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thelocalbozo · 2 years ago

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Don't trust anyone WolfSeth/HoxBon

This is a silly little angst piece that is technically a part 2 to "Don't Trust English Boys" Again not canon to their story, TW: Su1cide @crispy-bonnie suffer :]

Weeks had passed since the cheating and break up between Wolf and Seth, Seth changed up a bit since then, appearance wise at least. Seth started dressing more provocatively than usual, when they were together he would do that when going on heists to mess with Wolf, now he was doing it because he was hooking up with anyone that came on to him. This was his way of coping with the loss of a partner that he would forever be connected to. Mostly wearing see through or mesh tops as well as small shorts, and generally showing up to the safe house with hickies covering his neck and mostly exposed torso. Zeora, his sister, had noticed the switch in clothing, reminding her of him back in the underworld, which honestly worried her a bit.

"Hey Seth you seem off lately, everything alright with you and Wolf?" Zeora had found Seth in Jacket's hang out playing Jacket's NES probably not with permission. Seth let out a low growl from the question, eyes darkening as he met Zeora's look of concern.

"He is a cheating, lying son of a bitch, and the sheer fact that I am forced to be linked with him forever makes me sick" Seth's voice sounding like it was poisoning the air around them, heavy with anger. Zeora gasped a bit taken aback by the statement, worry now turned a mixture of remorse and anger, she never thought of Wolf as the cheating type so to hear these words spoken to her from her brother, who was ever clearly hurting, made her want to rip Wolf and who ever he cheated with to shreds.

"Who's the other person?" She now sat next to Seth, voice thick with anger.

"..Hoxton" Seth whispered barely audible, it didn't matter Zeora heard him.

"WHAT?!" Zeora stood back up as a reflex, yelling infuriated by the worse news. "I'LL KILL THEM BOTH!" She continued, almost storming out of the room likely to do exactly what she said, not before Seth grabbed her arm.

"Don't." Was all he said to her giving her a look she knew all too well, stone faced, but she could see through it, he was hurting. She pulled her arm away, giving him an awkward look nodding ever so slightly, as much as she wanted to hurt them, she understood it would just hurt more. Instead of going to Wolf or Hoxtons area of the safe house she opted to go to Sydney's area to cool off.

"What was with the screamin' down there dear?" Sydney gave her a curious look. "Sounded like you were tryin' to kill a dozer." She laughed a bit, Zeora sighed a bit just shaking her head leaning on Sydney's chair. "Seth's personal business." She put it simply.

------

Seth had a sneaking suspicion that Wolf started to regret cheating on him, anytime he passed Wolf a sudden jolt of regret would course through, he did not regret anything he did, Wolf on the other hand, it was written all over his face. Anytime Wolf saw Seth all he could think about was what they could've had together, had he not cheated. Seeing the hickies and love bites on Seth that weren't from him hurt him more, but he knew there was no way Seth would ever consider being with him again, hell Seth barely considered Wolf a coworker now. When Dallas or Bain tried to put them on heists together Seth flatass refused and would say something along the lines of 'I've got a date' or 'I got a hook up' anything to avoid heisting with him, even if it meant mentioning his sex life to make them uncomfortable.

The thought of Seth being with other people was eating away at Wolf, every waking moment was filled with regret. He indulged in his work to distract from the guilt.

Back at the garage however, things were heated.

"You're just a stupid wanker y'know that?" Hoxton hissed at Houston who had started the name calling.

"At least I'm not a cheating coward!" Houston yelled back, Hoxton got visibly pissed at that, starting a massive argument. Sydney and Zeora watched them fight, Seth had made his way to the common area, flipping through channels rolling his eyes at the argument. Wolf heard the commotion upstairs, going up there to stop the fighting, walking past Seth who was no longer paying attention to the fight, walking into the garage yelling at the two. Seth flipped to a breaking news story, someone was on garnet group building, trying to commit suicide. Seth stopped flipping through the channels now, analyzing the video on the screen, as the person looked oddly familiar. It took a few moments before he let out a loud gasp of realization, it was Bon, they were on the building, they were the one trying to commit. He jumped up from his sitting position, running towards the garage.

"EVERYONE SHUT UP WE NEED TO GET TO GARNET GROUP RIGHT FUCKING NOW!" He screamed pulling Houston and Hoxton away from each other. Houston looks up to the frightened incubus confused.

"What? Why?" Houston questioned, everyone now focused on Seth now.

"Bon's trying to kill themself!" Seth's tone lowered now that he had everyone's attention, prompting Houston to quickly grab the van keys. Hoxton took several steps back gasping, before practically sprinting into the now open van. Seth jumped in the van as well as Zeora. Houston sped down the street to get to Garnet Group, while Hoxton was phoning Bile to get his ass over there, by the time they got there, there were many police and fbi units there already trying to get Bon down safely, everyone jumped out of the van, Hoxton jumped into Bile's helicopter to get up there, Seth on the other hand started flapping his wings in a rapid pace gaining enough momentum to start flying up into the sky trying to get up to them as fast as possible, wind blowing in his hair, fearful that he wouldn't make it in time. He only made it to the 15th floor before he had to stop, grabbing the side of the building, if he didn't he also wouldn't make it out alive, he took a few breathes hoping that by some miracle Hoxton would actually be able to talk them down from their position. Unfortunately that was far from the case, he looked up and there was Bon's limp body falling past him, instinctively he jumped too, dive bombing after them but they were much farther down, he was catching up quickly, he thought he'd actually make it to them.

CRACK

He didn't make it. They were dead, and there was nothing anyone could do about it. He swooped and landed on his knees next to his now dead best friend. His head hung low, sitting limply on his knees as he begged under his breath that they weren't dead, that it wasn't true, that this was all just a bad dream. Tears streamed down his face, he covered himself and Bon with his wings, he wasn't letting anyone see the body cops, paramedics no one. He had a numb feeling, no matter how much yelling there was around him the ringing in his ears was louder, until Zeora picked him up under his arms dragging him away from the limp body, he fought to get back to Bon's side who was now surrounded by paramedics and cops, to no avail, he was dragged into the van which took off as soon as he was in, the first time he actually acknowledged his surroundings, Zeora was crying across from him, he couldn't see Houston's face but heard soft sniffling coming from the front of the van, then there was Hoxton, who was seated next to him, looking at his feet with a blank expression, tears rolled down his cheeks. He felt his heart beat into his throat looking at the man to blame for all of this, he wanted to beat him to death, he wanted his head on a stick, but he couldn't, he was in such a bad state that not even hurting the culprit could bring him comfort in this moment. Getting back to the safe house the four were bombarded by everyone else who happened to be in the safe house at the time, they got out of the van being crowded around. Everyone tried hugging everyone, however Seth wasn't letting anyone touch him, immediately he rushed down the stairs to the basement, to Jacket's area, the only place he could feel comfort anymore, breaking down as soon as he got down there. Curling into a tight ball, sobbing into his knees, wrapped in his wings once more. He couldn't even hear the footsteps coming closer to him over his crying, someone sat in front of him, touching his wings lightly, stroking them, he looked up at the mystery person, what he hadn't realized was that two people had actually entered the room.

Jacket was sitting in front of him, with Wolf standing behind him a few feet, Jacket wasn't crying but had a soft expression, he wasn’t one for comforting others but, this was his room, and he wasn't about to kick him out, Wolf had tears streaming down his own face, feeling more guilty for what happened, Seth had noticed the swedish man.

"What is he doing here?" Seth rasps out, voice hoarse from bawling his eyes out for what felt like the thousandth time. Jacket looked back at Wolf, huffing through his nose, looking back at Seth shaking his head slightly. Seth settled into his wings more, silently staring at Wolf with darkened puffy eyes, tears streamed down his face heavily.

"It's your fault..." Seth said quietly, looking back at Jacket who was still stroking his wing, trying to settle him down. Wolf looked at his feet, sighing softly, he couldn't look at Seth, it was too much, watching him cover Bon's dead body on the news replayed over and over in his head. He slumped on the wall, sliding down, covering his face with his hands. Jacket looked between the two, unsure of what to do at this point, that's when Dallas walked in, looking at the mess in the room, Seth quietly grimacing in the corner, Jacket doing his damnedest to calm down and keep him at bay, while Wolf was across the room slumped over. He didn't say anything but nodded at Jacket before taking Wolf out of the room. Jacket sat with Seth for a long time, before Seth was calm enough to not rip anyone he came across a part. Seth decided to take some time away from everyone.

------------

Seth came back after a few months of isolation, something was again much different about him. He was in a continuous state of mourning still and much more aggressive towards everyone around the safehouse including Zeora. He was jumpier, and wanted to fight the others more. He was very violent, and because of this Bain simply refused to let Dallas send him on heists with others, instead opting for him to go on solo heists, out of fear that he end up killing the others on the heist. He couldn't care less though, at least it was an outlet for his aggression. His comfort in his wings being around him triggered something in Wolf and Hoxton anytime they saw him, Wolf would see a mass of dark wings covering something with one bright red eye staring back at him, while Hoxton would see Bon's figure with his old overcoat now bright red, with a crow always around, they couldn't stand the guilt of it all. Wolf had made attempts to reassure Hoxton that it was not his fault for all of this, but he knew it was all their fault. A small grave was placed on the property in memory of Bon, Seth took extreme care of this area, he created a garden of all Bon's favorite flowers as well, he spent most of his free time tending to and sitting in this garden, likely crying. These lines imprinted on the grave under Bon's name,

"A whole garden of flowers and my name etched on a rock, all this could have avoided, all i wanted was to talk"

A constant reminder to Hoxton and Wolf that they had a choice.

#Hoxton #wolf payday 2 #hoxton payday 2 #payday #payday 2 #jacket hotline miami #houston payday 2 #sydney payday 2 #oc x canon #oc x cc #payday oc #major character death #tw su1cide #Angst

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handsoffmyfriends · 4 years ago

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NOT HAPPY TOGETHER - PROLOGUE

—

PAIRINGS: ex!Kuroo Tetsurou x gn!Reader, platonic!Akaashi Keiji x gn!Reader, ex!Sekimukai Kouji x gn!Reader, pining!Akaashi x Bokuto Koutarou, pining!Sekimukai Kouji x Izumi Yukitaka, Kozume Kenma x Hinata Shouyou

WORD COUNT: 7,065

WARNINGS: dumb choices, drinking, sex mention, kissing your best friend lmao, unhealthy coping mechanisms, pining, so much pining its a pine forest, lovesick fools, angst, really really self indulgent like look at the ships lmao

A/N: so this thing became an entire au that has evicted the actual paying tenants in my head to squat rent free lmao just a bunch of maybe chronological events beginning with The Breakup and leading up to Getting Back Together

i totally lost steam at the end rip but i need this out of my drafts since scrolling 34 years to find my smau drafts is killer

tags: @samanthaa-leanne @finnydraws @peteunderoos @lowermoons @deestielluv @angyboibakugo @carmomo18 @kuroirl

Part One

The day started with melancholy. The weather seemed to disagree, not a cloud in the sky as the morning sun filtered into your room through poorly drawn curtains, the warm rays scattering along your faces.

It was your last day together before you moved to the other side of the country for college for the next four years. Hokkaido had offered you exactly what you wanted to pursue, you just had to sacrifice your life in Tokyo to take it. Kuroo had been overwhelmingly supportive when you received your acceptance letter, rambling on and on about how Kenma would make sure he had a decent computer setup so you could video call every day, how the physical distance wouldn't matter in the long run.

You didn't tell him how much it meant to you that he would go to all those lengths to be with you. You didn't tell him how you couldn't ask that of him, how unfair it would be of you to tether him to you like that. You knew he deserved better than that, better than text messages and video calls. He deserved to be with someone that could be physically by his side, and that someone just wasn't you anymore.

You woke up somber, despite the warm, comforting arms wrapped around you like a cage. You allowed yourself several minutes to relish in his warmth, to commit to memory how perfect it felt to be by his side, since you knew you would never have this again.

Usually, you were both slow to wake, indulging in early morning cuddles and kisses, but today you couldn't bring yourself to bask in the little world of happiness the two of you had cultivated over the three years of your relationship. You were going to tear it all apart, but you knew it was for the better. There was no happiness in a relationship that would be held together by loneliness and longing, of staring at phones and wondering when the next text would come, when the next call would come. It would be torture and no matter how much you loved him, you couldn't bring yourself to demand that of him.

So, you didn't roll over and kiss him awake like you usually would. You don't stare at his sleeping face for minutes on end, marvelling at how peaceful he looks in slumber. You already knew every facet of his face, every emotion he was capable of expressing, so you don't need to commit anything to memory.

You pull yourself from his grip, despite him trying to tighten his hold on you as he came to consciousness. Even in sleep, if you tried to wiggle away, he would pull you closer instinctually. He looked up at you bleary eyed, a little confused, but happy to see you nonetheless, a sleepy smile gracing his features. The pure adoration he held for you sent your heart plummeting.

You gave him a tight smile back before leaving the comfort of the bed, the beginning of a bigger departure. You left him to doze off as you mulled around the bedroom, picking out some clothes and heading to the bathroom without a second glance. If you had looked at him again, you would have noticed him watching you with furrowed brows.

He knew you were worried about moving to Hokkaido, he was feeling down about, too. Today was your last day together in person, but he meant every word when he said he would be on top of calling you. Part of him knew your behaviour wasn't off because of the move, he knew you were keeping something from him, but he wasn't about to pry. He knew, deep down, that something was wrong, but he ignored that niggle of anxiety, just like he ignored the space that had suddenly grown between you.

It continued in the little actions throughout the day. You could barely look him in the eyes, could barely respond to his numerous assurances that he would call you, that it wouldn't be different, not really. You tried to wear a polite smile and nod, but it felt worn, like a terrible disguise and you knew he could see through it. It caused him to lay it on thicker, that by being overconfident and overbearing in his determination to make things work, it would smother the uncomfortable atmosphere that you had created.

"It's going to be fine," he repeats for the hundredth time, rubbing your shoulders soothingly. "I know you're nervous about the move. Hell, I would be, too!"

You hum, an acknowledgement that he's spoken but nothing more to contribute to the conversation. You're sitting in the living room, your bags packed and ready to go. You get the notification that your ride is here, that will take you to the airport and send you to the faraway island.

"You can call me when you're settled," he continues. "Or when you land. Whenever you want, kitten. I'll always answer."

It's almost sad, how desperate he is to convince you it will be okay. You have no doubt in your mind that he would hold true to his word, that things might even work out in the end, but you also know that would demand crippling loneliness. It would demand that each of you be on each other's beck and call, that when that phone rings or a text comes through, you're expecting to answer or reply. It demands that you're both hanging on the edge of your seat, waiting desperately for that phone call, that text message.

"Kitten?"

You hum again, looking up at him in inquiry. It's a mistake, he's looking down at you with all the love in the world. It wavers your determination, makes you falter in your resolve. You want to reciprocate that love so much, with every fibre of your being, and you do, you really do, which is why the next words out of your mouth are, "let's break up."

The next few moments go by in a blur. You barely register what he's saying, if he's saying anything at all, or what you're saying in return, if anything at all. You know deep down, this needs to be done, neither of you can live happily hanging onto that next text message, that next phone call. He deserves better than that, and so do you.

You gather up your bags in a daze as Kuroo is speaking fervently, questions and compromises falling on your deaf ears. You give him half hearted responses, barely formed excuses that you both know are bullshit. You don't look at him the entire time, knowing if you gave in and looked at the pain you had inflicted, you would cave and take it all back.

You leave without another word. Kuroo is torn between chasing after you and demanding a proper reason, but he knows it would be to no avail. He lets you go, knowing he has no chance to get anything out of you today. He tries to convince himself it's because you're leaving, that your nerves are wound up, that you're stressed and anxious about the move and about the new school, that you aren't thinking properly. That in a few days, you'll realise how silly you're being and you'll take it back.

He lets you go because he's confident he can change your mind.

He's calling you the next day.

It startles you out of your light slumber. You'd been going non-stop ever since you left, arranging your new room, organising your college schedule, finding the closest shops and most effective public transport, being thrown way out of your depth at the sudden independence that this new life demanded of you. Thankfully, you had a week to get used to it before college started handing your ass back to you on a silver platter.

You scramble to see the caller ID and your blood runs cold when you see. Everything in you is telling you to answer, to apologise for your actions and to take it all back, to even beg his forgiveness, but you just stare at the phone as the call goes to voicemail. You breathe a sigh of relief, though it's short lived when you get the text that you have a new voicemail.

And then he's calling again.

It goes like this for a solid fifteen minutes. Call after call, your heart desperately wanting to answer him, but your mind knowing you shouldn't. You've repeated it to yourself a thousand times already, that it's better off this way, that you both wouldn't be happy.

You're starting to hate yourself for being so stubborn.

The next day you're introduced to your roommate. Which, to your surprise, is someone you recognise. You hadn't expected to know anyone here, and if you're being honest with yourself, you don't really know Akaashi Keiji all that well. To you, he was just the friend of your boyfriend's best friend, who went to a completely different school.

Well, ex-boyfriend.

Akaashi seems to be surprised to see you as well. He introduced himself politely, finishing with, "you're... Kuroo's parter, right?"

It stabs you in a way you didn't think possible. You can feel your heart skip a beat before it picks up in double time, loud in your ears as Akaashi regards you with polite interest. You clear your throat, avoiding his gaze as you say, "ah, n-not anymore."

You find that Akaashi isn't a very expressive person. If he's shocked at the revelation, he doesn't show it. "Oh, my apologies." He doesn't pry any further, his voice devoid of any genuine feelings towards the matter. You don't know if you should be annoyed or relieved that he doesn't ask you about it.

It's then that your phone, from the very traitorous place on the kitchen counter, starts to go off. Akaashi glances at it before you're able to clamber over the sofa to the offending device, Kuroo's face and ID lighting up the screen in an entirely offensive display to your pride.

You hastily hit the reject button rather than letting it ring out, which earns you a raised eyebrow from your roommate. You can see the gears working in his brain as he pieces together the facts, though you're not given a chance to recover as your phone is going off again.

Apologies spill out of your mouth as you escape the communal area, shutting yourself in your room and away from Akaashi's judgement. You clutch at your phone like a lifeline, the feelings of remorse and desperation taking you over as Kuroo tries to call you over and over, the tears falling relentlessly for as long as he tries.

He gives up after ten minutes this time, though he leaves a voicemail for every unanswered call.

It's later that evening that you finally emerge from your room. Kuroo didn't try to call again, but he's been texting you non-stop all day. You've been reading them, how could you not, your heart breaking all over as you read the begging. It would almost be pathetic, how desperate he is for your attention, if you didn't reciprocate. You ask yourself for the hundredth time if this is the right course of action.

Akaashi, to your surprise, has made dinner for the both of you. He's still in the middle of serving the meal, his eyes flickering up as you enter the room.

"Are you okay?"

The question throws you off guard. You sputter, "I— what?" like a moron, feeling entirely off balance. You'd expected a lot of things to come from Akaashi, mostly negative, but not concern for your wellbeing.

"I asked if you are okay," he repeats, setting two bowls of food onto the low table by the couch. The apartment made use of the minimal space, meaning it was an open living layout with no dining area.

You gaped at him like a fish, unsure of what to say. He's patient with you, taking a seat and waiting for you to catch up to the present moment. You eventually do, wordlessly taking the floor across from him, staring at the meal like it held all the answers to the universe.

"You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to," he continues. "I don't mean to be presumptuous, but I find myself in a similar sort of situation."

You glance up at him like a rabbit staring down the jaws of a fox. He's regarding you with a carefully neutral expression, his hands busy with his bowl and chopsticks. You open your mouth to speak, but it's dry, and your voice comes out a lot raspier than usual. "What do you mean?"

"A long distance relationship," he says simply. "Bokuto suggested it, but I talked him out of it. We came to the agreement that we could try again once I graduate college, since he's going professional." He arches a delicate brow when he looks back up at you as he says, "I assume you had a similar conversation with Kuroo?"

You feel the knot in your belly tighten. You swallow thickly, willing yourself not to cry. "Not really," you admit, voice laced with emotion. "We didn't... discuss anything."

He studies you in a relaxed way as he eats, prompting you to start on your own meal. You thank him quietly for the meal despite not feeling hungry at all. You eat it all the same.

Akaashi is remarkably understanding about your decision. The only thing he doesn't agree with is you shouldering the decision, but he knows Kuroo well enough to know that there would have been no convincing him otherwise.

Kuroo continues to try to call you daily. Usually, its towards the evening, when you and Akaashi are either eating or watching TV to wind down for the day. You ignore it every time, Akaashi growing increasingly more worried about you as the weeks go by.

The two of you talk about your not-boyfriends a lot. The difference being that Akaashi maintains a friendly relationship with Bokuto, the two texting on the daily and video calling every other day. You had been present for one of the video calls, milling around in the kitchen behind Akaashi. Bokuto had greeted you politely enough, but you could tell he was angry with you. You didn't blame him, he was Kuroo's best friend after all, and you were surprised to find him tolerating you at all. Akaashi must have explained things to him, because the next time you accidentally crashed their video call, Bokuto had been much more pleased to see you.

Kuroo's unanswered messages to you deviate from their begging to be more casual, recounting his day in a one sided conversation. Somehow, it makes it all the harder to continue reading them, but you don't have the heart to block his number and you feel like you at least owe it to him to keep reading them. You don't touch the voicemails, knowing that if you heard his voice, your resolve would crumble.

It comes to a head one day, six months later, when you're lying in bed, unable to sleep, when he's texting you again. The frequency has died down considerably, the daily texts and calls turning into weekly ones. You watch with tears in your eyes as he recounts his day yet again, how much college is kicking his ass and how much of a recluse Kenma is when given the choice. He mentions how he's been spending time with Bokuto, suggests that the four of you should all have a video call and how is Akaashi going by the way?

He calls you after he's finished, and you nearly answer. Your finger hovers over the green spot, and you're ready to give up, this clearly isn't working, but for the first time he doesn't call until it rings out to voicemail. It leaves you feeling hollow. You had finally come to terms that you weren't going to hold out, that you were going to answer him and beg for his forgiveness.

He sends you one more text that sends you over the edge. You only read the first line of the preview, "I'll always love you, kitten," before you're opening up your messages with Kenma, begging him to talk to Kuroo and ask him to stop contacting you. You couldn't do this anymore.

And just like that, Kuroo goes silent. You feel your heart shatter at the realisation that you finally got what you wanted, that Kuroo would finally stop contacting you. You aren't sure when Akaashi made his way into your room, but you're bawling into his shoulder as he holds you close, rubbing soothing circles into your back as your heart is finally able to fully break.

Things get better. You're able to focus more on your college work and your friendship with Akaashi becomes more than a pair of lovesick fools. It becomes genuine, and strangely domestic. Akaashi's a lot better at cooking than you are, so in turn you handle the cleaning. Usually, you'll watch him cook and narrate the process like you're on a cooking show, and you'll rate the dish and give a critical analysis that's full of bullshit words and terms you don't fully understand. Sometimes, you'll even get into the kitchen and have Akaashi instruct you on what to do. He almost always takes over.

You both prefer to study in the communal area, quietly enjoying each other's company, and you regularly watch TV together. You don't necessarily talk a lot during these times, but you both relish the companionship and how comfortable it feels to be around each other.

You take each other out on platonic dates on the regular, too. Usually just to the coffee shop on campus when you're both run down from a lecture, swapping who pays for whom every time. Sometimes, it's a little more elaborate, a casual night out at the local izakaya.

Friendship with Akaashi comes as easy as breathing and he quickly becomes your closest friend. You confide in him as much as he confides in you, though the topic of conversation deviates from your mutual pining to more substantial things. You find that your original assumption of Akaashi not being very expressive was entirely false. He's just extremely guarded, but he feels at ease around you, almost as much as he feels around Bokuto, so you get to see his rare smiles and listen to his laughter.

There's a day where you're both exhausted from the week, feeling especially touch-starved, when you cross the line. Akaashi is the one to suggest it, his reasoning very sound. You're both craving physical contact, you're both helplessly in love with someone you can't be with right now, so why not give it a try?

"You can pretend I'm him," he says in a low voice as he moves into your space. It sounds so unhealthy, but he would be doing the same with you, so it would be okay, right?

You find out very quickly that your relationship with Akaashi could never be anything but platonic. When he kisses you, and you kiss him back, you both recoil with an almost repulsed expression mirroring back to each other. You're the first to laugh, the small giggle escaping your lips with Akaashi hovering over you on the couch. He sits back and laughs along with you as you trade compliments for your kissing style, but come to an agreement that it felt wrong.

You never speak of it again.

After that, you're somehow even more comfortable with each other. You start calling each other by first name. You often gravitate to his side, whether it be huddled down on the couch, completely invading his personal space, or be it out in public, where he carelessly throws his arm around you.

The two of you could never see each other as anything but platonic friends, but you're still able to satisfy the cravings of the skin, in the form of casual touches and friendly embraces. It becomes the norm for you two to be touching somehow, whether it be hand holding or just standing shoulder to shoulder. It's therapeutic.

Some of your classmates ask if you're dating. You laugh at the questions, there's no way you could date Akaashi. You assure them that you're just best friends. It doesn't seem to convince anyone, but you don't really care. They don't understand and you don't want to make them. It's between you and Akaashi, and probably Bokuto, too.

You're at a party, entirely too drunk, when you're being pulled into a bathroom and you're being ravaged by someone you don't know. He's probably a classmate, someone you see every other day, but right now you can't find a name. You find that you don't care, and you lose yourself to his ministrations as he peels back your clothing and presses wet, drunken kisses to your skin.

It's when you muse his black hair into something far too familiar, moaning out a name you thought you'd never say again, that has you scrambling from the sink in a panic. You barely give the man another look before you run, out of the bathroom and out of the building, onto the cold, dark street. You fumble for your phone with ragged breaths, dialing Akaashi.

You're panicking and you're damn near in tears on the phone to him. It takes him no time at all to come to you, you were somewhere on campus, and he's wrapping you up in his scarf and jacket, holding you close as you come down from your hysterics.

You walk home in silence, your hand firmly clasped in his. He sits you down on the sofa, wrapping you up even more like a burrito, setting a glass of water in front of you as he prepares tea for you both. You're dazed, or you're just still really drunk, because suddenly Akaashi is next to you and pressing the warm mug into your hands.

"What happened?"

You shrug helplessly. "I don't know. One minute it was fine, I was about to get the dicking of my life—" You stop yourself, your brain catching up with your words. "No, I wasn't. I was in a fucking bathroom of all places. No, that would have been a shit fuck," you murmur this to yourself, voicing your thoughts. You startle slightly when Akaashi places a hand on your shoulder, bringing you back to the present. "Oh. Um. For a second, all I could think of was Kuroo, so I panicked."

Akaashi sighed, rubbing your arm comfortingly. "I'm glad you're okay. Next time, let me come with you."

You wiggle your eyebrows stupidly. "Why, you wanna get down and dirty with me?" The question barely makes it out before you're laughing. The idea of sleeping with Akaashi has become laughable. You suddenly grow somber as the thought crosses your mind and you look up to him with the biggest eyes you can manage. "Hey, can I sleep with you tonight?"

He snorts, an affectionate smile dancing on his lips. "You are so horny when you're drunk."

"Not like that!" you exclaim, a little too loud, a little too excited. "Just... you know. Sharing a bed. No funny business."

He can barely hold back his own laughter, giggling softly at you. "No funny business," he agrees with a giggle, patting the top of your head. "Alright, give me a minute to make my bed."

Akaashi is on a video call with Bokuto when he has to excuse himself for the bathroom, leaving Bokuto to spot you in the background and excitedly hollering your name, calling you over.

"We haven't spoken in forever!!" he whines as you take Akaashi's place on the sofa.

You laugh as you say, "I'm pretty sure we spoke last week, man."

He playfully pouts, but excited all the same. "Yeah, but last week you hadn't kissed Akaashi yet!" You freeze and Bokuto bursts out into mirthful laughter. "Or slept with him!" he adds for good measure, and you feel like your entire existence should just cease to be.

"Well, uh, you see, about that," you try to explain, but you're stumbling over your words and Bokuto is having the time of his life on the other line.

"I'm just teasing," he assures in between bouts of laughter. "He told me all about it, but I've been dying to know your side of the story. C'mon, tell me, is he not the best kisser you've ever kissed?"

You pray for some divine being to smite you on the spot, to spare you the embarrassment of the conversation, but your prayers are not answered and you're forced to go along with Bokuto's asinine line of questioning. "Well, uh, no offense to you or him, but no? Like, objectively he's a great kisser, but like..." you trail off helplessly. "I've kissed better," you end up saying fruitlessly.

Bokuto's eyes shine with glee. "You mean, my best bro, Kuroo? Oh, hey, that rhymes!"

You chuckle at him, ignoring the little pricks to your heart. "Yeah. He's spoiled me for life, I think," you say, truthfully. Neither that drunken mishap nor Akaashi could compare to how it felt when you kissed Kuroo. But, you very purposefully do not follow that train of thought, and you're blessed with the return of Akaashi.

He gives you a quirk of the eyebrow as he takes a seat next to you, very much in your personal space, going so far as to rest his head in your lap as he looks up to the screen with pure adoration. "Are you behaving yourself, Bokuto?"

"Always!" he barks back cheerfully. "Just sharing stories of what it's like to kiss you!"

Akaashi buries his head in your lap and you feel like a furnace, no doubt your face is as red as the shirt you're wearing. Despite it all, you pat Akaashi's head comfortingly, and Bokuto actually squeals, an impossibly high pitch from the man, as he coos at how adorable you two are.

"Is your partner as cool as I am with you being this affectionate with Akaashi?" Bokuto blurts. You miss the narrowing of Akaashi's eyes.

"We aren't together, Bokuto," Akaashi murmurs. Bokuto waves him off with a grin.

"I, uh, I'm not seeing anyone," you announce, forcing a laugh. You nudge at Akaashi ever so slightly, smoothly sliding out from under him. "It was nice to talk to you again, Bo, but I've got some shit I need to do. You kids keep it PG13 in the living room, okay?"

You don't see the stern look Akaashi gives Bokuto, nor do you hear the reprimanding when you close yourself in your room. You aren't privy to the conversation that follows, nor Kuroo meekly poking his head into frame.

"This isn't healthy," Akaashi scolds. "It's been over a year, Kuroo."

"Then tell me with absolute certainty that I don't have a chance," he counters. "Tell me that it's a lost cause."

Akaashi opens his mouth to say just that, but knows it would be a lie. He frowns as he says, "it still isn't healthy."

College starts back up with little fanfare. You and Akaashi sign on to stay as roommates for the duration of your courses, which was a no brainer. You couldn't imagine not living with Akaashi, and for the time being, you'll let yourself live in the fantasy. You know you'll eventually have to let him go, when you both graduate and he returns to Bokuto, and you're fine with that. You don't know what you're going to do, but you figure that isn't something to worry about for another few years.

Bokuto comes to visit, though it's barely for a weekend. You try to give the two men their privacy, you know that despite not dating that they would want their alone time, but Bokuto is very insistent that you all hang out together.

Once, you would have said you were better friends with Bokuto over Akaashi. How could you not have been, you were dating his best friend and you all got along. Kuroo would often drag you along to their joint volleyball training camps, and he would often want to catch Bokuto outside of school hours. Bokuto was funny, easy to get along with, and charming in his own way. Akaashi would often accompany Bokuto on those outings, but the two of you just never hit it off.

Funny how things work themselves out.

Akaashi's having a shower when you drop next to Bokuto, throwing your legs over his lap and leveling him with a serious look. "I'm going to ask you something and you're not going to read into it or tell anyone about it," you say as you get comofrtable.

He raises an eyebrow impossibly high. "I can promise none of that," he answers truthfully. "I can't keep things from Akaashi."

You muse for a moment. "Okay, Keiji doesn't count." He suppresses a squeal of delight at you using Akaashi's given name. Something about your friendship with Akaashi really tickles Bokuto's inner fangirl. He schools his face into something more serious when you cock your head to the side. "Right. Um. How is... Kuroo?"

His eyebrows shoot even higher, eyes sparkling with intrigue. You're quick to deny any special interest (lie), you fell out of love with him long ago (lie), you're completely over him (lie). You're probably being too insistent on these facts (lies), but if you repeat them enough, they'll eventually become true, right? (Wrong).

"I haven't even said anything yet," Bokuto laughs, silencing you. "He's doing fine. I think he's seeing someone, but he's so tight lipped about it," he says with a frown while the news causes your heart to skip a beat. "He's still living with Kenma. Oh! Kenma and Hinata started dating, did you hear?" he trails off excitedly, and you find it difficult to pay attention.

Was Kuroo really dating someone? You had no right to feel as upset as you did, it is what you wanted to happen, after all. The whole idea was so you could both find happiness in someone a lot closer. Really, you should be happy that he managed to find it, but instead you feel bitter that you haven't been able to. You've been too busy denying your feelings, denying that you're still hung up on him nearly eighteen months later, but even if you decided to accept them, to take it all back, it seems it's too late for that now. You wouldn't deserve it anyway, not after how you callously threw him aside.

Akaashi joins you a little while later, and he knows something's upset you. He slips in easily between you and Bokuto, returning your legs to lay atop both of their laps, and he rests his hands on your thigh in comfort. He doesn't ask what's wrong, but he manages to steer Bokuto's topic completely away from all your old friends, to what the three of you should do tomorrow before Bokuto has to leave.

You start dating.

It's a lot harder than you ever thought. You never really dated in the first place, since it was in your first year at Nekoma High that you met Kuroo and very quickly fell into an easy relationship with him for the following three years. You didn't know how to date, and you were too embarrassed to ask Akaashi for advice. Part of you told you that he would be just as clueless.

Most don't go anywhere after the first date. It's surprisingly time consuming and you'd rather spend your free time with Akaashi. Some see a second date, but things just don't feel right and you don't pursue a third date.

You're walking through campus, on a haphazard video call with Hinata. He's not even in the country, he's in Brazil now, learning how to play beach volleyball. You'd always been friendly with the Karasuno middle blocker, but you'd made an effort to keep in contact since you found out he and Kenma were dating. Next to Akaashi, Kenma was your best friend, which meant Hinata was now your best friend, too.

"Sounds like you're having a wild time there," you remark to his latest misadventure. "Keeping it interesting so Kenma will keep sponsoring you?" you add as a tease, giggling with delight when Hinata gets all flustered and embarrassed.

As Hinata tries to save face, you notice a young man looking at you sheepishly, like a child that's lost their parent. He couldn't be older than you, maybe he's younger than you. "Ah, I'll call you back, Sho," you interrupt, quickly ending the call and giving the stranger a kind smile. "Can I help you?"

He looks about as awkward as you feel as he takes the two extra steps to approach you. "This is probably really weird, but were you just on the phone to Hinata Shouyou?"

That's how you met Sekimukai Kouji, who just so happened to be Hinata's old friend from elementary school. Your world in Hokkaido didn't seem nearly as detached as it once used to, and you struck up an easy friendship with Kouji.

It didn't take long for the two of you to start dating. It felt freeing, for a little while. You felt happy, or at least you had tricked yourself into feeling happy. As the months ticked by, guilt began to gnaw at you. Were you actually happy or were you just using Kouji as a stand in for Kuroo? Should you even get to feel happy after how you broke Kuroo's heart?

It came to a head one day, several months after that fateful encounter, when you were getting hot and heavy with Kouji. You'd invited him over, it wasn't the first time he'd been over, with the intention to study until your brains were mush. Studious as you were, study took a backseat after an hour, when the numbers and letters started to swirl around your head and make even less sense than usual, when Kouji's hands found your thighs and your attention was very much no longer on the nonsense alphanumerics.

His hands gripping at your sides, pressing hot kisses into your neck, your hands in his hair, tugging fervently, when you both moaned different names. Neither name belonged to the present company.

You might have been more upset with yourself for allowing it to happen again, if Kouji hadn't done the exact same to you. You both break away with mortified expressions, apologies ready to spill from your lips, when you both register that you both fucked up. A tense second passes before your chuckle breaks the silence, and the tension with it, and you're both laughing at how ridiculous you both are.

Kouji opens up and explains how he's in love with his best friend from elementary school, has been for countless years now, how he's never had the courage to admit anything, too terrified to lose their friendship, and how he hoped you would have been able to distract him, for lack of a better word.

It's almost funny, if it weren't so damn sad. You were both using each other as a stand in. You recall Akaashi offering the exact same scenario to you almost two years ago and how ridiculous it had seemed at the time.

You explain yourself in turn, and you're both laughing with tears at how pathetic you both are. You encourage Kouji to shoot his shot, that having been friends with Izumi for so long means a confession couldn't possibly ruin anything. Kouji suggests you at least try and talk to Kuroo again, though he understands that your side is a lot more convoluted than his.

You break up that day, but you maintain a solid friendship with him, to the point that you still call each other by first name. You're the first person he calls after he confesses to Izumi, telling you with tears in his voice that he lasted a whole week being single. You congratulate him, just as teary eyed, so overwhelming happy for him, and insist on meeting his new boyfriend.

It's a bittersweet moment when you do finally meet Izumi, several weeks later. You're genuinely happy that it worked out, that Kouji is the happiest you've ever seen him in the short time that you've known him, but you can't help but feel a little bitter regarding your own feelings, on top of feeling like you don't deserve to feel badly about it, since it's all your doing.

You still spend time with Kouji, though the majority of your spare time is dedicated to Akaashi. When you're out on campus, Kouji will join you in a video call to Hinata. He doesn't visit you in your apartment anymore, which is just as well, since you've decided that your home is for you and Akaashi only (and Bokuto on his rare visits).

Your last year of college goes by uneventfully. In the final week leading up to your graduation, and your eventual eviction from the college housing with Akaashi, you're reminded that you need to find new housing in Tokyo. Hokkaido was only ever temporary, you loved the lifestyle of Tokyo, you loved the people in Tokyo.

Akaashi already has you covered. He doesn't take no for an answer when he tells you of the apartment he's secured, that the two of you aren't parting ways just yet, that Bokuto is still abroad and besides, you're just as important to him as Bokuto is. It makes your heart feel as light as a feather, makes you even more excited to graduate.

The new apartment is a lot more spacious than what you've been living in for the past four years. You decorate it together, going to the store together to find more space fillers, more indoor plants, to make the space something that's entirely you and Akaashi. Despite how perfect the place ends up becoming, how truly at home you feel in your new home, uncertainty gnaws at you. This isn't really your place, not really, not when Bokuto returns.

"Hey, Keiji," you lean over the island bench as Akaashi prepares a simple recipe for dinner. Bokuto is visiting this coming weekend, and you need to air your concerns before then. "What happens to me when Bokuto moves in?"

Akaashi regards you with a slight frown, as if he doesn't understand why you're asking, as if the answer is obvious. "Nothing," he says with a tone of obviousness that matches his expression. "This is your home, too."

You hum in thought, feeling your heart soar. "Yeah, but... won't it be weird for you? Having me around when you start getting serious with Bo?"

He stops what he's doing so he can give you his undivided attention. "My getting serious with Bokuto doesn't mean you have to leave. We've been living together for so long now, I think it would be weirder if we weren't." He places his hands over yours, giving them a gentle squeeze. "If you do want to move out when that happens, it'll be on your terms. I'm not going to force you out, and neither is Bokuto."

You blink back tears that you didn't know were welling up. You clear your throat and pull your hands back, feeling way too loved. You aren't sure what to say to such brutal honesty, even though you're used to his brand of honesty by now. Despite not replying, he seems satisfied enough with your reaction to continue with dinner, glancing at you occasionally with a soft smile. You can't help but reciprocate.

Bokuto moves in six months later, when he's finally released from volleyball hell. You find it isn't as uncomfortable as you first feared, and you continue to live with the happy couple for a following six months before you decide to move out. It pains you to do so, to leave your best friend of five years, but you aren't really leaving, not when you're moving a few blocks away. Akaashi insists that you visit frequently, which you do, and for the most part it's like you never even left.

But, now you have somewhere to go when Bokuto wants to have his friends over. More to the point, when Bokuto wants to have Kuroo over.

Bokuto never said anything about it, never asked if you would be okay with having Kuroo visit for the day, never even suggested it. He would only ever invite Kuroo over if he knew you weren't going to be home, and he would always make sure Kuroo was gone by the time you were due to return. He probably would have kept that up for years, but when you caught wind of what he was doing via Akaashi, you felt terrible. The apartment had become just as much Bokuto's home as it was yours, but you were making Bokuto have to treat his best friend like some kind of sinful secret.

Living alone wasn't bad. It took some time getting used to, and you very quickly had to learn how to cook on your own. You often phoned Akaashi during meal times, asking him how to do this or that, and sometimes he would just come over to help you. It was a good excuse for the both of you, as he missed you as much as you missed him.

As the fifth year ticked over and Bokuto's birthday inched ever closer, you came to terms with the inevitability that you would have to face Kuroo again. It was probably childish of you to hope you could avoid him for the rest of your life, to continue avoiding the truth of your feelings. It was amazing you'd managed to avoid him for over a year since moving back to Tokyo, especially during those six months where you lived with Bokuto. You told Akaashi that you were ready, that you weren't going to miss Bokuto's birthday for something so silly.

"I don't think it's silly," Akaashi disagrees. "Bokuto will understand."

"We're adults," you say with a shrug. "I can’t avoid him forever. I might even be able to apologise.”

#kuroo tetsurou #haikyuu #kuroo x reader #haikyuu x reader #kuroo x you #kuroo x y/n #kuroo tetsurou x reader #haikyuu fanfiction #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu scenarios #haikyuu x you #haikyuu x y/n #kuroo tetsurou x y/n #except hes your ex in this lmao #please free me from this prison #i didnt want this to become A Thing but it did

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plasticnightmaredoll · 4 years ago

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Well, it’s 2021, and my birthday week, so life has to just put more stress on me by having my back suddenly start hurting. Like, seriously, what the actual FUCK? I am going to be 34 years old this week, NOT 64 YEARS OLD. I am in good shape physically. I mean, I exercise regularly and eat decently enough. Mentally, I’m a mess but physically, this shit shouldn’t happen to me.

But I’m not even mad (anymore). This is just 2020 part 2, and the good times keep on avoiding everyone.

In order to cope with this newest drama, I decided to write a short self-insert involving Arkham Knight Riddler. It’s mostly me being a stubborn, bratty bitch and him being a bratty, stubborn bitch.

As it SHOULD be.

But there’s some fluff in it, too.

And maybe a hint at some suggestiveness if you squint.

“It’s not, like, I’m dying or anything,” I said, almost attempting to sit up but then I remembered the soreness in my back. “I just...need a little time to recover.”

“And tell me again how continuing your exercise routine and going back to work will help?” Edward demanded, crossing his arms as he narrowed his eyes at me.

“I just need to improvise, ok?” I explained slowly, deliberately, my voice starting to reveal the agitation that was boiling up inside me. “I just need to avoid doing certain movements and avoid lifting anything too heavy. Make sense?”

“Excuse my bluntness but, have you suddenly become stupid?!”

“What? No!”

“Gee, you could have fooled me. Tell me, where is the logic in putting yourself through unnecessary physical stress when you already have back pain?”

“Because this exercise routine is important to me, ok?!” I hissed, and my tone managed to startle Edward a bit, so I brought my mood back down to earth as best as I could. “I’ve been doing it for 6 years now, and it makes me feel good about myself because it helps me look good. It’s also one of the few things in my shitty life I have control over. It’s something to look forward to, something that’s kind of a reward, a way to unwind. If I lose it then…” I shrugged. “What do I have? Gaming?”

“Your obsession with your physical appearance is causing you to make the most ridiculous decisions.”

“It’s not a vanity thing! It’s not something I expect you to understand because you’re a guy, and guys don’t often face the same objectification as women --”

“So, that’s what this is? You’re trying to cater to society’s pointless opinions on physical beauty?”

“No! I mean...yes, but it’s also helping me. I don’t want to sit around all the time and do nothing. I want to do something, and I want to look and feel good while doing it.”

“And about this job of yours...it’s beneath you! I told you this before. You are paid piddlies while doing monotonous work for 10 hours a day -- oh, excuse me, a night -- and you are surrounded by people who probably all share one brain cell! You don’t deserve to be trapped in such a suffocating environment.”

“I won’t argue with you on any of that.”

“Because you agree.”

“Yes, but what am I supposed to do? Quit?”

“Yes!”

“Ok, then what am I supposed to do about money? Getting unemployment takes a century, and it’s not even going to be as much as the ‘piddlies’ I’m making now -- which is barely enough to get by as it is.”

“I can help you,” Edward said, kneeling down beside the couch where I lay. “Whatever you need I can provide. I have money now -- lots of it! More than I need.”

“I don’t need a Sugar Daddy,” I said as I tried to take a deep breath to calm myself but the stinging pain I felt as my ribs expanded with my lungs put an abrupt halt to that effort.

“It’s not that kind of arrangement I’m offering,” Edward said, sounding a little calmer now.

“I know, I know but...I don’t want help.”

“But you need it.”

“Maybe but I don’t want it.”

I started to sit up but the sharp pain in my back stopped me, and I let out a strained breath as I continued to try and force myself up.

“No, wait,” Edward said, pressing me back down by my shoulders. “What are you doing?”

I could tell he was worried by the somewhat fearful look in his eyes, and while I appreciated his concern, I wasn’t in need of being babied.

“I’m thirsty,” I said with a huff, frustrated with the entire situation. “I want something to drink. Now, if you’ll excuse me --”

“No!” Edward said sternly, holding me down. “Stay. I’ll get what you want.”

“Water with ice, please,” I said, too tired to argue anymore.

I laid there on my couch, feeling sorry for myself but also determined to NOT feel sorry for myself. Yes, I was a weakling when it came to pain, I bitched all the time, I could be quite lazy, and I could also be very snotty. I couldn’t just lay down and give up, though, and I didn’t want charity. In fact, I didn’t want to rely on anyone for help. I already bothered my parents enough -- even if they said they didn’t mind helping me whenever I needed it -- and I didn’t need to rope in someone else.

My life was shit and that was my problem to sort out.

When Edward returned, he set the water on a coaster on the table next to the couch before kneeling down on the floor.

“Just think about my offer, ok?” he said, and I could tell he wanted to be more aggressive about it because of the tension in his voice and shoulders but he managed to keep his feelings under control for the time being. “It wouldn’t be a problem for me. At all.”

“I’ll think about it,” I said. “Thanks, though.”

“Well, you...were there for me when I lost everything and…” he started blushing, clearing his throat quickly before continuing. “I want to return the favor.”

“For now, maybe you could just...rub my back?”

“Huh?”

“My back...I want to try and crack it, or just massage the muscles but I can’t reach.”

“Oh! Ok, yes, yes, I can do that.”

Edward helped me turn over, and I didn’t push him away. I was, as I already mentioned, too tired to argue, so I just let him assist me. I instructed him where to put his hands, how much pressure to apply, and I hugged the couch cushion tightly as I experienced some discomfort. I did hear -- and feel -- a few cracks, though, and they honestly felt … kind of good.

“Oh!” I said, lifting my head up a bit.

“Was that too much?” Edward asked, removing his hands.

“No, no, not at all. That...that felt kind of good, actually.”

“I’ll keep going then. Tell me if you feel any pain, though.”

I nodded and rested my chin on the pillow in my arms, wincing a little here and there but overall, his hands were helping more than hurting me. In fact, it must have been very relaxing because I woke up later in my bed, covered up and even cuddling my plush rabbit (that thing was as old as me, and luckily, Edward didn’t pass judgment about it). Looking around, I wondered if he had already left, seeing it was getting to be late in the evening, and my heart sank a bit. But he had a right to leave. He had his own life after all, and I didn’t need to be babied, remember?

Carefully, I rolled onto my side and pushed myself up, my back aching but I just pushed through it. When I was finally sitting on the edge of the bed, I took a few breaths to steady myself as I prepared to stand. That was when the door to my room opened just a bit.

“Oh, you’re awake,” Edward said, stepping into my room. “Are you ok? Do you need help?”

“I just need to pee,” I said, waving my hand. “I can do that by myself.”

“All right...do you think you might want something to eat?”

“Uh...yeah, maybe. Not sure what, though.”

I stood up and rubbed at my back, grimacing at the soreness. Edward was at my side before I could say anything and I gently pushed him aside.

“I got it, I got it,” I said, laughing softly. “I’m not an old lady.”

As I made my way to the bathroom, a thought came to me, a thought that got my heart racing and my face turning red. But I was compelled to ask Edward something, and...he was right there…

“Eddie?” I said, meekly.

“Yes?” he responded from the doorway.

“Could you, um...stay tonight? I-In case I need something.”

“Oh, um…”

“I mean, you don’t have to. I’m not, like, trying to --”

“I’ll stay.”

I felt so much relief upon hearing that I almost cried.

“I could stay...for a few days if you’d like?”

“I couldn’t ask for that much.”

“You’re not. I’m offering.”

“I’d appreciate it, honestly.”

“Then it’s settled then,” Edward said with a pleased hum. “I will just go grab a few things of mine. Do you think you’ll be ok on your own for a bit?”

“Yeah, yeah, that’s fine. I’ll be ok. Thanks…”

“In the meantime then, take care...my...Darling Devinette.”

Edward was gone before I turned to look back at him, surprised by the nickname. It wasn’t like he hadn’t used nicknames with me before but this time he sounded...different. Like...he was being...affectionate instead of just teasing? Or maybe I was just reading too much into it?

As I waited for Edward to return, though, I couldn’t help but push my pain aside and wonder if he’d call me that nickname in an endearing tone again while staying with me? I also hoped he wouldn’t mind rubbing my back again because, yes, it did help with the stiffness but it also...felt good for reasons I wasn’t going to admit out loud.

I shook my head as I heard Edward enter my apartment again, feeling like I was just being silly. He was a friend, we were friends, friends helped each other, friends had nicknames for each other, and back rubs weren’t always sensual. I was experiencing some back pain after all. So, no reason to get excited….

Right?

-----

And that’s it...for now.

Will there be a part 2? Maybe.

Will it get smutty? Possibly.

Is this self-indulgent? Definitely.

Is Arkham Knight Edward in character? God, I really hope so.

#edward nigma #riddler #arkham knight riddler #self-insert #arkhamverse riddler #self ship #arkham riddler #edward nygma #the riddler #self shipping #fictional others #f/os

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strangebrews · 5 years ago

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tea for two

Summary: After nearly two hours of preparation, Alfie was finally ready. The table was set, the tea was brewed, and the poison watched at the end of the counter. That was Alfie’s source of entertainment. // Alfie engages in tea party Russian roulette that he himself organized. Tommy, eventually, reacts.

Notes: i had a tiny idea regarding alfie organizing lethal tea parties for funsies a while back, and it became this. also thank you to @sholomons + @those-peakyboys for reading bits of this as a sanity check <3

Warnings: Suicidal Ideation/Suicide Scare/Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms/ - those are the main ones, but if you think there should be more let me know. The rest of them can be found on the AO3 post. I promise this isn’t some devastating ending though, lmao, technically is supposed to be //romantic// in a twisted Tommy Shelby way.

On AO3

------------

Alfie indulged in the art of organizing tea parties later in life, once the crime became routine and uninspiring.

The idea came to him one afternoon, while thumbing through the day’s post. He was struck by a revelation, of sorts, “yeah, because when I went to pick up my cup, right,” he had described the moment to Tommy in detail, “I noticed that there, at the very bottom where the tea leaves floated—there was a message.” His eyes had narrowed, voice low, fingers motioning in the air trying to conjure up the image, “and you know what they were saying to me, those leaves, Tommy—they were saying Alfie, you have got to stop hanging around that Shelby—his witchcraft and madness are starting to rub off on you ” he’d cackled then, which meant the origins would remain unexplained.

Alfie did, however, commit himself to the task.

He decided the event would take place in his dining room, using the hand-carved table featured there. Tommy watched him prepare from afar the day of the first tea party. He did not endorse the fucking behavior, but he was curious—it was rare to see Solomons fuss over plate placements.

A frilly tablecloth was dug out from the back of a cupboard, and freshly picked flowers decorated the middle. Alfie used his best porcelain set—the one he claimed was the last heirloom still in his possession from the mother’s side of his family. That bit was a lie, he had admitted to Tommy one day. Instead, he had Ollie scavenge it from some shop window with a sock over his head and tears in his eyes—but that tale was far less interesting. And the foundational role of any host, Alfie knew, was to entertain his esteemed guests.

Tiny silver spoons—ones which nearly disappeared in Alfie’s hand—lay atop carefully folded napkins. He drew the shades, and arranged the biscuits, lips pursed in concentration. The scene looked quite pretty, actually. Meticulously organized—an unexpected detail coming from Alfie Solomons.

And after nearly two hours of preparation, Alfie was finally ready. The table was set, the tea was brewed, and the poison watched at the end of the counter.

That was Alfie’s source of entertainment.

+++

His guests were an array of different people. Old friends, new enemies, long standing members of his payroll, a few of the fanciest individuals he knew—each person with some form of stain on their record, at some point having wronged him. Alfie was not entirely cruel.

“It’ll be a shame,” he had said, “but everyone dies at some point, yeah?”

The trick about the poison was that it took a while to pollute the veins. Alfie had considered this detail as thoughtfully as he had the decorations—determined to avoid frothing mouths from ruining the appeal of his parties. The winners would appear fine until the next morning, so the poison was untraceable in both taste and source.

For a while, at least. Though even if the pieces were eventually slotted together—who would be brave enough to accuse an aging man of serving tea?

“It just might be genius, Tommy.” Alfie had lifted the vial towards him, eyes glazed over with self-admiration. Going after him would look ridiculous, Alfie knew this. Tommy knew this, and he smiled besides himself. Perhaps it was.

And as any good host, Alfie partook in the activity himself—an equal player in the game. A few clear drops coated the bottom of a cup, the cups were mixed up, the location was forgotten.

The fact that Alfie had grown desensitized towards his own death was no shock—he and Tommy shared the same indifference. Though what Tommy struggled to understand was his sudden interest in openly pursuing it.

Though, didn’t they do that already? Alfie had asked. Their years brimmed with pacts, vindictive partners, with mouthing off to men whose fingers trembled against triggers. They had never run in the opposite direction of death, rather alongside it—the place where their paths would converge had always been just along the horizon. Alfie’s behavior was nothing but a variation of that.

“More creative.” he had claimed—better than being killed by a gun or a knife, “Or by a blade sewn into a fucking hat. Imagine that.” he smirked. It was only funny because they were past killing each other now—Alfie had beaten Tommy to the initiative.

+++

Of course, the cordial invitation had been extended to Tommy Shelby as well.

“And how have I wronged you?” Tommy had asked. Alfie laughed, promising it would be a clean cup, but Tommy refused regardless. The whole matter was much too dramatic for his taste.

He would stay the night of the tea party, though—was due for a fuck, anyway.

In truth, Tommy had been staying the night more frequently.

It was Alfie who had initially offered to move the location of their meetings . The official reason he’d cited was for more security, but Tommy had seen him holding his back in pain each time he’d stepped out of the office.

Fucking in a bed, as opposed to on a desk, toed the line with an intimacy Tommy was cautious about crossing, but the suggestion was too enticing to refuse—aging had not been doing either of them any favors. And because it was Alfie who had made the proposal, Tommy still had room to cut himself free of any strings attached.

The routine had continued as usual at first—business, fuck, leave. Tommy would gather his clothes frantically afterwards, hopping out the door with only one sock on. He was terrified of the implications staying longer would have—the consequences it could bring.

Though that chaos eventually transitioned into a slower collection of his belongings—fatigue and the haze of his orgasm tethering him to the bed. He stayed for longer, counted the cracks in Alfie’s ceiling and the number of stripes on his sheets. These extra moments seemed progressively less threatening.

“Are you truly that desperate to return to that lonely fucking castle of yours, mate?” The question came months later, while Tommy sat on the side of the bed, rubbing the stiffness from his legs. He was startled by the voice—Alfie tended to slip into a slumber nearly immediately after they’d pulled away from each other.

Lonely castle. It sounded worse when phrased that way. A kingdom crafted at the expense of everyone around him. Pitiful.

Tommy had not entertained Alfie with an answer, but still chose to lay back down—comforted by the idea of a few more hours of sleep. He left the next day wordlessly, and sleeping over became routine. The castle would still be standing in the morning.

Yet that change didn’t mean anything, Tommy reasoned. Whether he permitted himself to stay or not, it was still just fucking —nothing more complicated than that.

So perhaps it’d be a shame if Alfie finally won one of his rounds, Tommy thought the evening of that first tea party—his business would be missed. But he remained, on the whole, unbothered by it.

Everyone died at some point.

+++

Each chair was occupied with an esteemed guest the first time. They were all impressed by the sudden burst of hospitality—thankful for Alfie’s unspoken forgiveness of their past transgressions against him.

Assumption was quite lethal.

Meaningless chatter swelled the air in the room, shrill laughter echoing off of the walls. Alfie floated from place to place, offering stories and more food, savoring each one of his sips. He chuckled often, rolled his eyes on cue, and held his pinky up.

It was a performance, yet no one in attendance was aware they were a part of the show.

He caught their attention in particular with a story from before the war. Something to do with a stray dog, an appalled mother and a wet carpet—certain elements of which were exaggerated. “Oh Alfie!” he’d felt a small pat on his shoulder, a gesture which in any other circumstances would have earned the person a cut on the cheek, but Alfie simply smiled and patted back. It could be you .

Alfie found excitement in it all—an ironic strengthening of the energy which had been slowly draining from his body.

It was nearly enough to forget about the cancer.

Cancer could have been considered a motive—it was the letter from the doctor speculating about his expiration date which had sparked the inspiration for the tea party business. Though Alfie didn’t like to dwell on that coincidence. Much rather preferred to keep the reason as Alfie’s sudden burst of twisted thrill-seeking . Not that anyone would know about the sickness, regardless—Thomas Shelby included. He fully intended to live out these days undisturbed by sympathy.

He came to bed that night with cheeks flushed and things to say. Granted, Alfie always had a mouth full of words, but they were stories this time—things he’d seen and heard. Tommy had propped himself up against the headrest, pulling on cigarette after cigarette, feigning disinterest.

A cousin of the Sabini’s had brought Alfie a bottle of wine, he learned. There had been a bit of tea spilling on the carpet sometime in the middle, though it had occurred after a refill, Alfie reassured. Nearly everyone offered some comment about the design on the porcelain, sniffed the flowers, and claimed they had enjoyed themselves in the doorway.

“Silly little puppets, yeah—every last one.” Alfie had laughed and blown the candle on the nightstand out. It was nice, actually, being able to share this bit of secrecy with Tommy. An outlet, of sorts, and it helped that Alfie did not have to truly explain himself to him.

It was the first night Tommy stayed which did not involve fucking.

+++

Tommy continued accepting the invitations to be an invisible guest.

Unsurprisingly, one party had not been enough to satiate Alfie’s newfound appetite for this version of Russian roulette and finger sandwiches, so he kept organizing them. It tended to be the same crowd each time, with a few new faces here and there—replacements for any vacant seats.

Alfie gradually grew fancier—a nicer tablecloth, more biscuits, a larger array of tea. He had different stories to tell, new rings to show off and even Ollie had grown quite fond of the flower picking aspect of his job, asking a few days in advance if he had any preferences.

Alfie collapsed beside Tommy after the fifth party, exhausted and unwilling to relay the night’s events. It wasn’t necessarily healthy for his back, Tommy had mused—all those hours of wandering around the room, hunched over chairs—but his mouth stayed shut, and they fell asleep in silence.

Even after nights when his insomnia had been generous, Tommy woke first.

Alfie breathed beside him.

It was a relief, Tommy admitted—spared him the dramatics of having to drag Alfie out from between the sheets himself. He’d imagined that scenario once or twice while waiting on Alfie to stop his entertaining, considering what exactly he would do with Alfie’s body just—laying there. Notify the staff most likely, but he wasn’t quite sure what beyond that. Perhaps shake his hand, or pay his respects through a whispered congratulations , yet Alfie always managed to interrupt that train of thought before anything concrete was decided on.

He was hesitant to leave the morning after the fifth night, oddly disappointed that Alfie had not shared any stories. It was an uncomfortable feeling, but he decided to wait until Alfie woke. There was time to spare, Tommy argued with himself, it was the weekend—as if that meant anything in this line of business.

Idling in bed until the moment arrived was out of the question. Roaming his halls also seemed inappropriate—and risky, in case Ollie had let himself in. So Tommy settled on visiting the kitchen to eat. Attempt to, at least.

Preparing food provided only momentary relief from the fact that staying had been an absolutely idiotic idea. Tommy brewed some tea—for the irony, if anything else—and made toast. Some for him, some for Alfie, though he winced at the choice and threw Alfie’s portion in the bin. Too much.

He opened the morning paper. Squirmed in his chair. Checked the time. Returned to reading. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

Alfie eventually joined him in the kitchen, sleep still settled on his limbs. His hair was sticking up in uneven tufts, beard flattened on the side he’d been lying on. Nothing indicated he was surprised that Tommy had remained in the house.

“So you’re still here then, eh?” Tommy said, eyes on the news, but desperate to fill the silence.

Alfie only ran a heavy palm across his face. “Yeah, still fucking here.”

+++

The parties remained successful and Alfie’s enthusiasm persisted. Guests streamed in week after week—whether out of fear or curiousity was unclear. It was quite unusual to be in Alfie Solomon’s presence within an unthreatening environment, but they seemed to appreciate his change in character.

And the tea was always delicious.

It was Tommy who suffered the change in opinion, pacing the bedroom with a clenched jaw. He had certain ideas—to make an appearance, peek through keyholes or press his ear to the door, to somehow interfere—but he cast them all aside.

Time alone had never been healthy for him. Funny, for a man who ensured his own abandonment.

Nervous. The word finally rose above all of the other thoughts at one point and settled bitterly on his tongue. Tommy was nervous.

“Aren’t you fucking bored of this yet, Alfie?” he asked as casually as possible, in between pulls of his cigarette, but Alfie had shook his head.

“I should have done this sooner.” he claimed, eyes dancing, and for some reason the sentence felt like a slap to the face.

Tommy did not fight back.

+++

Alfie retired earlier than usual one night, reasoned it was due to a headache. Tommy bit down on his lip to prevent any visible reaction.

He slipped under the covers, hand searching for the band of Tommy’s pants —ar ousal had always reigned above pain for Alfie —but Tommy swatted it away, ignoring the slight tenting. “Not today, Alfie.”

Alfie grunted. It was not necessarily unusual for Tommy to refuse him, though Tommy’s face was flushed, teeth gnawing at the inner flesh of his cheek. There was still potential in the moment.

“But Tommy,” he whispered, sliding up against him, lips grazing Tommy’s neck and fingers playing at his hip. “I may be dead tomorrow.” and he placed a firm kiss to his Adam’s apple. It was only meant to be a teasing remark —nothing more than Alfie’s greedy attempt at extracting a fuck out of the other man—but the words wrapped themselves around Tommy’s throat.

Tommy snatched Alfie by the hair, tearing him away from his skin. Their eyes met, Alfie squirming besides himself under the cold stare. “You might be dead tomorrow.” Tommy repeated, nodding in agreement. Out of reach .

And he kissed him.

Once. Twice. Grip slowly loosening, hips finally shifting into Alfie’s touch. His hand remained in the hair, the other one snaking around Alfie’s waist, clothes being peeled off feverishly. Alfie’s efforts proved successful.

They fucked that night to the brink of exhaustion, wrapped in the darkness, spent and gasping for air, and when Alfie pulled away, Tommy choked on a please echoing in his throat.

It was a hollow plea—for something he was too terrified to admit.

+ ++

The following morning after he woke, Tommy lingered in bed.

Alfie snored facing him, rested on top of his left arm. Sleep softened him, Tommy noted—hid the pain behind his eyelids, smoothed the creases from his forehead. He reached out hesitantly to run the backs of his fingers across Alfie’s shoulder, along the shell of his ear, his jaw, tugging down the covers to find his thighs. It was a peaceful moment—rare and terminal—and Tommy was suddenly gripped by an urge to memorize it. Drink in every detail.

Tommy took advantage of the safety unconsciousness had provided him and settled back down, shifting closer to Alfie’s body—close enough so that the tips of their noses were brushing against one another. He lay still, soaking in the warmth of Alfie’s exhales, and tried to align their breathing.

The task proved to be more challenging than expected. Tommy stumbled over his own inhales, yet Alfie continued to be one breath ahead of him. Inhale. Exhale . Out of sync. And it was a silly effort, naive and trivial, but Tommy’s heart still hammered at his ribcage in frustration. Because there had to be something there , in the alignment. Some kind of meaning, a mutual understanding shared between their bodies. A form of reassurance. A sign of togetherness —that Tommy was not fucking mad for wanting to share these breaths with Alfie for longer than the bastard had planned for himself.

But each attempt sputtered and failed.

He slammed his fist into the mattress and rolled off the bed, waking Alfie in the process.

The toast was burnt that morning.

No tea— fuck tea.

Alfie walked into the kitchen, rubbed a palm across his face instinctively. The regular question never arrived, but he answered its ghost regardless. “Still here.”

Yes , Tommy thought, miraculous .

He left for Birmingham immediately after breakfast, and abandoned his tendency of visiting Alfie in between the special occasions. He would know when the next party would be—the invitation would arrive in the post a few days before it.

+++

A week later, there were only 16 people in attendance, two couples were missing. Whether they had grown suspicious or were dead was left unclarified—Alfie was only interested in one outcome.

The event proceeded as usual: eat, laugh, sip, Alfie refilling his cup more frequently than usual. Nobody questioned the absence. It was normal.

And then it was not, because Tommy Shelby walked into the room — eyes bloodshot, scanning the scene.

There was a 1 in 16 chance that Alfie poisoned himself today, Tommy noted, but he had endured this night after night and he found he’d grown quite bored of the adrenaline. The uncertainty. So he took a stand at the head of the table this time around, his hand hidden behind his coat.

It was meant to be a distraction, perhaps a form of confession —anything to get Alfie to stop these fucking games. Whispers swept the room, mouths parted in surprise—it was a rare occurrence, seeing Tommy Shelby in attendance—and Alfie sighed, because he knew, he fucking knew that Thomas was here to spoil the fun.

The gun pointed to Tommy’s head, and Tommy’s head pointed towards Alfie.

“One,” 15 pairs of alarmed eyes stared at Tommy’s finger on the trigger. Only 1 pair glared back into his own. Alfie refused to set the teacup down.

“Have you gone fucking mad, mate?” Tommy had actually heard they called this love .

“Two.” The guests were moving, tripping over chairs, rugs, each other, searching frantically for the exit. The taboo of witnessing a potential suicide outweighed their curiousity, it seemed. So easy to clear a room.

The doors slammed shut, silence replacing the sound. It was empty now. Just him, and Alfie, and the gun, and the poison laughing out from one of the cups.

“Three.” Bang.

Tommy’s body crumpled to the floor.

He was lying half underneath the table when Alfie finally walked over. His eyes were wide open. Unscathed.

Alfie snatched the gun from his hand, clicked open the cylinder. “Tommy, you know, you’re not fucking invited to the next one, yeah?” the first shot had been a blank, but there was a single bullet inside. “Right—on account of the fucking mess you’ve made here today.”

“I’m well aware, Alfie.” he was tracing the pattern of the table’s wood with a shaky finger. Alfie grunted and tossed the gun aside. He collapsed awkwardly beside him, taking Tommy’s hand into his own. It would weather his joints even further, lying down here on the floor, Alfie was well aware, but this was the only act of affirmation which seemed appropriate.

He did not ask about the bullet. He knew why it was there. Kept as a precaution—in case Alfie had decided to drink anyway.

They breathed together.

#ok giving up after this try #tommy x alfie #alfie x tommy #sholomons #tofie #tommy shelby #alfie solomons #thomas shelby #peaky blinders #mine

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stardancerluv · 4 years ago

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Puzzle Piece

Part 7a

Summary: Alot of things come to light.

Note: reader has esteem issues, oral sex male receiving, dom!kink, & sex.

Getting a drink, you poured yourself some sake. You knew this particular one should be warmed but right now, you could not handle that formality. You needed to simply drink it. Within the last week your entire world had turned upside down.

For certain you were grateful that Ford had not died. You were also grateful that you no longer had to worry about why a chill clung to him or his heart that barely beat. Though your whole idea of reality, living and being dead were no longer anything you were certain of.

Swallowing the smooth liquid you tried to grasp onto something. You couldn’t. While pouring yourself a third, a fuzzy warmth made you feel less unsure about things. You grabbed the bottle and made your way back to your bedroom. You found Ford sitting with his back against the headboard.

“There you are.” He remarked.

You smiled and went over to him. “I needed a drink.”

His mouth twitched upward. “A few actually from the smell of it. Did you bring some for me?”

You nodded. “For us.” You put the bottle down on your nightstand. You eyed his lap, before meeting his eyes. “May I?”

He nodded. “Yes, you know I enjoy you in my lap.”

You couldn’t place a finger on it, possibly because of the sake, but that was oddly the most erotic and comforting thing you had ever heard. Right now, both were exactly what you needed to feel alive, grounded.

Climbing up you straddled his lap, leaned over and grabbed the bottle. His fingers grazed yours as he took it from you. “I need to catch up.” He sniffed it. “Oh.” He made a soft sound. “This is a good one.” You watched as he took a hearty gulp.

“So why me?”

He took the bottle from his lips, and rubbed them with the back of his hand. He put the bottle down. “When I saw you on that park bench I had to come over and say hi. You were so lovely.” He idly ran his hands on your thighs before he rested them beside you. “The night before I had fallen asleep in one of the bushes in that park, it was your delicate scent that roused me from the darkness.”

“Because you wanted to eat me?”

He chuckled and shook his head. “I’ve wanted to devour you. But not like that.” He smirked. “I thought we could have fun together.”

“Oh?”

He nodded. “Yeah baby, then you challenged me and excited me. I grew curious.” He looked away before looking back at you as he raked his fingers through his hair. “Honestly, I have enjoyed how dynamic you are.”

“How’s that?” You took the bottle and took a swig, you weren’t sure if you wanted the answer. Though how he said you were caused nervousness in the bottom of your tummy.

“Living this long I’ve grown bored with the usual meeting and getting to know someone. I haven’t bothered getting to know anyone, I’ve just been eating and walking away.”

You nodded. “What makes me different?”

“Your beauty drew me and then I grew to care about you.” He simply said.

Something about that was particularly dark. It excited you, you didn’t know why but it did. “Should I worry, that one day you will tire of me?”

He shook his head. “Baby, I let it be known that you’re mine. I claimed you.” Taking the bottle from you, he took another drink again. “To be honest, I’ve never done that. I’ve had a few who stuck around but I never claimed any of them.”

You knew that you should be happy that he claimed you, but you were pretty sure that you couldn’t compete with anyone else he had cared for. You were just you. Desperately, you tried to withdraw emotionally. He could very well have fallen for princesses or queens, how could you possibly compete.

“Baby, don’t pull away. There is no reason to even feel a twinge of jealousy.”

You opened your mouth to say something, but the fact that he knew stopped you. “How?” Was all you could say, as your heart beat painfully in your chest at the thought of the others.

“I could feel it. I’ve developed gifts over all my years. One of them is gauging the emotions I feel coming off people. It makes me a better hunter.”

“How could I compete with anyone? I’m just a girl.” He placed a finger to your lips, but you brushed it aside as tears prickled your eyes. “A girl,” you swallowed. “whose lover was killed. You are like a sex god on two legs, who has probably had several women begging to be with you.”

A smug expression washed over his face but then it grew serious. Your breath quickened as his hands drifted up your legs till they slipped under you cami. “Do you have any idea how desirable you are?” His thumbs caressed your sides gently.

You looked away, you had not felt that way in years. Even then, Jerome had been the one to convince you. His cool hands gently squeezed your hips. “Look at me.” His voice had an edge, which brought knots to the pit of your stomach.

Reluctantly you did. His blue eyes dark and his lips were a grim line. “When I was a mortal, artists sketched me or carved my likeness. That’s why I became a fucking ghoul. The vampire who took my life felt my beauty needed to be preserved.”

You had been right, but for the first time ever you didn’t want to be. Why hadn’t the vampire made him a vampire, wasn’t a ghoul a step down, you wondered.

“It’s something I’ve always taken pride in. I use my looks and my charm.” He smirked. “To get what I want, when I want it. But to be honest, when I saw you I’ve never wanted anyone like I want you.”

You flushed.

“Look, the first one I had a relationship with was a handmaiden of Cleopatra, I was infatuated with her. She had taught me how to be a man. I had been a boy with an infatuation.” He shrugged. “When I heard she had died with her mistress, I fled. I stuck to the shadows and avoided all those with ties to Rome.”

“How?” Your interest was growing.

He placed a finger to your lips. “One day, I will tell you. But not now. Ok?” He rose his eyebrows.

You nodded. Something about how he spoke to you now or even silenced you, made you incredibly happy to be his. It made your heart race. It felt as if some kind of wall that had been between the two of you was finally gone.

“The last one I had any kind of connection to was a lady in the court of Czar Nicholas’s wife, Alexandra.” He shrugged. “We met by chance and got to exist outside of the world of rules and protocols of the court.” He grimaced. “What we had was more mutual, but like the one before her. She died. We never saw it coming. Once again, I escaped with those of my kind. I managed to make it here to America where I stayed till the wind of violence ended.”

He took another swig. “So there I am, I was drawn to you baby. You are special in ways I never knew existed. The ghost of your past love was worthy of novels and poems. How you survived his death is beyond me. You are so damn strong. Till you I never knew ghosts were real. I always thought it was some silly way humans would cope with death.”

“But...” He put his finger to your lips again. This time you closed your eyes when he did, letting a soft sound come from you. Something grabbed you as he spoke. It was intoxicating.

“All right, I’ll be quiet.” You said softly, your lips grazing his fingers. Slowly, you opened your eyes.

You watched as he licked and bit his bottom lip. You could not resist squeezing your legs against his.

“I went for a drink.” He continued. “I needed to see if I could push you away. You brought an intensity, an energy in me I had not felt since my maker. It was there I met Jerome. He told me of you and what had happened to him.”

Your breath caught at his name. It had been Jerome, that showed you desire, need. But now with Ford. It was so sharp and intense. As he rocked you gently, he went back to having both hands under your cami. The ache you began to feel for Ford was growing.

“He had wanted to tell me, that he wished you nothing but happiness. That he had wished you’d move on and now be with me. He sees something in me, that I don’t even understand.” He made a face. “But he so desperately wanted the pain you had been feeling to be replaced with love and passion once again.”

“Perhaps that’s why he went into me. I still don’t understand any of it. But know this, that despite caring for those others, I always saw an eventual end.” He shrugged. “Maybe not murder but an end.” He drew close. A sigh came from you as you felt his hand on your cheek, his thumb caressing you. “I don’t see that with you.”

“Ford?”

“Yes.”

“Kiss me.” You breathed.

“I’m going to do more than that.” He pulled you against him. “Do you feel that?”

You moaned, he was very hard under the cotton pajama pants he had slipped into. You’re slick with your desire. “I do but there is something I’ve been wanting to do. Will you indulge me?” You met his eyes from under your lashes.

“Indulge you? I suppose I could.” His words made you shiver.

Gently taking his hands, you placed them beside the two of you. You shimmied till you were between his legs. Once you were kneeling, you reached up and released him comfortably from the confines of his pajama pants.

Your mouth watered. You wrapped your fingers around him, moving up and down. Meeting his eyes, you smiled. “I’ve been wanting to devour you. Feel you hard in my mouth.”

“Baby.” He purred, his fingers ran through your hair.

Holding him you licked slowly from base to tip. You could vaguely remember the lovemaking the two of you had done earlier. Though, you could tell he must have tidied himself up before he had drifted off. You slowly slipped him into your mouth. It felt so good to have him there. Though he certainly filled your mouth like he had the rest of you.

As you braced yourself, you smiled as one of his hands held yours, your fingers interlaced. While with his other hand he gently held your hair to help anchor you and let you set the pace.

Your lips and tongue worked together. The beat of the ache between your legs began to match your pace. For a moment, you just barely paused as you felt his fingers withdraw from your hair or how you were no longer holding hands. But the pleasure from dragging your mouth up and down on him was too good to stop.

You felt a slight tug then a breeze, as the fabric of your cami floated down on either side of you.

You moaned around his hardness as you arched to his touch. His fingers had found the tiny buds that were your nipples. He rolled them between his fingers.

A low purr that could have been a growl came from him. “Does my baby like that?”

Somehow you managed a yes, as you moved with his fingers feeling yourself get even wetter. You could have cum from just that. You sucked and moved even tighter over his hard length.

He trembled himself, you pulled your mouth off him. You met his eyes. “Do you want to-” a loud moaned poured from yours as his fingers continued to play with your nipples. You writhed and arched where you knelt.

“What baby? What do I want?”

You swallowed. “Do you want to cum in my mouth or in me?”

One of his hands left your breasts and you felt as his thumb dragged across your lower lip. “As much as I want to cum in this sweet mouth of yours. I want you to ride me as I sit.”

“Oh...” Your voice shook at his words.

Gathering yourself up and hovering above him, you then slid onto his length. You loved how his hands rested on your hips. Together you moved. Your eyes locked, occasionally a hungry kiss took you. But it would break as a moan would come over the two of you.

Lost in the feeling of him so deeply inside, you took his hands and held them against your headboard. Holding them there you rode him harder.

He drew close. “Are you pinning me to your headboard?”

You pressed a little harder, as you did you felt a little wetter. “Maybe.”

“All right.” He said in a tone you couldn’t read as his lips curled into a smirk.

You were calling out when you found yourself on your back with your hands pinned above your head. He was above and deep inside you.

A moan poured from you.

“You need to know, you need to feel who has claimed you, baby.”

“Yes.” Was all you could say.

You trembled under him, he continued to move in and out.

“Are you mine?”

“Yes.”

“Yes, what?”

“I’m yours.”

“Are you going to let me feel you cum around me?”

You matched his thrusts. And before you could stop yourself you did just that.

“That’s my baby.”

Moving his grip on your wrists, he let you wrap your arms around him as he thrust deeper and you melted under him.

“You’re mine. All fucking mine.” He growled. And then you felt as he came deeply in you.

*****

Sighing, languid kisses between the two of you were passed as he held you in the hot bath. Your sweet smelling bath salts swirled in the water. Relaxation and just tenderness was between you.

“You’re going to regret not letting me have her ghoulie. Mark my words. Relax now I’d say, she will be in pieces at what will be left of your mangled body.” Ford stiffened as the vampire’s voice filled his mind.

“Fuck you, fangs.” He concentrated and soon he pushed the vampire out.

“Ford, Ford.”

Startled he looked at you. “Yes, baby?”

“You were suddenly far away.”

He chuckled. “It’s you, baby. You leave me dazed.”

You smiled. “Oh Ford, you can be so silly.” You chuckled and nestled close.

Choices and decisions had to be made. In the end, he was certain he wasn’t going to like what had to be done in order to beat that fucking vampire. But now he held your warm curvy body tighter against him and allowed his dead heart to enjoy more heartbeats than it’s had in centuries.

@mac-n-cheesie @shantellorraine @vcat55 @fandomgirl800

#femi!reader #ewan mcgregor #ewan mcgregor imagine #ewan mcgregor angst #ewan mcgregor fluff #ewan mcgregor fanfiction #ford #ford imagine #ford fanfiction #ford angst #ford fluff #ford x you #ford x y/n #ford x reader #ford smut #cold wars tales from the cyrpt #tales from the cyrpt #puzzle pieces #part 7a

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glenngaylord · 5 years ago

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HOW SWEDE IT IS - My Review of MIDSOMMAR (4 Stars)

[Excerpted from https://thequeerreview.com/]

Getting dumped sucks. Sometimes you feel it coming on like a slow moving train, unable to stop it, and when it hits you, you experience a long, drawn out kick to the gut. The world feels incomprehensible, nothing makes sense, and you feel like it never will again. You can’t avoid the pain, and you may not even want to anyhow. It’s like watching a horror movie where you don’t want the protagonist to go in that basement, but you have a stronger urge to see what’s down there. Ari Aster, who made his startling debut last year with Hereditary, understands that the best horror plays with real human fears, be it disease, abandonment, or loss of control. Reportedly based on a painful breakup of his own, his MIDSOMMAR uses folk horror as the spine on which to lay down his thoughts on a dying relationship, and it’s a delicious, morbidly funny, gore-filled, visually stunning, gorgeously designed, perfectly indulgent 2 hours and 20 minutes of sun-dappled, rainbow colored dread.

Dani (the captivating Florence Pugh) experiences a tragic loss at the outset of the film, and her paralyzing grief wears down her emotionally incapable boyfriend Christian (Jack Raynor, whose schlubby stoner look from Sing Street has morphed into an almost Chris Pratt level of matinee idol looks). Encouraged to cut ties with his needy girlfriend by his fellow grad students, Christian and his friends plan a summer getaway to Sweden to attend a once in a lifetime cultural festival. His friends include Mark, a quip machine played to deadpan perfection by Will Poulter (Detroit), Josh (William Jackson Harper of The Good Place), an anthropological scholar intent on writing his thesis about European folk culture, and the gentle, soft spoken Pele (Vilhelm Blomgren), who invites everyone to his village commune for their once-every-ninety-years activities. Unable to cut ties with Dani because of her trauma, he half-heartedly invites her along, and to his surprise, she says yes.

This first act perfectly captures a pair in their death throes, where questions seem like accusations, and pauses reveal underlying truths. Aster borrows heavily from Roman Polanski, as he did with his debut film, by allowing negative and offscreen space and holding onto shots longer than normal, to create elastic tensions. It’s so refreshing to watch a filmmaker, who creates strong, classic frames with his cinematographer Pawel Pogorzelski, take his time, avoiding the rushed cutting style of his contemporaries. He also really thinks through his transitions, creating an unforgettable one where Dani, in an overhead shot, rushes into an apartment bathroom, only to reveal that she’s now on an airplane headed for Scandinavia. I also savored the delightfully disorienting upside-down shots of the road as the group drives toward their destiny.

Now most filmmakers, at this point would want to get to the gore and bloodletting, but Aster wants us to live with that sinking feeling for as along as possible. So before our doomed Americans arrive at the proper camp, they stop just outside of it for an extended interlude where they imbibe hallucinogenic mushrooms. This allows Dani, a bundle of uptight, frayed nerves to perhaps chill out, but it has the opposite effect. She has scars, and Pugh takes us on a master class of expressions. Is she crazy or is she simply with a guy incapable of giving her what she needs? Ahh, relationships can suck, even in a seemingly perfect environment where the sun barely sets and the villagers offer up the perfect embodiment of an ABBA tune. Most horror films take place in the dark and freak us out with their jump scares. This film operates in bright sunlight and terrifies with very few shock tactics. Sometimes a misunderstanding can haunt your dreams more than someone shouting, “Boo!” Here we get a Swedish death cult that looks like a lot of ridiculous fun.

Obviously this experience has far more to offer than maypole dances and giant feasts. Henrik Svensson, making his feature debut as a Production Designer, has created the weirdest, most ominous storybook environment with an endless array of folk paintings lining the walls of his interiors. They look cute until you take a harder look at the terrifying and carnal tales they depict. Same goes for everything going on in the background of most shots. The pleasant folk dress in white, classically Swedish garb, almost sprinkling fairy dust wherever they go, but look off in the distance and you’ll spy couples doing inexplicable things. The genius of these scenes is that these people, called the Hårga, always appear to be kind and caring. From their point of view, they never do anything wrong. Bobby Krlic, who goes by the name The Haxan Clock, adds immeasurably to the tone of this film with his rich, evocative score.

Aster mines most of this folk horror from the fact that we have a clash of cultures who don’t understand each other and often nod their heads to pretend that they do. When something unexpected, something insanely disturbing and gory, happens, it had me questioning our American norms versus those in other parts of the world.

At this point, many may feel the film stretches credibility, that our protagonists would get the hell out of this place right away. But due to Pele’s sweet persuasiveness and maybe in small part to those drugs they keep imbibing in every cup of that mysterious tea, they stay. Besides, we get an audience surrogate of sorts with an English couple who go crazy when the pagan rituals start to have a body count. While many characters meet their doom, we’re on Dani’s journey, who travels from grief towards her own method of coping. Aster may have a great time staging the bizarre rites of this cult, but he’s more interested in finding a catharsis for his heroine. Where he ends up, in that perfect final second, proved thrilling and strangely real. The violence, the crazy shots of throbbing, undulating meats, the Hannibal level of murder dioramas, however, will also stick in your head.

While this film pings on the may themes found in Rosemary’s Baby, such as not really knowing your partner, suspecting an evil undercurrent lies beneath the people around you, and, yes, even drinking strange liquids, Aster reverses the roles at times and has a more avenging spirit. This film would make a great triple bill with that film along with the recent remake of Suspiria. The latter really felt similar when things go absolutely bonkers in the third act. With copious amounts of nudity, sex, and bloodshed, both films use giggle-inducing absurdity to create its own form of horror. You won’t soon forget what one character does to another’s butt, and I’ll just leave it at that.

Many will lose their patience with this film, or find it more silly than scary. I, however, loved every drawn-out minute of it It challenges how we view death. It allows for the possibility that it’s sometimes ok to be alone. It makes you wonder if our own customs make any sense, and it may make you think twice about judging the basket case who seems to suck all the energy out of a relationship. In the end, that person may be the only sane person in the room. And isn’t that terrifying?

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viduregia-blog · 6 years ago

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-- Prompt 01: Questionnaire

(content warning for: disordered eating, maybe substance abuse?)

01. Tell us about your character’s name. Was it given to them or chosen? Does it hold any special meaning? If your character has aliases or nicknames, how did they get them and what do they mean?

Her birth name was largely picked because one of her moms thought it sounded pretty-- it’s not much deeper than that from an in-fiction perspective.

And Uria Grata, the primary alias that she uses, is the name of a girl whose identity she stole... So it was picked for that reason LOL. Her second most used alias, Violet Waxbi, was designed to help her blend in among various different groups while on the job.

Out of fiction, I’m a giant fucking nerd and adapted her birth name from that of a brood parasite (aka bird that puts its eggs in the nests of other birds), and her aliases are both plays on the name of the bird that this specific brood parasite takes advantage of.

Also when she was a kid some of the other gang members called her Songbird (because i said so), and she still occasionally uses it as a call sign or whatever.

02. What is your character’s relationship to their homeworld? Do they hold fond memories of it, or do they hate it? Are they still here, and if not, do they miss it?

i mean............... she’s definitely not still there! kinda sucks when ur planet goes boom but she’s coping ! sort of !! sure wish more of her family and friends had gotten off planet with her !!

So mostly she tries to avoid thinking about Taris. But. There aren’t many positive memories of the planet itself, it was dirty and and oppressive and, later, war torn. Most days she didn’t see the sun, and good food was hard to find at the best of times. Memories of the people there are much more favorable, though, and sometimes she misses that. Sometimes she even misses the smell and everything just because it was so familiar.

Getting off Taris was one of the best things she ever did, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt sometimes.

Getting her family off Taris was just as important, even if it took a lot of convincing-- but with the Exchange taking over, even they could see that things weren’t likely to get better. A good quarter of the Hidden Beks had managed to find refuge elsewhere before the quarantine and Taris’ eventual destruction, Vidu’s family included.

03. Describe your character’s relationship with those who raised them. Was it positive? Negative? Neutral? What sorts of ideologies were they raised with, and do they still stand by them now?

She loves her moms!!! and the other older swoop gang members that helped them raise her! Loves them so much she almost didn’t leave for Coruscant when she got the chance but they weren’t gonna stand for that... It was a very tearful mushy goodbye.

Growing up, there was a lot of emphasis on loyalty and working for the good of the group, and she still carries that with her, though she’s expanded her gang to include the whole of the Republic at this point. Just one huge family. Also, a healthy dose of distrust for strangers.

04. What is your character’s relationship with the Force? Is your character Force-sensitive? Whether or not they are, do they believe in it? Do they lean more towards the dark or the light or are they somewhere in between?

I mean maybe if you squint real hard there might be a hint of force around her but like....... Not enough to do anything with. Once in a blue moon she has a gut feeling abt something and it turns out right, but like, it’s probably just intuition? She does believe in it well enough, though-- like, she’s seen a few Jedi at work. They do fancy stuff that seems to support the whole force thing. She doesn’t think about it very much, but she knows it’s out there.

If she had more sensitivity she would rest somewhere in the middle, though. She’s all about shades of gray.

05. What three word would you use to describe your character? What three words would your character use to describe themself? What three words would someone close to them use?

me: determined, resourceful, scattered

vidu: i don’t have time for this (yes she knows that’s more than three words)

del, sis agent: stubborn, protective, hot

06. Describe your character’s aesthetic. Do they tend towards fashion or function? Do they like to accessorize? How does this extend into their own personal spaces, such as their home or their workspace?

god she misses the days when aesthetic didn’t matter as much..... she spent her whole youth running around in whatever fabric she could throw on at the last second.... although occasionally she made the whole gang attend her “fashion shows” but even then, it was mostly her making her brothers and anyone else nearby dress up silly......

now, though, she has to dress up and accessorize properly as a matter of survival. if she doesn’t look the part, who knows what’ll happen? this applies to her apartment, too-- it very much looks the part. although, it and her desk are also Always some level of a total mess. there’s lots of shoving dirty clothes under the bed when someone comes to visit.

07. What are your character’s vices? Guilty pleasures? Bad habits? Weak spots?

in her down time, she’s a real sucker for anything that feels luxurious. vidu almost never takes a day off, but u can bet when she does she spends the whole day in the bath!! u can also bet she spent most of at least one paycheck on super fancy soft sheets, and has more nice alcohol in her apartment than she does food.

she does have the unfortunate habit of substituting drink (alcohol, caf, experimental energy drinks, protein shakes, etc) for food, though, and most days she only eats once because she forgets so easily. she’s just not used to food being that easily accessible!! she probably never will be!! and if she’s not in polite company, chances are high she’ll scarf her food so fast it gives her a stomach ache...

other bad habits: having zero relationships outside of work, and finding dares almost impossible to resist

08. Tell us about your character’s relationship with food. What are their favorites? Do they enjoy cooking? Are they adventurous? Will they eat absolutely anything or are they hard to please?

Oops i guess I talked about it a little in the last question, BUT.... yeah, she’s not great about food. As a kid it wasn’t always easy to come by, and now that it is she doesn’t know what to do with it. How do manage eating schedule?? How do GROCERY SHOP?? ???? ? No. If she doesn’t snag something at work then she’s either not eating or she’s ordering out.

Pretty sure Vidu has never cooked-- that was more her brother’s thing. She’s not like, burn water bad, but.... She does avoid it like the plague. That doesn’t mean she doesn’t occasionally hoard food when she does remember to go shopping, though. There’s a lot of shit in her cabinets that never sees the light of day.

In terms of what she will eat, though.... I mean she’s eaten things a lot grosser than anything you’ll find for sale on Coruscant. She can and will eat bugs off the ground on a dare. Let’s leave it at that.

09. How does your character feel about engaging in relationships—romantic and / or sexual—with others? What is their history like? Do they fall in love easily? Are they constantly in and out of relationships?

Vidu’s never really been in an official relationship yet, and she’s dead set on keeping it that way until her single status stops being a career asset. At the moment, being able to flirt around without worrying about someone getting hurt is too important to risk a relationship.

She will occasionally have a one night stand, though, when she’s not too busy. It’s just nice to indulge in the fantasy, sometimes. She's developed a number of crushes throughout her life, but has yet to follow anything through.

Also it’s kind of a given, in her mind, that she’ll end up sleeping with someone for career favors someday, but it hasn’t come to that yet.

10. What is your character’s pain tolerance like? Can they hold their own in a fight, despite injury? If someone hurts them with the aim of gaining information, how much can they take before they cave?

I mean she certainly doesn’t like pain !!! She’s also incredibly stubborn, though. So it ends up like this: she’ll whine for an hour about a stubbed toe, but she’ll keep working on a sprained ankle without saying anything to anybody (limping pathetically around the office and then straightening up whenever anyone comes into view..... Faster limping when they turn away).

Also if she ever gets tortured, she’s already worked out that she’s going to take as much as seems plausible and then immediately start lying her ass off. Come up with a story and stick to it. Last just long enough that it would seem like she’d broken for real, and then start giving false information out the wazoo. With this method, she hopes to never actually find the limits of her pain tolerance cause she doesn’t know what they are and she doesn’t want to.

11. What is your character’s weapon of choice? Are they more skilled as a melee fighter or do they have more skill with ranged weapons? What’s their fighting style like? What sort of training do they have behind them?

Vidu tries to avoid combat as much as possible-- even when things got bad on Taris she made herself useful by transporting supplies and doing basic first aid, rather than being involved with the fighting too much.

That being said, she also has stupidly good aim. She’s been handling blasters for most of her life, and has spent a lot of time doing target practice, but has more limited practice with moving targets. It’s been more than enough to keep her alive in any combat situations that have come up, regardless.

12. Does your character have any words or catchphrases that they say frequently? Tell us about how they picked them up.

When she took on her new identity, Vidu did a whole overhaul of her vocabulary. There was just too much that was indicative of where she came from-- now that it’s been a few years, she rarely makes slip-ups anymore. Also, given that 90% of her interactions are work related, she’s in customer service voice (and the stock phrases that go with that) like... Most of the time.

13. Tell us about a negative experience your character has had with either the Jedi or the Sith, and how this has affected their standing. Whether currently aligned or unaligned with either faction, if forced to choose, how would they side?

i mean the sith blew up..... her whole planet and a good number of people she considered like family. there’s no coming back from that, she’s gonna be down with sith till she dies. Outside of that, though, she’s pretty forgiving. See: going to work for the republic after they royally fucked up defending her planet. She hasn’t had many experiences with the Jedi outside of bureaucratic nonsense, but she would still pick them over the sith any day.

14. How would your character react to seeing a relative or friend on the opposing side of a battle or mission?

I mean she’d certainly try to avoid fighting them until they had a chance to explain themselves. If it came down to it, her aim is good enough that she can generally fake missing people by inches, if she needed to uphold a cover but still wanted to let them get away.

It would certainly warrant a good talking to later though!!

15. Describe a memory that your character finds embarrassing.

That time her older brother talked her into sneaking out in the middle of the night to try out a swoop bike for the first time. It turned out it was broken and minorly exploded when she turned it on, naturally alerting all adults in the area. Her brother was gone by the time they got to the scene, but Vidu had tripped getting off and was dealing with a busted nose for too long to escape.

It’s mostly embarrassing because she should have known better, her brother was always pulling shit like that.

16. What goals does your character hold for themself and what steps have they taken towards achieving them? How far are they willing to go to reach them? What is their be-all and end-all?

Destroy the Empire. Not really. I mean yes, really, in the moments when she lets herself go really hog wild with the daydreaming, but. She doesn’t imagine that will happen in her lifetime. In the meantime, she’s content to aim for running the Strategic Information Service and getting it really set up to start crippling the Empire’s operations.

Her steps have been pretty good so far, she’s already in a position of some mild authority within the organization, and she’s slowly building a network of powerful people that value her opinion. She’ll get there someday. The ends justify the means, in this case, so...... She probably wouldn’t stoop to murder but even that is a tiny bit questionable depending on who it is.

17. What is the one thing your character would change about their life if they were given the chance? What other lives could they have lived as a result?

Taris not being blown up would be..... nice..... Most of the things she would change are so far outside of her control that it’s not even really worth dreaming about, honestly. If Taris hadn’t been blown up, if the Mandalorian Wars hadn’t fucked them, if Taris hadn’t been a shithole in the first place-- it’s not worth thinking about.

There’s a small, secret part of her that thinks maybe a nice calm life with her family would be okay, living under the radar on Bogden with them, setting up a chill lil smuggling operation. Would be great, even, but honestly even in her daydreams she knows that she would get bored of that really quick. She doesn’t know who she is without some kind of crusade.

18. Living in such a high-conflict time, how does your character feel about doing what they must to survive? Will they hurt or kill others—either directly or indirectly—to protect themself and / or those close to them? If so, do they regret it when all is said and done?

As mentioned previously, she’s a big proponent of the ends justifying the means. If it’s to protect herself or others, she has no qualms about killing or maiming, and she’s done it before. For reasons less vital than defense there would be... Hesitation. She hasn’t been put in a position to find out, yet, whether or not she’d be willing to kill someone who’s not a direct threat in order to guarantee the success of a bigger picture goal. If she did, though, she would be torn up about it for a while.

19. What is the biggest problem your character is currently dealing with?

Vidu’s job is consuming her every waking moment, right now. It’s a good distraction, honestly, from having to think about everything that’s been lost in the fighting. Her biggest problem right at this particular moment is that one of her agents didn’t return from a mission recently, and she hasn’t been able to re-establish contact for a good while, so she probably has to recruit someone knew to re-establish coverage in their sectors.

20. Give us 3+ headcanons of any length or subject matter.

okay here we go again:

1. Agents: Vidu’s first recruit was a smuggler named Del Kos, and her suspiciously well trained travelling companion, Scorpio, though he’s technically not on the payroll. Anyway, Vidu and Del get along really well and it’s actually terrible when they end up on the same planet cause Del inevitably gets Vidu drunk, and Vidu is both a lightweight and a really rowdy drunk, so Scorpio always has to step in and manage things or it ends with Del starting a bar brawl while Vidu goes full wrestling announcer voice and takes bets from her perch atop the bar.

At the moment, Vidu also manages two other official agents, but I want to leave those open for later development so I’m not gonna go too much into them.

2. Bike Skills: Vidu’s actually really good at swoop bike racing but she can’t tell anyone!! It would blow her cover!! But she is, at all times, dying inside that she doesn’t get to flaunt one of her biggest pride points. This only really becomes a problem when she sees someone watching a swoop race and can’t contain it anymore and becomes the most obnoxious sports fan right in their ear.

3. Sexuality: The girl is a big ol’ gay, zero interest in guys, but flirts with them all the time to get what she wants. She can’t help it if they’re easily manipulated!!

bonus. Give us a list of any length telling us why our “fave is problematic.”

is she tho...? i mean.... is she?

jk of course she is:

she stole a whole ass identity and is living a lie she drinks more wine and caffa than she eats food she probably lets her agents get away with more than she should she’s working really hard to get everyone she works for wrapped around her finger doesn’t have any friends outside of work crosses professional boundaries with the work friends she does have her apartment looks like a whirlwind went through it at all times so does her desk someone save her poor coworkers and the janitor

#sidereal prompt 01 #2 #3 #4 #5 #prompt #musing

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lizardbreath9295 · 6 years ago

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I met L when I was a young teenager.

He just showed up at my door, standing in the rain. He always seems to show up when it was raining. I had just been sitting alone in my room. My mom was out. She’d just finalized the divorce. I was living at my mom’s for the next few months of school, then I’d spend every summer at my dad’s. He lived four hours away. I was starting to really miss him.

The doorbell didn’t ring. There was no knock. I just got up to see who was at the door, not given proof that anyone had arrived at all.

And there he stood in the rain, expectant, looking me right in the eyes.

“Hello, can I help you?” I asked. I was surprised by his appearance. He looked exactly my age, a bit taller, but his flat brown eyes were old and very wise. He was smart, I could tell that in a moment. He looked me up and down without a word, his mouth twitching and his shoulders tense under a black leather jacket. His hands were shoved deep into the pockets of his worn out jeans and partly covered his tennis shoes, which were worn almost to threads, as if he’d been running his entire life without ever stopping to change shoes.

“May I come in, Beth?” He asked with a strong, low voice. His words were interesting. Not the words themselves, but the way they were spoken, as if he meant more by them than he revealed. And I forgot to wonder how he knew my name.

“Sure,” I shrugged. I opened the door a bit wider and he glided right in, not hesitating for a moment.

And he’s stuck around ever since.

My mother never asked about him. He just seemed to mold himself into my life with little introduction. He sat by me at breakfast, watching me eat. He followed me from class to class, never attracting attention, but always there. He watched me do homework, he rode with me in the car, he accompanied me on my early morning jogs.

It was a bit awkward, but I saw nothing wrong. He seemed natural, like a shadow.

I ignored him at first. He was a weirdo. He had a dark look about him, but he didn’t wear any black makeup and his hair wasn’t black and spiky like I might think. He looked very normal, besides those old, watchful eyes. They never missed a thing.

I had no idea what his name was.

I got into a fight with my mom again about a year after he arrived. I was stressed over finals in school and my mom was cranky. I don’t even know what we were arguing about. But I locked myself in my room, fuming, and turned around to see him. Still there. Always there.

“What’s your name?” I finally demanded. It was the first I’d spoken to him after he arrived. “What are you even doing here?”

“I’m your friend.” His words were careful but smooth. “You know, for when you don’t have any.”

“What’s your name?” I asked, suddenly calming. His voice was very calming. I sat on my bed, pulling homework out of my backpack. “I need to call you something.”

He sat next to me, close. “You can call me whatever you want.”

“How about L?” I mused. Why I chose that, I didn’t know. It was silly, but he nodded agreeably. L it was.

“Hey Beth, Jess is having a party tonight! Wanna come?” My best friend Hanna smiled all the time. Today was no difference.

L hissed, something he’d never done before. I was surprised at his displeasure. He’d hardly voiced any opinion before.

“Um, maybe,” I said, shooting L a glance. “I’ll let you know.”

“Sure, just shoot me a text,” Hanna said, leaving to her next class.

“What was that for? I love going to parties with my friends,” I told L sternly as we walked down the hall.

“You should stay home instead and catch up on homework. Your mom would be furious if you asked to go without getting it done,” he said.

“Good point,” I said. So I told Hanna that I had to stay home and get things done. But maybe I’d go to the next party.

Weeks went by. He started acting weird. The more he talked to me, the more I seemed to argue with my mom. About what, I never really knew. But every time I was tired and upset, he was always there to encourage me. “You’re pretty brave,” he’d tell me. “No one else would dare defend themselves against their parents.”

“Well, it’s their fault,” I’d agree. “Their stupid divorce is ruining everything. They’re such jerks. They never thought about me.”

I hadn’t thought about it that way until he brought it up. He had this mysterious way of making things seem different than what they were, and it was interesting.

He had this “bad boy” persona, this dark and mysterious side, and it was intriguing. I was beginning to like it. It was different from all my positive, bubbly friends. And he seemed to make more sense most of the time. When Hanna thought that this stranger was really nice to say hello to us, L said that the stranger was actually just making fun of us and they wanted to know what we would say. I’d never thought of things that way. L was trying to make sure no one pulled any tricks on me. I’d be ready.

I started going to less and less parties with my friends. He wanted me to stay home and hang out with him, he was jealous of any attention I got. I felt bad for him. He didn’t seem to have any friends or family, that I knew of. So I indulged him, and that was okay with me. It irritated my friends a little, but I got a lot of homework done. And he always seemed happier.

The months went on. I began noticing subtle changes in both my behavior and his. My relationship with my parents was strained. My mom was short-tempered and my dad never called anymore.

One day, I was truly miserable. I asked L why I was so sad. I couldn’t get out of bed. I was exhausted, even though I’d been sleeping for hours.

“Well, I don’t know why,” he shrugged. “There must be something wrong with you. But it’s just as well you’re stuck. It’s not like you were going to go see Hanna anyway.”

“What about my other friends?” I asked.

He gave a short laugh. “Come on. You’ve been ditching them for months. They’re not really your friends anymore.”

He was right. They never spoke to me anymore. Oh well.

“You’ll get over it, it’s just a mood swing,” he said. “You’re right.”

I slowly but surely became more reserved and quiet at school and at home. Hanna was confused but never asked.

It angered L and I. I was going through a lot with school and my parents and my other friends ditching me. Couldn’t she check in once in a while? Didn’t she care? L said she likely didn’t. She was going to ditch me.

“Fine with me,” I hotly told him. I was getting used to it.

Hanna finally approached me one day, a cold October afternoon.

“What’s your deal? You never hang out, you keep ignoring me, you’re acting all weird like a loner, and you’re always grumpy!”

“What’s it to her? If she were your friend, she’d understand,” L scoffed.

“What’s it to you? If you were my friend, you’d understand,” I shot at her.

“I want to be your friend, but you act like I’m suddenly your enemy! You never talk to me! I want to help, Beth. Would you please tell me what’s going on?”

Her eyes were wide. Sincere.

“It’s anger you see in her eyes,” L hissed. “She’s lying. She doesn’t want to help. It’s none of her business anyway.”

“It’s none of your business,” I retorted. “Leave me alone.”

“Fine! If you ever change your mind, forget it!” Hanna’s voice was choked. She might have been crying. But L was right. She hated me. I sat alone in my room that night, listening to loud music I’d only just started listening to. My mom would kill me if she saw it. The light was on but the room felt very dark. L basked in it, sighing, happy to be in my company. At least someone was.

“Maybe Hanna would have liked you more if you were thinner,” he said suddenly.

“Maybe.” I felt very lonely.

He told me if I didn’t eat as much, I’d lose weight, and everyone would like me more. I wanted people to like me. I kind of missed having friends. My mom told me to eat better. I kept saying I would but I didn’t because L said it would be better that way. “Don’t tell her what you’re doing,” he said, “she won’t understand.”

She definitely wouldn’t. So I didn’t.

It got worse and worse. To the point where I never really felt hungry anymore.

I turned sixteen. Everything was the same mess it was before. L started talking to me more and more.

I couldn’t walk into crowded rooms anymore, I hated walking down the street in public, and school was a burden. L knew people were laughing and mocking me behind my back everywhere I turned, and he would warn me, so I avoided those situations. Meeting new people was torture. Family reunions were terrible. L knew what everyone was thinking. And he always let me know.

I was glad for his company. I was very lonely. No one wanted to be my friend. I never spoke in school, I barely talked to my dad, and my mom brushes away any ideas she might have had that I was distressed.

I watched a documentary on YouTube once about how depressed people hurt themselves on purpose to cope with their pain.

It don’t even know how I found that video. It just showed up on my phone as I was scrolling.

“You could do that.” L spoke softly.

“Cut my wrists? Burn myself, bruise myself?” I frowned. “Only people with actual problems do that.”

“True, you don’t have any reason to feel bad. It’s nonsense and you’re making it up. But I bet you could still do that. Just to see what it feels like. Everyone who cut get a lot of sympathy. I bet they don’t feel lonely.”

I ignored him, but he kept whispering about it. It was annoying until, one day, it happened. I did it. And it was amazing. It was a euphoric release, something I hadn’t felt in a very long time. Soon it became a coping mechanism. Then it became a habit. Then it became normal. Stomach, wrists, thighs, calves. Up, across, interlacing. It bugged me when the cuts and bruises would heal. I put them there to last, not leave like everything else had left me. L never told me to stop. He watched on. He talked about how good it felt for us every minute of the day until we were alone with the razor he showed me at the bottom of the toolbox. Then he’d yell about nothing, frantic, until I did it. Then we relaxed. And slept.

I wore long sleeves and long pants everywhere. No one noticed, my mom was constantly working and my dad had left. He remarried and moved away, not wanting me over for summers anymore. I didn’t have any friends except for L. And he was always there for me.

He began to change. His seductive smile became more like a hungry snarl. His soft voice was a bellow. I got used to it. I had to, he was all I had anymore.

He told me things that, a few years before, I would have rejected. But now I soaked it in.

No one loves you, he told me. They lie when they say they do. You’re not talented, stop trying to succeed. Not cut today? Yeah right. What difference does it make if you do? No one sees it. Your dad abandoned you and your mom’s going to do the same thing. Your friends ditched you and that’s all anyone’s ever going to do. Why? No real reason. There’s just something wrong with you. Those panic attacks you’ve been having? All your fault. And you can’t stop them. That urge to hurt yourself? Your fault. But it’s better than facing the thousands of things wrong with you.

Finally I’d had enough. At eighteen years old, I was done. I typed silently at the computer late one night, jaw clenched and wrists burning with self hate.

“What are you writing?” He asked lazily, sitting right beside me. Always beside me.

“My note,” I answered.

“It’s short,” he remarked.

“Because I have almost nothing to say.”

I expected him to say something. I was his only friend too. Surely he didn’t want me to die. He’d be lonely. I’d feel bad.

But he rolled over. He said nothing more. He let me do my work.

And something stirred in me. “You’re not my friend,” I said suddenly.

He whirled to face me. “Of course I’m your friend! Who’s been there for you ever since the beginning?”

“You.” I blinked. “But…”

“But what?!” He roared in my face. “You let me in, Beth! You talked to me instead of anyone else, you tell me your problems, you trusted me! Why wouldn’t I be your friend?!”

“You don’t take care of me.” I stared at him coldly. Something I’d never done. “You let me drive my friends away. You let me drift away from my family. You let me hurt myself and now you’re going to let me die.”

“I want what you want!” He accused me. “I support you! You want to die, fine!”

“You’re not my friend.”

“I’m not even real!” He spat furiously. “I’m a figment of your imagination! I’m just in your head!”

“Oh, no. You’re very real. I wouldn’t be like this if you weren’t real.”

“So what? No one can see me! I’m in your head, real or not, Beth! What would you do without me? You’re too far gone! Might as well get it over with!”

I closed the computer. And I stood and faced him. “We do not want the same thing!” I screamed. “I want to be happy! You told me this was happy! Look at my body, L! Look at what you’ve been tricking me into doing! I don’t want you here anymore!”

“You let me in without question,” he scorned. His old eyes blazed with hellfire. His body faded like a ghost’s. He was no human. Human was only what I imagined him to be. He was something I had been blind to all along, though now it was clear. “I’m not so easy to get rid of! I’ve taken root in you, you can’t pull me out!”

“Get out!” I roared, holding an invisible sword, my last defense, my lifeline.

“Die!” He spat, chanting it, over and over and over again.

“NO!” I screamed. I repeated the word. “NO! NO! NO! NO!”

He recoiled, cursing, shrieking. His handsome features melted into an ugly rage. “Fight me out, then! Prove you’re stronger!”

“I will not fight with you!” I yelled. “I don’t have to! Just GET OUT!”

And… he did. He vanished. I slammed the door that he’d very first come into, when I let him in without knowing what he truly was. L meant Loathing. It meant Loveless. It meant Lust. It meant Loneliness. It meant Lucifer. I locked the door.

There would be other visitors. But I would be ready for them.

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ninjagoat · 7 years ago

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Notes on Supergirl 3x14

[SPOILERS AHEAD]

I've been annoyed with the show for a while now. Season three came out of the gate with four solid eps, and then draaaagged for another seven; before finally putting things back in order: slamming a season's worth of Lena's 'development' into reverse so she can actually have her own worldview and agenda once again; giving the Legion a hidden agenda so they actually have some narrative juice; giving Alex and Kara a genuine ideological conflict for the first time since... I can't remember, and actually having a plan for the World-killers because of it; and, important to me especially, the re-emergence of Winn as a recognised problem-solver.

Which brings us to 3x14, a MASSIVE episode for Winn, and, in terms of scale, a massive episode in general: the two major action sequences are of a kind you'd expect from a season finale; they've landed a *recent* Academy Award Nominee for a guest star; there's a frank discussion of later-life mental illness, and an insight into J'onn's specific attitude toward his adopted race; and a hilarious sequence of our heroes just... hanging out.

In short, in just a few episodes (which, by sheer coincidence, would all have finished being scripted *after* AK was suspended and fired for being a mediocre sex-pest)... they fixed the show.

THEY FIXED THE DAMN SHOW.

Notes below the cut (it’s a long post this week):

- "People being addressed as soldiers going into battle before actually just trying something fun and silly" is one of my favourite tropes, and that look Winn and Kara exchange is one of the best indicators of their long-standing friendship we've seen in a long time (Winn is, of course, Kara's best friend. You many have heard her give statements to the contrary. THESE ARE LIES).

- The choice to have the characters, all played by actors who can sing, do 'karaoke voice' instead of their actual voices is a good one. Having Kara do Beastie Boys side-steps the whole 'we've heard her sing' problem; J'onn and Mr. J are both wonderfully appalling; and Alex letting the lyrics of her ballad run on as she stops to drink is, as the kids say, a Mood (I'll come back to Mon-El and Winn at the end).

- THERE ARE *STILL* NO ALIENS AT THE ALIEN BAR. WHAT HAPPENED TO KEVIN? OR BRIAN?

- James's constant need for validation crashing against Lena's particular brand of emotional - and literal - unavailability is a good choice; we've not really seen James's interest in Lena manifest outside of her needs until now, and it's the first time he's had a relatable problem since 1x06. And pairing him up with Mon-El for this scene - who's having his own issues right now - is nice.

- Speaking of which, Imra's telepathy: is this the show telling us she definitely *doesn't* have mind-control powers, or that Mon-El - currently not the most reliable expert on the Legion - doesn't *know* she has mind-control powers?

- "FELLOW DRUNKS!"

- I'll admit, James was my least favourite option for who could be Winn's emotional support in this episode, given his long history of being really quite bad at it; but in this first scene, he's actually pretty good, providing Winn with the avenues he needs to avoid the old-school masculinity coping methods he's trying to use instead.

- Winn making ABSOLUTELY SURE that his Winslow's dead, even before they tried to put him in the ground, is on point.

- Mary. MARY. The writers knew they had Tony-award-winning Steppenwolf alum Laurie Metcalf on board, and it SHOWS. She's nervous and tentative, but she's also forthright; she takes over the space when she feels she ought to (a lot of her funnier asides could have been put in Cat Grant's mouth with no problem), and physically, tangibly awkward when she doesn't; and Metcalf runs through the gear changes as only a pro of her stature can. In her first scene, she's anxious, yes, and she's having difficulty separating Winn from the little boy she left behind; but it's also clear that THIS IS THE HAPPIEST DAY OF HER LIFE, even if it isn't her son's. Mary is a catalyst for Winn's pain, but has a whole existence outside of it. That's good writing, that is.

- Speaking of Winn's pain... DEAR. LORD. That story goes toe-to-toe with any crappy parent story you've ever heard (and blows all of Lena's solipsistic crap out of the water); and Jeremy Jordan, having done so much with so little every week, completely sells that this is a story he's been waiting two decades to tell, and how being left alone with no-one to be *except* his father's son absolutely broke him.

- The Flying Monkeys sequence is the best action scene this show's ever done. Better than Reign. Better than Crossfire. And again, Mary and Winn: every time they're not focused on the time they've spent apart, it's almost like they were never apart at all.

- Winn calling out James for suggesting he forgive Mary is absolutely on point; and James admitting that he was a selfish, sulky little brat after his Dad died as an argument of how it could have been just as bad if she'd stayed is interesting (James is making it up to her now, though, by... never going home for a single holiday. Ever. Still, baby steps). His argument will also end up applying, subtextually, to his relationship with Lena; stop being ungrateful for the time she's not there for you, and just be happy for the time that she is. It's what she needs you to do. She's got her own stuff going on.

- "He doesn't always get the credit, but he keeps us going around here." Kara's gentle tribute to her friend (her BEST friend) and the adaptive, outside-the-box thinking that's been keeping everyone alive for years is wonderful; not just for what she says, but for how comfortable a rapport she has with Mary, while never forgetting that being told how great her son is by *Supergirl* is as good, if not better, than hearing it from the President herself (and if Mary needs that... it could be arranged).

- On a downer note, anytime a show starts talking about a side character as the "heart of the team" or somesuch... it's usually not a good sign for that character.

- I'm not ready to go into Mr. J's illness yet. I have a personal relationship to stories like this, and I can't write about it in this format. But Carl Lumbly is still ABSOLUTELY the best.

- And I'm not the person to get into J'onn's opinion on his own blackness; except to say, in a week when David Harewood met with British MPs to discuss the 'accidental' deportations of the Windrush migrants, this is a BIG DEAL.

- Since I'm doing asides into side plots: Mon-El and Kara. His apology - agenda-free this time - is honest and heart-felt, and his full disclosure about *why* he's apologising now raises interesting questions: at what point is this honesty defined as over-sharing? Where is the line drawn between being 'open about your feelings' and 'demanding emotional labour from others'? Kara has a firm boundary - they are *not* going to talk about his marriage - and he respects that. But should he have told her about it in the first place, even if it does lead in to the new information about the World-killers? I've said before: Supergirl is the only show with a significant male audience that, whether you believe it should or not, actually tackles questions of what healthy masculinity *should* be (albeit with varying degrees of success), and it's good that they're keeping it up.

- Mary's story is not only an important reminder that the men who commit mass-murder often begin by terrorising the women in their own homes; but also, in the context of Childish Things, addresses Winn's misunderstanding of his own fears. Winn has always believed that his father was a good person, until one day, when he just wasn't; and Winn believed that any time he didn't keep a lid on his own anger, any time that he might use that part of himself to stand up and say 'no' against those that would hurt him, the same would happen to him. But Winslow Sr. wasn't a good person. It took a long time for his anger to consume him, a long time for his battles against perceived slights to affect anyone except Mary. Winn has little to worry about.

- And her decision to take the gun and take on Toywoman(?) alone is immediate, consistent, and believable. She's been without her son for twenty years to protect his life. He will NOT be taken from her now.

- Delightful stunt-casting for Toywoman, by the way (If you haven't watched The Silence Of The Lambs recently... go do that).

- The second action sequence: not as good as the flying monkeys, but still has some banging moments, as the 'heroes' drop out to handle various contraptions to leave Winn to rescue Mary.

- Speaking of contraptions: "Cloth Magic." Comics Mon-El fans, that's got to feel good.

- How many times did Mary have to sit through New Hope when Winn was a kid? I'm guessing 'more than ten'.

- Winn being offended at the idea that he's going to be killed with something as pedestrian as a *firearm* is the absolute business, and annoying because it's a beat I'd already gotten it noted down for my own fic series.

- "You haven't just survived, you have EXCELLED."

- Mon-El *butchering* a song now synonymous with a TV show that *LIVES* in the kind of masculinity he's been used to deconstruct (again, with varying degrees of success) is a solid piece of work. As is his apology.

- Okay, this episode isn't exactly what we all wanted for Winn. No-one has hugged him. No-one has told him they love him. Kara has not re-iterated that he is, in fact, her best friend (because he is). He's not designing the Valor suit. We didn't get to hear him sing. And his twenty-year-long trauma of being alone in the world is resolved a lot more speedily that it really ought to be. But that doesn't matter. Those are indulgences, and that's pretty much what fan-fiction and the Miscast performance videos are for.

What this episode *does* do is reiterate the show's mission statement once again: We, as a people, are at our best when we depend on each other. Forgiving when we can. Understanding when we can't. And more than anything else, simply being there for each other. Whether it's supporting each other through a personal crisis, or through the decline of a loved one; teaching each other new skills, or helping to mend a beloved outfit; or even, sometimes, just having the courage or shamelessness to perform karaoke with your mum; the same truth remains:

WE ARE STRONGER TOGETHER.

- Which is why it's perfect that the show end on Lena. Alone. Keeping the truth from the people she's closest to. She hasn't told James. She won't tell Kara. She's just there, trapped inside the box in which she's imprisoned her oldest friend, with no-one else there to help or to guide her. For all her claims that Kara Danvers is her hero... ultimately, the only person she will ever truly depend on is herself.

And it's all going to go horribly, horribly wrong.

-LyraWatch: I'm bringing it to a close. It's now been eighteen episodes, and nary a mention of if they're still together or where she's gone. It's so very unlikely that she'll be brought up again.

-LenaWatch: 14 episodes (record high: 16). Most likely at this point, Winn and Lena will have a scene at some point after it's been revealed she's been working on Sam (and has probably made things worse); and Winn will, for the third time, have to help bail her out of the war-zone-like situation she'll have created through her own hubris.

#notes #superglue

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comfortablynumbonthepuzzle · 7 years ago

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No Scissors Required (Byeler Fic)

Description:

Joyce is changing Will’s sheets when she finds a tear in the bottom of his mattress. Upon further investigation, she finds he’s hidden a notebook, and even though she knows she shouldn’t, she opens it, finding some incriminating photos of a certain male celebrity and even more incriminating drawings of a certain male best friend. Joyce knows she shouldn’t meddle, but she can’t help it. Sometimes a mother knows best.

Angsty but has a (kind of) happy ending.

No Scissors Required

It’s 4 pm on a Sunday. As the daylight slips away and with it the promise of a productive weekend, Joyce is attempting some form of damage control.

She’s doing okay: she’s got dinner on the stove, a load of laundry whirring in the dryer, and neat stacks of envelopes, bank notices, and coupons divided on the kitchen table, waiting to be opened and handled and filed appropriately. She’ll get to that, of course. Right after she’s had a cigarette.

It’s one of those rare afternoons where it feels like the dust has settled, and that she’s finally got a handle on things. A small, spiteful part of her wishes Lonnie could see her doing so well. She then thinks of Hopper, feeling equal parts buoyed and daunted by the potential in their future, then, remembering Bob, instantly guilty. She tables that thought for now, but resolves to call the police station first thing tomorrow morning, certain she can conjure up something to be worried about by then. Hopper will know it’s a ploy, but he’ll appreciate it. He can’t seem to work up the nerve to call her unless it’s under silly pretenses either.

Will’s studying in the dining room. He told her for what, but she can’t keep track. Everyday, it’s something new, something for “organic chemistry” or “advanced calculus” or “studio art” or “classical poetry” (meanwhile, Joyce herself can’t remember ever taking anything but ‘math’ and science’). She trusts him to handle it himself; is continually amazed by his composure, his perseverance, his seemingly infinite capacity for information and instruction; balks at how much he seems to absorb. School is the one realm in which she won’t meddle; the one thing that seems to have stayed the same, even after everything. If anything, Will’s become more involved, taking on more responsibility, working harder, longer hours. Still, he sees his friends regularly, and though she wishes he’d spend just a bit more time having fun, she figures it’s all a necessary distraction.

She can barely see him over the piles of books and paper, just the top of his head bobbing every now and again, more aggressively when he’s erasing a mistake. She feels such strong fondness for him. She and Will have always been close, and continue to be even as Will and his friends careen ungracefully into adolescence, but still she finds herself, like any mother, wondering: What is he thinking? What is he feeling? What does he worry about? Is he okay?

He’s fourteen now, in his first year of high school, the same age she and Lonnie started going out. True, we didn’t date consistently until much later, she concedes, and for the briefest of moments her mind flashes back to Hopper. She wonders, not for the first time, if maybe Will’s found himself a- well, not a Lonnie.

But she knows the answer. Will spends too much time at home, too much time studying, too much time with her, or Jonathan, or his friends. And even if he didn’t, Joyce knows that Will is too careful, too cautious, too used to hiding his feelings. But she also knows it’s more than that. Will’s never expressed interest in anyone, at least not to her. In fact, as long as Joyce can remember, Will has looked so discomfited at any mention of romance, at any allusion to any sort of love life he may or may not have, that Joyce has stopped bringing it up. She’s even considered that maybe he’s not interested in that sort of thing at all.

But Joyce knows that’s not true. She just knows. And she’s tried, albeit in roundabout ways, to address whatever it is that flusters him. She speaks in cautious, neutral terms. She avoids pronouns. She never asks direct questions, instead making statements, testing the waters, waiting for him to agree or disagree. Things like, she’s kind of cute or he’s got nice eyes, don’t you think? or I just read in the school newsletter that the Snowball’s coming up. (Normally he responds to her questions with noncommittal shrugs but that one earned her a sharp so what?). And, she’s not sure why she feels so compelled, but she tells Will she’s proud of him as often as she can. She tells him how much she loves him, and how she’ll continue to do so forever, no matter what. Still, Will won’t budge, and Joyce worries, worries, worries.

The timer on the stove goes off, and Joyce jerks her head towards the sound. The laundry’s ready to come out of the dryer.

She’s unloading the warm sheets into a basket when she notices a loose thread hanging from the corner. She pulls at it, hoping it’ll snap, but it only ensnares more fabric. Annoyed, she begins to rummage through her sewing box, looking for scissors. They’re nowhere to be found.

“Will?” She calls.

“Yeah?”

“Do you have the scissors from my sewing kit?”

There’s a pause. “They’re in my room,” Will calls back, sounding slightly guilty.

“Baby, I thought we agreed you would use your own scissors for art projects?”

“Sorry! Yours are better.”

Balancing the laundry basket on her hip, Joyce walks into Will’s room, where the scissors in question are resting on his desk atop a nondescript pile of magazine paper scraps. Joyce notes the mess: clothes litter the floor, Will’s bed is unmade, and there are open books everywhere.

“Will, honey, your room’s a mess!” She calls.

“Sorry! I haven’t had time to clean it.”

Joyce feels a pang of guilt. “I know. I know, you’ve been working so hard lately.”

She sighs, eyeing the unmade bed. Normally, Will prefers to clean his own room. Joyce figures it’s a consequence of all his time spent in Hawkins Lab being poked and prodded and examined; that he’s eager to preserve his privacy and personhood in whatever little ways he can. Joyce doesn’t mind. She indulges him when she thinks it’ll help him cope, and knows, secretly, that if not for Will it would probably never get done.

The longer Joyce stands there, surrounded by teenage mess, the more she feels the urge to do something nice for him, for studious, brilliant, thoroughly decent Will, who’s studying so hard just meters away. So she decides she’ll clean his room, just this once. Because, she reasons, he shouldn’t study for hours and have to return to clutter. Surely he won’t mind. She begins to strip his bed of its bedding, replacing it with the soft, warm, forest-green sheets she’s just removed from the dryer, taking pains to smooth out every crease. She likes this, trying to make things comfy. It makes her feel most like a mother.

She’s pulling the fitted sheet over the fourth and final corner of the bed, when it comes loose on the left side of the other end. Joyce tries to pull it back over the edge, but it won’t budge. Frustrated, she lifts the mattress up, trying to get leverage. And that’s when she sees it.

There -- inconspicuous, but there nonetheless -- is a long slit cut into the underside of the mattress. Joyce almost doesn’t know what she’s looking at, until she reaches out and touches it, and realizes that the edges of the crater fold back. She reaches inside, and her hand makes contact with something thick and paper. A book, maybe? Her heart begins to thud as she pulls it out.

It’s a notebook. Nothing special. Just a beat-up, spiral notebook with a red cover. She knows she shouldn’t open it. She knows it’s a violation of Will’s privacy, that it would be wrong to trespass like this, that whatever is in there is clearly meant for Will’s eyes and Will’s eyes only. But Joyce can’t help thinking: What is he thinking? What is he feeling? What does he worry about? Is he okay?

So she opens the notebook. A stack of photos falls out, scattering all over the cluttered floor.

Joyce curses to herself in a whisper-shout, dropping the notebook, closed, onto Will’s bed. She drops to the ground, frantically assembling the photographs, trying not to make a sound. And she’s so caught up, and there are so many of them, that it takes a few seconds for her to even look at them properly.

The first one she sees doesn’t strike her as odd. It’s a black and white photo of River Phoenix, standing on what seems to be a balcony in New York City, looking over his shoulder at the camera. It’s a good photo, she thinks, but she isn’t sure why it’s been hidden. Confused, she looks through the photos she’s already collected, then at the other ones still around her on the ground. She begins to notice a pattern: some are in color, some not, but all are of River Phoenix. River Phoenix with long hair, with short hair, with hair wild and big, wearing wire-rimmed glasses. In one, he’s holding a guitar, and his shirt is only buttoned up halfway. Joyce stares at that one the longest. They’ve all been cut out of different magazines and newspapers (is this what he’s using my scissors for...?), meaning they’d been collected from different sources, over some length of time. But why? Why these photos? What exactly does he do with - And then it clicks, and Joyce knows exactly what she’s looking at.

Her fingers begin to tremble. She glances at the red notebook perched on the side of Will’s bed, just above eye-level. She grabs it and stares at it for what seems like forever, until finally resolving to open it. What she finds when she does is almost worse than the photos.

What she finds is sketchaftersketchaftersketchaftersketch of a face she knows all too well. It’s Mike Wheeler, as animated in Will’s drawings as he is in real life, displaying the full spectrum of human emotion. Will has drawn Mike sitting down and standing up, from all sorts of angles, and in a comprehensive range of styles. There’s cartoon Mike, for example, the protagonist in what looks like the beginnings of a comic book set in Hawkins High, drawn impeccably in sleek black ink. There are rough, imprecise renderings done in charcoal pencil that smear and blend into one another. There’s one particularly impressive full-page pencil sketch of Mike talking into a walkie talkie, his hair wild and big, wearing wire-rimmed glasses. It’s not just sketches, though - Will’s masterful drawings are interspersed with doodles and phrases written in his distinctive chicken-scratch. Mike’s full name is spelled out several times, alternately in cursive and in block letters. And all of Joyce’s suspicions are confirmed, all at once.

Joyce can’t help it when her nose starts to sting and she feels tears. She’s not angry, no. Not disappointed. Not disgusted. Joyce, in this moment, feels a sober sort of pride. She’s proud to know that Will feels love, in the same way that any parent rejoices when their child first begins that tricky, exciting ritual. For a few seconds she’s reminded how grown he is, how frighteningly close he is to leaving her. But this is what she’s always wanted for him, for as long as she can remember. She thinks, horribly, of the times she’d lie awake at night, imagining a future where Will is happy and in love, praying that it offers him some respite from a world full of Lonnies. She wonders if Mike knows about the drawings, or the sentiment attached. She figures he doesn’t, and if he does, it’s probably not because Will told him.

So she’s sad, too. She has sensed, from a very young age, that Will was different, and that his path would be a little darker, a little more treacherous. For the first time she really understands that Will knows this too. After all, there’s a reason the notebook is in the mattress. It breaks her heart.

“Mom?” Will’s voice calls from the living room. Joyce freezes.

“Mom?” Will calls again. Joyce curses to herself, rushing to tuck the photos into the notebook and shove the whole thing back into the mattress.

Will walks into the doorframe just as Joyce finishes making the bed.

“Yes, honey?”

Will’s brow wrinkles. “Did you change the sheets?” He asks.

“Um, yeah.” Joyce says, trying to conceal how hard her heart is pounding.

“You didn’t have to do that,” Will says sharply. Then, softer: “I mean. Thank you. But you really didn’t have to do that. I like doing it myself.”

Joyce shrugs. “I know. I just thought you’d appreciate a mother’s touch.” She’s trying very hard to add humor to her inflection, not sure if he’ll buy it. Will smiles, forgiving. Joyce wraps her arm around him, kisses his temple despite the eye-roll it gets her, and grips him just a little too tight.

She feels guilty for the rest of the day.

----

It’s 1 am on Sunday morning, one week after Joyce first discovers the notebook, and the boys are all asleep on her living room floor.

They’d all gone to see Back to the Future at the Hawk earlier that night, returning to the Byers’ house afterwards to continue the fun. Once the shrieking and the laughter die down, and Joyce feels confident that they’re asleep, she ventures out in search of a glass of water. She moves quietly over the carpeted floors, but stops at the threshold of the kitchen. She can hear faint whispering, barely intelligible, coming from the behind the couch.

“I guess I’m just relieved,” she hears someone say. It’s too raspy to know who for sure. “There’s a part of me that hasn’t accepted that we’re finally together after all this time.” Joyce knows that voice. That’s Mike.

“Yeah. Me too.” This voice is weaker, sleepier, and she immediately recognizes it as Will.

Who? She thinks. Who’s together after all this time?

“...especially because I thought it would never happen.” Mike again. What would never happen?

“What would your parents think?”

“I’m not going to tell them.” Wait a second. Are they-?

“Well, yeah. But if you did?”

“Are you kidding me? They’d flip.” Is Mike-?!

“Really?”

“Uh, yeah. Can you imagine my dad’s reaction? With everything that’s going on in the country right now? Honestly, some shit is just too weird. Even for Hawkins.”

“What about at school? Are we supposed to pretend?” Joyce is frozen, she can’t believe what she’s hearing.

“Do we have a choice?” Mike says, softly.

“I guess not.”

“I guess we have to wait and see what Hopper says.” Hopper? Joyce thinks, confused. What the hell does Hopper have to do with anything?

“Does he want us to call her Jane, or El?”

Jane?

Mike laughs. “She’ll always be El to me.”

And then Joyce realizes that they’re talking about Eleven. Of course they’re talking about Eleven.

Mike starts to speak again. “But everything will be how it’s always been. You know, at school. Nothing’s going to change.” His voice is laced with something cautious. Will laughs softly, as if trying to bury it, whatever it is.

“What are you talking about? Everything’s going to change.” And Joyce swears she can hear the regret in his voice.

----

It’s 6 pm on a tuesday, three days after the sleepover and ten after Joyce first finds the notebook, and Joyce is finishing up a shift at Melvald’s.

She feels happy. She’s got a lot to look forward to. Jonathan is bringing home takeout from the diner, club sandwiches and french fries, and Will will come home excited and talkative after A.V. club. (And, of course, Hopper happened to stop in today, looking for hair clips for El. He of course played it off like he was overwhelmed, but it was impossible to miss how happy he was to again be participating in the rituals of having a growing daughter. What about these ones? He’d asked. Joyce tells him that the ones he’s picked, bright pink with acrylic bumblebees, look a little young for her, don’t you think? Oh. Well, you know, it’s been a while. Well, you know her better than I do- I only have boys. She does like pink. Then get them! He smiles. They smile. Bitchin’.)

Will and Jonathan will be home a little later than usual, with Will coming from A.V. club and Jonathan from work, so she has just enough time before they arrive, Will first and then Jonathan, to set the table and smoke a cigarette in the quiet emptiness.

Their family dinners, infrequent thanks to work and academic commitments, always seem to make everyone happier. Joyce remembers Sunday morning after the sleepover, how Will looked more subdued than usual, how he hugged Mike goodbye somewhat tersely and watched him ride his bike down the driveway until he disappeared, and thinks: he needs it.

She waves goodbye to Donald and heads toward the exit. The automatic doors open when she nears, but Joyce stops short at the threshold, staring at the magazine rack.

It’s 6:18 on a Tuesday, three days after the sleepover, ten days after Joyce first finds the notebook, 18 minutes after she has what she hopes isn’t a terrible idea, and Joyce is waiting in the kitchen for Will to get home.

She’s standing in a part of the dining room where she knows she can’t be seen from the door, watching and waiting for it to open. She’s relieved when it does and Will walks in. He kicks off his shoes and sheds his jacket in seconds, and Joyce is warmed by how eager he seems to just be home. “I’m home!” He calls, but Joyce doesn’t say anything. Not yet.

Will lets his backpack drop to the ground with a thud and collapses onto the couch. He sits there a minute, idle. Come on. Joyce wills. Pick it up.

Almost a minute passes, and then Will seems to notice something on the coffee table, something Joyce can’t see from where she’s standing. His eyes are wide as he looks around, thisaway and thataway, to check if anyone’s there. Cautiously, he picks it up.

It’s a copy of People Magazine, with River Phoenix on the cover. It’s not Mike, Joyce thinks, but it is something.

Joyce watches as he flips through it, and when a pink blush creeps over his cheeks, she knows he’s reached the centerfold -- a glossy, full-page photo of River Phoenix, without a shirt on, posing behind a wire fence.

And it’s perforated. Able to be ripped out of the magazine neatly and cleanly, to be hung up on a wall or folded into a spiral notebook and shoved under the bed.

No scissors required.

Notes:

1. The last time I wrote fanfiction was in high school and I can say with some certainty it is the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever produced, so ridiculous that when I went looking for it a couple months ago I knew I just had to distribute it to all my friends alongside a “reader’s companion” (yes- a reader’s companion to my erotica) highlighting everything cringeworthy. Point is I'm new to this, pls be nice!

2. This is not erotica. They’re 14. Not. Erotica. Not even close. Not even a little.

3. I know it’s a bit anachronistic. River Phoenix hadn’t even starred in Stand By Me by the time this fic is supposed to take place, but I really think that Will would be into him because he’s artsy and sensitive and beautiful, AND because he and Mike remind me of Chris and Gordie.

4. thanks eversomuch to @otpgod1 for their kind words of encouragement in publishing this!

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ylc1 · 7 years ago

Text

Fanfic Master List (Johnlock)

I left this pairing for last since it’s the one I’ve written more fics about so... well. Here we are! Enjoy!

Burned hearts

Johnlock, complete, 7300 words.

Summary: A retell from the scene at the pool in TGG, in which John is never revealed to be Moriarty’s hostage. Believing himself fooled, Sherlock goes through a bit of a meltdown.

Some personal notes on it: this idea came to me when I first watched TGG. I think that I could have expanded it so much more and make it even more angsty but well… I still like it.

Additional notes: angst, lots of self doubt, Sherlock doesn’t cope well, Mycroft and Greg are very concerned.

Apples and Oranges

Johnlock, complete, 600 words.

Summary: Kid Sherlock is attempting to figure out why would people like kissing. John helps.

Some personal notes: this was a fill in for a tumblr prompt. Just some kidlock fluff.

Additional notes: AU, kidlock, fluff.

Long shot

Johnlock, complete, 44200 words.

Summary: Omega werewolf Sherlock is engaged to human Prince John, after having scared off his last suitor. It seems it might be working out for the best though- at least until the Dark and Immortal Wizard Moriarty rises again.

Some personal notes: when I write original fiction, I tend towards fantasy with a mix of romance. Indulging in my love for both genres was a joy. Also, this was my work with most kudos for a long while, so I guess it shows ;)

Additional notes: A/B/O dynamics, Mpreg, arranged marriage, angst, pining, misunderstandings, Jim being Jim (he’s the perfect fairytale villain, honestly)

Wildest dreams

Johnlock (although victorian), complete, 3800 words.

Summary: Watson puts an end to his relationship with Holmes, in order to marry Mary Morstan.

Some personal notes: have I told you how I love Taylor Swift’s songs? I had been trying to avoid writing this particular fic because I worried about my abilities to write something with such a strict historical setting, but I should probably have stopped listening to the song because it soon became too much :P

Additional notes: victorian (but a bit loosely I think), angst, pining, unhealthy coping mechanisms… HAPPY ENDING

Mistaken impressions

Johnlock, complete, 16300 words

Summary: John is convinced his neighbor’s boyfriend is a jerk. He sort of is, but he’s actually Sherlock’s brother.

Some personal notes: I liked this idea, but as I started writing… I lost my way a bit. So now I’m a bit stuck with is, since I have no idea where exactly I want to go with it, although I have what I think might be the last chapter half-written.

Additional notes: references to past abusive relationships, past drug addiction, unhealthy coping mechanisms, angst, drama, pining, MISUNDERSTANDINGS and some attempts of humor.

Hopeless

Johnlock, complete, 45800 words.

Summary: John’s a slave in Lord Magnussen’s household. When a new slave arrives and the Master takes a fancy on her (although it’s really him), John finds himself doing the best he can to protect him.

Some personal notes: this idea came to me in a dream. Which is why it’s far darker than my usual writings and also the reason for Trans Sherlock. I don’t like fighting my inspiration and well… I went with it, even if it added another layer of complications to this particular fic.

Additional notes: trans character, misgendering, implied/referenced noncon (although there’s nothing explicit), underage (it’s never explicitly stated, but Sherlock is 14 when the fic starts), slavery, sexual slavery, very dark, very angsty, mentions of violence, murder and abuse. It has a happy/hopeful ending, though!

Home for Christmas

Johnlock, complete, 8500 words.

Summary: When Mycroft Holmes informs his family he’s bringing along a friend for Christmas, the household is thrown into utter chaos: Mummy Holmes is delighted, of course and Mr. Holmes is just baffled. Sherlock, however, is determined to figure out what is his brother up to. Mycroft doesn’t do friendships, let alone relationships, so who is this mysterious Dr. John H. Watson and what’s his business with his brother?

Some personal notes: this is the actual summary on AO3, but I really don’t know a better way to describe it ;) I think my attempt of humor did work here, even if it endeded up including a bit of angst (but not much)

Additional notes: Alternate First Meeting, humor, Christmas fic, misunderstandings (of a sort), family.

Black magic

Johnlock, complete, 7400 words.

Summary: John ends up with a magic love potion (he was drunk, don’t judge him!) and in a fit of desperate longing, he gives it to Sherlock. He didn’t expect it to work since magic does not exist, so he’s a little baffled when Sherlock starts acting love-struck.

Some personal notes: this was the first fic I meant to write for the fandom. I never got around finishing until now, when I figured I might as well give it another try. I think it could have been longer, but I had no idea what else to write :P

Additional notes: attempt of humor, magic, a surprising amount of discussion of consent issues, not actually unrequited love.

All is fair (in love and war)

Johnlock, complete, 6300 words.

Summary: Eurus’ “game” forces John and Sherlock to confess long hidden feelings. It turns out as well as you’d expect.

Some personal notes: It started as a rewrite of the “I love you” scene in TFP, turned into a sort of fix it fic. I like it, even if I’m not completely sure the logic holds :P

Additional notes: angst, drama, hurt without comfort, but has a happy ending!

Priceless

Johnlock, complete 22485 words.

Summary: Sherlock is a Prince with a Kingdom at war. He makes a deal with the all powerful wizard called “the Dark One”; the wizard will stop the war if Sherlock stays with him forever.

Some personal notes: this fic is result of the FandomTrumpsHate auction, for the lovely @sherlock-and-john-getting-it-on. I was asked for a “Beauty and the Beast” inspired fic with John as the Beast. I asked for the chance to use the Once Upon a Time spin of the tale and this is the result.

Additional notes: magical AU, pining, misunderstandings (they’re both so silly it hurts!), includes my attempt of some proper smut, Jim wrote himself into it and in doing that provided me with an ending :P

Saving all my love for you

Johnlock,

Summary: Unrequited love is no fun.

Some personal notes: I just wanted to write something angsty, heart tugging. There isn’t much plot, really, just a lot of pining and self reflection.

Additional notes: based on the song by the same title,angst, pining, sad, unilock.

The art of letting go

Johnlock, complete, 47400 words.

Summary: Sherlock convinces himself that if he can’t remember what happened on the stag night, then it didn’t happen at all. Until he finds out he’s pregnant and he can’t keep pretending, that is.

Some personal notes: Oh, I loved working on this. I have a thing for unplanned pregnancies (as you can probably tell) and while writing a character as trans always makes me nervous, I thought it worked well. The story is very angsty at points and it doesn’t get hopeful until the very end so… be warned!

Additional notes: Trans character, Mpreg, angst (a lot), jealousy, pining, Mary and John are married but she isn’t pregnant, pos TSoT, follows HLV more or less.

A fortunate encounter

Johnlock, complete, 4528 words.

Summary: While escaping a group of enemy soldiers, Sherlock ends up in a mysterious island.

Some personal notes: after watching the Wonder Woman movie I couldn’t contain myself and ended up writing this short thing ;)

Additional notes: Wonder Woman AU, love at first sight, spoilers for the movie (somewhat, but not really), romance.

Just friends

Johnlock, side mystrade, complete, 4400 words

Summary: Just friends don’t live together, have sex and generally enjoy a life of sweet domesticity.

Except John and Sherlock do, apparently.

Some personal notes: Cliche, I know, but cute. I became a little obsessed with the idea of friends with benefits due a song :P

Additional notes: alternate universe- college, a little angst, friends with benefits (except not), lack of communication.

The answer

Johnlock, very side Mystrade, complete, 16700 words.

Summary: Friendless and penniless, John agrees to participate on a study conducted by the renowned researcher, Sherlock Holmes, to find the answer to what’s probably the most important question in the world: what’s love?

Some personal notes: this is vaguely based on the book “The answers”, going in the direction I thought the author was going to go when I started reading it (I like my idea much better, I must say)

Additional notes: fake/pretend relationship, a little pining, Sherlock is bad at feelings (and so is John), pseudo science (don’t look too deep into it), lack of communication.

Don’t forget me (I won’t forget you)

Johnlock, complete, 2600 words.

Summary: Sherlock wakes up one day to find he’s the only person who can remember John Watson.

Some personal notes: this idea came to me one day and refused to leave until I wrote it down. It��s just the beginning of a tale, but I don’t have much a plot planned so it’s marked as finished.

Additional notes: Eurus has actual telepathic powers, a little angst, memory alteration, open ending.

And that’s it! They weren’t quite as many as a feared :P

I hope you’ll enjoy them! Kudos & comments mean the world to me.

And if you can, maybe Buy Me a Coffee

My other lists are here: rare pairs, johnlock & mystrade, mystrade

Last updated 18.12.2018

#my fanfics #fanfic master list #johnlock

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dingdongsnogbox · 8 years ago

Note

Molly's toddler son, who's not Sherlock's, call Sherlock daddy, much to the shock of Molly and the shock and secret delight of Sherlock

Thanks for the prompt nonny! This is my first go at writing Sherlolly fanfiction, so hopefully it’s turned out okay. It sort of took on a mind of its own and went down an entirely different route to the one I’d intended, but I think it should be enjoyable all the same. I also sort of changed Molly’s son to a daughter because I couldn’t shake the urge to name her after Mary... As with any of my fanfiction, you can read it over on AO3 or simply click the read more button below. Please feel free to send any Sherlolly prompts you’ve got to me and I’ll do my best to write them.

Heavy going for a Monday evening

Rating: K+

Word count: 1539

“Rosie, be nice and share your dolls with Mary.” John chastised gently from where he sat drinking tea at the cluttered dining table of 221B Baker Street with Molly. Rosie huffed but responded with a slightly reluctant ‘okay’ anyway and promptly passed over one of her dolls to the gleeful younger girl sat opposite.

Opposite John, Molly smiled and shook her head ever so slightly. “Mary hasn’t quite gotten the hang of social skills just yet. She mostly just sits there and expects other people to know what she wants.” She remarked in between sips of tea. Mary was two now and although Molly’s pregnancy had come as a bit of a shock, she couldn’t say she regretted a single moment of it.

“Sounds just like another child we know…” Came John’s slightly amused reply. He cracked a wry smile at Molly, who glanced away with a slightly awkward laugh.

“Yes, well… God help us if we end up with two of them.” She responded slightly distractedly. In truth, Molly would be delighted if Mary had even an ounce of Sherlock Holmes in her; impossible though it may be. Sometimes when Sherlock talked to or played with Mary, Molly would allow herself to indulge in the fantasy that he was her father. Naturally she tried to avoid fantasizing as much as possible; it only made the reality of her real parentage even more unpleasant to swallow. It had been a mistake giving Tom another chance. She’d been feeling low and he had stepped in to soothe the pang of loneliness she couldn’t seem to shake. Of course he’d cheated on her. How could anyone consider boring, plain old Molly Hooper to be enough? She’d found out the day that Sherlock had rung her from Sherrinford. Naturally she’d been hurt and Sherlock’s phone call had been the icing on the cake to what was already a spectacularly shit day. She forgave him of course – Sherlock that is. He did what he had to do out of love; even if it wasn’t the love she craved from him. Then a week later her life was turned entirely on its head when she discovered she was pregnant.

“I don’t think the world could cope with two Sherlock Holmes’. Mycroft and Euros are bad enough.” John interrupted her thoughts and snapped her out of her reverie.

“Yes, well-,” Molly started before she was promptly interrupted by a tall man in a long coat striding purposefully through the door.

“Don’t mind me. Do feel free to continue with your mindless gossiping, or whatever it is you two do when I’m not around.” Sherlock remarked dryly as he busied himself with rummaging through a stack of papers near to where the children were sat playing amongst themselves. “Mostly talk about me, I assume.” He added with an air of distraction.

“Modest as ever.” John answered with a roll of his eyes. “You know the entire world doesn’t revolve around you, right?”

“Naturally.” Sherlock replied as he dragged a dusty old book out from the bottom of the pile. “But I heard the two of you comparing me to a child from out in the hallway and am lead to believe that you just can’t get enough of me.” He finished as he pulled a sheet of paper out from between the pages of the book with a flourish.

Molly turned a light shade of pink at that. “Sherlock-,”

“Don’t worry. I’m flattered.” Sherlock interrupted, turning the sheet of paper in his hands to examine it before discarding it without thought and bending down to scoop Rosie up into his arms. “Now, why don’t we leave these silly dolls and go examine some crime scene photos instead?” He remarked to the young girl, who promptly grinned and nodded in response.

“Sherlock – Sherlock, no. No crime scene photos!” John interrupted and stood up from the dining table.

“She’s over three years old now, John. If she doesn’t get her eye in soon she’ll be just as useless to me as you are.” Sherlock responded dismissively and moved to take Rosie off into the other room. He was halted mid-step by a gentle tug on his trouser leg and glanced down to see Mary staring up at him with wide eyes and a doll brandished in his direction. “Sorry Mary, did you want to help too? Well I suppose with Molly’s genes you’ve probably got more of an eye for examining bodies than Rosie here.” He considered the little girl thoughtfully; at which point John took advantage of his distraction to take Rosie out of his arms.

“I think that’s enough Sherlock time for one evening.” John pointed out to a slightly disappointed looking Rosie. “If anyone needs me, I’ll be putting Rosie to bed.” He added to Molly and Sherlock before turning on his heel and heading through into his bedroom.

“Well, that just leaves the two of us then Mary. I always knew you were the smart one.” Sherlock exclaimed as he bent down to Mary’s level.

“Sherlock, I don’t think…” Molly started as she moved to get up from her place at the dining table. She didn’t get very far before she was interrupted by the sound of her daughter’s voice.

“Daddy read me a story?” No one moved for several moments. Sherlock’s expression was unreadable; barely registering much in the way of emotion as he seemed to mull over Mary’s remark in his head. The cogs could practically be seen whirring away in his brain at a thousand miles per hour.

Molly, on the other hand, wore an expression of absolute mortification. “Mary, no. Sherlock’s not- That’s not your daddy. It’s just you and mummy, remember? Daddy isn’t… Well Daddy’s not around. We don’t need him…” She trailed off as she tried awkwardly to explain the situation to the young girl. “Sherlock, I’m sorry. I don’t know why-,”

“Well naturally given that her biological father is entirely absent from every aspect of her life and is, incidentally, a complete and utter waste of the very air he breathes, I’d say it’s entirely natural for her to seek out the most obvious alternative male presence and, given my unsurpassable aptitude for taking care of children and her mother’s obvious affection for me, it’s really quite unsurprising that she has come to see me as a father figure.” Sherlock interrupted, methodically voicing his internal thought process out loud as though he were in the middle of solving a murder case.

Molly was speechless. She stood next to the chair she had been sat on opening and closing her mouth uselessly as she tried to process the jumble of observations that had just come out of Sherlock’s mouth. This was far too heavy going for a Monday evening.

“Now, since mummy is currently doing a very good impression of a fish out of water, why don’t you come with daddy and we’ll see what we can find in the way of bedtime reading?” Sherlock asked as he turned his attention back to Mary. In response, the little girl beamed from ear to ear and eagerly nodded her head.

“Sherlock-,” Molly tried to interrupt again, eyes wide, but was once more cut off by the detective.

“No need to confuse the poor girl, Molly. She’s clearly at an important stage in her developmental process and I don’t think we should deny her the need for a father figure in her life.” Sherlock remarked dismissively.

“Sherlock, what on earth-,” Molly tried yet again, but Sherlock held up a hand and turned to carry Mary from the room.

“Hush now, Molly. Mary and I have important business to attend to.” And with that, he scooped Mary up and strode towards his bedroom door.

“Daddy, why mummy not coming to?” Mary piped up curiously as she craned her little neck to look back towards Molly.

“Because, Mary, mummy is possibly about to have what we adults call a nervous breakdown. You see, mummy’s a little slow and has taken an exceedingly long time to realise that daddy meant what he said to her back at Sherrinford. In fact, I’d even go as far as to say that mummy has been entirely oblivious up until this very moment.” Sherlock explained as neutrally as though he were discussing something as mundane and common knowledge as the weather. “So with that in mind, we’re going to leave mummy to regain whatever minimal composure she usually possesses and go read through some murder case files.” He finished, not sparing Molly a glance as he proceeded to carry Mary out of the room. John stood in the doorway, watching him with an expression that contained a mixture of surprise and vague amusement.

“You enjoyed every minute of that, didn’t you?” John observed as he folded his arms across his chest.

“Don’t know what you’re talking about, John.” Sherlock dismissed and promptly shut his bedroom door behind him.

In the living room, Molly sunk rather inelegantly back into her chair and proceeded to stare dumbfounded at the closed door through which Sherlock had exited.

A moment’s silence passed in which John observed Molly with a degree of sympathy, before remarking, “I’ll put the kettle on, shall I?”

#sherlock #sherlolly #fanfiction #sherlock x moly #sherlock holmes #molly hooper #heavy going for a monday evening

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