its nervous movements.

“Steve?”

Sam gulped, the coolness of Bucky’s hand in his warming his heart, swelling it with hope and an emotion Sam was too afraid to acknowledge.

“Steve, he – he talks to me.” Sam confessed and tentatively looked at Bucky whose eyes were brimming with emotion. He expected him to call him crazy, or to get mad, but what he did not expect was Bucky to shift closer and take Sam’s other hand in his too.

“He talks to me as well.” Bucky said. Sam was breathless, both by the slight smell of cinnamon that came from Bucky and the way Bucky came even closer, close enough that he could count the flecks in his eyes.

“He does?” Sam asked and Bucky nodded.

“I don’t know how he does it with you, but whenever I need him, miss him, I feel him speak to me from here.” With this Bucky placed one of Sam’s hand on his chest, the beating heart under thumping strongly. Unconsciously, Sam’s hand caressed Bucky’s chest, mapped its muscles and the jagged scars that bulged under his left shoulder.

“I see him.” Sam admitted, unable to look away from Bucky. “I can see him”

Tears blurred his vision until they dropped on his cheeks, sliding down, and forging a river down, leaving a trail of hurt, betrayal, and loss in their wake. Bucky’s hand came up to wipe them away, staying on Sam’s cheek, playing with the soft hair on his chin.

“I see him too. In you.” Bucky said and they didn’t know who moved first, but their foreheads were touching and then their lips met in a chaste, hesitant kiss. Sam melted into his touch, molding himself to fall into Bucky’s larger frame, his arms circling his waist and pulling him closer. They kissed as if they had walked a hundred miles just to kiss each other, as if they had saved every last breath just to live this moment.

“I – I, Buck –” Sam began but Bucky shushed him, pulling him into another soul-searching kiss before pulling away.

“I know.” He murmured.

As Sam relaxed in Bucky’s warm embrace, lost himself in the blues of Bucky’s eyes, he noticed Steve from the corner of his eyes. There was sadness on his face, the pain of a goodbye in the creases around his eyes. But when he smiled, he smiled with genuine love and happiness. The two parts of his soul he’d left behind seemed to have found themselves, and with them Steve felt himself complete.

“Till the end of the line pals.” He whispered.

Sam never saw Steve again.

Their Christmas was not very festive in terms of decoration. There was still too much pain, too much suffering in their hearts. Steve and Nat’s pictures beamed at them from the walls, and Sam sent Pepper the confirmation that they’ll come over for New Years.

It was a beautiful thing about human nature, about how one rises from the ashes to become stronger. Sam and Bucky lost someone, but they found each other. In the shared grieve of their hearts, they discovered the love long buried in there, eagerly waiting to be spread and shared.

They stayed warm under the blanket, wearing oversized sweaters that they wouldn’t be caught dead wearing outside. The sweaters may or may not have been Steve's; the soldiers mutually decided to hold Steve close in this way. Sam’s heart was tripled in size, as his head rested in the crook of Bucky’s neck, the smell of chocolate and cinnamon melting together to make a little world of their own. Sam wondered if he would mind growing out his hair again.

“So, what did you get me?” Sam asked, knowing he wouldn’t mind if Bucky did get him that ball gag. Part of him almost hoping for it.

“How rude Wilson, here I’ve given you all of myself and you still thirst for more.” Bucky mocked and Sam tackled him into a hug, peppering kisses all over his face.

“Bitch, you’re lucky I lo-” Sam cut himself off, suddenly shy. The smirk on Bucky’s face melted into a smile, a hungry look in his eyes.

“Say it” Bucky ordered. And Sam did. The Captain obeyed his Sergeant without hesitation.

“I love you. I love you so freaking much! I got us the cheesiest gifts.” Sam said in excitement. He pulled away long enough to grab his gift from under the bed, giving it to Bucky to open. He watched with his bottom lip between his teeth as Bucky opened the box to pull out two chains, each dangling with a rectangular pendant.

Dog tags.

Their dog tags. Bucky raised his eyes to Sam’s, fisting his hand in Sam’s t-shirt to pull him closer into a searing kiss, all tongue and teeth and moans, hips grinding as passion merged with love and emotion.

“I love you!” Bucky growled and kissed Sam again. “And I got you chocolates that look like dicks. I didn’t know this would happen between us when I bought them, and I was going to give you a hint with them.”

Sam’s laughter echoed around their small house, the dopey smile on his face remaining intact as they ate candy and burnt sparklers into the night. In the colourful light that played on their faces, they held hands together, filling the void that was there with the warmth of each other.

“We can use the shield as a sleigh until you’re comfortable using it as a weapon.” Bucky mused and Sam smiled into his neck, thinking of a certain blond asshole who may have gone away, but will never be lost.

Permanent Taglist: @what-is-your-wish @shooting-star-love @stanmysoul @sweeterthanthis @scentedsongrebel @muralskins @rayofdawnworld @donutloverxo @just-one-ordinary-fangirl @angrythingstarlight @rockyrogers @slothspaghettiwrites @nerdygirl8203

CE & Steve : @littlegasps @bluemusickid @harrysthiccthighss @abeyyaaar @slytherinandoutasgard @empath-bunny

SebStan & Bucky : @sebastiansthot @its-izzys @harrysthiccthighss @empath-bunny

For this fic : @barnesandco

#ssholidaychallenge #sambucky #sam x bucky #sam wilson x bucky barnes #sam x steve #tfatws #fluff

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pixiegrl · 4 years ago

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Baby I'll Never Leave If You Keep Holding Me This Way

Calum stops by the flower shop to pick up Michael for date night.

Hello I'm back with more blurbs from the Flower Shop/Tattoo Parlor AU even though I have not written the whole thing. This was for an anon prompt on Tumblr for "So, can we go eat" with Malum (which tumblr ate im sorry anon i hope you see this). @tigerteeff asked if someone would write a Malum fic for cozy hoodie Malum after the Twitter video today so I wrote this for them. Love you Heath, collector of Trans 5SOS. and thanks to @blackbutterfliescal for editing this for me love you!

on ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29646975

Calum makes his way into Over The Rainbow looking for Michael. It’s late Friday afternoon and the only thing Calum really wants is to find the object of his affection, go get dinner, and go home. He’s been sitting all day, hunched over doing tattoo after tattoo. Every part of Calum hurts. Michael was supposed to meet him at Do Momento Mori when they closed almost 30 minutes ago and Calum still hasn’t seen them. Michael’s never on time, unless there’s food involved and the flower shop closed around the same time they did so Calum’s a little worried. He hasn’t seen Luke or Michael leaving the shop either, so Calum finally grabbed his hoodie and bag and made his way over.

Luke’s at the front counter when Calum comes in, counting out the money in the register, curls pulled back into a bun, humming along to the Taylor Swift song that’s playing over the speakers. He looks up when Calum comes in, surprised, glancing at the clock.

“Aw shit, they’re late aren’t they,” Luke mumbles, straightening up. Calum can hear the sound of his back cracking from over by the door, wincing.

“Yeah. I was getting worried.”

“Michael wanted to take a nap before seeing your date tonight. I told them I’d wake them up in time, but well, clearly I got distracted with closing things too,” Luke mumbles. He’s flushed and clearly embarrassed. Calum smiles, shrugging as he crosses the store.

“Well, this way I get to surprise them. You should probably head out though. Ashton’s nervously fidgeting in the shop and he needs someone to go remind him to eat,” Calum says. Luke perks up, smiling at Calum. Calum rolls his eyes, fondly. It took far too long for Luke and Ashton to finally admit they liked each other and that they wanted to date and now that they’re boyfriends, they’re insufferable.

Calum passes behind Luke, heading into the back room of the store. He finds Michael curled up on the couch they keep in the back. They’re curled into a tight ball, hands tucked under a pillow they’re using. Michael’s clearly fast asleep, chest raising and falling softly, fringe in their eyes. Calum drops his bag by door, crossing the room. He crouches down in front of Michael, ignoring the cracking sound of his knees to reach out and brush the fringe away from Michael’s eyes. They blink their eyes open slowly, startling a little when they realize that Calum’s in front of them.

“Am I late?” Michael mumbles, reaching up a hand to rub at their eyes. Calum’s hopelessly charmed by Michael’s too large sweatshirt sleeves, curled over their hands in sweater paws.

“Only a little.”

“I wanted to be on time. Show you I was responsible,” Michael whines a little. They bury their face into the pillow. Calum chuckles a little.

“I can’t fault you for sleeping a little more. You deserve it if the dark circles mean anything,” Calum says. Michael turns their head, looking at Calum, wary.

“Still. I’m not a very good partner if I’m late to everything,” Michael mumbles. Calum shrugs.

“Well I snore and you’re late to everything. We all have our strengths and weaknesses,” Calum says. Michael huffs out a laugh, rolling their eyes. Calum stands up, nudging at Michael’s shoulders.

“What?”

“Move. I wanna cuddle.”

“Why? Thought you wanted to get dinner together.”

“I’ve been sitting upright all day. Laying down sounds amazing right now,” Calum says. Michael sighs dramatically, rolling over slightly. Calum climbs over them, wiggling behind Michael on the couch. He curls up behind Michael, running his fingers through Michael’s hair. They hum lightly, leaning back into Calum’s chest. They lay there for a few minutes, breathing in sync so quietly that Calum thinks Michael might be asleep until they speak up.

“You’re warm,” Michael mumbles, leaning back into Calum. Calum smiles, keeps stroking their hair. There’s a lull until Michael speaks up again.

“What are we?”

“What do you mean?” Calum asks.

“Like dating? Are we together? Casually seeing each other? I know labels are stupid or whatever, but I want to know before we go any further. I can’t get invested if you’re not serious,” Michael says.

Calum pauses, thinking about it. If Calum’s going to be honest, he already assumed they were dating. He knows they’ve never spoken the words aloud, haven’t put the words to their budding relationship, Calum already considers Michael his partner. When Calum talks about them to his mum, he calls Michael his partner. He says it in stores and at restaurants when the check out people ask who he’s buying things for. Calum’s not sure what the feeling in his chest is whenever he sees Michael, when they burst into the tattoo parlor to bring Calum mid-day coffee or bring Calum food on longer days, when they sit with Calum while he sketches, asking questions about the art he’s making, the techniques he’s using. If Calum had to guess, he would say that the feeling in his chest is love. It’s pure, unadulterated love at its finest. Calum’s hesitant to put the word on something so new, but it feels right. The shape of the words on Calum’s lips, the idea of love is so close he can almost taste it. Calum fantasizes sometimes, when it’s late at night and he’s trying to fall asleep, what it would be like to have Michael with him all the time. What it would feel like to fall asleep with Michael, curled up around them, pressing close. What it might be like to wake up with them, make breakfast together, walk to work together. Calum knows it’s too early, but he wants a full life with Michael, for as long as Michael will have him.

“I want to date you. I want to hold your hand in public and call you my partner when we’re out. I want to go on date nights and kiss you at the movie theater and I just....I want to be your boyfriend Michael. If you’ll have me, I want to be your boyfriend,” Calum says.

“You can’t just hit me with that kind of confession while I’m comfortable and warm and cuddling with you. I’m emotionally compromised enough as it is,” Michael whines, covering their face with their hands.

“Well you asked! Don’t ask if you don’t want the answer,” Calum says, laughing.

“Terrible, terrible, terrible. I can’t believe my boyfriend is awful and mean and a dork,” Michael bemoans dramatically.

“So, does that mean you want to date me?”

“Unfortunately, I very much want to be your partner. I want to hold your hand and call you my boyfriend and kiss in public until Luke whines at me to stop.”

“Good. Glad to know we’re on the same page with embarrassing our friends with our relationship,” Calum says, laughing. They lay together on the couch for a few moments until Michael’s stomach rumbles.

“So, can we go eat?” Calum asks, running his fingers through Michael’s hair.

“No, cozy,” Michael mumbles, burrowing into Calum’s chest. Calum sighs.

“Come on Mikey. I won’t even make you eat a veggie. We can order pizza and cuddle on the couch and watch a movie.”

“But you’re warm and the couch is cozy,” Michael whines.

“It’ll be even warmer and cozier back at my place. I’ll make you pancakes in the morning since it’s a late shop day.”

“Chocolate chips?” Michael asks, cracking one eye open to gaze at Calum.

“Yes, I’ll even add chocolate chips.”

“Fine, I guess going home with my boyfriend won’t be such a tragedy,” Michael says dramatically. They wiggle out of Calum’s hold, rolling over to face Calum. Michael leans forward, pressing a kiss to Calum’s nose. Calum grins, leaning forward to press one to their nose.

“Glad to hear it. Love you,” Calum says before he can stop himself. He freezes, heart pounding, unsure of what Michael’s going to say in response to Calum’s sudden confession.

“Love you,” Michael hums back. They burrow back into Calum’s chest, head tucked under his chin. Calum knows they should sit up, get going, so they can get food and do this at his place under covers and warm, but right now, Calum’s content to just lay on this couch with Michael curled up in their love.

#5 seconds of summer #malum #michael clifford #calum hood #flower shop tattoo parlor au #trans calum #non binary michael #they are just soft cuddles in a flower shop on a couch #what can i say #soft sweet wholesome boys

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cummingforkylo · 5 years ago

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Hi! I absolutely love your take on Kylo! It's so true to character! TBH I don't see him as a soft sub baby boy, when in reality he would probably be cruel and closed off in a relationship. But I love him anyways haha. Can we get some emotionally compromised Kylo finding out the reader is pregnant?

Kylo being a father makes my ovaries glow soooo here you go!

Tiny Burning LightRating: MatureCW: Pregnancy, angstWord Count: 1,355Prompt: Kylo is just as emotionally unavailable as he ever was and he finds out you’re is pregnant.

You had no idea what to do, there was no one but him to talk to about this. You weren’t sure what you were supposed to do in a situation like this. You would never have expected to be in this situation and you almost doubted the medics on the Supremacy would believe you if you want to them. So telling him was your only option. You had been avoiding Kylo for days, scared that he would sense your emotions, or worse, be able to sense the Life Force of the being growing inside of you. Would he be able to sense it? You had sensed it a few days before this but there had been other signs too, you had been paying attention, not to mention it was your body. Would he be paying close enough attention to you for that to even cross his mind? You didn’t know but you wouldn’t take the chance so you stayed away from him until you were ready to tell him.

Now you had to tell him, it was time. You were starting to panic about what you were supposed to do about it, about how you felt about this thing inside of you. You had spent days keeping it in and you couldn’t not talk about it anymore so you want to his quarters. He sensed your arrival and the door opened as you approached it. When you walked in you found him sitting at a table, looking at a data pad.

“You’ve been avoiding me.” He said, his voice emotionless, he didn’t even look up from what he was doing. You swallowed back your fear and you stepped closer to him, listening to the doors shut behind ou.

“I’ve been…thinking.” You said, still unsure of what to say. As you got closer his head shot up and he stood up in one fluid motion, turning to face you.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

“Nothing,” You lied, your brow furrowing.

“You’re upset.” He said, he could sense your emotions, he always could. You saw a flicker of worry cross over his face as he looked at you. He was going to be furious. He was going to hate you, hate the baby, make you get rid of it, or give it up or just send you and him away. You tried to push back your thoughts, he was already working on learning what you were hiding from him. You tried to take a deep breath, to center yourself, to collect your feelings but he had stepped closer to you. “Why are you trying to lie to me?” he asked.

“I’m not…” You said, and even that was sort of a lie.

“You are, you’re hiding something…there’s something that-“ He broke off and you could have sworn that your heart stopped beating. He let out his breath, it shuddered out of him and you watched his expression shift, from interested to horrified. His lips quivered and then he quickly sucked his breath back in a gasp. His eyes dropped from your face to your stomach. His brow knit, and he took another step towards you, his hand reaching out at the same time. You almost recoiled but you told yourself that would only make it worse so you stayed put and let him place his large hand over you belly. It wasn’t a warm gesture of love or happiness. It was as if he was trying to test a theory, he was checking to see if he had sensed correctly. Kylo shut his eye as he held his hand there, even as he used the Force to sense him, you were also very aware of your son’s Life Force inside of you. A tiny light burning inside you that no one else had known until now. After a second Kylo’s eyes flew open, he took a deep gasping breath and ripped his hand away from you. He stepped back and his lip snarled,

“When were you going to tell me?” He demanded.

“Today! That’s why I came!” You insisted, putting a protective hand over your stomach as if that would shield the tiny baby from his father’s rage. His eyes moved to the hand on your stomach and you watched a furious look cross his face as if he hated you for holding your stomach.

“How long have you known? As long as you’ve avoided me?” He asked, you couldn’t stop staring at how he looked. His breathing was hard, his eyes were wild but there was more than just anger there. Pain and fear was what really colored his expression.

“Yes,” You said, deciding you should answer as straight forward as you possibly could.

“He’s…he’s mine?” he asked. Of course this baby was his, there had been no one else. There was only Kylo. Always Kylo. Kylo and you. And now him. Whoever this baby was.

“Of course he’s yours.” You said, rolling your eyes.

“You’re a nasty little slut, for all I know you’re whoring yourself out to anyone who would want you-“

“You know that isn’t true!” You interrupted, your own fury spiking inside of you. He knew your thoughts, he read them against your will whenever he wanted and now he wanted to pretend he didn’t know your every thought. He wanted to pretend he didn’t follow your every movement around the Supremacy. His eyes burned with anger as you stared back at him, unwilling to let him think for even a second that this child wasn’t his. His breathing was still hard and he stepped away from you, turning to the bed. He sank down and his head fell into his hands. His elbows rested on his knees and you could hear his breathing becoming harder and hard. With a lurching sensation in your naval you realized he might have been crying. Your heart thrummed faster and faster and you felt tears prick your eyes.

You had seen him vulnerable, you had felt him bury his head against your shoulder in the middle of the night when he thought you were sleeping, felt him suddenly cling to you after he fucked you, refusing to let you go. You had heard him whisper his feelings to you and then pretend he hadn’t said them, but he had never cried in front of you. You took a tentative step forward and sank down next to him,

“Kylo…” You whispered, reaching over to touch his shoulder. He ripped his body away from you. Tears sprung up in your eyes, there had been a tiny part of you that had hoped that even through the shock and upset he might relax into the idea.

“I’m not someone that can be a father.” He said into his hands.

“I think you could be,” You breathed, you tried to touch him again, this time stroking his hair back. He didn’t jerk away this time, he raised his head from his hands, looking over at you. He looked into your eyes as he stroked the raven hair back. His brows contracted and his lip curled,

“What makes you think you could be a mother?” he snapped.

“I…I don’t know.” You said, “I’m scared.” You admitted. There was silence that followed your words, and in it you wished he would comfort you. You wished he could have just told you it would be all right. Kylo turned to look at you more properly, his hand dropped to your belly again. His big hand covered so much of it, it felt warm against you, even over your clothes and you were shocked to feel his thumb move, gently rubbing. You leaned forward and pressed your forehead to his, hoping he wouldn’t shove you away.

“I can feel him.” He said after another minute. “He’s strong, isn’t he?” He asked.

“He is.” You said, still staying close to him and tentatively putting your hand over his on your belly. “He’s like you.” You added. Kylo’s lip quivered, and he shook his head, but he kept his forehead pressed to yours,

“Don’t say that.” He said and his voice shook.

#kylo ren x reader #kylo ren x you #kylo x reader #kylo x you #ben solo #kylo ren headcanons #headcanons #requests #kylo ren imagines

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toongal1998 · 4 years ago

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This drawing took forever to complete, but I am pretty satisfied with how it turned out. The first version is one without shading and second is it the one with shading added. (The quality is better if you click on it.) I came up with the idea after rewatching the old Justice Ducks’s episode, as well as being imspired by DT17’s “Let’s get Dangerous!” special and listening to the classic Og teen Titans theme on repeat also sparked a lot of imagination. The only outfits I didn’t come up with are Lena’s, Boyd’s and Louie’s which already exist the show. I thought about each kids’s strengths and personalities when designing the other costumes as well what kind of powers/roles they would play and what kinda relationship they would have with their super mentors for this au.

• First up we have everyone’s favorite sassy magical teen, Lena. Her magical girl type outfit is what used for her hero costume. I tried my best to get the colors right so I hope it looks good. Lena’s role on the team is The Magical Brawler, with her using magical energy blasts, as well as allusions and brute force to defeat her opponents. She also doesn’t have a hero name like the others and just goes by Lena. (This is mostly because her magic protects her secret identity or something.) She and Quiverwing are the snarkiest towards the villains, especially if their evil plans are really stupid.

• She acts as a cool older sister figure to other kids on the team and is one of the most proactive on the team, with her answer to fighting a villain usually being “let’s beat them up” which can sometimes land her into trouble if she’s not careful. She’s very protective of Webby and Her younger (adopted) sister, Violet. So word to the wise evil doers, do not under any circumstances attack/harm either girl or you will be in a world of agonizing magical pain.

• Being oldest on the team as well as one of the most pessimistic/emotionally guarded at times, she tends to be a little more jaded to the whole hero worship thing the other kids have going towards The Justice Ducks. Her mentor/teacher is technically Morgana Macawber. In the beginning she was very distrustful towards the older magic user due to the woman’s past actions as a villain, as well as Lena’s own hang up’s with Magica. However, She eventually warms up to the sorceress after she sees how while having questionable morals at times, is still a good person who genuinely cares about her and Vi as not only her students/sidekicks, but her surrogate kids as well. (Morgana definitely joins the ‘these aren’t technically my kids, but I’m adopting them. You can’t stop me club.’)

• After that, their relationship starts to get better, but Lena still has her more rebellious impulses which causes her to be a bit more difficult when interacting with her mentor. She will argue with her about things like “Seriously! Why should it matter if my magic is still ‘developing’?! I can totally handle my Own magic, thank you very much! Now let’s stop gabbing and take down this creep before he overruns the whole city!” (Stuff like that.)

• Let’s move on to Webby or as she’s better known in the crime fighting world, Gummi Gal! So, it was a little difficult to figure out what kinda hero she would be, but after i decided to go with combining her spy training with her gummi juice powers, from “From the confidential files from agent 22�� everything else just clicked. (Please note that I’m vaguely familiar with original gummi bears, I’m going off of ducktales 17 interpretation of it so if I get anything wrong, that’s why.)

• First let’s talk about the costume. I wanted to give her something that showed her personality as both a trained combat and espionage expert, as well as a excitable sweet munchkin who loves glitter and friendship bracelets. I based the colors off her regular pallet and added the cherry red parts to allude back to the gummi berry juice. The costume is made from super rubbery stretchy protective material either invented by S.H.U.S.H, prier or Team science to keep our super adorable rubber ball of death safe from villains when her gummi powers wear off, while also giving her a boost in battle while trying to beat up said baddies. Her red bow is the same material as the outfit, I gave her a pink mask, cause that’s her favorite color (also I wanted her to have a different mask color from Gosalyn and Huey.) and her utility belt is filled with other gadgets as well extra vials of juice in cases of emergencies. Not to mentioned she finally got her own Action Cane and still has her trusty grappling hook if things get too crazy.

• Webby’s role in the team is definitely combative close ranged fighter and The Heart of The Team. She’s already a beast in hand to hand combat, but when she drinks her gummi berry juice, she becomes a unstoppable springy force of power and agility, that can really give the villains a headache. She’s the most encouraging and affectionate on team always giving her fellow teammates hugs or high fives whenever she can. Her biggest weakness has to be her willingness to trust people at their word, being a little naive to harsh truths of the world cause she wants to see the good in others. She’s a badass, but an idealistic at her core and just wants to make the world a more happier place.

• Webby’s hero mentor is the Moon’s greatest warrior, Penumbra. Penny is at first confused by Small Della’s odd abilities, but adapts pretty quickly. They train a lot together and Penny teaches the young earther tricks she picked up from living on the moon where the gravity is very different from earth. This helps Webby get better at controlling where she wants to bounce when using her powers. Penny is pretty protective of all of the small Dellas and will be pretty aggressive towards those who try to harm them.

• Huey was easy I just made him updated version of his Gizmoduck costume with more of an emphasis of protection and practicality. I decided to give him a mask underneath his visor, because I believe he would definitely wear it as an extra precaution so villains don’t figure out his secret identity. (Even though it’s pretty obvious who these kids are, if you’re any paying attention.) I added a magnetic electro pulse glove blaster (sorry if the science doesn’t make much sense.) as well as magnetic boots, so he can better stay on Boyd’s back in battle and flight. (I was mostly inspired by Hiro from big hero 6 for that.)

• He uses the blaster to send magnetic frequency waves at his enemies. He can also grab things from a distance as a nod to his safety first mindset. His role on the team is occasionally the leader (there’s a bit of conflict with that issue.) and most importantly the thing he prides himself on, The Strategist. He’s great at analyzing situations and coming up with strategies, but can still over think things to his detriment. He clashes the most with Louie on the team as he feels his brother isn’t taking his role very seriously and Gosalyn as she not the best team player. He still looks up to Gizmoduck as his mentor, which drives him to prove himself as a competent leader and crime fighter in his hero’s eyes. Finally his hero name I think would either be Pulse or Gizmokid. Mostly I’m leaning on Pulse, cause I think it distinguishes him from Giz and let’s him make a name for himself as a hero in his own right, not just stuck in someone else’s shadow. (Though the bad guys will probably just call him, Gizmobrat to spite him.)

• (With Boyd I had trouble with getting his coloring just right so if it looks off, that’s why.) Boyd is the technically the youngest on the team in both appearance and mentality. He’s a sweet precious totally real boy that everyone instantly loves...well almost everyone. Louie, is at first a little heistent to be around him, but knows what happened at Doofus’s party wasn’t his fault so doesn’t hold it against him. He’s one of the easiest to trick out of the whole team which makes prime target for scheming villains to mess with. However, don’t underestimate this little powerhouse or you’ll regret it. He’s closest with Huey, with him being the first real friend the little tyke has ever known. (Dr. Gearloose is more of a parental figure then anything.) They can often be seen coming up with plans or just having fun learning stuff together. His hero mentor is Gizmoduck as well, but he also quickly warms up to Gandra. (who may or not be a anti hero in this au.)

• Gosalyn’s/Quiverwing’s costume was little harder to figure out. I kept going back and forth from a modern vs classic look, until I finally settled on a compromise that felt right. I do wish I made the cape more like Darkwing’s and drew a more modern looking bow, but other then that I think it came out pretty good. Her logo I’m especially proud of. Her role on the team is definitely the sharp shooter archer and weapons expert. I like to think she’s kinda like what if Batgirl was a archer. She likes to come up new weapons and gadgets to use on the bad guys. She’s the second oldest after Lena, making her also an older sister figure to the younger kids. Her mentor is Darkwing Duck, she loves being his crime fighting partner, but wishes she get more chances to really show her stuff and not be babied all the time by her guardian. This causes her to be one of the first kids to disobey the adult heroes when they say to stay out of something. Like that will stop her.

• Dewey was the hardest when designing what kinda hero he would be. At first, I thought of giving him a magical legendary sword that could change forms depending on what was needed, sorta as a way to mirror Dewey’s creativity and ever changing interests. However, I also felt he shouldn’t need to be ‘chosen’ by something to be a hero, so now the sword is actually something that he had to have create himself, but it also happens to be a magical shape-shifting weapon?.... (honestly if anyone has any better ideas, please help me, I totally except suggestions.)

• I gave him a costume similar to his God of Dance/Champ Popular personas with a blue Darkwing inspired cape. (Admit it, Dewey you actually love the show!) I added some protective chest armor, also gave him a angel wings and stars motif. His hero name if haven’t already guessed is Daring Dew. His role on the team is kinda the wild card/funny guy as well as a lancer to the more focused sometimes leader, Pulse. If I had to give an example of his role then probably something similar to beast boy from Og teen Titans or The flash from the justice league. He’s usually the first one to try and lighten the mood when something goes wrong, but he has his moments of Insecurites that causes him to doubt himself.

• He’s unique case as he doesn’t really have a official heroic mentor and just kinds bounces around from person to person depending on the day. Not that anyone dislikes the kid, but because he just finds them all so cool that he can’t pick one. (Basically, you know how your favorite avenger changes every week, it’s kinda like that.) He gets along best with Darkwing though and is kinda like his unofficial second sidekick. However, he does love spending time training with The Duck Avenger. He does seem familiar though, he just doesn’t know how. Hymmm. I wonder why.......

• Violet was also a tough one. Do I go with tech based weaponry, superpowers, space themed or magic? Nonetheless, I decided to combine her junior woodchuck survival skills and her magical quick study abilities to make her sorta of Magical Green lantern with an alchemist twist. I wanted to give her own way to do magic without having to use Lena’s powers or Magica’s emulet as a crutch. Her book on her belt is an ancient spell book filled with mystical runes and incantations that she uses to create magical contructs like weapons to battle her opponents. I gave her a teal green cloak, (mostly cause I was inspired by OG raven Teen Titans) a teal mask to hide her identity, light teal gloves and a rune turquoise stone that help channel her own magical abilities when she using her spell book.

• For her hero name I kinda like Light Saber (Disney technically owns Star Wars, so they could use the name.) or Guidelight (kinda like play on her junior woodchuck guide book.)

• Violet is the supernatural expert and living encyclopedia of the team. Something tells me she would do extensive research on all the justice Ducks’s known villains and would keep record of all of the info she gathered on the subjects. I have a headcanon that after “Let’s Get Dangerous” happened in this universe she would watch hours upon of the old darkwing Duck show while taking notes to better understand the full extent of the fearsome four’s backgrounds and abilities. Morgana, like Lena is also her hero mentor. They get along pretty well. She loves learning new spells from older sorceress who is more then happy to help the other with her knowledge on the subject.

• finally last, but never least, Louie! First off I drew him in his simple green hoodie with a dress shirt and tie. (Kid is pretty lazy when it comes to heroic theatrics.) His role on the team is The schemer and self proclaimed, Young Justice Ducks manager. Louie doesn’t really go by any alias and doesn’t wear a mask, cause in his mind there’s not much of point since no one really take them seriously anyways. They’re the kiddie sidekicks club in a lot of people’s eyes, so they don’t get much media attention compared to their mentors.

• If he’s not ‘training’ with his mentor, Storkules, or just hanging out with his teammates, then he’s scamming villains out of their stolen loot or finding new ways to try and get the Young Justice Ducks name out there. He probably takes the whole being a hero thing the least seriously out of everyone on the team, mostly because the adults are always their to save the day and take all the fire, so why not focus on building a solid following and use their obscurity to their advantage against the villains. ( To be honest I really couldn’t figure out what kinda hero he would be. I think maybe later on he could regain his godly gold touch powers, though much more limited this time with them being on a timer of or something. If anyone has any better ideas for him, please send them my way)

Anyways, thanks for reading. Again, if you have any suggestions, questions or ideas please feel free to share them. See ya!

#ducktales 2017 #dt 2017 #dewey duck #webby vanderquack #lena sabrewing #huey duck #louie duck #gosalyn waddlemeyer #quiverwing quack #dt gosalyn #violet sabrewing #boyd dt #The Young Justice Ducks #I finished this instead of sleeping

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uppercuts-and-undercuts · 4 years ago

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Harry Hart, Eggsy Unwin, and Hartwin Fangirl/Rant/Headcanon dump

I seriously have so many feelings about these two, I don’t even know where to start. I’m talking full-on emotionally compromised. I can’t even. I am unable to can. Ever since I watched TSS, I’ve been reading and re-reading everything I could get my hands on. Even things that really aren’t my usual preferences. I’ve read everything from time-travel AUs, to fics with kinks I absolutely don’t have (and ones I absolutely do have), ones where Harry is a dragon, or Eggsy gets temporarily turned into a dog... angels/demons, A/B/O, bakery AUs, coffee shop AUs, same age!AUs, soulmates, serial killers, vampires, domestic, PWP, fluff, and essentially every trope I can think of - and probably a good few I can’t even remember. The point is? I love both of these dorks, and Hartwin.

I even force myself to keep reading when things descend into heavier angst than I expected. Too much angst leaves me a total mess. Hence, I try to stay away from anything with tags indicating an enormously bumpy ride. That being said, I’ve fought through a fair few heavy angst pieces, partially because they’re so well written, and partially because I’ve been invested enough to want to see everything work out. Believe me when I say I avoid the ‘unhappy ending’ and ‘major character death’ tags like the fucking plague (unless the MCD tag is accompanied by another tag like ‘but not really’, or ‘temporary’).

But what gets me the most about them, and Hartwin? The many different characterisations all these authors have given them, separately and as a couple, and the fact that they (mostly) just work. Some of them are contradictory, technically. But if you’ve got enough imagination, most of them even work together, even the seemingly ‘opposite’ ones. Some give you the fuzzies, some leave you fanning yourself, and some spark loads of daydreams. It’s gotten to the point where I don’t have a favourite characterisation, or even a complete list of favourite characterisations, because there’s too much! However! I’m going to rant giddily about some for a bit, because I have literally no friends.

Harry Hart:

Brutal elegance in a gorgeous suit

Sarcasm and polite disdain hiding a heart of gold

Morally dubious and manipulative

Daddy AF

Dapper gentleman who says ‘fuck’ a lot

Tall, dark, handsome, and will fuck you up without breaking a sweat

Sex on long legs

Loves all dogs, no matter what size, but weak for the tiny ones

Smoother than smooth

Awkward dork

Has no time for your classist bullshit

Actual tailor

Soft gent with so much love to give

Stoic gent who has no interest in relationships - until a cheeky chav with a heart of gold saunters into his life

King Harry

Makes love gently, coaxing, lovingly

Fucks like he’s being paid for it

Like, seriously, fucks

King of dirty talk

Gently murmuring praise

Loves fiercely

Incredibly possessive, and not even slightly ashamed of it

Repentant dirty old man

Unrepentant dirty old man

Certified Little Shit(™)

Gives zero fucks

Harry Hart-breaker

Super spy

Harry Fucking Hart

Above all, completely gone for Eggsy Unwin

Eggsy Unwin:

Vulnerable smol egg

Heart of gold

Smart-mouthed brat

Experienced street scrapper

Thicc AF

Bloodied knuckles and bleeding heart

Way smarter than people assume

Would literally die and kill for the people he cares about

Friend to animals everywhere - literally a Disney princess

Don’t talk shit about JB, he’ll defend his wheezy baby to the death

Just wants to be loved

Not afraid to tell it like it is - loudly, bluntly, and unashamed

Will ram that silver spoon even further up your arse, if you aren’t careful

Certified Little Shit(™) in training

Plays the idiot so everyone underestimates him

Just as at ease in a bulletproof bespoke suit as he is in trackies and trainers

Just wants to be loved

Prince of parkour

A total nurturer, just wants to take care of the people he loves

Unexpected virgin

Fucks like a champion

Keeps his heart behind heavily fortified walls - until a handsome gentleman in a bespoke suit beats the shit out of his tormentors

Never asks for anything for himself, yet sees Harry and wants

Actually very well read, that you very much

Sugar baby, and proud

Independent and works his ass off to stay that way

Hidden talents - archery, ballroom dancing, circus skills, etc.

Weak for soft older men

Eggsy Unwin, bitches

Head over heels for Harry Hart

As a couple

Disgustingly in love

Domestic husbands

Murder husbands

Both secretly spies

Harry being just as likely to kiss Eggsy’s hand as he is to rim him into next week

Eggsy constantly gets eyed-up by women and (worse, in Harry’s mind) other men. Harry is a jealous little shit, and loves to rub in the fact that Eggsy is completely oblivious to his admirers. Eggsy, of course, is oblivious to his admirers because he’s far too busy admiring Harry

When Harry gets jealous, he’s partial to getting Eggsy into bed (or over his desk, or against a wall, or even on the floor) and fucking him so good he cries. If Eggsy eventually realises what causes those occurrences, it’s only to his benefit.

Eggsy would be jealous over all the people who can’t help but admire Harry, if not for two facts. Firstly, that while he’s oblivious when people are giving him the eye, he’s definitely observant enough to realise that it’s what sets Harry off. Secondly, Harry is so obviously and completely devoted to him that it would be pointless to feel jealous. Why should he worry when he can feel Harry’s big hand settled warmly against the small of his back, brown eyes gazing down at him adoringly, and the smile that he only ever gives Eggsy on his lips?

Harry can’t help but give Eggsy pet names. It began when he first started to become fond of Eggsy it began. My boy, dear boy. Darling boy, eventually. And then, as Eggsy’s cheeky little thieving fingers began reaching out to steal his heart, they came thick and fast. My dear, dearest, darling, sweetling, my love.

Eggsy wasn’t one for using pet names, but he loved when Harry used them for him. For Eggsy, nicknaming was something he did without thought, usually to annoy or amuse. Even Merlin wasn’t safe from his sometimes regrettable attempts at nicknames, Gandalf and Dumbledore being Eggsy’s favourites. But his other half, the love of his life, only had one name Eggsy called him. Because he was Harry. and to Eggsy, Harry meant all the love in his heart, with every breath in his body

Everyone assumes Harry will be the sensible, restrained one of the two. Partially because of their age difference, partially because he always just looks so put together - of course he’d me the more mature. They assume incorrectly. Eggsy is surprisingly good at organising and doing what needs to be done, and can absolutely be serious when he needs/wants to be. Harry, obviously, can’t resist teasing him and making his life difficult during those times. He also finds it hilarious when Eggsy tells him off in front of people who don’t already know their personalities and dynamic

Harry spoils Eggsy whenever the boy lets him. Attention, affection, baths together, cooking for him, bringing him flowers, buying him things, trips and holidays, mind-blowing sex, everything he can think of. Eggsy never asks for anything at all, but Harry would never deny him anything if he did. Harry honestly just wants to give him the world anyway. He would tear the stars from the sky, if he thought Eggsy would like them.

#harry hart #eggsy unwin #harry hart/eggsy unwin #harry hart x eggsy unwin #hartwin #Kingsman #Kingsman: The Secret Service #headcanons #fangirl #rant

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collecting-stories · 5 years ago

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Dreams - Daryl Dixon

Request: Ready for it, Taylor for Daryl please ? - anon requested.

A/N: Probably not exactly what you had in mind but I love this hook/chorus and wanted to make it the main focal point of the fic. Sorry, I took some poetic liberties.

In the middle of the night, in my dreams, you should see the things we do, baby, I know I’m gonna be with you - ...Ready For It, Taylor Swift

\\\

Your chin rested in your palms, elbows on knees as you took what was likely the most relaxed watch position in history. The thirty plus days without incident, as documented by the rummaged sign Beth proudly displayed in her cell, was making you lazy. So much so you considered, for a brief moment, wearing shorts to watch. It was hot out and the metal death trap twenty or so feet off the ground felt like it was roasting you alive most days and lately you’d been drawing the short straw - midday watch.

The only promising factor was that Daryl was back from the four-day run he and Michonne had embarked on. Which meant he was helping Rick plough. Which meant you could stare at him instead of the disgusting post-dead clinging to the fences. He was, naturally, unaware of your stalkerish staring but then oblivious, emotionally unavailable men were your type. He’d been even more checked out since Merle died, reserving any moments of camaraderie for Michonne or Rick or Carol. That wasn’t surprising. They’d found you somewhere between the farm that burned down (so the story goes) and this prison and they’d been good enough to take you in, just like they’d done for these folks from Woodbury, but you weren’t one of them. Still an outsider to the group the most they offered you was a scrap of conversation here and there. Glenn and Maggie, and Lori before she died, had been the kindest. Even bratty Beth with her moodiness and her self-revolving universe was nicer than most. Michonne was nice, but she had been an outsider too. An asset that lost the status pretty quickly, most of the time you missed each other. She was on watch at odd hours. And besides, it was Daryl you really wanted to talk to.

Like an itch you couldn’t scratch.

You’d been nothing special prior to this. And they’d found you after a rough patch, accosted by a group before theirs you’d been hiding in the back of a minivan and Daryl had opened the door on you, sending you both into a minor panic. Hershel had bandaged the sprained ankle you had and Lori had offered some of the Tylenol in her bag to ease the pain from the bruises on your face. Healed by now you only had occasional trouble from your ankle which was why Rick always put you on watch and never assigned you a run or asked you to fix the traps outside of the fences.

The complacency was making you go a little stir crazy. Or more than a little, judging by the entire hours that you spent daydreaming about Daryl.

“How are you killing anything if your gun is no where near you?” Glenn asked, nudging your side with the rifle you’d left inside the watchtower while you sat outside.

“Don’t remind me.” You sighed, taking the gun and laying it across your lap.

Glenn sat down beside you, just as relaxed. “What are they doing?”

“Building a fence for the pigs?” You shrugged. “I’m not sure, I’m just in it for the view.”

“Imagine if you spoke to him like a normal person.” Glenn teased. You had become quick friends with Glenn and he was privy to most of you new-world secrets, including your infatuation with Daryl.

“I talk to him all the time in my head.”

“That doesn’t make you sound crazy.”

“No crazier than the rest of us.” You shrugged.

“Hey, kid!” And wasn’t that the other problem? That of all the nicknames Daryl could have possibly chosen to bestow on you he had gone with ‘kid’ as if you were Carl or Beth’s age and not in fact, in your late twenties.

You leaned through an opening in the railing to gaze down at him. Tanner than usual from the sun, a hint of a burn forming on his shoulders and you were mentally running through the list of odd items collected in your cell to see if you had any aloe you could offer him before that started to peel. When you continued to stare Glenn cleared his throat and nudged you.

“Sorry, what’s up?” You asked.

“Ya wanna see how to check the traps?”

You’d been bugging for weeks to help in a capacity greater than sitting around in this tower everyday but you imagined the most you’d get was babysitting duty or helping Hershel should anyone feel a little under the weather. The only thing more surprising than being given an actual task was that Daryl was the one offering up his assistance.

“Yeah, totally.” Way to sound like an adult, you nearly cringed at the sound of your own overtly excited voice.

Being outside the fence again you were bombarded with the same feelings you’d been fending off before you met the group. That anxious bubble of dread was just under your skin and you could feel yourself zoning out. It didn’t help that Daryl was just a few steps ahead of you, leading the way further into the woods as scenarios of all the ways this could go bad ran through your mind.

That and how good Daryl made living in the middle of an apocalypse look. How could someone manage to look both gross and fuckable at the same time? Maybe it said less about him and more about your absolute devotion to this infatuation with him that you were thinking about how much you wanted him to shove you up against a tree right in the middle of the fucking forest.

“Ya paying attention?” Daryl’s voice broke your concentration and you looked up at him. He was already halfway through disarming one of the snares to check for anything inside. A rabbit.

“Uh, yeah.” You nodded and bit your lip.

“Here, put this in the bag.”

“That’s what this bag is for?” You asked, grimacing as you took the dead rabbit and laid it in the tote bag slung over your shoulder.

“What’d ya think it was fer?” He looked at you like you were the stupidest person on earth.

You could only shake your head and shrug. Honestly he could have stood there and told you exactly what the bag was for and you would still have no idea. You had a terrible habit of zoning out whenever Daryl was talking to you. The movement of his hands and his lips and the way he looked when he was trying to find the right words to explain something was one of your favorite things and your mind went more than a little haywire trying to take in all of it at once.

“Come on, we got three more to check.” He kept walking and you stood there for a minute, letting him get ahead of you before you finally caught up.

“How’d it go?” Glenn asked, leaning on the door frame of your cell.

You frowned, lifting your leg so he could see the bandage that Hershel had to wrap your ankle in. Distracted, as it were, you had taken a rather nasty fall that resulted in what Hershel determined was a sprained ankle. Naturally you had tripped up right in front of Daryl, embarrassing but not entirely unfortunate because he carried you back to the prison.

“I fell.”

“I heard.” He smiled, clearly trying not to laugh out loud at you.

“Who told you?” You were sure that everyone was talking about what an absolute waste of space you were, especially now, but you wouldn’t mind knowing exactly who was spreading news of your fall.

“Daryl told Rick about it.” Glenn said, “told him you’re too distracted out there. I said you never have a problem when we go on runs.”

“Why cause you hate me?” You grumbled, standing carefully, “I should apologize.”

“For the upteenth time?”

“Yes.” In actuality you’d been so embarrassed over the entire ordeal that you hadn’t apologized at all. You had just fumbled over your words until you decided it was probably better to just stay quiet. But you felt guilty that Daryl had agreed to take you out there and you had fucked the whole thing up by being your usual self and getting far too distracted by everything about him to pay attention to even the ground you were walking on.

Daryl wasn’t hard to find, sitting at the base of the stairs that led up to the second level of cells. He was whittling the end of a stick, probably making a new arrow. You’d watched him make them plenty of times before, though that made you sound like some stalker. He looked up as you lowered yourself on to the step beside him. Your heart was pounding against your chest and your hands felt clammy from being so nervous.

If you could be half as confident in front of him as you were in the millions of daydreams you had about him.

“I’m sorry, about earlier.” You confided, “I didn’t mean to be so lousy out there.”

“Ain’t yer fault, yer outta practice.” He shrugged. Nicer than he had to be.

The part of his conversation with Rick that Glenn had left out was how he lost any composure, resentful that Rick had even considered sending you out there in the woods. Even if it was just to check snares. When you’d fallen Daryl had been terrified that you were more seriously hurt than just a sprained ankle and you had laid there while he checked you for any other injuries. Then he’d carried you back to the prison as quickly as possible, aware that you were in a compromised position if any walkers showed up. He was pissed, to say the least, not that Rick had suggested taking you out to the woods but that Rick had thought you would be okay to check snares after you hadn’t been on the other side of the prison in months.

“I still feel guilty, I could’ve gotten us killed.” And now you were apologizing like the whole thing was your fault.

“Wouldn’t a let that happen.” Daryl replied, eyes still trained on his arrow. It was easier to talk to you when he had something to occupy himself, so that all his concentration wasn’t on you. Or the way you smiled. Being in the woods with you was hard enough.

“I know you wouldn’t have, I just mean...I totally compromised us.”

“Like I said, it ain’t yer fault.” Daryl was adamant that you understand that he was not mad at you. Himself, yes, but you. Never.

As many hours as you wasted sitting on that watchtower and keeping an eye on whatever he was doing, he was watching you as well. Sometimes he would come in the kitchen area and sit there fiddling with his crossbow just so he could be around you while you helped Carol. Or he would offer to help you anytime you were tasked with a job. He knew nothing would ever come of it, even in the world the way it was now there were social standings and he knew you would never be interested in someone like him.

“When yer healed up we’ll go out again. Just ta get used ta being out there. Ain’t gotta do anything.”

“A nice walk in the woods together?” You asked, smiling at him. You could think up a million scenerios in which the two of you were out there together, walking in the woods with the seasons changing. None of them involving snares or runs or walkers.

“So long as ya don’t trip over yerself again.”

“It was an accident! You said it wasn’t my fault.”

Daryl grinned, looking away from you so you couldn’t see the change in facial expression but you caught it just in time. Your own smile appeared, maybe it wasn’t so far fetched that he could like you.

taglist: @thinkingsofamadwoman @mixedwiththemoon @titty-teetee @queenmissfit @marvelismylifffe @iluvmesomemarvelndc @absentmindeduniverse @his-paradox @medievalfangirl @gigilame @sabertooth-potato @enrapturedbythemoon @cbarter @onemorebeautifulnightmare @born-in-19-96 @mainokutan @uh-i-think-its-frank @nikki082489 @qrangr @twdeadfanfic

#daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon imagine #daryl dixon x reader #Daryl Dixon fanfic #twd fanfiction #twd au #twd imagine #twd fanfic #the walking dead fanfiction #the walking dead imagine #the walking dead fanfic #collecting stories imagine #cs discography series

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lihikainanea · 5 years ago

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bill getting tiger something nice for Christmas but it throws her off and maybe because she’s so cozy with a full tummy and some good wine, she just is emotionally upset. she got him a good gift, he loves it, but his was more expensive, and this upsets her. she gives him quick smiles, but is quiet for the night and distant.

ohhhhh god my soff heart. Listen, tiger hates his money, alright? Hates it. It’s the reason why she was so hesitant to get close to him to begin with, and it’s not even that Bill flaunts his money by any means--he very much doesn’t--but its mere presence just makes tiger very...uncomfortable. Because she doesn’t ever want Bill to think that she wants him--his friendship or otherwise--because of his money. And it’s completely ridiculous because if there’s one person in the WORLD Bill knows he never has to worry about them taking advantage--it’s her.

And they’ve had the whole talk before--because she has gotten really mad at him for stuff like this--about the theory of expensive relativity. For example: a cup of coffee at Starbucks is not expensive relative to tiger’s salary and she can easily afford to buy one every day or whenever she wants. Just like a nice piece of jewelry, a trip, etc is not expensive relative to Bill’s salary. And tiger just argues that it’s not the expense--it’s the way it makes her feel like a kept woman, a little like a whore, actually. Bill can’t win.

He can’t win, but he is also stubborn as a fucking mule. And sometimes he sees things--a beautiful necklace, a bracelet that she would love--and he buys it for her, because sometimes it’s worth the argument.

I think long ago--because of his money--they agreed to make each other Christmas presents, or to give something more heartfelt. Just to even the playing field. Bill tracked down a copy of tiger’s favourite childhood book that wasn’t even in print anymore, and gave it to her. Tiger painted him a landscape of one of his favourite getaway spots in northern Sweden. That kind of thing. Except tiger always ends up feeling a little bad because she’s a soft bean and let’s face it, Bill is just INCREDIBLE at giving gifts. He’s so thoughtful, he’ll remember things she only mentioned in passing, and he has a knack for tracking stuff down that she really has no idea how he even got his hands on it.

But maybe this year, maybe it’s a double whammy because the gift is expensive and beautiful. Maybe...maybe tiger and Granny had a favourite constellation, like Orion (because that was mine and my grandma’s thing so let’s go with it.) And maybe for Christmas, Bill got tiger a beautiful bracelet of the constellation, with a special engraving inside (because tiger has granny’s locket now, which she never takes off, so Bill wasn’t going to get her a necklace). And now tiger is a little buzzed off of wine and has a tummy full of good food, and maybe he took her into a quiet corner to give her the gift. And she’s warm and fuzzy but now she’s incredibly emotional and overwhelmed by it but also...just....I think mad is the wrong word here, but she’s upset. Because it’s too much. It’s too nice, it’s too thoughtful, it’s too expensive. But she accepts is graciously, crying like a baby, but she lets him hook it around her wrist. But then she just gets very quiet for the rest of the night, sulking. And I think her anger or her regret is very much focused internally--she’s mad that Bill showers this much affection and attention on her because she doesn’t feel worthy of it. She never has. Why is she so lucky, you know? It makes no sense to her.

But Bill knows her. He knew the gift would piss her off, but he also wanted her to have it. He’s a little surprised she even accepted it, so he’s definitely not surprised when she gets very withdrawn later on that night. And maybe she’s actually just like...avoiding going to bed until she thinks he’s asleep, because she just wants to be ignored. Wants to quietly slip the bracelet off and maybe go sleep on the couch and then tell him the next morning she must have just passed out there, and try to avoid him and his hugs and his small smiles for as long as she can.

But that really doesn’t work for Bill.

So when she’s in the bathroom getting ready for bed--like she has been for oh, an hour as she desperately tries to kill time and listen for his snores--he’ll wait until he hears the faucet running for a few seconds, hears the small pop of her face wash bottle. And then he’ll verrrrry quietly open the door, close it behind him, and lean against it. And tiger grabs blindly for a towel to wipe her face, and when she opens her eyes and sees him there she jumps a mile.

“Jesus, you scared me,” she says and grabs at her chest. Bill just quirks a brow, doesn’t move.

“And you’ve been avoiding me,” he says, “So call it even?”

She swallows hard, grabs some of her things, tries to reach for the doorknob--but Bill doesn’t move, so instead she ends up kind of just chest to chest with him.

“Tiger,” he murmurs, kisses her forehead. She just closes her eyes, takes a deep breath.

“What, Bill?” she tries to sound irritated but it doesn’t work.

“You know what,” he says gently, “You know exactly what.”

She huffs, turns on her heel, takes a few steps the other way even though it’s a dead end. Bill seizes the opportunity and loops his arms around her from behind, lifts her up onto the sink. He gives her a little nudge when she tries to push off of it, then he just takes her chin in his thumb and forefinger.

“It’s too much,” she cracks, “It’s always too much. It’s too nice and too expensive and too....too thoughtful.”

"Tiger, listen to me,” he urges but he keeps his tone soft, “I love you, kid. I do. So much. And I like doing nice things for you.”

He pauses as she sniffles, leaning to kiss away a tear. She’s not looking at him but that’s okay, she’s listening at least, and the eye contact might be too much for her in that moment.

“Sometimes those things are expensive, sometimes they’re not, sometimes they’re well thought out, sometimes they’re not. But I like doing them, because they make ME feel good,” he continues, “And I wanted you to have this. It’s my way of commemorating her, too. You have her locket--that’s yours to keep, always. But this is my way of honouring her, and your bond with her.”

“It’s not yours to honour,” she says stubbornly, but she apologized when she saw the hurt look on his face.

“Yeah, it is. Because she’s part of you, kid, there’s so much of her in you--and I love you,” he said. He leaned in to brush his lips with hers and she just closed her eyes, let out a deep sigh.

“I’m not...” she tried, “I don’t want--”

“I know,” he interrupted, “Tiger, I know. You are the last person in the world whose intentions I would ever question. So please, kid, just let me get away with doing a few nice things for you every once in awhile--and don’t question my intentions for it.”

She looked up at him then, teary eyed and a little skeptic, but he wasn’t letting her win this one.

“This is beautiful,” he said as he trailed a finger on her bracelet, “And I wanted you to have it because I love you. That’s it, kid.”

“It’s too much,” she mumbled again, although she did swipe at her cheeks and give him a small nod. A nod of compromise.

“I don’t need this, Bill,” she murmured, but he’ll take a win when he sees one. He helped her off the counter and gave her a sweet kiss.

“I know you don’t tiger,” he mumbled against her lips, “But I need you to have it. So shut up and get your ass in bed.”

#BFF!Bill #bill skarsgard #bill skarsgard drabble #bill skarsgard fic #christmas

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jayyrayy90 · 4 years ago

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I'm so angry and disappointed. I'm so frustrated with my own self too bc no matter how hard I try I can't even force myself to hate you. I have numerous reasons to hate u but I can't. I guess I'll never be able to.

What's so fucked up to me is how you can just erase me like I'm nobody to you. How you can flip a switch in your brain and I've suddenly become your enemy. How you so easily can make so many promises to me, how you can look me right in my eyes and lie to my face so easily, and how you act like you've done absolutely nothing to me or act as if the things you done were something insignificant and dumb and I'm just being overdramatic about them. Like the shit you did shouldn't matter just bc of shit i did 5 years ago or simply bc u hated me so those things were justified.

To this very day you have no respect for me and treat me as if i meant absolutely nothing to u. I don't think you will ever understand how bad that hurts me Jasmine. You, of all people in this entire world, broke me down piece by tiny piece until there was nothing left of me. You drained me of my last bit of sanity, hope for love, and I will never let another human being get close to me again as long as I'm here on this earth. You took all of that away from me so effortlessly, carelessly, and easily. I never meant anything to you and I wish like hell I knew exactly what made u hate me so much that you'd even consider doing the things you've done to me.

In some sick and cruel way, I believe u got some kind of enjoyment out of watching me fall apart. You enjoyed knowing you could go do whatever you want and come back to me whenever you got ready bc like a dummy I'd always be there waiting. I was so stupid and foolish to even think any of your promises were sincere. What made me look even dumber was the fact that I believed you and in you. I had faith in you. I was so gullible and blinded to believe that the person you used to be was still somewhere inside of you. That loving, honest, sincere, faithful, and LOYAL person u used to be had been dead and gone years ago and you kept showing/proving that to me. Yet i kept fighting to bring her back. I kept praying, hoping, and wishing that someday I'd get my baby lovey bear back. I failed to even try and believe the things you were so effortlessly trying to tell me with your actions. You've been trying to tell me that you didn't love me anymore for so many years. I was trying so hard to be/say/do everything you wanted just to make you love me. I pushed the things you were doing to me so far in the back of my mind that i allowed myself to become blinded. I just kept telling myself that you were lost and didn't know what u were doing at the time, every time I would think about the things you did.

Truth is, you knew exactly what you were doing. You knew exactly what risks u were taking. U knew exactly what u were jeopardizing. You knew. Yet you still did it anyway. You didn't care and still don't about what happens to me or my life. You have no idea the amount of pain that causes me. Its honestly like I'm loving the shadow of a person who never existed.

The way you left me, I would've never left you like that, even if i did hate you. All those years we spent together and you just leave me like that knowing I was broke. I would've never in a million years plus some, NEVER left you like that. I would've bet my entire life that you wouldn't have ever done that to me.

When you came back in my life, the one thing you would always say was, "The way I left you last time was fucked up and I know it. I got my karma. I'd never leave you like that again." Something similar to that anyway. But guess what, you left me even worse than you did the first time Jasmine. And u don't even care. How can you not even care?!! I have no words to even describe the pain. Words couldn't even come close..

In the beginning i wasn't much of the person I should have been. I had issues and addictions. I wasnt really worth your time. I put you through hell and for that I will forever be sorry. If im being honest you terrified me, no one had ever saw me the way you did. No one had ever wanted me the way you did. No one had ever made me feel the way you did. I had walls that had always kept me safe and kept me braced from the world but you... you somehow made them fall over time with your undying love for me, even when i was awful. You saw me through the worst times of my life. If not for you i wouldnt be here today. you saved me.

To me, we had a beautiful bond and an amazing love. You were everything i ever wanted and i couldn't believe you were mine. Maybe looking back that is where the trouble started...I had such guilt for who i was and how i treated you at the start and i felt so lucky to have you that i started to compromise on the things that were fundamental to me. I started to give way more then i received and i started to let you think things were okay that honestly weren't. I let you start to walk all over me and looking back maybe if i had stood up for myself then, instead of just feeling like i owed it to you for sticking with me then maybe things would be different today..

I stood by you, i did any and everything for you. I let you take out your anger on me. I would pretend to sleep until i knew you were asleep so i could just make sure you were okay. I was watching you hurt in a way i couldnt fix. I didnt know how to help, so i decided to just be everything and anything you needed. I put my entire life aside and made you my priority, my world. I dont regret it, you needed me and i was there without question.

This is where it started to go downwhill, you were changing into someone i didnt even recognize and the worst part is you couldn't even help it. Our life had become one full of fights and make ups only to fight again shortly after. You were pushing me away and i didnt know why. I dont even think you knew why, so i took all the hateful words, the poor treatment, the lack of time invested and the lack of love being shown and made it into excuses for you because of what you were dealing with. Looking back i dont think this helped you the way i thought it did. It taught you that i was always going to take it. I was going to let you walk all over me and i was going to apologize when i didnt do anything wrong simply to avoid a fight. It didnt help, you left me in such an agonizing way. i was shattered, my entire life had just fallen apart and i was lost. You were my world and you were just gone!!

I was your friend. I was your family. I was your lover. You are a person that could have been any number of things to me. Heartbreak plays no favorites when it chooses people in life to let you down. I really always had faith in you. I trusted you and the promises that you made to me. I believed in your aspirations and disregarded your ambiguity. I let you in, against my best wishes. I relentlessly defended you. I saw the beautiful parts of who you were. I made plans with you and kept them in my head like a guaranteed magnificent destination. I loved you. I gave you all that I had and now I am left feeling empty and cheated. But do you know what the strangest and most unbelievably frustrating part of all of this is? I forgive you.

Your betrayal shook my foundation. Not just the foundation of us, but the foundation of everything I thought. All that I believed about love was up in the air. I wasn’t sure about anything. It wasn’t just about you. I was now questioning everything.

The truth is, you didn't really love me. Maybe you loved the idea of me. Maybe you loved having me around because I would have done anything for you, but if you really loved me, you wouldn't have destroyed me the way you did. That's not love.

I loved you so much that I lost sight in everything else, especially myself. I glued myself to you so tightly because I was so terrified of losing you. Lets be honest though, you were never really mine to lose, were you?

You always treated me so coldly, and I couldn't ever understand why when all I ever did was love you. Sometimes the harsh words you used still stay inside of my head.

I was never good enough, or at least that is how you would treat me. I was always wrong, I was the crazy one after the break up, it was never you. It was always me. You were poison to my heart, and I wanted so badly to save you, but I couldn't. You destroyed me mentally and emotionally to the point where I can’t even feel emotions anymore. To the point where I am literally completely numb to feeling anything or having real true emotions towards anyone or anything.

When I met you, I knew. I knew in some way, shape, or form, you would hold incredible significance to my life. I knew you were going to be a constant. I knew you would change me.

Yes, we had our disagreements, but we always made our way back to each other. I always felt you in my heart, there was nothing you could do to make me that upset for long. I already needed you. I knew, the second I held you close to me, I knew, that this was it for me. You were it. All I wanted, and all I would ever need.

You have issues, my love. Internal struggles with yourself, external issues with your family and others around you and it weighs you down. I never have held that against you. But the struggles you faced made it impossible for you to love me the way you wanted to, the way I needed you to. Still, I held on, praying you would stay with me, praying you would get better. Through all the fights, the petty disagreements, and the abuse, I stayed. Why?

I loved you blindly of course. I loved you without restrictions, and without caution. I loved you wildly. In my head, I knew you could be better. I wanted to see that happen for you. I wanted to help you get to where you should be. I believed in you. I loved you so deeply, I would have, and did do, anything on Earth for you.

The truth is, you are not who I once loved. That person is gone. That person took some of the deepest parts of myself with them. I will always love them.

Had you tried for me, love, had you tried for you, we would have been in love forever. But you didn’t, and sitting around waiting for you only made things harder on me. I’ve accepted the fact that the you I once knew is gone.

I didn’t want to move on from you. I hoped in the deepest cell of my heart that you would come back and sweep me up and make things better. But eventually, I chose to move on. I chose to heal myself. I chose to fix what you shattered. It didn’t come easily, and nearly everyday is a struggle… but I have to. You are the love of my life, but you are long gone now...

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isa-ly · 4 years ago

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THE ELEPHANT’S STAKE

TW: mental health, therapy, repression

Did you know that my go-to party trick is drawing an elephant with just one line? I know, pretty lame. Now you know why I never go to parties.

Okay, so, what’s with the random elephant theme, you may ask? Well, funny you should mention it. (I say, as if we were having and actual conversation and it wasn’t just me pretending to talk to someone in order to feel less awkward. The irony here is that writing this blog is supposed to help me to do exactly that. I never said my brain’s logic made any sense.)

Anyway, I asked myself that exact question too a few months ago, when my lovely therapist Kerstin asked me whether or not she could read me a story about an elephant. Now, don’t get me wrong, I love animals and those big-boned, long-tusked, gentle-calm giants definitely have a soft spot in my heart. However, I never really expected them to come up in a conversation with a trained psychotherapist. But hey, what the fuck do I know about cognitive behavioural therapy. Not enough to be aware that it includes elephants, apparently.

Since I didn’t want to be rude and was actually kind of intrigued, I asked my therapist to yes, please, read me the story about the elephant. I actually found the story online (pft, Kerstin, where’s your originality), so I shall copy and paste it here for you to read it too, in case you want to:

“When I was small, I used to love circuses, and what I liked best about them were the animals. The elephant in particular caught my attention, and as I later found out, other children liked the elephant too. During the performance, this enormous beast would nobly display its tremendous weight, size, and strength. But after its performance, and until just before it went out on stage, the elephant was always tied down with a chain to a little stake in the ground that held one of its feet. The stake however was just a minuscule piece of wood, hardly a couple of centimeters long. And although it was a strong thick chain, it seemed obvious to me that an animal capable of tearing a tree from its roots, could easily free itself from that stake and flee. This mystery continued to puzzle me. What held it there? Why didn't it escape?

When I was 5 or 6, I still trusted the explanations given by grownups. So, I asked my teacher, my father, and my uncle about the mystery of the elephant. One of them explained that the elephant didn't escape because it had been mastered. So, I asked the obvious question: “If it's been mastered, why do they keep it in chains?”

I don't remember having received a coherent answer. With time, I forgot about the mystery of the elephant, I only remembered when I found others who had asked themselves the same question at some time. Years later, I discovered that, to my luck, someone had been sufficiently wise to come up with the answer.

The circus elephant does not escape because it has been attached to a stake just like this one since it was very, very small. I closed my eyes and imagined a defenseless baby elephant fastened to the stake. I am sure that in that moment, the little guy pushed and pulled and tired himself out trying to get himself free. And, regardless of his efforts, he couldn't do it, because the stake was too strong for him. I imagined him tuckering himself out and falling asleep and the next day trying again, and the next day, and the next. Until one day, a terrible day in his history, the animal accepted its futility and resigned itself to its fate.

That enormous powerful elephant that you see in the circus does not escape because, unfortunate thing, he thinks he can't. He has that memory etched into his mind: the futility that he felt shortly after he was born. And the worst part is that he has never returned to seriously question that memory. Never again did he return to test his own strength.

The first thing I said to my therapist after she had read me the story and was waiting for my reaction was: “Am I the elephant?” To no one’s surprise, she had nodded and then asked me how I had gotten to that conclusion. And well, that’s what I want to talk about today.

It’s a little hard for me to find a beginning to this, so I’ll just start with what came to my head first: My childhood. Oof, what a bummer. A few minutes into her second post and she’s ready to whack out the big guns. Okay, back to being serious. Somewhat.

Don’t get me wrong, I had a lovely childhood. Really, I was an only child, born to two very lovely parents who really cared for and loved me, and I have tons of wonderful memories of growing up. Oh, what’s that? Can you hear it? Sounds like a big “BUT...” that’s about to smash through the glass wall of my positive nostalgia. Look, let’s just say it as it is: While my time as a kid and teenager were truly lovely, fun and filled with good people and better friends, there were undeniable issues and traumas in it as well, and it would be simply wrong not to acknowledge those.

And one of those not-so-great things was that growing up, there were a lot of ‘can’t do’s’ in my life. Especially when it came to emotions. I’m not gonna give you the full rundown of every single issue in the relationship with my parents or my own self, but I’ll say this much: My feelings, especially ones of anger, sadness and hurt, were often brushed over, my arguments ignored and my attempts of standing my ground nipped in the bud. Discussions, fights and quarrels, especially with my mum, made one thing very clear: I had to stay as quiet and small as possible to avoid being yelled at even more. If I spoke up, even when I thought I was in the right, things would escalate and get even worse. Ergo, if I showed and displayed my real emotions and thoughts, I would suffer the consequences – which were never good.

So, I learned not to. I learned to stay quiet. To revert back into myself and zone out, go some place else in my mind and just wait for the storm to blow over. Instead of getting angry, I fell silent. Instead of getting sad, I went numb. As my therapist always says: Instead of feeling, I would simply not feel. Because at the time, it was what kept me safe. It was what kept me loved. And all a child wants is to be loved.

In many ways, this was my stake. This was what kept me standing in one spot. Whenever I tried to pull it out, I would fail, struggling and thrashing to escape, to make my emotions clear and feel them freely. Every time I tried, it would only leave me even more exhausted, would leave me feeling like a fool for thinking that maybe if I tried just one more time, pushed just a little harder, the stake would yield. But it never did. And at some point, I just gave up.

This all might sound very sad and tragic. I’m aware that I’m by far not the only teenager that fought a lot with their parents. And probably also not the only one who just kind of gave in after a while. However, I can’t deny the fact that this has shaped me in ways I am only now recognizing years later, while sitting in therapy and having elephant stories read to me because for some reason, for some fucking reason, I cannot access, feel or share my emotions.

For some fucking reason, I am chained to that stupid stake.

My therapist read me the story because she knows that I’m aware what it’s about. It’s about me, as a kid and teen, trying to escape from the emotional boundaries that were set by my parents and eventually by myself, and failing time and time again. As I grew up and got older, those boundaries grew with me in my head. And yet in real life, they were nothing but a tiny stake of wood that, having grown a lot stronger, I could have completely overpowered and ripped out of the ground by now. But because they have been with me my entire life and because I hold all those memories of never being able to shake them, I never thought I could.

I always looked at them like the elephant looked at the stake. As something that couldn’t be moved, that couldn’t be changed.

“Until one day, a terrible day in his history, the animal accepted its futility and resigned itself to its fate.“

Hits different now, huh.

So, what’s the moral of that story and brief delve into my emotionally compromising childhood? Fuck the circus, I guess.

In all seriousness though: I wanted to write this post because that therapy session actually helped me a lot and I find myself coming back to this story whenever I slip into the darker place of my mind. So, I wanted to put it on this blog as a reminder. A reminder to myself and anyone else who needs it, that even though it might seem virtually impossible to change something, be that your own thought patterns, behaviours or personality traits, it never is.

You know that cheesy saying that change is the only constant in life? Well, as cheesy as it is, it’s true. And I think by realizing that, by hearing that silly story of the elephant in the circus, it opened up some new possibilities. One of those being that whenever something feels like it’s unyielding and not doable, maybe you just need to take a step back and look at it again. And maybe you’ll see that it’s actually just a small, wooden stake and you’re a whole ass elephant that could take down a tree, if it wanted to.

The exact opposite might be true too, and the stake might still be too big. And in that case, that’s perfectly okay too. Remember what I said one post ago about picking your battles according to your own strengths? Yeah, that’s still valid too. But it also doesn’t mean that you have to despair. Because there is always room for growth and the chance of becoming stronger. Emotionally, mentally, and in every other way.

I hope this doesn’t sound too much like a self-help book from some self-proclaimed lifestyle guru who’s also a part-time pickup artist and sells questionable detox teas on the side (not sure where I’m going with that one). Metaphors can sound super lame but in my case, they’ve always been helpful as my brain really loves translating lessons and conclusions into images. Essentially, I’m just the kid that was always into Arts And Crafts and I need to ~visualize~ everything in order to process it. I know, I annoy myself too.

But hey, my therapist made a good call by telling me this metaphorical story because it made me realize a thing or two about how I’ve set myself all of these boundaries I could just as easily (or should I say isa-ly, HAH) kick again if I tried. That stake I chained myself to might have provided a sense of safety all those years back when I was a child and teenager, being yelled at and not listened to by my parents. But it is no longer providing that security. If all, it’s holding me back in realizing all of my newly found strengths.

So, maybe it’s about damn time I ripped it out of the ground and got the hell out of that circus.

#therapy #retrospection

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satire-please · 7 years ago

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TimDrakeWeek 2017 Day 2: Childhood/Adulthood DamiTim

Excited to try this with @iphoenixrising, @the-all-seer and @rahndom if they still want to jump and do a day. :D So far it’s been really fun.

Damian outgrew Tim in his fifteenth year.

In that summer to be precise. Though the sun baked the concrete to the point that everyone stayed inside to not fry to death...it had been a very dark summer for Tim.

Damian hadn’t been subtle at all. Anytime Tim stopped by the manor for a chemical analysis, a briefing from B or retrieve a casefile the current robin would stand side by side next to Tim. Look, compare and smirk. In June the brat was about to the bridge of his nose, by August...he was a hair taller.

“A centimeter is more than a hair I believe, Drake.”

“It’s the width of your pinky, now stop gloating.” With a hand, he pushes Damian back slightly. The teen’s been bad with personal space lately. Crowding him against walls before a mission just to prove heights is rude, dude. It’s almost as if the assassin is relishing the fact that now he can look down on Tim physically as well as emotionally.

“I’m just admiring my new perspective. This angle is surprisingly pleasing to me.” See. Tim doesn’t even know why he’s pissed. He should have been resigned the moment the tiny hell child announced Bruce was his father.

Still the fact itches. “Look, I know oxygen is thinner up there, but could you try not to lose too many brain cells?”

“I’ll try, though the weather up here is quite lovely.” Oh Alfred’s Apple Pie, Damians learned puns. Now Tim has to murder Dick. Especially when the smile Damian gives has a touch of fang. “Now come along, father needs us.”

The boy, ‘cause height difference or not that’s what he is, turns away dramatically after beckoning Tim to follow him.

“Worst. Summer. Ever.”

Dick of course makes it worse, “Who’s my shortest adorable brother?” He coos obnoxiously. Like one of those fat women making baby noises at their pet dog. His palms squish either side of Tim’s face and Tim swears to all higher powers that if Dick tries to rub their noses together he’s gonna bite him. “You are! You’re officially the shortest ruthless vigilante in the family now. I should twitter about this...to everyone.”

“If you don’t get your hands off me right now, I’m going to string you in your underwear somewhere for Bab’s viewing pleasure again.”

Dick’s fingers fly off his face as if it’s scalding. “Awwwwww, you don’t have to get that vicious Timmy.”

“I’m always this vicious, you dick. One day my pain will be yours and on that day I’ll will remember this moment and you will be sorry.” Tim promises with spite.

Dick coyly presses a hand over his heart, "Oh Timmy, my darling petite–omph,” Dick could dodge the first strike to his thorax, but not the second. But still he wheezes out, “That would never happen!”

It happens.

“How could this happen?” Tim vindictively snickers at Dick’s cry when Damian hits seventeen. A month away for a mission and now he’s reduced to whining that Damian's not the right size to cuddle anymore. "He doesn't fit under my chin anymore." He sobs, tucking Tim under said chin tighter as Tim repeatedly attacks his kidneys. "And he keeps dragging me along if I hug him from behind. Like my weight doesn't even matter!"

"Ha. Serves you right." Tim twists around to slap his hands on Dick’s face, “Who’s the second shortest vigilante in the family now? It’s you, Dick. It’s you.”

“You’re so meeeeeeeeeean.” Dick wiggles his head closer until their noses smash together, “What did I ever do to get brothers as cruel as you?”

“It’s in your namesake, Dick.” Tim starts struggling in earnest to get away from the clingy hero. He is not a stuffed animal and would very much appreciate if his ‘siblings’ treated him less so. “Or it’s karma. Take your pick.”

Dick grumbles and childishly cheats by using his legs to make the hold more difficult.

Yet as Tim contemplates his fate on the floor in this horrid octopus grip he actually has to admit...Damian has seemed to mellow out?

“Did you forget who’s the senior vigilante here? Just because you inherited B’s monstrous height doesn’t mean you’re any less of a brat Damian.”

Damian taunting sweeps his arm towards the entrance, “My apologies, age before beauty, then again with your delicate bone structure perhaps you would account for both.”

Tim freezes. Is Damian...flirting with him? He shakes his head, nah. Headgames must be another thing the boy’s gained from his crazy family tree. Lately, or not lately, it’s been a gradual thing really, Damian and Tim have done more missions together.

“For efficiency sake.” Damina justifies. As the two of them all a frightening team when they apply their talents together.

Tim skill in logic and ability to place the clues in interesting ways, Damian’s assassin training that makes him a martial arts vistoso. Few enemies can best them when they fight together.

But something's off. Tim can’t nail down the thought with proof yet but…

“Timothy?” He jerks towards at Damian. “Timothy it is time we made our way to the burrows.”

“Timothy? What happened to Drake?”

Oh my dear. It that a slight blush Tim recognizes on Damian’s face? “I have realized that it might be considered rude to refer to you in that manner. After all, you do not call me Al Ghul, do you?”

This is true. “I suppose.”

But later, Tim realizes much later to his faulty skills as a detective, Damian still says Grayson, Todd and Brown with the other members of the family.

Like “Timothy, I’ve brought us some rations. Just because we are reduced to wait for this scum to leave his pithole does not mean we must do it in discomfort.” It’s just a sandwich. But it’s one from one of Tim’s favorite cafes. Tim doesn’t know what to think of that.

Damian’s grown into his father’s monstrous bulk. Still shy of B’s height and an inch or two below Jason yet still informidable. His wide shoulders and dark tan skin have earned him the title, “Sheik” by various gossip magazines.

Not that Tim really pays attention to that sort of stuff.

Nor doesn’t he pretend not to know of how they dub them, “Fire and Ice.” whenever they endure an event together.

"What's going on?" Tim asks bemused. Damian and Kon stand off in the commons area. Kon with his arms crossed in front of his chest, while Damian casually tosses a batarang up and down with one hand. Kon is definitely taller, but there's something deadly in Damian's stance. Like a snake coiled to strike.

"Pissing contest." Cassie says gleefully, grabbing a fist of popcorn before shoving the bag at Tim. "They've been at it for 14 minutes now and it's glorious."

Suck, diplomacy with the Titans and Dami has always been iffy. Once you attack their 'bird' you tend to go on their people-okay-to-drown-at-lunch list. It's a big list. Garth was excited to announce that Tim's list was currently the largest.

"Why didn't anyone get me?”

"Because it's about you." Bart hooks his elbow through Tim's and supports him, which is completely unnecessary, to limp and slouch on the couch. "The dude just showed up demanding to see you, that Bats needs your mad skills with forensics and crap but Kon thinks, it'd be nice if you were off crutches before getting broken again you know?"

"I'm not broken."

"Your leg begs to differ." Raven materializes beside him from the shadows. She really should teach Tim how to do that, he's just saying. Raven digs into the popcorn bag still in Tim's possession to get a satisfying crunch. "If I recall correctly, you shouldn't even be out of bed."

Damian whips his head to their direction, "Timothy is this true?

Crap. “It’s not a big deal.”

“Says the idiot whose tibia is in three pieces.” Kon grumbles straightening his back to make himself even more imposing to the intruder, but Damian’s eyes are glued on a different target. He drops the posturing act to walk to Tim and falls to a knee in front of him. Carefully, he lifts the neon pink cast, ‘cause real men wear pink, that’s littered with inappropriate comments from his team.

“Yes, that does seem to fit into the category of a ‘big deal’ Timothy.” He chides running his fingers over the names on Tim’s calf.

Tim bristles. “It does not. Besides, even benched, grown-up vigilante here, I can still do casefiles and computer work just fine, what does B need?”

“Hmmm, my father needs another to look over a heist note the Riddler is fond of making. Yet perhaps I should turn to different source.” Damian looks around and fishes for a marker on the coffee table. He gently lifts the limb to rest on his thigh, begins to write. “Maybe one that will allow himself to heal properly.”

“Damian. Al Ghul. Wayne.” Where’s his crutches? He’s going to beat this twerp over the head. Give him something else that’s broken to worry about. Bart buries his face into Tim’s shoulder to muffle his snickers. It doesn’t do much.

Dami finishes adding to the mess of ink before nodding to himself. “I’ve decided. I’ll give you the datapad after you gain an hour of rest.” He says staring up at Tim without compromise.

“What? No.”

“Or I’ll put Alfred on the com and inform him of your unfortunate situation.”

“Are you threatening me?”

“Only if you consider it to be so.” Why yes Tim considers it to be so. Motherhen Alfred is a terrible nightmare to behold. No one can escape his clutches once he knows a Bat is harmed, doesn’t matter how old you are or where you are, he will find you. He will drown you in blankets, food and sedatives. And he has full access to the Tower. Garth is very fond of his vegetarian alfredo pizza.

“He’s got you there, Red.” Kon calls out, hands on his hips with a smug expression. The tension that once electrified the room is gone, but Tim almost misses it. Then maybe everyone in the room would stop ganging up on him.

“Do we agree or disagree?” Damian presses.

“We agree that this is shameless blackmail and I hate you.” Tim hisses out.

Damian’s voice turns warm and satisfied. “Good. Now let’s get you back into bed.” He then worms his hands under Tim’s knees and lower back and lifts. Like Tim weighs nothing at all.

“I have crutches. Like right there. Cassie get my crutches.”

“Nope. Red’s room is on the top floor, by the way.” She has a hand pressed to her mouth, grinning like a loon. As if the best sight she’s seen all day is Tim carried like a princess. Then where’s his tiara, dammit?

“Thank you.” Damian gives a curt bob of his head and turns to go with the fussy man. The last thing the team sees is the elegant black scrawl on their Rob’s cast.

Please protect this foolish treasure - Damian

Yeah, maybe the Titans can trust their bird in these hands….just maybe.

It all comes to a head during a mission, they almost get caught in an explosion. Why can’t clowns stay away from fire? And Damian had tackled him to the ground and covered him against the flare of heat that licked their backs.

In the rubble, Damian lifts himself to stop crushing the smaller man. Their faces are close, Tim notes with his heart in his throat. They breath the same air and Damian's eyes flicker to his lips. To the inch barely separating them, all he’d would have to do is drop his head...just a little for them to meet.

“Damian?” The boy, no man in question drags his gaze to meet Tim's stare.

“Tell me to stop.” And slowly, achingly, he closes the distance between them. Tim can't move. Doesn't dare to as Damian kisses him gently. Almost excruciatingly so. It's a barely a press, so hesitant though it lasts for several long seconds...or years, Tim can't tell. Damian doesn't close his eyes the entire time and Tim is hypnotized, can't break the hold of that connection even when Damian reluctantly pulls back.

His brow furrows and it's a ridiculously adorable look on the oversized teen. “You did not tell me to stop.” He says confused.

“I didn't tell you stop period.” That earns Tim a cracked smile. It's so cute, Tim can't help but lean up to peck him square on the mouth. When Damian jerks to the side in surprise, He snorts and breaks into laughter.

His arms slowly squeezed around Tim’s waist, as if in disbelief that he was there in Damian’s lap. It was tentative, but definitely a conscious action. Then reluctantly Damian unraveled his grip and cradled Tim’s hips in his palms. The fire blazed from yards away but the heat that races up Tim’s spine isn’t coming from the destruction. Then with barely an effort he lifted Tim straight up to place him back on his feet.

It’s casual, smooth and Tim hates to admit it...impressive.

“Are you alright, Timothy?”

“I’m fine. You?”

“A little singed, nothing more.”

“Okay, I have to know. Have you flirting been with me this entire time?” Tim asks blunt as a rock.

“Oh good.” Damian ducks his head away from the other vigilante, as if he’s too embarrassed to look at him. “I was becoming concerned that you would never notice my advances.”

A raspy voice buzzes in from the com, “Yeah, we thought the world would end first.”

“Jason if you ruin Dami’s confession, I will cut you.” Dick hisses and Tim decides that the rest of this conversation is better done off grid.

“Come on, let’s go somewhere where there isn’t a raging firestorm or snooping eavesdroppers around.”

“Indeed.” Damian’s agrees warmly and when he wraps his arm gently around Tim, smiling down at him like that? Well, Tim finds that he doesn’t mind the height difference anymore.

Not at all.

#timdrakeweek #tim drake #damian wayne #damitim #my writing #dick grayson #bat fic #cute and fluffy

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mikie925 · 7 years ago

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Our Inevitability

A short little fic I wrote over the weekend inspired by Dark_Mage_of_Ylisse’s story on AO3 titled Nobody Loves You The Way I Do. I love the idea of Yandere!Lapis, so I couldn’t resist trying my hand at it. Don’t be afraid to tell me I suck!

Check out her interactive blog for the story too! It absolutely makes my day! @su-mafia-yandere-lapidot-au-blog

How did it end up like this?

Hair disheveled, fingers twitching, and shoulders hunched, Peridot curled into a ball on her single bed in the darkness of her room. She had her alien printed blanket wrapped tightly around her like a cocoon; a barrier between her and the harsh, indescribably complicated world outside. It gave her some physical comfort, but did not help to ease the raging hurricane of thoughts swirling in her head.

It's got to be a joke.

Really, it had to be. There was no way any of what Peridot had heard was real. It was just some silly joke she was fussing unnecessarily about.

She seemed so serious though...

Peridot's day had started out very common. She ate breakfast with her mother, showered and dressed in her usual green hoodie, rode her little moped to school, met up with her friends, and went to class. It was the typical day of a junior in Beach City High, and Peridot was very content for it to be so. She was never a fan of unpredictability. She lived her life with certainty and accuracy. She knew what she wanted, and worked hard for it. Monotony was not something she would let get in her way.

Her friends helped with said monotony, their antics and lively discussions keeping her entertained enough to bear through the dullness of school life. They were the best people she could ever ask to have around. Her friends and fellow juniors Pearl, Amethyst, Garnet, the freshman Steven, and her best friend, Lapis, who was a senior.

Lapis in particular had been particularly delightful. They had met in Peridot's freshman year, quickly becoming close after Peridot noticed Lapis' wonderful drawings and complimenting her on them. Lapis at first seemed a little hesitant to open up to Peridot, but thanks to Peridot's incessant and at times quirky nature, Lapis cracked. The two had been inseparable ever since.

The only problem was that none of her other friends seemed to like Lapis, other than Steven who liked everyone without fail. When Peridot had introduced Lapis to the group, they had been cordial and open to the idea of adding her into the fold, only to reject her a few days later. They all tried advising her to stay away from Lapis, much to Peridot's shock. When she tried questioning them as to why they thought Lapis wasn't a good person to be around, they all immediately went tight-lipped. To this day she couldn't get them to explain why they were so wary of her friend. Only that they disapproved of her relationship with her.

This, of course, did not stop Peridot from hanging out with Lapis as much as possible. As stated before, Peridot knew what she wanted and would not let it get away from her so easily, and she most definitely wanted to be Lapis' friend... if not a little more eventually...

Much to her groups' chagrin, Peridot and Lapis were practically glued at the hip. Peridot would always meet up with her friends at the school gates, and then find Lapis waiting for her at the main entrance. They only had two classes together throughout the day, but Lapis would always somehow find a way to meet Peridot just as the bell rang and walk her to her next class. They had lunch together, free period together, and would always be partners in any type of group project in their classes. They shared their hopes, dreams, and almost every thought in their heads. They would spend the night at each other's' house during the weekends and cuddle while watching TV or playing video games.

They were, by all intents and purposes, best friends.

Peridot would easily contribute most of her happiness to Lapis, and had hoped to one day maybe tell her as such. But as much as they shared together, Peridot kept that her little secret. She wasn't ready to confess her feelings to Lapis just yet, she'd told herself. One day she would, but she had needed time to prepare.

Little did she know she would never be prepared for what was to come.

As her day had carried on and she followed her usual routine, she noticed something odd about Lapis' behavior. When they met in the morning she seemed a bit clingier, letting their hug linger a little longer than usual. Peridot hadn't minded, but did indeed notice Lapis reluctance to let go. After first period passed Lapis seemed anxious for Peridot to come out of the classroom as she bounced from foot to foot. As they walked Lapis kept brushing their hands together, as if wanting to hold it, making Peridot blush. During their first class together Peridot could feel Lapis continuously staring at her, only turning away whenever Peridot glanced back at her.

It was a little overwhelming, and it had Peridot worried. Which was why when their shared free period came around she decided to confront Lapis about it.

What a mistake... she would think later, looking back on it while hiding under her blanket.

When Peridot questioned her best friend about her behavior, the answer had been unabashed and immediate.

"I think we should cut the bullshit, Peri," she had said, an odd look in her ocean blue eyes.

Peridot had been taken aback by this. "W-What do you mean?" she had questioned, nonplussed.

Lapis had taken Peridot's hand and cupped it tightly, pulling her closer. This had made Peridot blush.

"We've been skating around each other for two years now," Lapis explained, a wide smile spreading across her face. "I think it's time we stop this game of cat and mouse and just give in to our feelings, my sweet Peri-baby."

Peridot had stared, stunned into silence. Those words had not just come out of Lapis' mouth!

"I just can't help myself anymore," Lapis went on, reaching out to caress Peridot's already flushed cheek as she spoke, still holding Peridot's hand close to her chest. "Seeing your beautiful face every day... smelling your delicious scent... feeling your skin against mine... it drives me crazy. We're meant to be, and I'm tired of playing these silly games around the fact. It's about time we just be together. You agree, right? Peridot?"

Peridot had finally been able to snap out of her shock-induced trance and, without even thinking about it, pulled away. She almost regretted it, for the look of shock and hurt on Lapis' face stung deep in her heart.

But the words Lapis had just spoken held enough force behind them to push her away.

"Lapis, what are you saying right now?" Peridot had silently gulped. "I-I don't understand what's happening right now...”

"Oh God," Lapis had gasped, covering her mouth. A look of terror crossed her features, as if she were witnessing a murder. "Was I... did I read the signals wrong? You don't... you don't like me, do you?"

"N-No!" Peridot stammered quickly. "I-I didn't say that I just-"

The look of terror had quickly evaporated at Peridot's words, joyful exuberance quickly taking its place as Lapis reached out and took Peridot's hand again.

"So you do love me!" Lapis had interrupted. "I knew it!"

"Wait, what?!" Peridot had sputtered. "L-L-Love?!"

"I love you too, my sweet Peri-baby," Lapis had nearly sung, a look of unmeasurable joy on her face, her smile so wide almost every tooth was showing in her mouth. "I've loved you since that first moment when you complimented my drawings. No one else ever said such nice things to me with such sincerity before. Your beautiful green eyes had captivated me so easily."

"Lapis, wait-"

"I tried to fight it at first, tried to avoid you, hoping these feelings would go away but the moment I gave in... it was nirvana being by your side. I just couldn't get enough of you! You were the sweetest drug, each and every moment we spent together just like the first high. It was never enough, I had to have more and more!"

"Please, just listen to me for a sec-"

"All those nights thinking of you, those sleepovers where I'd watch you sleep all night long; every moment of every day just looking at you... it was painful knowing you weren't mine yet. But I knew you weren't ready, I gave you the space you needed. I waited, but I just can't wait any longer! I can't stand not having you be mine, my darling."

Peridot had felt as if her ears were on literal fire. "L-Lapis!"

Lapis had finally seemed ready to listen, as she dialed back her smile to a more tender one as she leaned forward, intently staring into Peridot's eyes. "Yes, my love?"

"This..." Peridot had coughed, feeling as if someone had a hand clenched tightly around her throat. "This is too much! I-I don't know how to process this!"

Lapis had cooed softly as she ran her thumb over Peridot's knuckles. "It's okay, I know. It's so relieving to me as well, to finally get it all out there! Knowing we can finally be together... there is no greater joy!"

"This is all a joke," Peridot had finally surmised. "Y-You're messing with me!"

The frown on Lapis' face showed her dismay at these words. "What are you saying? I would never mess with you, my sweet Peri-"

"No!" Peridot had yanked her hands away, shame coursing through her. "This isn't funny!"

"Peridot-" Lapis had tried to speak, but she didn't give her the chance. She had quickly turned on her heel and ran in the opposite direction, not daring to look back at the horrified look on Lapis' face.

She hadn't even bothered to go to her locker to retrieve her books before running out of the school and speeding home on her moped to cry her eyes out in her bed. She had spent quite a few hours just lying there, shivering and sobbing, flitting in and out of a restless sleep until finally night came and she ended up right where she was: hair disheveled, fingers twitching, shoulders hunched, and curled into an emotionally compromised blanket cocoon on her bed.

Peridot had cried herself out at least an hour before, feeling like an empty pit that was once a lake; a replay of that conversation running constantly in her mind, each and every time making her feel more and more numb.

Why would Lapis do that to her? Even if she really didn't know beforehand that Peridot had feelings for her, that still was not right. It was just mean! And Lapis had never once been mean like that to her before. Why so suddenly would she play such a cruel prank?

Unless...

What if she hadn't been joking? What if...

"No way," Peridot whispered out loud to herself. "All those things she said, they couldn't be true."

Lapis being in love with her? Watching her sleep? Obsessing over her so intensely? Absolutely ridiculous! Peridot was not that special that someone like Lapis could be so fervently in love with her. It just had to all be a joke. There just wasn't any way!

Peridot pulled her blanket tighter around her, letting the dark thoughts pull her further down the pit of despair. She closed her eyes and just let time pass her by, unaware of how much of it escaped her before a soft knock came at her door.

"Not now mom," Peridot called out hoarsely, knowing instantly who it was. Her mother must have gotten a call about her sudden absence from school and would most likely be worried about her. "I'm not feeling so good."

Despite her protest, her bedroom door opened slowly and she could hear her mother step into the room. Peridot had her back to the door, having preferred to face her window to stare out into the night sky while entrapped in her thoughts, but she could hear the footsteps of someone softly walking towards her bed.

"Mom, please," Peridot tried again, groaning. "I don't feel very well, so I just want to-"

"Is my Peri-baby sick?"

Peridot's blood ran cold at the sound of not her mother's voice but of, "Lapis?!"

Peridot shot straight up from her huddled position on her bed, eyes wide in horror and her mouth open wide in shock as, indeed, Lapis seated herself at the end of her bed, a look of concern in her blue eyes.

"My sweet darling," the blue haired girl gasped upon seeing Peridot's disheveled appearance. "Your eyes are bloodshot and puffy! Have you been crying?"

"H-How did you get into my house?" Peridot ignored her question with one of her own. "Where's my mother? Mom!"

"Hush," Lapis scooted closer to Peridot, unfazed by Peridot's cry for help. "Your mother isn't here right now. It's just the two of us."

Peridot felt her heart sink into her stomach. "W-Where is she?"

"Don't worry about that right now," Lapis waved her hand, dismissing the question. "We need to talk-"

"I am very worried!" Peridot screeched, cutting her off, panic coursing through her. "I am concerned, disconcerted, perturbed, synonyms!"

Lapis giggled loudly, covering her mouth to try and hold it in. "Oh my god! You are so cute when you freak out! You just start throwing out words I barely understand and it makes me smile!"

Peridot felt her face flush at this, suddenly realizing just how close Lapis had scooted towards her.

"Why are you doing this?" Peridot whispered, gripping her alien themed blanket tightly in her fists. "Why are you teasing me like this?"

"I am not teasing you," Lapis answered, her giggle fit ending. She leaned her face closer, to which Peridot responded by pulling back, pressing the back of her head against the wall. "Okay, maybe right now I am a little." She gave a sly grin for a moment, but then pulled it back into a tender expression. "I do have to ask you something, though, my love. Earlier, you said I was messing with you. I've been trying to figure out what you could possibly mean by that. Please, my angel, tell me what you meant."

"What do you mean 'what do I mean'?" Peridot exploded. "All of this... these sweet nicknames, calling me beautiful, telling me you... you love me... it's all obviously a joke! You're pranking me, and it's already gone too far!"

Lapis' tender expression shifted, taking Peridot aback at the sudden intensity on her face. Lapis slammed her hand against the wall next to Peridot's head abruptly, sending a jolt up and down her spine.

"You think I'm lying to you?" Lapis accused, a hard edge to her voice. "You think this is all a joke?"

Peridot suddenly didn't know what to say. Any and all confidence she had of this all being some sort of elaborate prank was dwindling quickly, and very acutely she was realizing the possibility of how dangerous Lapis could actually be.

"Y-Yes?" Peridot finally mustered the courage to answer weakly after a moment of being stared down.

"I love you!" Lapis asserted. "I have loved you since the moment we met! You are all I think of, all I could ever want and more! You are my Goddess in human form, and I worship you religiously, my dear, sweet, confused love. I have done everything I can to make you happy, to keep you close and safe! I tried to force those 'friends' of yours to stay away-"

"You what?!"

"-but they refused to listen, and I wanted so, so badly to make them disappear, but I didn't because I could see they made you smile. And that's all I've ever wanted, for you to smile for me..." Peridot could hear Lapis' nails dragging down the wall next to her head, a sound that made her cringe. "I am in love with you, Peridot. Don't you ever doubt that."

Peridot felt like throwing up. This couldn't be real, couldn't be happening. This was a nightmare - a horrible, horrible nightmare.

Please wake up!

"If you aren't willing to say it back just yet, I understand," Lapis lamented softly, leaning forward to press her forehead against Peridot's. The blonde winced, wanting to pull away but trapped against the wall. She was forced to sit there as Lapis brought herself as close as possible, whispering sweet, yet deranged words into her ear. "I have been very patient, and as much as it pains me I will continue to be so, for you."

Peridot felt tears start to form at the corner of her eyes, gently falling down her cheeks in thick streaks. This was too much, too scary. She felt sick and dizzy and ready to faint. She couldn't handle much more of this.

"Lapis, please..."

"Sssh," Lapis hushed her once again. "It's okay, my love. I will let you rest for now, but I promise I will always be close by to keep you safe. We'll be together soon once you realize our inevitability."

Lapis closed those final few centimeters between them and kissed Peridot on the lips gently, eliciting a mousy whimper from the terrified young girl. When she pulled back, she held a look of pure euphoria, her tongue lashing out to savor the taste of Peridot on her lips.

"I love you, Peri-baby," Lapis said, finally pulling away. "You will see me again tomorrow, I promise. Oh, and don't tell anyone about this, okay? I don't want to have to hurt anyone... again."

And with that, Lapis left the room, a dreamy, crooked smile on her face as she closed the door behind her, never once letting her eyes stray from Peridot for even a second until the door was closed.

Peridot broke down then, her once empty lake now roaring with crashing waves as she spilled new, hot tears.

#Lapidot #Peridot #Lapis #steven universe #Yandere #Yandere Lapis #su-mafia-yandere-lapidot-au-blog #au #fanfiction

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artificialqueens · 7 years ago

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Déjà Vu (Shalaska) - Pink Sugar

Alaska tried to smile. She really did. And, in all fairness, she succeeded to some extent, but as Phi Phi slipped the engagement ring onto Michael’s finger, she somehow couldn’t fight falling into the emptiness that throbbed in her chest where she faintly remembered her heart once being. It wasn’t that she wasn’t happy for Phi Phi, because she was genuinely over the moon for her friend, but something inside her, something that had been building up for months now, couldn’t stop the grand gesture of love before her from making her feel slightly heartbroken. Beneath the sweltering heat of the flashing stage lights above her, Alaska suddenly became hyperaware of her surroundings. Courtney sat to her left with a painfully tight grip on her wrist, flailing with excitement at the display on center stage. She felt suffocated. She smiled meekly at the thrilled blonde, who seemed to pick up on Alaska’s discomfort, letting her wrist fall from her grasp apologetically. Gratefully, Alaska was pulled from what she would classify to be the beginning of a minor anxiety attack by laughter when Phi Phi jokingly confessed to the crowd that she and Michael were about to go and fuck backstage. Quickly, upon Michelle announcing Phi Phi and Micheal as the winners of the snatch game, Alaska picked herself up in her Lady Bunny getup and, holding hands with Courtney, exited to backstage. The Australian had clearly noticed that something wasn’t quite right with her because she gently squeezed her friends hand in hers, not letting go even as they all poured down the stage stairs and into the dressing room to prepare for their next performances of the night. The familiar echoing sound of Michelle bantering with the audience hummed through the windowless room as Courtney walked with Alaska to her chair, releasing her hand only once Alaska was seated and staring back at her in the reflection of the makeup smeared mirror. The queens exchanged a loaded look, Courtney trying to communicate her sympathy for her friend through her eyes, not wanting to openly ask her about her wellbeing in the crowded space. “Oh my god!” Adore cheered as the tour cast flooded into the room. “That was so fucking cute,” she continued as she threw her wig from her head and onto the dressing table, “Hey!” Bianca barked, snatching the lacefront from the countertop, “Don’t get powder all over my fucking wig, this is why I shouldn’t have ever let you borrow my shit on drag race, now you just take it when you want and you aren’t even fucking careful.” Adore laughed in response, knowing that Bianca wasn’t actually mad. Picking the wig up, she smiled sweetly, “Sorry, baby.” Bianca smiled back, as usual. Alaska watched the exchange in her mirrors’ reflection, feeling slightly more at ease by the familiarity of the fondness in the two queens’ dynamic. Courtney squeezed Alaska’s shoulders before exchanging one last look with her, brown contacts meeting natural blue eyes in a silent moment of wordless friendship, before walking over to her own space to change into her finale look. Alaska was grateful for the chaos of the large-scale show because it meant that nobody, aside from Courtney of course, had noticed the shift in her mood. She slipped out of her Lady Bunny dress and strapped herself into her own signature high-wasted two-piece, then slumped back down exhaustedly onto her lumpy, foam-cushioned stool. Alaska stared forward at her reflection the mirror, as she smoothed the platinum length of her wig with her long nails she dared avert her eyes beyond the mass of swirling figures crowding the small room to the body seated in the back left hand corner. She knew exactly why seeing Phi Phi’s proposal hurt so much, and even though she knew now was not the time to dwell on feelings that were typically reserved for the darkness and solitude of night, she couldn’t resist fueling the small fire of pain in her stomach by glancing at Sharon. In the distant safety of the reflective surface of the mirror she watched Sharon behind her, who sat in half drag cursing, trying to reapply a nail that had fallen off during a particularly colourful performance of Supernature. Without her wig on, the fluffy locks of blonde hair on Sharon’s head reminded Alaska of a boy she once knew well. She only forced herself to look away when Chad walked into the dressing room and laid a kiss atop his fiancés soft (very soft if she remembered correctly) head.

The rest of the show had gone really well, it had been the last performance of the 2016 Battle of the Seasons and the girls were all exhausted beyond words. Despite the lack of sleep, there was no denying that the world tour had been a huge success. It’s incredible to travel the world doing the thing you love most to thousands of adoring fans with a bunch of your friends. Also, Alaska had written the opening number, so the show was partly of her own creation, which was very rewarding professionally. Alaska fell backwards onto the large white bed in her hotel room, admiring the way the half open curtains cast a constellation of soft moonlight onto the otherwise plain off-white ceiling. She was still in full drag after having left the venue quickly, kindly rejecting the invitation from her fellow ru sisters for celebratory post-tour drinks. They’d all be coming back to the hotel after the show anyway, Alaska justified, so they could still spend one last moment together the next day before they all fly their respective ways home or onwards to their next gigs. She had had to get out of there and be alone. She apologized to Courtney on her way out, who promised she’d be coming by her hotel room the next morning to check on her despite Alaska’s protests. Alaska was so grateful for her friend. The time she’d been spending with Willam and Courtney lately had delivered two wonderful relationships into her life. She’d struggled at first to find her place in the dynamic of the group, since the two older queens had known one another for so long and were so close. It was a closeness Alaska still doesn’t quite understand, but certainly had an idea about. There was something all too effortless in how Courtney was able to recognize Alaska’s heartache, as if she were akin to a similar suffering herself. Exhaling heavily, Alaska dragged herself off her bed and at last switched on the light, which in her sloppiness upon entering her room she’d been too lazy to do, and entered the small but rather fancy bathroom of her modest suite. Finally able to relieve herself from the pain of her drag, she freed herself from every Bobby pin and trace of make up and stepped into the shower. In the comfort of the warm water cascading lovingly down her body, she allowed tears she hadn’t realized she’d been holding back to fall. Somehow the events of the evening had managed to unlock the closet of her heart and everything had fallen out messily and was all in disarray. Though professionally the last year had been the most fulfilling of her life, romantically she had been through hell. Her last boyfriend had exposed private information on Reddit for all to see, putting her career and effort on all stars 2 in jeopardy, not to mention completely compromising her trusting nature. It had hurt. More so than she had been able to admit in the heat of the damage control that had consumed the immediate aftermath of the incident. She had loved him. He had loved her. She didn’t understand how those she loved somehow managed to be the ones who hurt her most and in turn be the ones she hurt most. Alaska wondered often whether there was something wrong with her. Although her ex was the one to go all cyber-psycho on her ass, she’d broken his heart; it was a two-way street and a fight that neither of them had won in the end. In the almost 3 years since she and Sharon had broken up, this man had been the first serious relationship she’d had. It took her 2 years to get there and less than 7 months for it to completely fall apart. As the water continued to splash against her flesh she wondered for the one-thousandth time why it was that Sharon had had no issue moving on. It almost always came back to Sharon. Whenever Alaska felt upset or was wallowing in self-pity, thinking about Sharon, the relationship they’d had and its eventual downfall always became a knife with which she could emotionally cut herself. There were still so many lingering feelings of anger, pain, guilt and love. She supposed that this was because they hadn’t had the luxury of breaking up because they’d fallen out of love. They had broken up because they were too in love. Too in love to remain sane in the wake of the fame and the distance and the never-ending list of circumstances that had changed their worlds. They had done the right thing at the time, Alaska couldn’t be more certain of that upon reflection. But it didn’t really matter anymore, Alaska sighed; Sharon was engaged. She stepped out of the shower.

Despite what one may think, it wasn’t like Alaska to feel this way lately. She had moved on from Sharon. They were friends. Good friends, even. This was the overflow of emotion that occurred at the end of every tour talking, she reasoned to herself as she wrapped her dripping body in the fluffy comfort of a fresh hotel towel. The past year had been a nonstop whirlwind of insanity for her, she’d shot All Stars 2, fallen in and out of love and travelled the world, twice. She was tired. Somewhere in the middle of it all the lines between Alaska and Justin had become misconstrued and who was once a character was now her, or maybe it was the other way around, or maybe she was neither of them anymore, she didn’t know. She was just so tired.

It was with sleep on her mind that she slipped into some grey sweatpants and was ready to forget all about the events of the evening, when she heard a knock on the door. Presuming that Courtney’s motherly nature had gotten the best of her and she’d decided to stop by on her way in from drinks with the others, Alaska neglected to look through the peep-hole, she swung the door open haphazardly; “Court, I’m fine, I promise you don’t have to-“ It wasn’t Courtney. “Hey,” Sharon said, looking up to meet Alaska’s eyes, she was out of drag and wearing skinny black jeans and some worn out hoodie Alaska was certain she’d had from before the two of them had even met. “Expecting someone else?” She asked. Alaska shook her head quickly and composed herself. “Sharon, what-? Are you okay?” Sharon walked past Alaska and into the room, “No,” Sharon whined, “I’m fucking bored.” “Didn’t you go out with the others? Where’s Chad?” Alaska asked turning around to face Sharon, who was wandering around the hotel room, but leaving the door open in the hopes that her guest would catch a hint. “I’ve got a gig tomorrow in Detroit, he’s not coming with me so he flew back home after the show, I took him to the airport.” Sharon replied as she arrogantly slumped heavily down onto Alaska’s bed. “Well, why don’t you go meet the others? I’m sure they’re all still out-“ “Can you just stop Alaska,” Sharon said forcefully, “I don’t wanna go. I wanna talk to you.” Alaska sighed and turned around to close the door. “What’s up?” She drawled half-heartedly, keeping her distance from Sharon who lay sprawled across the sheets looking up at the ceiling, not unlike Alaska had been doing less than an hour before. “I always liked your hair like that, Lasky.” Sharon complimented nonchalantly, lifting her head from the bed, “It’s cute after you shower.” Alaska gave her a small but forced smile, wondering why the fuck it was that she wouldn’t just leave her alone. She really wasn’t in the mood for company right now, especially Sharon’s. “Phi Phi’s proposal was ridiculous,” Sharon went on, “I mean I love her but wow, an on stage proposal? She wasn’t even in the show and she still has to get all the attention.” Alaska couldn’t help but break into fond laughter, “She has to get all the attention?” She looked at Sharon in light-hearted disbelief from across the room, “I’m just saying!” Sharon laughed, “It’s greedy!” “Well, if you want attention like that then you and your fiancé should’ve gotten engaged on stage too.” Alaska commented, the throaty memory of laughter thick in her voice. Sharon sat up on the bed. “I saw you looking at me tonight.” She said suddenly, a little too loudly to not make the mood in the room shift. Alaska’s smile faded as she looked up from the floor to meet Sharon’s eyes, “Am I not allowed to do that anymore?” She muttered, unsure of where this was going, and thus for deciding not to convey any emotion in her voice. “I just wanted to tell you that I noticed.” Sharon said shrugging. The two of them were quiet for a moment, Alaska unsure of what Sharon was trying to achieve, and thus deciding to let her speak next, and that she did; “You know I see right through you, right?” Alaska snapped her head up from the floor, where her eyes had been studying her bare feet. “Are you serious Sharon?” She sighed aggressively, raising her voice slightly, “Why are you even here?” Alaska had no idea what Sharon was up to and honestly she didn’t care for it, Sharon had a maddening habit of saying things, things that confused the fuck out of Alaska if she was honest, things that were better off left unsaid given their situation. If Sharon was taken aback at Alaska’s tone, she didn’t let it show, “I’m just saying that you shouldn’t look at me like that. It makes me sad.” “I- What? God, Sharon can you just leave?” Alaska stammered incredulously, this was not a conversation that she wanted to have, not tonight, not ever. Alaska did not need to know that her ex felt sorry for her. “God, Alaska what the fuck? Can’t we just have a serious conversation?” Sharon raised her voice at Alaska and then her body from the bed, standing so that the two were stood 5 meters apart. The physical space between them was small, but Alaska felt she was miles away from the other queen, she’d felt miles away for years now. “I don’t want to!” Alaska shouted back, “Why does it matter to you anymore? Why do you fucking care how I look at you?” Sharon opened her mouth to respond but Alaska wasn’t finished, “I wasn’t even looking at you weirdly, I was just fucking looking at you. Why do you read into everything I do, but I’m not supposed to read into all the weird shit you say and do around me? It’s so fucking exhausting, Sharon. Being around you is exhausting.” She dragged out the last word, and as the second the final syllable poured from her lips, Sharon began to respond with equal fire, “I’m sorry if I exhaust you Alaska. You’re not exactly the most pleasant person for me to be around either, you ever think of that?” Sharon’s hands were moving theatrically as she spoke, the way they always did when she was mad. “Oh my god,” Alaska laughed angrily, “You want me to feel sorry for you? You’re the one who’s engaged.” Sharon’s face dropped slightly as her voice fell to a whisper; “Well, you’re the one who left.”

The two of them stood like that for around a minute, Sharon’s words echoing off the hotel room walls, taunting them both in their weight. Alaska’s eyes softened, “You know I had to.” “No, you didn’t have to. You chose to.” Sharon whispered back immediately. “Is that what you think? Do you think it was easy for me? Sharon, we were killing each other.” Alaska responded incredulously. “What am I supposed to think, Alaska? We never fucking talked about it. We had a fight and then you walked out. There wasn’t exactly a good old-fashioned conversation about it.” Alaska couldn’t believe what she was hearing. She couldn’t believe Sharon was acting like she didn’t know why she’d left. “Sharon, we were hurting each other, literally, physically hurting each other. We couldn’t keep going, and you know that just as well as I do so don’t act like you’re some victim.” Alaska scrunched her face dramatically as she spoke the last word, as if the thought itself made her ill. “Me leaving you was the hardest thing I’ve ever done and you know it.” Alaska drawled the last sentence softly, shaking her head in disbelief at Sharon’s ignorance to the to the reality of the situation. Sharon exhaled loudly into the space between them; she knew Alaska was right, and she couldn’t answer Alaska’s earlier question, not even to herself, because she really didn’t know why she was here. “I guess I just still feel like we left things unfinished, and I-“ “No,” Alaska shut her down mid-sentence. “Don’t you dare do that to me.” Alaska’s voice sounded hurt, but it still was filled with strength, the sort of tone that was uniquely Alaska. It was the same voice that made her moaning so endearing when you heard it in the season five confessional. “Don’t act you have any stakes left in our relationship when you’re the one who moved on like I never existed.” Now it was Sharon’s turn to look at Alaska in disbelief, “I didn’t forget about you.” “You had a new boyfriend within five months of me leaving, it took me two years to even look at a man the way I looked at you.” Alaska was embarrassed by the amount of hurt in her voice, but she’d never been any good at hiding her emotions, not with Sharon, like she’d said; she saw right through her. “You mean the way you looked at me tonight?” Sharon’s voice was calm and she took a step forward toward the taller boy. Alaska was overwhelmed by the emotions she’d been feeling all night, she still had no idea why she and Sharon were having this conversation; they’d managed to go nearly three years without having it, why now? Why tonight when she already felt like shit? This was too fucking much. Alaska raised her hand to stop Sharon’s approaching form. “Don’t come near me.” She breathed in a low voice. Sharon didn’t stop moving closer, “Lasky…” She placed a tentative hand on her ex’s long face, “You’re crying”, Sharon wasn’t done wiping the tears when Alaska grabbed her wrist, pulling her hand away, “I said don’t come near me.” They were standing so close to one another now. Tears were falling freely down Alaska’s face, she was too tired to even try and stop them. They stood like that for a moment, just looking at one another, Sharon’s eyes were wide and tearful at the sight of Alaska breaking down right in front of her, “I’m sorry,” she whispered softly against Alaska’s face, “I’m sorry,” she repeated quietly, tilting her head slightly and leaning forward so that their noses were touching. Alaska could feel her heart in her throat as she felt her resolve melt away in the face of their proximity as Sharon continued to whisper that she was sorry, over and over again, their noses ghosting the slightest touches against one another in the hotel room that was suddenly incredibly warm. “Justin,” Sharon breathed into Alaska’s mouth, “I’m so sorry”. And that was it. Suddenly, beneath the fluorescent lights of a four star hotel room in New York City, they weren’t Alaska and Sharon anymore. They weren’t the two characters who’d torn their relationship to pieces. There was no makeup, no wigs, no microphones being shoved down their throat. For the first time in years, much to the overwhelming terror and excitement of them both, they were Justin and Aaron.

At the sound of his name, Justin released Aaron’s wrist from his grip and grabbed at his waist as Aaron wrapped his warm hands around Justin’s face, tears falling from his eyes at the feel of his once-lovers’ tear drenched cheeks against his flesh. Slipping their eyes closed, the space between them disappeared as their lips met. The bubbling warmth dancing through Justin’s blood with the feel of the Aaron’s lips on his was as foreign as it was familiar. He moaned softly as Aaron grazed his teeth against the pillow-soft flesh of Justin’s full bottom lip and Justin ground his hips forward to crash against his ex’s in response to the gesture. All the feelings of confusion, pain and anger that had been simmering in them both for far too long burst wildly into flames and sizzled in their touch, a passion unmatched by any of Justin’s lovers beyond the day he left Aaron shaken and alone in their tiny Pittsburgh home almost three years prior. Justin’s lifted his hands from Aaron’s waist to tangle the min the soft (he did remember correctly), blonde mess of his hair, Justin had forgotten he had been shirtless the entire time until Aaron scraped his nails down his shoulders, then his arms, pulling Justin’s hands from his hair and holding them in his. The romance and tenderness in the gesture made Justin’s knees buckle as the two boys continued grinding against one another. The friction wasn’t nearly enough. Justin let go of Aaron’s hands and lifted them to wear his jumper met his jean’s, the three seconds in which Justin pulled the jumper off Aaron’s back and dropped it to the ground were the only moments they’d broken their lips apart. Aaron’s tongue was hot and sweet in Justin’s mouth and all Justin could think about was how at home he felt in the mans arms. As Aaron grabbed at the waist of Justin’s sweatpants, Justin felt something cold scratch against his flesh. “Aaron,” Justin breathed, “Yes, baby.” Aaron replied, marking the expanse of Justin’s neck with wet, biting kisses. Justin felt the scratching again as Aaron finished untying the wait of his pants. And then he realised. It was his engagement ring. “Aa- Aaron, stop,” Justin repeated, louder this time, pushing the man off of him. Aaron’s piercingly blue eyes looked hurt and confused, but Justin felt sick. “We can’t do this, Aaron.” Justin took a step back from the gorgeous boy before him, his untied sweatpants riding low on his hips. “Please, please,” Aaron begged, “I need you.” Justin could count on his right hand the number of times he’d seen Aaron reduced to such a mess. “You’ll regret it tomorrow,” Justin spoke quickly, panic rising in his chest, he couldn’t believe what was happening, what had just happened. “Aaron you need to leave,” Tears fell from Aaron’s eyes as he shouted, “I love you.” Justin felt his heart plummet into his stomach, he shook his head, “No, no you don’t, you’re confused or you’re fucked up and I need you to leave.” Justin was practically begging, tears filling his eyes. Aaron’s jaw was trembling as he stared at Justin from those few feet away. Justin realised he was telling the truth. “You’re engaged,” Justin’s face was contorted in confusion as he repeated that phrase for what felt like the hundredth time that night, “You love Chad.” “I- I don’t know!” Aaron continued to shout, he was panicking, Justin could hear in his voice that he was falling apart. “I’m just so fucking confused all the time and I love Chad but I think I love you too and I don’t know how that’s possible and I just don’t know what to fucking do because when I’m with Chad I’m happy and it’s perfect and he asked me to marry him and I said yes because that’s what you do when someone makes you happy but then I see you and I stop breathing and I want to hold you but I can’t do that anymore and I’m so fucking confused and I’m just so tired of being confused.” The words poured from Aaron’s shaking form like blood from a bullet wound. “You can’t do this to me,” Justin replied brokenly, practically sobbing. “You love Chad and you’re engaged and everything between us is always going to be a mess and we have to let it go,” Justin finally realised it as the words left his mouth. This was it. This was always going to be it between them. The two of them screaming and crying and falling apart. They loved one another so much they can’t even act sane in each other’s company; it was sick and twisted that the universe had fated their love to this kind of tragedy, but lying to themselves and saying they could ever be sustainable as a couple was only going to kill them. “Aaron, we can’t do this and you know it, so I’m asking you right now, to please, please,” The pain in Justin’s voice broke Aaron’s heart a little bit more, “Get out.” Aaron just shook his head brokenly, whatever kind of tantrum or crisis of self Aaron was having right now, Justin couldn’t pick him up from it, he owed it to both of them to be the reasonable one, he’d done it before, he could do it again. Justin decided he’d leave and go stay the night in Courtney’s room, it’s not like he’d want to be alone after this anyway.

As Justin reached for the doorknob, determined to storm out of the hotel room with the tiny shred of dignity he felt he had left, Aaron ran forward from where he stood and grabbed Justin’s arm and pulled him flush against him. Aaron cupped his face somewhat forcefully in his hands and looked him in the eyes. Justin tried to look away, but Aaron only gripped him tighter; “Do you love me?” Aaron murmured softly, the gentle heat of his breath whispering against Justin’s lips, vulnerability, anger, hatred, love and sadness all so thick in his voice that Justin felt his already bruised heart shatter just a little bit more. Justin did not hesitate, “Yes, of course I love you,” he whispered, a tear escaping his eyes as he leaned forward to press his forehead against Aaron’s. The two of them stood there silently for a few moments, Justin’s face still cradled in Aaron’s hands, the blue of each others’ eyes reminding them of the ocean of love they once swam in together. A time before the money and fame obscured what was once so simple. The look they exchanged was so intense that Aaron could’ve sworn he was back in Pittsburgh, he and Justin simply watching one another; in bed, over dinner tables, across crowded rooms- so in love and absorbed in one another that it was often hard for either of them to distinguish where one of them ended and the other began. Justin and Aaron’s relationship had lost a lot over the years, but it was never, not even when fists collided with jaws or when screaming matches left them deaf and exhausted, short of passion. “But I don’t want to love you,” Justin breathed into the silence, tearing himself from Aaron’s touch and turning the door handle, “I want to be happy.” He closed the door behind him, leaving Aaron alone in his hotel room, bathed in the angelic swirl of fluorescent illumination and moonlight. In the sudden silence of the room where he and Justin had once been together, Aaron stood still, drowning in the suffocating sense of déjà vu, his ring feeling heavy on his finger.

That’s it. We don’t have the gift of a real ending to the shalaska story in real life, so I suppose it’s fitting to leave them dangling on the edge of what could possibly become of them but that we all ultimately know they can never be.

I hope you liked this story, it’s my first time writing fic and I know it’s a bit of a mess, but I just wanted to try. Love you guys!

#pink sugar #shalaska #sharon needles #alaska thunderfuck #angst #tw swearing #tw mention of self harm #rpdr fanfiction #submission #canon compliant

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