#like they really just put him through the fucking ringer in the last like eight ish episodes and for what
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anyway. ^ kid who i felt completely normal about when i was twelve and feel completely normal about now
#the fact that they evaporate his mother figure in front of him burn half his body and tear off two of his limbs#is fucking insane#like they really just put him through the fucking ringer in the last like eight ish episodes and for what#mine#fma
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ten voicemails
wordcount: 2.6k
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Through the entirety of Rafe and Sophie doing long distance, he had been great about keeping it to himself that he missed her. He knew that sharing it once in a while was alright, but too much and he was convinced he’d make her upset and ruin her study abroad experience - the last thing he wanted to. He even put his phone away most times if he was going to get drunk, knowing he’d probably end up drunkenly confessing something he shouldn’t. He had a great track record - until he didn’t.
He had to admit, he was feeling himself. Earlier that day, he’d FaceTimed her after his long-overdue haircut appointment, at her request. She had answered the phone in a hurry, walking to her metro stop with her bag slung over her shoulder and hadn’t really looked too closely at the screen, more just listening through her headphones. When she finally glanced at him she stopped in her tracks abruptly, nearly bumping into someone. “Oh my god, look at you!”
He raised his eyebrows, running his hand through his hair nervously. He had let the hairdresser do whatever she wanted and she had gone for a shaggier cut that made his hair curl a little at the ends, a little trendier than he expected. “Is it that bad?”
“No! No, no, not at all - did you ask for that cut? That’s not your normal.”
He shrugged, still a little wary of her reaction. “No, I just let her do something new. It’s okay, right?”
“Fuck, that’s hot,” she cursed, trying to be quiet as people moved around her in the busy street.
He seemed to brighten almost immediately, his chest puffing up and cheeks turning a little pink. “Yeah? You think so?”
“Absolutely.” Sophie glanced around, bringing the mic on her earbuds a little closer to her mouth as she spoke. “I cannot describe what I want to do to you right now, because I think I might get cited for public indecency, but holy hell. You look great, baby.”
He beamed, but shook his head. “You’re just saying that because we haven’t seen each other in more than two months and you’re horny.”
“I’m not! I’m not, I swear.” She laughed. “Look, I gotta go or I’ll be late to work, but we can talk later, okay? You look hot, don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.”
That conversation alone had boosted his ego to the moon. He’d gotten off work early - thank you, summer Fridays - and immediately convinced James and Colin into day drinking. They had just moved into their senior house a week ago and Rafe felt miles better not being under the pressure of living with Colin’s parents, as hospitable as they were.
Once the three of them were sufficiently drunk by five, they ordered multiple pizzas and indulged enough so they were somewhat sober again. Rafe had the brilliant idea of leaving Sophie voicemails every time they made the move to a new spot, keeping her updated. “Sophie! Sophie, baby, hello. We’re walkin’ to the Varsity Club now, then we’re gon’ get drunk again.”
“I think you’re still drunk.” Colin pointed out, reaching for Rafe’s phone. “Hi Sophie!”
“James, say hi.” Rafe ordered, holding the speaker toward him. James nodded and waved and Rafe was satisfied, despite the fact it was just a voicemail. “He says hello. Anyways, just giving you the update. I don’t think my typing fingers are all here ready to go, so m’ just gonna call you. Love you!”
That continued through the night as the boys got more drunk and got more indecipherable, with some yelling into the phone (“Sophie! James is hitting on a girl!”) and some accidental calls where the only audio was the muffled music in the background. Once they finally stumbled out of the bars at closing time, all on their way to a miserable hangover when they woke up later that day, Rafe dug out his phone again to call Sophie.
She typically kept her phone’s ringer on, just in case he needed her, but when she was woken up for the fifth time in the middle of the night, she had to silence it. However, she’d also seen how at least one of the boys got hurt every time all three of them got drunk, so she could hardly sleep well anyways. She groaned when her phone lit up again with yet another voicemail from Rafe, this time of him singing Just The Two of Us horribly off-key.
“Jesus Christ, Rafe, that’s like your tenth voicemail.” James shook his head, amused, trying to grab the phone away from him. He made a noise of protest, standing on his toes and holding the phone out of James’ reach. “No! Gotta keep Sophie updated, I promised I’d check in.”
“Good thing she loves you, because even this would be too much for me.” Colin jested, throwing his arm around Rafe’s shoulders to keep him supported as they walked out the bar. “No, she’s in love with me. There’s a difference.” He corrected with a scowl.
“Doesn’t matter.” Colin argued.
“Does too matter. In love is like...” Rafe trailed off, thinking, then grinned. “It’s like when it’s finally spring again and you get to sit in that first warm patch of sun.”
James rolled his eyes. “Okay, dummy. You’re a fuckin’ sap.”
“M’ not. Not at all.” Rafe argued, fumbling with his phone. Colin plucked it out of his hand, raising his eyebrows. “What the fuck are you trying to do, dude?”
“Gotta check in.” Rafe insisted, grabbing it back and finally finding the FaceTime app and jabbing it with his thumb. Sophie picked up after a few rings, squinting with messy hair and reached to flick on a lamp. “What.”
“Baby!” He exclaimed, grinning. “Angel, look, I’m with my friends, you know them.” He turned the phone to show Colin and James and they waved, Colin rolling his eyes.
“Okay. Do you know what time it is here?” She yawned, pulling the blankets tighter around herself.
“No, how many times is it?”
She raised her eyebrows at his slurred speech and the unfocused look in his eyes. “Holy hell, you’re wasted, aren’t you?”
“No no no.” Rafe shook his head quickly. “No drinkings tonight. Nothing.”
“Not good to lie to your girlfriend, Rafe.” James teased and Sophie scowled. “He’s right. No lying.”
“Okay, fine. I had...um...two drinks. That’s all.”
“No you didn’t.”
“No I didn’t.” He agreed, nodding. “It was seven. Eight. Nine.”
“Alright. Are you safe? M’ kind of tired, baby.”
Both the boys grinned to each other, making a mental note to give him shit for the pet name later. Rafe ignored them, not looking away from the screen once. “My liver might not be safe.”
She snorted, nodding. “Okay. Can I go back to sleep?”
“No. If you’re already up then we can talk.” He insisted and she groaned, dropping her face into her pillow. “Rafe, no. I’m hanging up, I went to bed at three.”
“You’re not hanging up on me. You need to get more sleep though, your schedule’s out of whack. Hey, remember when we used to fight?”
She lifted her head slowly, annoyed. “Yes.”
“Are we fighting right now?”
“Will you let me hang up?”
“No.”
“Then yes. We’re fighting.” She rolled her eyes as his face dropped and he put on a big frown. “No! I don’t like fighting Sophie and Rafe. You know what, though?”
“What?”
“We missed out on a hate fuck.”
“Rafe!” She hissed immediately, turning bright red. “James and Colin are right there.”
“S’okay, they know I liked you for evers.”
“They don’t need to know about our sex life -”
“We know way too much about your sex life.” James interrupted, swatting Rafe upside the head just because he could. “So it’s kind of useless to be embarrassed about it now.”
“Oh my god.” She covered her face with her hands, shaking her head. “Rafe, keep your mouth shut.”
He was completely unbothered and sent her a dopey grin. “Okay. Hey, when we get married, are you gonna let me buy the ring?”
Suddenly she was wide awake and she rubbed her eyes, unsure if she heard him correctly. “Hold up, you said when?”
“Yes, when. I don’t want to have to stick to your budget, you deserve the biggest damn diamond ever.”
Colin and James exchanged a glance as they walked up ahead of Rafe, a little wary of the conversation he was setting himself up for but too drunk themselves to care.
“Um. Who said we’re getting married?”
He frowned, sighing heavily like the topic was exhausting. “We are. You know it, I know it.”
Sophie hummed in response, unsure of how to answer that. “Okay then. That’s, um. Nice of you to say.”
“You have to promise me one thing.”
She took a deep breath. “Rafe, I’m not sure I want to be promising anything to you right now -”
“I want you to wear a garter so I can take it off with my teeth on our wedding night.” He insisted, looking way too serious as he told her. “We’re going to get married, or you wouldn’t have moved your ring.”
She blushed and hoped he couldn’t tell from the dim glow of the lamp, ignoring his request. “I moved it because it fits better on my ring finger.”
“I’m sure you did.” He nodded, placated, and she was grateful he didn’t press it further. “I wish you were here, it’s more fun getting drunk with you.”
“Hey!” James spun on his heel and Colin had to grab at him to keep him upright. “We’re plenty fun!”
“Are you gonna make out with me then cuddle? I don’t think so.” Rafe shot back, grinning when Sophie laughed.
“Rafe got hit on tonight.” Colin informed her, breaking into a round of giggles with James as Rafe sent them a glare.
“You got hit on? Was she pretty?” Sophie raised her eyebrows, trying to hide a small smile.
“Um…” Rafe trailed off, trying to form a complete thought. “She was nice.”
“Yeah? Just nice?”
He nodded decidedly. “Just nice.”
“Practically flashed you.” James argued. “That’s more than just nice.”
The girl had leaned over the bar to say hi to Rafe, giving him a view down her shirt - he had immediately blushed red and shoved Colin forward, telling her Colin was single but Rafe was most definitely not.
“Bold.” Sophie commented, yawning. “Good for her.”
Rafe narrowed his eyes a little. “You’re not mad?”
“Did you flirt back?”
“No! Of course not!” He exclaimed, shaking his head vigorously.
She shrugged. “That’s what I thought. I’m not mad, I have no reason to be. Can I go back to sleep now, please?”
“Pay attention, Rafe.” Colin called out, glancing behind him to see Rafe nearly walking into a streetlight pole as he kept his eyes trained on the screen.
“No. You get to hang out with me.” He decided and she grumbled, but rolled onto her side and set the phone up hands-free so she could at least watch him get home safely.
“Hey, Sophie!” James butted his head against Rafe’s to get in view of the screen, making him yelp.
“Hi James.”
“Remember you gotta come home soon. If you don’t, Rafe’s gonna be sad and I can’t have my buddy being sad.” He told her seriously, slinging his arm around Rafe’s shoulders.
She laughed, nodding. “I’ll come home, don’t worry.” She grinned. “I would miss you and Colin too much.”
“Hey!” Rafe exclaimed, indignant. “What about me?”
“What about you?”
He was about to open his mouth and make his case when he tripped on the uneven sidewalk and his phone clattered to the ground. James cracked up, picking up the phone and flipping the camera to show Rafe in someone’s front yard, lying next to a crumpled metal sign. “Get up, dumbass.”
“Wait, no, hold on, is he bleeding?” Sophie frowned, suddenly more attentive.
“Noooo. M’ fine.” Rafe insisted, clapping his hand over a slice down his arm.
“Show me your arm, Rafe.” She commanded and he scowled but obliged, showing her a small but deep cut on his forearm and the blood trailing out of it. She nearly retched but squeezed her eyes shut instead for a moment, taking a deep breath. “Okay. Where’s Colin? Is he sober?”
“Here!” Colin had gotten a solid block ahead of them, wandering, then jogged back once he realized his friends had stopped. “Damn, dude.” He mumbled, just standing there and watching Rafe bleed.
“Jesus Christ.” Sophie muttered. “Okay. Can one of you get an Uber to the hospital? Please?”
James handed the phone to Colin and took off his shirt, tapping it ultra-gently against Rafe’s cut, effectively doing nothing. “Mine’s dead.”
“I didn’t bring my phone.” Colin added, then squinted as he finally got a good look at her. “You look tired, you should sleep more.”
She pinched the bridge of her nose, trying not to lose her composure. “Where are you guys?”
“Dunno.” Colin turned in a circle, nearly tripping over his feet. “Oh! We’re by the stadium.”
“Alright. I’m going to hang up and call my friends to come get you, do you promise to stay there?”
“Sophie?” Rafe asked, his voice a little weak.
“Yeah, Rafe?”
“If I bleed out and die, I need you to know that I love you and I miss having sex with you.”
She rolled her eyes, exasperated. “That’s sweet. You’ll be fine. Stay there, okay? I need a promise from all of you.”
The boys all mumbled a chorus of “I promise,” and she hung up, satisfied, then immediately called Allie and Julia to go pick them up. Luckily they were both sober and corralled the boys into Allie’s car, taking the phone from Rafe to keep Sophie updated. Once they made the short drive to the emergency room, Julia opened the door to help Rafe out, making Allie’s car light turn on. He groaned and threw his uninjured arm over his eyes, squinting. “I can’t go to the light. I gotta make it for my girl.”
“That’s not - that’s the car light, Cameron.” Julia told him, tugging to get him out. He stayed limp like a ragdoll, shaking his head. “Tell Sophie I love her.”
“You’re not dying. Get out of the car.” Sophie commanded from the FaceTime call. Rafe snapped his head up toward the sound. “I hear her.”
“What on earth did you drink?” Allie asked incredulously, taking the phone from Julia. “Look, can we just text you when we’re out? Airhead here is gonna be too distracted.”
Sophie laughed, running her hand over her face. “Yes, that’s fine. Thank you for putting up with him.”
Julia grumbled, finally tugging Rafe out of the car with James’ assistance. “He owes us a bottle of some good wine after this.”
Two hours later, Rafe was fresh out of the hospital with a tetanus shot and three stitches, and a promise to detail Allie’s car in order to get the blood off of her leather seats (which she had just easily cleaned with a Clorox wipe). He was still a little drunk, but not nearly at the same level when the girls texted her a picture of him with a dopey grin and two fingers up on one hand, then one finger on the other.
Allie: your boyfriend is a nightmare drunk
Sophie: unfortunately
what are the fingers supposed to mean
Julia: he said it stands for two and a half weeks until he sees you
Sophie: aw. you two are the best, seriously
Allie: a boyfriend of yours is a boyfriend of ours
taglist: @whoeveniskendall @kkmaybank @karsinner @outerbanksbro @outerbankspreferences @randomficsandshit @sunshineitsfine44 @jailcalledlife @tovvaa @moniamaybank @illbesafeforyou @dontjinx-it @freddymaybank @jjmaybankzz @g4bster @oopsiedoopsie23 @babygal-babygal @thecuthoney
#rafe cameron#rafe cameron fanfic#outer banks#outer banks fanfic#obx#obx fanfic#college rafe#frat rafe#rafe x sophie#mine
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Brettsey please “so not to be rude or anything but i’ve been coming to this cemetery at this time on this day every week for fucking years and i’ve always been alone up until now seriously what the hell” au
Ok anon I REALLY have to apologize because this request has been sitting in my inbox for probably a month or two now but I didn’t get the inspo to finish this until last night. That being said, I got this into a short little oneshot so I hope you enjoy!!
Tags: alternate universe, grief, mourning, light emotional hurt/comfort, meet cute
Word count: 2922
183 days.
It’s been 183 days since Sylvie last visited Julie. 183 days thinking about how things should have been different. How Julie was supposed to survive, how her and Scott and Amelia were supposed to be a family. How Sylvie was supposed to reconnect with her, to finally know the woman who had given Sylvie her own life’s blood.
She was supposed to have more time.
Instead, Sylvie ends up feeling like more of a stranger to Julie than ever. The last time she visited was the funeral, and that hadn’t done much for her in terms of closure. If anything, it made her feel more out of place. Random strangers came up to her, asking how she knew Julie. Sylvie can still remember the confused looks on their face as she’d told them Julie was her birth mother who had given her up at sixteen years old, and the awkward condolences that came stuttering out of their mouths afterwards. She’d felt too guilty eventually, and left early. Who the hell was she anyway, to be tainting everyone’s view of her birth mother at her own funeral?
She hasn’t been to visit Julie’s grave ever since. All Sylvie had done was stay with parents for a few days to clear her head. A few days turned into a few weeks, and then a few months. Today marks month six of her stay there. Her parents had told her they’d be happy to have her. They hadn’t been receptive to the idea of Sylvie meeting Julie in the first place, so they were more than willing to help her through the loss. The only condition was that she had to go to therapy and work through her grief, which Sylvie happily agreed to. But last week, her therapist suggested she visit Julie’s grave to get ‘true closure’, whatever that means. It’s a strange idea to Sylvie but nothing else seems to be working. Her boss had assured her that Fowlerton was much too peaceful (the polite way of calling the town boring, and rightfully so) and it would do just fine without its favourite paramedic for a few days. So, reluctantly, she accepted.
That’s why Sylvie’s now halfway through an hour-long drive to Chicago, all the way back to the cemetery. She buys hydrangeas at a tiny flower shop she passes by when she first enters Chicago territory. They’re Julie’s favourite. They were Julie’s favourite
Her fingers anxiously tap at the wheel when she finally pulls into the cemetery. It’s a dreary Sunday, grey clouds hovering in the sky bringing the prominent threat of rain. The graveyard is empty when she gets there, from the looks of it, except for one single person. Out of the corner of her eye, she can see a man around her age sitting on a bench near a grave, his eyes observing her curiously from over his shoulder. He’s not someone she knows-- she doesn’t really know many people here in Chicago after all-- but she ignores his lingering eyes. Shades of grey stick out against the field of green and wilted flowers are scattered across other tombstones. It feels like a ghost town, for lack of a better term. It’s gloomy and it looks like no one’s visited this place in a while. Even for a cemetery, the sight is a depressing one.
Sylvie slams her car door shut and takes a deep breath. Relax, she thinks. Just a quick drop by to see her, place the flowers, and then leave. You can get through this.
She makes a beeline towards Julie’s grave, less than 100 feet away, and stops dead in her tracks when she gets there. Her feet feel heavy in her pink rain boots, sticking out like a sore thumb against her black coat as she observes the tombstone.
Julie Walters
Loving wife and daughter
1973 - 2019
Sylvie doesn’t know how to feel reading those words. A whole life, one she only scratched the surface of, reduced to a mere four words and eight numbers. It’s underwhelming, and she doesn’t know whether to feel relieved that Julie’s entire being wasn’t etched onto stone or insulted that they could summarize her in so few words.
Maybe it’s for the best. What else would they put on there anyway: that she was a flawed human who left behind a child who she wasn’t ready to have, only to die before she could see her second daughter years later when she was finally ready for one? When she was finally ready to reconcile with her first born? Yeah, it was definitely for the best.
She places the bouquet of hydrangeas on the wet grass next to the tombstone and stands back. Man, this is harder than she thought. The words are there, racing in her head, but they don’t come out. Every time she wants to say something, it gets caught in the back of her throat.
Sylvie’s trying to pick from a list of infinite questions and countless ways to begin when she feels a chill on the back of her neck. At that moment, a voice comes from behind her. “Hi, are y--”
“Ah!” Sylvie shrieks, the voice startling her. She nearly jumps out of her skin as she turns around in shock, only to see a guy standing in front of her. It’s the same guy, she realizes, that had been staring at her earlier. Now, up close, she guesses that he can’t be all that much older that she is. He has blonde hair that’s short at the back and longer at the front, his eyes a soft shade of blue-green. His jacket and boots are a little worn but other than that, he looks completely normal. Except for the fact that he’s the only other person in this whole cemetery, and he just came up to her from behind without making a sound.
“Sorry! Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you,” he assures her, his hands up in surrender.
“Oh, uh, it’s okay.” Sylvie lets out a big breath, shaking off the nerves from the jumpscare.
“Not to be rude or anything, but I just-- I’m usually the only one here,” he explains awkwardly.
“Are you a groundskeeper or something? I can leave if you guys need me to.”
“No no,” he laughs bashfully, scratching the back of his neck. “I work in construction, actually. But I’ve uh.. I’ve been coming here the same time, every Sunday for years now to visit my dad. Nobody’s ever here when I am, so I figured you must be new.”
“Oh. I’m so sorry for your loss,” she offers. So okay, he’s not such a creep after all. Actually, he’s kind of sweet. “He must have been a really great dad, for you to be visiting him every week after all these years.”
“He… had his moments,” the man explains delicately. “Honestly, he wasn’t the most affectionate guy. I guess I just don’t want to end up like him. Jaded and cruel.”
Sylvie nods understandingly, because she gets it. Her parents are loving and supportive, but she’s had some exes that have put her through the ringer. Her first real love, Harrison, had been manipulative and heartless. She’s always hoped that these awful guys wouldn’t change her for the worse either.
“Sorry, I don’t know why I’m saying all of this. I’ll get out of your hair,” he offers. “But uh, here. Take this.” The guy holds out a single rose, which Sylvie accepts.
Her eyebrows narrow in confusion at the gesture. “A rose?”
“Yeah, well, my dad has been getting a dozen roses a week from my family since I was 17, he won’t turn over in his grave if he gets 11 just this one time. I’m sure whoever you’re grieving could use it a lot more than he could.”
Sylvie’s confused expression softens into gratitude, a faint smile pulling at her lips. This guy, whoever he is, didn’t have to do this for her. It’s a sweet gesture. He really does seem nice. No catches, no mind games, just simple and kind. She hasn’t met a guy like that in a while, at least not one her age. “That’s actually really sweet, thank you.”
“Of course.”
“I’m Sylvie, by the way,” she introduces herself awkwardly. Everything about this situation is awkward, frankly. But she extends her free hand anyway. “Sylvie Brett.”
“Matt Casey. I wish it were under nicer circumstances, but it’s nice to meet you.” His smile is wide as he takes her hand and shakes it. It’s confusing, but it makes Sylvie smile all the same.
“You seem awfully cheerful for someone who’s in a graveyard,” she observes.
“Like I said: I’ve been doing this for a while. I’m sort of all talked out now,” Matt explains with a shrug.
“Right,” she nods. “I wish I could relate. Normally I’m the one who’s cheerful and talkative, but it’s hard with this sort of thing. Everything I want to say just doesn’t seem to come out. Sometimes, I think if I start talking…”
“You’ll never stop?” He guesses.
“Yeah.” How did he know?
“Well I can tell you from experience that you definitely do stop talking at one point. I got all talked out two years ago. I looked around one day and realized I was talking about types of screwdrivers to my dad’s grave with no one else around. Eventually, you’ll run out of topics like I did. And then new ones will come, and you’ll talk some more, and then you get quiet again and then you just… stop talking.”
“I hope so. I’m a big talker-- I mean seriously, I never shut up-- but I just… I don’t know where to start with this one,” she explains.
“If you don’t mind me asking, who are you visiting?”
“Julie Walters.” She points to the tombstone in front of them. “My birth mother.”
“Oh. I’m so sorry.”
Sylvie’s heard those six little words before. She had to stomach every single insincere, fake utterance of sympathy when she was at the funeral. But for some reason, the way Matt says it to her makes her think he really means it. She’s not used to people meaning it when they offer their condolences. It’s strange. Then again, this whole interaction is strange. “It’s okay,” she brushes it off.
“It’s not. At least, it doesn’t have to be,” he soothes. Something about his voice is so horrifyingly comforting. It’s calm and low, and it feels like warm tea and honey in her ears. It’s enough to make her want to burst into tears right then and there .
Sylvie takes a deep breath and then, before she can stop herself, breaks the silence to ramble. “I love my parents, you know? They raised me, they fed me, they’re responsible for the person I’ve become. But I’d always wondered where I came from, why my birth parents gave me up for adoption. And when Julie sought me out, I panicked at first. I wasn’t ready to give up that fantasy in my head of who she was, to have all my questions answered. But now I’m standing here, visiting her grave for the first time in the six months since her funeral by recommendation of my stupid grief counselor, and I… I just can’t stop thinking of all the questions I was too scared to ask. And man, it sucks.”
Matt stands there and nods understandingly, his gaze unwavering even as she turns her eyes towards Julie’s tombstone.
“I’m sorry,” she continues, wiping tears from her cheek. “We just met, and I’m rambling, and--”
“No no, it’s good for you,” he assures her. “ And I don’t mind it, I-- I like hearing you talk.”
“Oh.” Sylvie looks around, unsure of what to say. This Matt Casey guy, whoever he is, hasn’t run for the hills by now which is strange to say the least. But weirdly, it’s comforting.
“You’re right, you know,” he continues, switching the subject. “It sucks. Life… life sucks.”
“Yeah, it does,” she agrees, letting out a small laugh. This makes Matt laugh a little, which makes Sylvie laugh even more, until they’re both smiling and giggling in a cemetery like a bunch of blushing lunatics. It’s quite possibly the weirdest thing Sylvie’s ever experienced and yet somehow, it’s exactly what she needed. A bright light in the vast sea of darkness.
“You’re smiling again, that’s a good sign.”
“It is,” she agrees. “Am I crazy for that? I mean, I’m smiling and laughing in a graveyard with somebody I just met. Isn’t that weird?”
“A little,” he admits with a shy laugh. “But you’re not crazy. Sometimes people need a little bit of weirdness in their lives.”
“I guess stranger things have happened,” Sylvie shrugs playfully.
“Yeah.” He flashes her another smile before turning his attention towards Julie’s grave and facing it with her. Sylvie stares at the marked stone. She fondly remembers the few memories she had with Julie, and the countless ones they never got around to. It’s unfortunate, really, but it feels more manageable with someone there. Even if it’s someone she barely knows. Matt stands with her for a moment, the peace and quiet taking over. It’s nice. Sylvie’s never had silence be so comforting; it’s always made her anxious and uncomfortable up until now. Matt sure is a puzzling guy in that sense. She sneaks a peek at him through the corner of her eye, this guy who’s supporting her even though they just met. He’s lost someone too, he could be going back to his father’s tombstone. Instead, he’s staying there with her. Sylvie decides at that moment that Matt Casey is an unfailingly kind, weirdly solid guy. And, admittedly, a little attractive. Ok, a lot attractive.
“Hey, and don’t worry,” she adds after a few minutes of silence, “about being like your father. We aren’t our parents. And you seem… good. That’s all you can ask for I guess, is to be one of the good ones.”
“Thanks,” he nods, his eyes filled with a bit of confusion and a bit of something else Sylvie can’t quite place. Wonder, almost.
Sylvie turns back to Julie’s grave, tracing over the words with her eyes. Suddenly, it doesn’t feel so scary. Sylvie’s still sad, and wounds take time to scar over, but it doesn’t feel like she’s bleeding out anymore. She sighs, and she can sense the weight on her shoulders blowing away into the wind.
Unfortunately, when the sorrow blows away with the wind, it brings in the rain.
“Oh god,” Matt groans, wincing while looking up just on time to catch a raindrop in his eye. He squints and turns to Sylvie, who’s standing there laughing. “I didn’t see this in the weather forecast for today.”
“Me neither,” she giggles. “Today’s full of unexpected things, I guess.”
“It is.” He gives her a shy smile, nodding in agreement.
“Do you mind the rain?” She asks, looking up at the gloomy sky with a smile on her face.
“No,” he replies gently.
“Me neither.”
They stand there, hoods pulled away from their heads, letting the rain wash over them. There’s no shelter in sight anyway. They talk for a while about Chicago, about their lives, their friends, things that make them happy. But then they fall into a comfortable silence, smiling peacefully in the rain. Sylvie only moves a few times to brush raindrops off of the bouquet of flowers she’d placed at Julie’s grave. She looks at it, the name and the date etched in stone, and she doesn’t feel sick anymore. No questions unanswered, no bitterness. Her loss feels manageable.
She’s okay. More than okay.
“Hey, this might sound a little crazy, and I know we just met,” Matt starts after a while, “but would you want to… go get dinner or something?”
“What, like a date?” She snorts at her own joke, the idea being very nice in theory but impossible. It’s seriously impossible that this guy is actually asking her out, right?
“Er, yeah,” he nods. “Like a date.”
Oh. Okay, so he was asking her out. This is unfamiliar territory for Sylvie. She’s been asked out before, of course, by the small-town idiots in Fowlerton. But by an admittedly very good-looking stranger, under these circumstances no less? It’s a bit of a bizarre situation. That’s the crux of it, though. Matt Casey, whoever he is under all these sweet, charming layers, doesn’t feel like a stranger. Somehow, through one chance encounter, it feels like catching up with an old friend.
When she considers the facts, she’s had fun today. Every interaction they’ve had has come with such ease, and from a place of goodness and light. Yeah, maybe it’ll go absolutely nowhere. But one date in a public place won’t hurt her. She’s in Chicago for the rest of the weekend anyway. If anything, going out with someone like Matt Casey would do her a lot of good. And she hadn’t realized it until now but god, she really really wants to. So she does.
“I’d like that,” she finally replies while brushing rain off of her coat.
“Yeah?” He asks to make sure, his face lighting up with hope and slight excitement. Sylvie finds it adorable.
“Yeah,” she assures him.
He nods and grins excitedly as he leans in closer, and Sylvie feels the happiest she’s felt in a long time when he finally replies. “Me too.”
#this is a little rushed lol#also ik if i met anyone at a cemetary i would be weirded out but i tried to make this cute???#i just hope i was successful lol#brettsey#au prompt request#alternate universe#meet cute#light emotional hurt/comfort#mourning
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Soooooo~! We heard what Roman thought about the caravan people, what about Virgil? You must have liked some other people than Missy and Jester over there!
(Virgil hums for a minute, thinking back to the travelling troupe he's spent so much time with. Not the kind of people he thought he'd be associating with on the surface, but Remus takes you strange places... He grimaces, but you get the feeling it's just for show.)
(The more he thinks about them, the more fond he sounds, like he's forgetting he has an audience while he muses about the troupe...)
Virgil: Hmm… not much to say, really. Most of them either hated and distrusted me at first, or still do, which is valid. And I’m closer with the kids then some of the adults, since I spent so much time herding them around during shows…
Virgil: Somiza’s alright. Kind, but keeps her distance. She’s good with people, and smarter than she acts… EV’s cool as shit, we understand each other just fine. --Of course I’m fond of them, I wouldn’t have left Missy and Jester with them if I wasn’t! They’re good moms...
Virgil: Tamaris is… fine? We flirt occasionally, but when do I not… He was one of the first to start trusting me besides EV, so that was cool, if misguided of him. Pryce… is pretty much the exact same. Pretty face, trusts way too quickly, annoying, but doable. Vanessa keeps her distance, cause she can tell I’m not very social, which I appreciate. And Jester and Missy are very fond of her, so I can’t hate her. Moira is much the same way -- stays out of my way, I stay out of hers. She got mad when she found out I couldn’t read, wants to teach me. I said no, obviously.
Virgil: Milo and Elias… I don’t talk to them much. Elias is much closer to Remus than me, and Milo took a long time to warm up to all three of us. Honestly, he, EV, and Lorilla might be the only things keeping that group alive… But those two always seem to catch me when I’m trying to avoid sleep. Elias is much more chill about it, he’ll just sit with me and talk, or wait out the longer hours. Milo will try to trick me into sleeping with milk and honey, because he was ‘totally making some for himself anyway’, but he’s a liar and a bastard and I can’t believe I keep falling for that damn trick… I don’t know, something about his whole shit is...calming? He’s what I imagine people mean when they describe surface “dad”s to me.
Virgil: Lorilla earned my respect, for sure. Last to trust me, knows her way around a weapon, hunts and tracks well, tamed a fucking bear. We’re...about as friendly as I let people get. She’s protective of the kids too, and Missy and Jester really like her, so… We’re very alike. And usually that irritates the shit out of me, but she’s not annoying, so it’s fine.
Virgil: Raena had a pretty violent reaction to me at first too, but she had a very good reason: She’s escaped from Luihaun'athar, just like me, and… well, let’s say it’s not too hard to recognize a Blackguard when you see one. It took a bit to convince her I wasn’t out for blood, but we get along fine now. We play Sava sometimes, since she has the board, even if we’re both bat-shit awful at it… Not much to say about Dario. Respects me, keeps his distance. Which is nice, as always. Theta’s still pretty scared of me, but he’s generally nice to the kids, as long as they’re not putting him through the ringer…
Virgil: And there’s a new one in the past few years, Brian. She’s a literal fairy. Like, less-than-a-foot-tall flying dragonfly person. Bri-anne, but spelled dumb, because she’s a fairy and she changes her given name every two minutes based on the funniest one she can come up with at the time. She’s funny; the kind of funny that gets old fast, though Remus swears I’m wrong about that… Supposedly, she was in the troupe years ago, and just left for a bit. I’d say I wish she stayed gone, but I’m scared she’ll materialize and fuck with me for it...
(Virgil smirks slightly at himself, then shakes his head, biting back a smile,)
Virgil: Then there’s the kids. I’ve probably spent the most time just babysitting them, which… I don’t hate doing. They’re good kids, if ridiculously reckless.
Virgil: The twins… Lea is probably the second most energetic, following Missy. Blunt, distrustful, rages against the system and adults, a real fucking punk. She’s fantastic, I adore her. Her sister’s a lot quieter, and we aren’t as close, but she listens to me. Respectful, but fragile… But, she’s always got Lea attached to her hip, so she’s fine for now.
Virgil: Yuuto’s a good kid, Roman’s just dumb. He, Lea, and my two can get into some trouble if they’re left alone together, but they’re just kids expressing themselves. He spends a lot of time with Jester, and I don’t always know a crush when I see one, but he’s a bit obvious... And Cyrus is a sweet kid. When he was little, he seemed to instantly form a crush on any dude he saw. He hit on me too, and Pryce “helped” him, which was a total shitshow… He’s much more chill now, showed real interest in my kind of work. I taught him to pick locks and steal, which everyone else thinks was a massive mistake, but it’s only ever been hilarious from my point of view~
Virgil: Peia’s the youngest -- still a toddler -- and I’m her favorite, obviously, because she has good taste. She freaks Dee and Remus out, which is always funny… I’m fucking soft for that little kid, I’m not even mad about it. EV and Somiza trusted me to watch her while they do the show, and she wouldn’t let me put her down, and she wasn’t even scared of Charlotte? She’s a little fucking badass! --When she catches me sitting down, she tries to sneak up behind me and jump on me. I let her think she’s quiet enough to catch me off guard, because she needs the training... And I am not about to let her down, are you shitting me??
Virgil: And then, there’s Missy and Jester… Well, you know how I feel about them. Little bastards, spawn of satan, ruined my life, I wish them nothing but pain. ...That’s a joke, obviously. I would kill for those kids-- And they’re still kids, goddamnit, I don’t care how big they get. They’ll be eight forever, and you can tell them I said so.
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Best Two Out of Three, Part 14
Is it too early to post this? It’s only 10:30 a.m. here. But whatever, I can’t wait.
This part came about pretty much exclusively because @what-does-mine-say wanted suits. But now that it’s done I’m a little nervous y’all might murder me for putting you through yet another emotional ringer? ESPECIALLY after what happened on Dynamite last night?
*awkwardly dances away*
Best Two Out of Three
Part: 14/26
Pairing: Kenny Omega x OFC x Cash Wheeler and Adam Page x OFC
Warnings: Angst, alcohol use, language
Word Count: 4k
Catch up on previous parts here.
It was the night before Dynamite, and after what had happened with Kenny the previous week, Alex had decided that a serious girls’ night was in order. She’d been somewhat nervous to ask Callie—were they friends now? She didn’t really know—but Callie had been so thrilled when she had that she’d immediately kicked Adam out of their hotel room—"Go drink with Cash and Dax, or something,”—and dragged Alex to the store to get supplies. Now they were loaded up with everything they needed for a proper girls’ night: face masks, take out menus, alcohol, chocolate. Yes—this was just what Alex needed.
“Is it bad that I’m actually excited to kick Adam out for a while?” Callie grinned as they made their way back to the room.
“No,” Alex assured her. “I mean, Cash and I are still in the honeymoon phase and he’s definitely getting it later, but right now I could really use some girl time.”
Callie smirked. “You know you have to dish about that, right? It’s girls’ night law.”
Alex’s eyes widened. “About Cash?”
Callie just nodded.
“I don’t know,” Alex hesitantly returned. “If I dish about Cash then you have to dish about Adam, and that might just be weird.”
She shrugged as they arrived at the room. “I don’t know; we could compare notes on how good a kisser he is.”
Alex stared back at her smirk, stunned. “You want to talk about the time I made out with your boyfriend? Who are you and what have you done with Callie?”
Callie just playfully rolled her eyes as she used her key card to unlock the door. They entered the room; but as they walked further inside, they both came to a sudden stop at what they saw. Two bunches of long-stemmed red roses laid on each bed next to two beautiful cocktail dresses.
Alex let out a surprised gasp—but Callie’s reaction was a bit different. “They’ve ruined girls’ night.”
Alex sent her a look as she hurried over to the bed with the wine-colored dress. She didn’t know why, but she felt like that one was hers. Sure enough, a note on top of the dress said her name. She read it out loud. “Alex, meet me at the bar at eight. Cash.” She looked excitedly at Callie. “What does yours say?”
She picked up the note from her dress. “The same,” she said. “Well, except for the names, obviously.”
Alex couldn’t stop smiling. “It looks like they’ve planned a double date,” she said in a sing-song voice. She picked up the dress. It was a sexy little lace number with a plunging neckline and spaghetti straps that crossed in the back. She bit her lip. Cash had probably bought it because he thought it would look better on the floor.
“Well, mine is a bit extra,” Callie said as she looked over the dress Adam had gotten her. It was a one-sleeved figure-hugging LBD—and it was covered entirely in sequins. She smirked. “I love it, but it’s definitely extra.”
“Callie,” Alex started. “Adam’s shirts? You have to be extra to compete with those things.” She nearly snorted with laughter. Callie couldn’t help but return it.
“Fair enough.”
* * * * * * * * * *
Sometime later, Callie and Alex walked to the elevators to head down to the hotel bar, all done up in their new dresses. And even though they’d tried their hardest to pry it out of Adam and Cash while they’d gotten ready, they had no idea what they had planned for the evening.
“If they made us dress up, they must have too, right?” Alex asked as they stepped onto the elevator.
“They better have,” Callie returned. “I have a thing for suits. Adam doesn’t wear them enough.”
Alex let out a laugh. “What, his bolo ties don’t do it for you?”
“Oh no, they do,” she assured. “But suits are different.”
The elevator arrived at the lobby with a ding. Alex’s heart thrummed faster in her chest as they made their way to the bar; and when they arrived, heat spread throughout her core. Adam and Cash were in suits—and fuck Cash looked sexy.
She hurried over and pulled him into a feverish kiss, unable to contain herself. He moaned against her mouth, drawing her close. Alex was seriously considering dragging him off somewhere private when he pulled away, nipping at her bottom lip as he did. He practically growled as his eyes trailed over her body.
“Do you have any idea what I want to do to you right now?”
“Mm, why don’t you tell me?” she purred.
He smirked. “Trust me, it’s not appropriate.”
“Get a room,” Adam commented—but Callie kissed his neck.
“You don’t scrub up too bad, cowboy,” she whispered to him.
He let out a growl himself then. “Don’t start that yet, we won’t make it to the restaurant.”
Callie just smirked.
“How long have you two been planning this?” Alex asked.
“Since last week,” Cash answered. He gave her a cocky grin. “I’d say sorry to ruin girls’ night, but I’m not sorry at all.”
“Me neither,” Adam added. “That dress wasn’t cheap.”
Callie lightly smacked his shoulder. “Well where are we going, then?” she asked him.
“This new place that opened up downtown. It looks pretty fancy and we thought, why not? You two deserve the best.”
Callie and Alex exchanged a grin. Clearly, Adam and Cash had really thought this out.
“Come on,” Adam added. “The car’s already here.”
The two couples walked hand-in-hand toward the front entrance of the hotel. Alex hugged Cash’s arm as they stepped out into the evening air; but, suddenly, her heart flew into her mouth. Matt, Nick, and Kenny had just arrived, and they were walking right toward them.
Her eyes connected with Kenny’s. She looked away, guilt rising inside her; and then, unexpectedly, Cash nodded at them.
“Hey, boys!” he smirked. It wasn’t an attempt at a friendly greeting—he was clearly showing off. Alex tightened her grip on his hand in aggravation—she’d asked him not to rub it Kenny’s face, multiple times—but he mistook it for affection and squeezed back. All she could do was roll her eyes, her heart still in her throat.
“Guys and girls,” Nick nodded at them as they passed. “Big night out?”
“Just dinner,” Adam returned. It seemed like he was trying to downplay it, Alex noticed. Maybe she wasn’t the only one harboring some guilt over the situation. “Y’all have a good night,” he added as they reached the waiting SUV.
“You, too,” Nick returned. Neither Matt nor Kenny said a word.
Cash helped Alex into the car. As she slid into a seat and buckled her seat belt, she couldn’t help but look out the window after Kenny. She watched as Matt clasped a comforting hand on his shoulder as they disappeared into the hotel. Her stomach twisted. He must know, she thought. Of course Matt would know; Kenny was his best friend. It made her wonder if anyone else knew.
Cash slid a hand onto her bare thigh, drawing her attention back to him. He leaned into her ear. “I hope you don’t like that dress too much, because I promise I’m gonna rip it off you as soon as we get back to the room.”
He pressed a kiss to her cheek. She gave him a coy smile as he squeezed her leg. But she couldn’t ignore the sinking feeling in her stomach.
* * * * * * * * * *
Adam had been right—the restaurant was fancy. Out of the four of them, Callie was the only one who didn’t seem completely out of her element. But Cash and Adam leaned into it and ordered a bottle of champagne for the table. Alex had more or less downed her first glass and was already on her second. She needed it after that run-in with Kenny.
Their appetizer had just arrived when she pushed back her seat. “I’m gonna go hunt out the bathroom,” she said.
Cash gave her teasing grin. “That champagne went right through you, huh? Should we order another bottle?”
She leaned over and kissed his cheek. “Are you trying to get me drunk?”
“No, just a little buzzed. I want to make sure you’re good for dessert later,” he returned with a wink.
“Man,” Adam shot, “stop stealing all my lines.”
Callie lightly smacked his shoulder again as she pushed her seat back, too. “I’ll go with you. Girls have to use the bathroom in pairs,” she joked.
They made their way through the restaurant toward the bathroom. Admiring eyes followed them as they passed by, some more obvious than others, confirming just how good they looked. As soon as they were inside the ladies’ room, Callie sent Alex a grin.
“Cash can’t keep his hands off you.”
Alex felt heat rise in her cheeks; but she became suddenly distracted by the full-length mirror on the wall. “Oo, this is a good selfie mirror.” She pulled her phone out of her clutch—but she froze. There was a text message on the screen. From Kenny.
You look absolutely gorgeous tonight.
Her heart beat faster in her chest as she stared at it. Callie walked up behind her and she came to her senses and tried to clear the message from the screen—but she wasn’t fast enough.
“I’ve already seen it,” Callie said. “Just ignore it.”
Alex let out a huff. As much as she didn’t want to admit it, that was easier said than done. She looked down at her hands. She needed to get last week off her chest, and now seemed like as good an opportunity as she’d get. “If I tell you something, will you promise not to say anything? Especially not to Adam.”
Callie’s brow furrowed. But she nodded. “Yeah, of course.”
Alex drew in a deep breath. “When I went to get your earrings last week, Kenny was in the locker room. He was drinking.”
Callie’s eyes bulged. “What?”
“That’s not even the half of it,” Alex went on. Callie stared at her, waiting. She spit it out before she could stop herself. “He told me he’s in love with me.”
She expected Callie to gasp, clasp a hand over her mouth, something. But she barely reacted. It was almost like she’d already known. And then she said, “Well, you don’t have to worry about me telling Adam that. He already knows.”
It was Alex who was confused now. “What?”
Callie shifted awkwardly on her heels. “Right after FTR doused Kenny in beer he and Adam got into it back in the locker room,” she explained. “Kenny blurted out in the heat of the moment that he’s in love with you. Adam told me about it at the hotel later that night.”
Alex took a step back against the wall, suddenly feeling lightheaded. That explained Adam’s reaction when they’d run into Kenny on the way out of the hotel. “Who else knows?” she asked.
“Just the Bucks,” Callie said. “They were in the locker room, too.”
Alex ran an anxious hand over her brow. “So that means all of us here know that Kenny is in love with me. Except my boyfriend.”
Callie gripped her shoulders, doing her best to calm her down before she could get any more upset. “Exactly—Cash is your boyfriend,” she said. “He planned this night for you, not Kenny. Who cares about a text? You look hot; I could’ve told you that. So put it out of your mind, and let’s go back out there and enjoy our double date. Okay?”
Alex worried at her lip. But she nodded. “Yeah, you’re right.”
Callie grinned. “Of course I am. Come on, you need another glass of champagne.”
She took Alex’s arm and pulled her back out of the bathroom. And even though Alex knew Callie was right, she couldn’t put Kenny’s text out of her mind—and she doubted champagne would help.
* * * * * * * * * *
Kenny had sat watching his phone for the last twenty minutes after sending that text to Alex. He leaned back on his bed, cursing himself. He knew he shouldn’t have sent it, but he hadn’t been able to stop himself. When he’d spotted Alex walking out in that dress, she’d literally taken his breath away. She was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. He wanted to tell her; he wanted to show her how absolutely perfect he thought she was. But he couldn’t, and it killed him.
And Cash. That Carolina bastard had known exactly what he was doing when he’d called out at him, Matt, and Nick with that stupid smirk on his face. Kenny’s hand had balled into a fist at his side, just itching to drop Cash where he stood; but then he’d noticed how Alex had tensed and rolled her eyes. As much as he wanted to, Kenny didn’t need to kick Cash’s ass. If he kept acting like a childish asshole, he’d shoot himself in the foot.
A knock on the door jarred Kenny from his thoughts. He let out a sigh as he stood and crossed the room; that would be Matt and Nick. They insisted on going out to dinner, even though he didn’t have much of an appetite at all. He knew they were just trying to be good friends and distract him from Alex—but that would be impossible tonight.
He pulled open the door. “You ready, bud?” Nick asked.
“We’re going nostalgic tonight,” Matt added. “TGI Fridaaayyysss!”
Kenny stared listlessly back at them. Their smiles faltered, clearly disappointed that he hadn’t shown the least bit excitement. “Whatever,” he returned. “Let’s just get out of here.”
* * * * * * * * * *
Later that night, Alex and Cash and Callie and Adam had returned to the hotel bar, not ready for the evening to end quite yet. Following Callie’s pep talk in the ladies’ room, Alex had managed to push Kenny’s text to the back of her mind—but it was still there, lingering, creeping back to the forefront every now again until she’d force it back down once more. Hopefully, Cash would make her forget it for good once they got back to their room.
“Okay, three whiskeys and a Sex on the Beach for my girl,” Adam announced as he returned to the table, not-so-skillfully holding four drink glasses in his hands. He nearly spilled Callie’s until she quickly took it from him. He smiled and kissed the top of her head. “Thanks, darlin’.”
She grinned as he sat down next to her. “Maybe we shouldn’t have sent the drunkest one to get the drinks.”
“What?” he proclaimed. “No, I am not the drunkest one.”
“Like hell you aren’t,” Cash returned.
Alex arched a brow at him. “You aren’t too far behind him, sir.”
He flashed a devilish grin. “Don’t worry, sweetheart, I’ll still make good on that promise.”
Alex squirmed in her seat at the thought—but then Callie suddenly kicked her under the table. “Ow! What the hell was—”
But Callie gave her a meaningful look and jolted her head in the direction of the lobby, which they had a clear view of from where they sat. Alex turned around; and her heart leapt into her throat again. Kenny, Matt, and Nick had just walked in and were crossing through to the elevators.
Adam spotted them, too. “Hey! It’s my tag team partner!” he loudly proclaimed. “Hey! Kenny!”
Callie reached for Adam’s arm to pull it down, but it was too late—he’d already waved Kenny over. She glared at him. “Are you serious?”
But Adam’s brain was too fogged with alcohol to see a problem. “What? He’s my friend.”
Callie bit down on her jaw and sent Alex an apologetic look. But there was nothing either of them could do about it. Kenny was already walking over.
“Hey, man,” Adam greeted him with a lazy grin. “Are you ready for our match against Dark Order tomorrow? The titles are on the line!”
Kenny’s brow furrowed with a mixture of confusion and amusement as he came to a stop next to the table. Next to Alex. “Yeah, I’m aware,” he said. “I’m ready, but… I’m a little concerned about you, now.”
Cash scoffed as he brought his drink to his lips. Kenny glanced briefly at him before Adam spoke again.
“What? Nah,” he shook his head. “Don’t worry about me. We’ll hit Last Call just like we always and do and walk out of there and still AEW World Tag Team Champions.” He motioned his glass toward him. “Trust me.”
Cash scoffed again. “Enjoy it while it lasts,” he remarked under his breath. Alex stiffened in her seat. She prayed that Kenny hadn’t heard anything. But she wasn’t so lucky.
“What was that?” Kenny asked.
Cash looked up at him. “I said enjoy having the championships while it lasts,” he repeated, louder that time. “Because, you know. They won’t be yours for much longer.”
He flashed a smirk as he took another drink. The same exact smirk he’d given Kenny earlier in the night. Anger rose in Alex’s chest. If Cash thought being a cocky asshole would turn her on, he was wrong. Not when it was this personal.
Kenny gave a sarcastic laugh. “Okay,” he nodded. “Well, I’m gonna go.” He started to leave—but then he stopped again. “Oh, and Alex.” He looked her right in the eye. “You look beautiful. Red’s always been your color.”
Alex stared back at him, mute. It felt like her entire body was on fire. Her heart was beating so hard in her chest that it completely overwhelmed her. But then Cash snapped her back to her senses.
“Wow. Really, Omega?”
He turned around in his seat, glaring up at Kenny. “Cash, don’t,” Callie warned, trying to stop anything before it could start—but Kenny spoke over her.
“What?” he asked. “I can’t pay her a compliment?”
Cash laughed wryly to himself. “You weren’t just paying her a compliment and you know it.”
Kenny stared back at him. He shrugged. “Maybe not. But you’re a fucking asshole, so.”
Cash’s chair scraped against the floor as he abruptly stood from the table. “You want to say that again?”
He got right in Kenny’s face. But Kenny didn’t flinch. “Don’t start with me, man. Seriously.”
“Oh, yeah?” Cash pushed him.
Adam stood from his seat. “Guys, come on,” he started—but Kenny pushed Cash back harder, causing him to stumble into the table, and the next thing anyone knew, Cash swung hard and punched Kenny right in his left eye. Adam scrambled to intervene, but before he could make it around the table Kenny struck back, clocking Cash hard across the mouth. Adam grabbed Kenny by the back of his shirt and jerked him back while Alex stood in between them.
“Stop!” she shouted. She glared at each of them in turn, anger bubbling up inside her. “You’re both acting like idiots!”
Neither of them could meet her eyes, looking stubbornly away from her scorn like two kids caught fighting in the schoolyard. Alex didn’t want to be around it.
“I’m not dealing with this.”
She grabbed her clutch from the table. Cash’s face fell. “Alex—”
“No,” she cut him off. “You’ve done enough.” And with that she stormed out without so much as a second glance. She didn’t want either of them to see her cry.
* * * * * * * * * *
Alex hadn’t been back in the hotel room five minutes before the door opened and Cash walked in. She didn’t move or look up from where she sat on the end of the bed, still in her dress, tears and black streaks of mascara staining her cheeks. She stubbornly wiped them away as he moved toward her, but there was no hiding that she’d been crying.
“Sweetheart…”
“Don’t,” Alex said, her voice choked. She stood up and grabbed one of her hair ties from the nightstand, pulling her long hair up into a bun on top of her head as she pushed past him into the bathroom. She turned on the sink and splashed water on her face, cleaning it of her tears and ruined makeup. Cash came up behind her. She looked at him through the mirror. His eyes were full of remorse.
“I’m sorry, Alex. I know I ruined the night, but let’s not go to bed mad at each other.”
“Well it’ll be your fault if we do,” she bluntly returned.
His face fell. “I know.” He stepped closer and took her gently by the hips, pulling her back against him. “I just had an amazing night with the most beautiful girl in the world and I ruined it by acting like a hotheaded asshole.”
He pressed a kiss to her neck. When she didn’t stop him, he gave her another, and another. Alex’s eyes fell closed and leaned back against his chest. But as good as it felt, she was still mad at him. “Why did you do that?”
“I didn’t like what he said to you,” he answered between kisses. “I didn’t like the way he said it to you.”
“You antagonized him. After I asked you not to.”
He stopped. Their eyes met in the mirror. “I know,” he admitted. “I’m sorry.”
Alex frowned. She believed him. But an apology didn’t just make it go away.
She turned around in his arms. She reached up and brushed her thumb under his mouth. There was half-dried blood on his bottom lip. “He busted your lip.”
“Not before I gave him a black eye.”
She gave him a flat look.
“Sorry,” he returned. But he couldn’t stop from smirking.
Alex let out a sigh as she wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him into a hug. “What am I gonna do with you?”
She felt him laugh against her. “I can be an idiot sometimes. But I promise I’ll make it worth it.”
She smiled and squeezed him tighter. “You better.”
He ran his thumb over her bare back as he held her, and Alex suddenly did want him to undress her. Slowly, deliberately. She wanted him to carry her over to the bed and make love to her.
“You know we’ve been together a month this week,” he said.
She nodded. “Yeah.”
“It’s been the best month of my life.”
Alex’s heart thrummed faster in her chest. He pulled back and looked into her eyes. The vulnerability on his face gave him away before he even said it.
“I’m falling for you, Alex. I know it doesn’t make it better, but… I think that’s why I reacted the way I did when Kenny said that to you. And I know you don’t want to hear it, but the fact of the matter is I stole you from him. And I don’t know… I guess sometimes I worry he could steal you back.”
Tears welled in Alex’s eyes again. She felt numb—and she shouldn’t have. She should have been over the moon because the truth was that she was falling for Cash, too. Fast. Hard. But as she looked back into his eyes, still glassy from a bit too much to drink, she couldn’t help but be reminded of Kenny. He’d had that exact same look on his face last week, that same intense vulnerability when he’d told her he loved her. And if she didn’t do something, her guilt would cause his confession to come up like word vomit.
So she kissed Cash. Genuinely, deeply, not caring about the blood at his lip. When she finally pulled away, breathless, she looked up at him and said, “So make me yours, then.”
Immediately, Cash dipped down and picked her up, cradling her underneath her backside. And Alex brought her lips down to meet his, kissing him as they blindly made their way to the bed, hoping to tell him with her body what she couldn’t with words.
#aew fanfiction#aew imagine#aew fanfic#adam page imagine#adam page fanfic#adam page fanfiction#hangman page#hangman page fanfiction#hangman page fanfic#hangman page imagine#hangman adam page#hangman adam page fic#hangman adam page fanfiction#hangman adam page imagine#Kenny Omega#kenny omega fanfic#kenny omega fanfiction#kenny omega imagine#cash wheeler imagine#cash wheeler#cash wheeler fic#cash wheeler fanfic#cash wheeler fanfiction#adam page fic#kenny omega fic
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.･:*:･ﾟ ’ valentino espsito , a twenty three year old , cismale , works as a musician who came from manhattan roots . while they were attending st jude’s they were known as the broken bird because they could be very reticent . those closest to them say they’re quite stoic though . to get a better understanding of who they are , some things you may notice about them are ferocious memories dancing across his flesh before sinking their teeth into him , the feeling of pain reminding him of his own presence in the world , night sweats that form a pool of anger and an ocean of sadness . you may have mistaken them for justin bieber .
hi hello peaches !! this ? is a fucking train wreck i call valentino but god do i fucking love him ? he’s the combination of two muses of mine and well i’m really excited to explore him ! all while going back to my jb roots ( can you believe there was a time where the only male fc i could use was the love of my life justin bieber ? is it crack ? is that what i was smoking ? ) if you would like to learn more about valentino , please just keep reading !! oh please bare with me , me and introductions are not friends .
❝ ┄ 𝓹𝓻𝓸𝓼𝓸𝓹𝓸𝓰𝓻𝓪𝓹𝓱𝔂 !
chapters of a childhood that reflected two halves of then and now . like a book that cannot be ripped from your hands , the esposito’s story captured hues of millions . expect , instead of unfolding on pages of a book , their lives were recorded by the hands of the media / smiling ( or hands up covering irritated expressions ) on the front pages of magazine , elaborating on success and fortune with oprah winfrey , beautiful photoshoots that are plastered with such brands as vogue and elle magazine . adored . you could consider them that . they were affluence dipped in sovereignty .
alessandro esposito , fifteen years old when he came to america from naples italy . for two weeks , him and his family of seven slept on the cold streets of new york . his father , a business man that went bankrupt decided to allow his legs to run and run until they landed him to america in search of a second chance . that year , had been a year of struggle . but it taught alessandro all he needed to know , showed him everything he refused to be .
alessandro , he put himself through college . got a job the minute his feet touched new york at an italian owned pizza place , and ran himself through the ringer with school . he wanted to study business . be the man his father never was . he was determined .
it was his junior year where he meet sienna remis , the twenty something year old break out model .. who in reality should of never given alessandro the time or day .. but she gave him more then that , four years later , she gave him her word that she was in it with him forever .
she did not want children . she was a model . used her body for her work , worked for her body . struggled with herself to remain the model of every company’s dream . and then , she accidentally got pregnant . and despite having no intentions of keeping it , one look at her husbands face and she made a decision that would cost her . she had it .
and then , she had another one . and then another one .. and then , another one .
the esposito’s were a traditional italian family , spent almost every moment with one another . celebrated holidays at nonna & nonno’s . did family vacations with their four aunts / uncles and their seventeen cousins . the esposito’s as a whole , were successful . alessandro’s oldest brother being a plastic surgeon for celebrities such as kim kardashian and kylie jenner . his sister , she dabbled in the world of acting before settling into fashion design . his youngest brother worked along his side , building an empire of hotels and restaurants . and , his youngest sister whom had the ability to capture a thousand words in single painting moved back to italy to live a normal life .
zynaty , the empire that holds hundreds of hotels and restaurants across the globe . the business that took alessandro and his brother everything they had to create .
valentino navarone clemente esposito was the second child to alessandro and sienna . from the moment he open warm colored hues , took his first breaths , privilege was granted to him . a child in the spotlight , it was what he became . one of the esposito’s destined to do great things . to be somebody . the media ate him up . everything he did , everything his siblings did , they wanted to be apart of it , to exploit , to adore , to wait and watch how they would unfold .
the first eleven years of valentino’s childhood consisted of tender forehead kisses and the feeling of warm comfort wrapping around him like a blanket . his days consisting of laughter that fell from his siblings lips , sports that shook all of his energy right out of him . homemade dinners , forced movie nights ( though deep down he always enjoyed snuggling up to his mother ) , tutors , piano lessons , and guitar lessons . by the time he was eight , he was fluent in italian . played on three different hockey teams . bickered with his oldest brother like it was his job ( but more so because he wanted to do everything he did and did not like being told no . ) spent hours in his fathers office gazing out the windows , eating greasy burgers with his father in exchange that neither of them would snitch to the others . summers with his grandparents in italy . at the age of ten he was staring in commercials such as toy’s r us and even chef boyardee .
the esposito’s were being offered reality tv show’s , the spot of ambassador’s for ridiculously prosperous brands . everything they did , it was an article . sienna takes her children out to the park , alessandro walks the family dog , valentino scored final goal . and then , it happened . headlines of , valentino esposito admitted to hospital due to injuries from his mother .
sienna , she was tender . angelic. had a smile that melted hearts . her laughter felt like music to your ears .. everyone described her as gentle , a beautiful soul . but after her last child , she fell into such dark places . so dark that drinking her way out of them seemed to be the only way to survive . to get through it … but the drinking always made her violent . usually , it was never anything more then her screaming horrid words to her children . usually she saved physical contact for alessandro . the next morning , she’d beg for forgiveness . buy the gifts and allow them to stay home from school . she’d swear she’d never do it again , and for weeks she wouldnt . and then , like a switch she would .
nine pm , alessandro headed to las vegas for a business trip ( one that included his mistress ) , his mom she found the liquor cabinet . one drink turned to three and three turned to the whole bottle vanishing . valentino remembers , her screams and his little brother crying . he was always protective , and when his oldest brother was not around he always felt like it was even more of his duty to watch out for his . so that’s what he did . his feet leading him down to the kitchen .. and when his hues reached hers , the once angelic mother he knew , he loved disappeared . she was a monster in human form . and her hands had reached for his brother and non stop shook him as she repeated , screamed how much she never wanted them . that she never wanted them .
valentino remembers this much , fear . confusion . the need to free his little brother . and then he remembers covering his face , pleading for her to stop , and pain .
it was his brother who called the cops , and when he got to the hospital he had broken ribs , bruises that covered his faces like it skin tone was purple , and a concussion .
the months after that , consisted of legal actions . divorces . therapy . and attempting to heal . something that was deemed impossible with the media constantly throwing it back into their faces . pleading for their statements , wanting to dig deeper . paparazzi harassing not only his family , but friends of his family , co workers , teachers , nannies . it got so bad , alessandro took him and his children back to italy for an entire year . wanting to give them enough time to adjust , to heal , all while trying to heal on his own .
❝ ┄ 𝓹𝓮𝓻𝓼𝓸𝓷𝓪𝓵𝓲𝓽𝔂 𝓯𝓽. 𝓱𝓮𝓪𝓭𝓬𝓪𝓷𝓸𝓷𝓼 !
hard headed and words like knives , a burning fire lives within the boy . one that holds onto pain and anger , their claws slashing violently into his heart . after the accident , he was told he had sad eyes . and for a while , it was because it was true . sadness had intertwined themselves within him , and when he finally got tired of the hole in his heart that dropped to their needs pleading with anyone to help it , he pushed the sadness out and let anger stand in it’s place .
there’s sanity in the constancy his fist always presented him , in italy he found himself in fights after fights . twelves year old , fighting his demons and fighting anyone who wronged him even in the smallest of senses .
he’s like picking up dice and praying you land on a good number , you never know what you’ll get .. will you see the specks of playfulness and charm ? his anger that burns brighter then any fire ? the silent sadness ?
his ambition is gold . he wants to be something in this world . and his passion and intelligent helps keep him on this path .
being an athlete has always come natural to him , he was that kid who was good at literally everything he did .. and while he doesnt play hockey anymore , or as much as he use to , he still gets himself up at five am to run .
his family is a priority . the only people who get all of him , his sadness , his softness , his broken pieces , his protectiveness , his loyalty , his undying love .
despite what you may think , he has a big heart . it sneaks to the surface with small acts of kindness .. the way his hand will reach out to you with intentions of affection before retreating . it’s in his words of , ‘ did you eat ? ‘ and , ‘ let me walk ya home ‘
he is a lover , no matter how hard he tries to convince you his heart is cold that will never be the case . ever .
he’s a curious person , and usually ends up getting suck into people and things despite his promises that he wont .
he hates commitment and attachment .. but can you blame him.
has this fear that everyone he loves will somehow someway hurt him .
has a bad habit of hurting those who hurt him .
he’s unpredictable , stubborn , a little sarcastic .
he can be cruel , unemotionally unavailable . it’s always easier to feel nothing then feel . ( has a constant fight with himself on whether he should let you in , but he will if you are determined enough .. as much as he can )
he’s super intelligent , quick with numbers . his dad use to tell him he was going to be a king , at least in the business industry ..
loves children .. definitely cannot wait to have children of his own some day .
he still spends a lot of his time in italy , usually with his grandparents or his aunt . he likes it there , likes being able to breathe , to walk down the street without harassment .
he wanted to go into his dad’s business , his dad wanted him to come into the business . but , he instead found his passion in music ? it was not surprising , the baby has always been talented .. it just took him a little longer to realize that it was what he wanted to do .
has a journal he carries with him almost every where , he remembers in the seventh grade someone teased him about it being a diary . he also got suspended that day . it’s his song book , the only way to really know him .
he learned fast that , he never wanted to inflict harm onto anyone else like his mom did .. and at twenty four is not a violent guy . he acts out of self defense but will never put his hands on you first .
on that note , do not put your hands on him . he does not like to be handled , slapped , shoved . he does not like being grabbed , dont even poke him aggressively .
he flinches , if you move too fast near him . if you move your hands when yelling at him .
he had night terrors for years . therapy helped him with it .. but sometimes they make a recurrence . more so if he’s really stressed or anxious .
is such a boy when it comes to cars . love speeding , showing off , making you hold on for your dear life .
he does not like drunk people , is not the guy that will normally take care of you unless you’re his siblings , or a very close friends . does not really drink himself . has a drink here and there , but has never gotten drunk … he could truly go the rest of his life without ever drinking again .
he is a smoker , smokes a blunt every night before bed .
he is signed with a record label , and has released two albums ! also he went on two tours ! music is something he truly enjoys . it makes him feel all light and happy ? like he’s his old self again . voice wise , think justin bieber but singing post malone songs ..
he’s doing a little soul searching , soaking up life .. as much as he can . trying to remind himself of all the reasons it feels soo good to be here , right now , living and breathing.
❝ ┄ 𝓬𝓸𝓷𝓷𝓮𝓬𝓽𝓲𝓸𝓷𝓼 !
asdfg okay , i wanted to write out super long and detailed connections but im already annoyed with myself and cannot even imagine how yous will feel having to read this mess ! so i want a bromance , something cute and simple . they’re there for him non stop , he considers them family , would do anything for them , they bring out old valentino who just wants to have fun and act like a fool ! a childhood friend , someone who knows everything about the accident he doesn’t speak to anymore to avoid the memories . some party friends and bad influences . hookups !!! a sibling like friendship , someone who reminds him of his younger brother or sister . an messy ex of some sort . one sided relationships !! one sided friendships !! that one person who’s soooo determined to break down his walls .
#xo.intro#TRIGGER WARNING: child abuse#sorry for any mistakes or confusion#this has been sitting in the drafts for a minute#cant wait to use this baby im so excited
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If You Leave Me Now | Part 6
summary: you realized your marriage with your husband Henry had run its course when you discovered his various love affairs. you wanted to leave him but not without giving Henry a little taste of his own medicine involving his preferred mechanic Sebastian.
pairings: mechanic!sebastian stan x reader, husband!henry cavill x reader
warning: smut (18+ ONLY), mention of deaths
masterlist
Henry woke up early in the morning to get ready for work. He buttoned up his white dress shirt as he gave your sleeping face a small glance before leaning down to give you a small peck on your forehead. He tightened the dark blue tie around his neck as he thought of the night before.
As he saw you peacefully sleeping on the bed, guilt flooded his chest just like it did on the first encounters he had with ‘the other woman’. He ran his fingers through his hair in frustration of how far he had gone with this woman.
Henry put on his jacket before he walked out of the bedroom, searching for his phone. He walked into the living room, picking up the blanket on the floor from last night. He reached for a cellphone next to your purse on the couch, when he picked it up he realized it was not his phone but yours. He pressed the bottom of the screen to turn it on.
Nothing.
Your phone had died overnight, he groaned and raced back to the bedroom to connect to the charger. He wanted to use your phone and dial his number to locate it faster.
His eyes darted to the dresser where his phone was lying next to the television remote. He sighed in relief before grabbing it and rushing out before he was late for work.
Not long after Henry left, you woke up from your sleep and found yourself feeling through the sheets to find Henry’s body. You looked at the clock and realized the time. You decided to make breakfast in the kitchen while watching a talk show.
The eggs sizzled on the pan as you cooked bacon in the burner next to it. You liked keeping the television on for ambiance sound but the host on television caught your attention. It was the segment where a viewer anonymously writes to the show for advice on life, relationships anything and they could discuss it on tv. The women around the table began to express their opinions and one
“I think it’s okay for this girl to ask a boy out for prom. In fact, why don’t we make the first step too? We ask to get flowers, chocolates, breakfast in bed--I know I’m getting a few eye rolls in the audience but think about this, men are told by society to be masculine, not be sentimental, not to cry. I think they deserve some emotional pampering.”
You turned around to watch the television and thought to yourself. Did you push Henry away? You thought about the last time you both enjoyed yourselves and you realized you hadn’t had much time together since your honeymoon months ago.
Maybe the original plan of seeking revenge on Henry was compulsive and wrong. The thought of putting Henry to the test of choosing between you and his lover came to your mind. You checked your phone’s calendar and realized Henry had a gala to attend this weekend and he had RSVP’d for the both of you, bringing you in as his plus one.
You finished cooking and quickly ate breakfast before going out to the store and shop for the perfect outfit.
The phone in your pocket rang loudly as you finished the last transaction of the day. Sebastian’s name came up on the screen, you sighed and turned off the ringer. Letting the call go to voicemail. The phone rang again as you walked away from the cashier at the counter.
“Hello?” You answered. Sebastian breathed a sigh of relief after you spoke.
“Oh hey.” He said. “How are you?”
“I’m well-”
“Is everything okay?” He interrupted you. “I was worried. I texted you last night after seeing you at the restaurant but you never replied.”
“You sent me a text?” You pulled your phone away from your ear and looked down searching through your messages, finding the text he had sent. You thought of the phone in your purse, which you still found on the couch when you went to make breakfast, and the phone itself mysteriously appearing the morning later.
Your heart raced at the thought of Henry reading Sebastian’s message while you slept. Nothing guaranteed you he didn’t read it before your phone turned off.
“Oh my god.” You gasped.
“Don’t worry about it,” Sebastian misunderstood the reason you gasped. “I assumed you were sleeping, I called this morning too but it went straight to voicemail. I thought you didn’t want to hear from me at first, then I started to imagine worse things.”
“Worse?” You asked.
“Why don’t you stop by my apartment? I’ll send you the address. I’d like to see you and talk.” Sebastian said. You didn’t like the sudden change of tone in the word ‘talk’.
“Alright, I’ll be there.” You agreed.
The ride to Sebastian’s apartment was a little far from the mall. It gave you enough time to get your thoughts together about Sebastian. You didn’t want to drag him into the mess you and Henry had. You really liked Sebastian since you met at Ben’s party.
You knocked on the door, rehearsing the small monologue you had mentally practiced for in the car. The door opened and Chris stood in the entrance with messy hair and a dark green shirt.
“Oh, hey. I know you.” He held his hand out for you to shake it. You took his hand and smiled at him.
“Thanks for getting my mimosas yesterday. I’m sorry I kept making you walk over for refills.” You walked into the apartment to see Sebastian leaning against the counter in the small kitchen area. Chris had said something about it being his job when you saw Sebastian give you a little, forced smile.
A woman wearing nothing but panties and what seemed to be Chris’s shirt padded barefoot across the hallway to kiss his cheek. Your eyes widened when you saw her finally pull away and notice you.
“Hey there.” Ben’s wife greeted you and you were sure your brain was about to explode.
“Excuse me, Chris. Can I speak to you alone in the living room?” Sebastian practically glared at Chris as they walked out of the kitchen. Ben’s wife reached into the fridge to pull out a yogurt cup and sat down in the chair next to a small table.
“Close that jaw girl,” She chuckled. You didn’t realize your mouth was hanging open, you were quite embarrassed at finding her here. As for her, you could tell she gave no fucks.
“I’m sorry, I-” You struggled to find something to say.
“My jaw kinda dropped too when I heard your name fall out of Sebastian’s mouth saying you were coming. Then again, your reaction to finding Seb at the restaurant yesterday gave it away too easily.” She brought the spoon to her mouth and closed her mouth around it. “I don’t blame you though, we all get tired of our husbands eventually.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You were frightened. You’ve only met Ben’s wife a few times and the woman sitting down in front of you acted nothing like the rich, fancy woman you knew.. and now she was suddenly in on your biggest secret.
“I’m not stupid.” She said. “And about you and Sebastian, your secret is safe with me.”
“I’m n-not going to say a-anything to Ben.” You stuttered letting her know you were clearly intimidated her.
“I don’t care if you tell him or not. Frankly, I don’t think he cares. Sit.” She patted the side of the table with an empty chair. You took the chair and sat down. “I was once like you. Full of hope, in love with my husband, until I realized the marriage I thought I had was everything but perfect. Their world is materialistic and it drove me insane. That’s when I started having affairs.”
“How long has it been since you..” You trailed off.
“A couple of years, maybe eight?” She seemed to be thinking of the number in her head. “I know I’m much older than you but it makes me feel like we’re the same age. I love feeling young again, Chris makes sure I feel young like I still have that little fire inside of me.”
“Are you going to divorce Ben?” You asked. She shook her head and smiled.
“Sweetie, there is so much you’ve yet to learn. He has his affairs, I have my affairs, we both turn our heads and pretend it’s just us and nobody else. I make us sit in Chris’s section of the restaurant to have them both in the same room so it keeps my heart racing. Ben and I need each other, I need his money and he needs my presence or role as a wife."
“Oh.” Was all you could say and nod.
“How long have you and Seb?”
“Not long, just once.” Yesterday, you mentally added.
“I can tell, he’s now arguing with Chris over who should leave the apartment and wait their turn. The poor boy is embarrassed to be loud in the room next door.” She chuckled. You felt your cheeks heat up. “Seb has been through some tough times, cherish him. You don’t forget your first affair.”
“What happened to your first?” You asked. She placed the empty cup of yogurt down on the table and sighed, her eyes getting watery.
“He died in a car accident,” she said. You whispered a small ‘sorry’ as she wiped away her tears. “I was going to leave Ben for him, but I never got the chance. I kept stalling him, I feared to leave my safe haven with Ben. I wish I would have made my choice right away. I haven’t loved again since.”
Chris popped his head in the kitchen.
“Hey babe, you coming?” He said.
“Yeah, I’ll be right there.” She cleared her throat. Chris disappeared and she pulled you in for a hug, only to whisper in your ear, “Affairs aren’t only sex, but to keep each other company too.” She stood up and walked away.
Sebastian leaned against the doorframe entrance of the kitchen with car keys in hand.
“Let’s go, I don’t want to be in here while they do it.”
Sebastian had crumpled up the hamburger wrapper in his hands before dumping it into the paper bag. You propped your feet up on the dash of his rusty old truck as you sipped on your favorite icy drink in a random, vacant park.
“Alright. I see those wheels in your brain have been turning since we left the apartment. What did she tell you?” He asked.
“Nothing just chatted about being surprised to see her there.” You said. Sebastian gave you a playful glare.
“You know you can trust me.” He said. “Nothing you say will upset me. You have immunity.”
“She said you had gone through some things and I’m trying to figure out what she meant by that.” You said.
“What are your ideas?” Seb asked.
“Well, you either lost a bet against Chris-” Sebastian burst out laughing, you continued. “Or your pet fish died.”
“I have never had a fish as a pet and Chris knows not to bet against me because we always win. That’s why he shaved his eyebrows off completely a few years ago. ”
“Then I’m out of ideas.” You said.
“She probably meant about my nephew.” He said. “My sister got knocked up by her boss when she was in her early twenties. He offered her the world but when he found out she was pregnant he rejected her.”
“That son of a bitch.” You cursed. Sebastian nodded.
“He didn’t want anything to do with her or the baby. I looked out after her during her pregnancy after my dad kicked her out of the house. She loved her ‘little bundle of joy’ as she called the baby. She didn’t get to meet him, things got complicated during labor and she died.” Sebastian wiped away tears that managed to slip out.
“I took care of him, I raised him alone for a few years.” He chuckled. “Little guy loved waking me up with a slap in the face with his pacifier. he loved to watch me fix cars out here in the parking lot before I had the shop.” He smiled.
“I only got to see him turn five when his father came back, hired a private investigator and put me a court. He claimed I wasn’t a good parental figure, it wasn’t a safe environment for the kid and he could offer him much more than I could. I haven’t seen him since.”
Sebastian’s lower lip began to tremble. You ran your hand up and down his arm before he eventually broke down.
“I’m sorry.” He wiped tears away. You shook your head in response.
“No, don’t apologize at all.” You pulled Sebastian in for a hug as he broke down into tears, a few tears rolling down your cheeks as well. “You’re going to see him again. I promise.”
He placed a hand on your cheek and brought your lips to his for a kiss. Your lips moved against his slowly but passionately, savoring each other until you pulled away.
“Are we going to address the elephant in the room?” He asked, pressing his forehead against yours. “Yesterday. In my office.” He added.
“What you want me to say?” You asked. Sebastian looked down between both of you and held your hand before bringing his gaze back up to you.
“That you feel the same way about me as I feel about you.” He said.
“Seb,” You paused, thinking back to the monologue you had prepared in your head in the car. “I’m married.”
As you finished saying the last word, his thumb and index finger pinched the silver ring on your finger and slid it out. In the small space of the pickup truck, he managed to slide in the middle part between the driver and passenger side and lifted you up on his lap.
Your knees were placed on both his sides, digging into the off-white leather as he kissed your jaw.
“So?” He said.
“I’m a mess. My marriage is a mess and I don’t want to bring you into it."
“I’m a mess too, everyone is.” He slid his hand under your shirt and pressed his palm against your lower back. You turned around the empty parking lot of the park hoping no joggers were watching.
“Sebastian, please.” You begged, placing your hand on his shoulder. “I don’t want to bring you trouble. You’ve been through enough.”
“Please,” He whispered desperately in your ear as he lifted his hips to grind in between your legs. “My heart’s already broken, you can’t make it worse. We can seek comfort in each other. Even if it’s just that. I’m just like you. I’m tired of being alone.”
And with those last words, your mouth came to his and his hands desperately took your shirt over your shoulders and you did the same to his right after. You moved to the side to get rid of your pants and he let his cock spring free from his jeans. He fumbled through his wallet, finding a condom and quickly rolled it on himself.
You straddled his lap and slowly sunk down on him, the sound of both of your moans filling the small cabin of the truck. He groped your breast through the lace of your bra before sliding the straps down and freeing your breasts. He left small kisses in the valley of your breasts as you jumped on his shaft, your walls squeezing him just right as he snapped his hips as you came down.
“I’m captivated by you.” He groaned against your skin before pulling back. He looked in between your bodies where you were both connected and saw how his slick member entered you. He pressed his hand on your navel briefly before sliding his fingers down to play with your clit in a circular motion.
Sebastian knew you two couldn’t be safe out there for long. He grabbed your hip with his free hand and helped you slam down faster on him, reaching your g-spot which made you drop your jaw and held your mouth open making obscene sounds.
He smiled to himself, trying to memorize the noises you made to remember later at night when you had to go home to your husband and he would be left to sleep alone. The thought of you being someone else’s angered him. He wanted to be your husband and sleep and wake up beside you. Have you keep his last name. Show you off to the whole world. Celebrate your anniversary by keeping you up all night. Cuddle in bed early until mid-afternoon.
You became sloppy with the rhythm and he brought you down on the seat as he took over. Your sweaty skin stuck against the leather as he rode you, you were focused on the blue of his eyes as he thrust into you. The windows were foggy and beads of sweat gathered on his forehead as he reached his climax which caused yours to follow. He lay down on top of you catching his breath. Your fingers ran through his hair and you realized Sebastian meant more to you than you wanted to admit.
#henry cavill#henry cavill fanfic#henry cavill x reader#henry cavill fic#sebastian stan x reader#sebastian stan#sebastian stan imagines#sebastian stan fic#marvel#dc#smut#fluff#angst#i think
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hello once again everyone ! it is your problematic unfave storm poppin’ up on your dash in the form of my ugly son jonghyun ! i’m really excited to play him ( probably a little more excited than i was to play vivienne ), but let’s be real -- that’s only because i truly dragged him through the ringer ! i won’t keep my own intro long because i know i’m about to type a whole novella, so without further ado, here’s my baby boy jonghyun !
“who are you & what is one thing that people would know you for ?”
‘ jonghyun kwon, one of the best male models out there. i’m not that conceited, but you can thank miss wintour for that title. one thing people might know me for is the time i was the first model of color on fendi’s runway in a very long time. ’
“if there is one thing you could change about your career, what would it be ?”
‘ the one time i let my stylist put me in prada for a show -- it was the first and last time i was featured on a worst dressed list. i could have cried. ’
“what are you willing to do to be in the top ten ?”
‘ you know that scene from carrie where they dump pig’s blood on carrie when she wins prom queen ? yeah, i’m not the one dumping pig’s blood -- i’m carrie, locking everyone in a burning gymnasium as i terrorize the town until i get what i want. ’
TRIGGER WARNING(s): possessive behavior, very brief mention of domestic violence, and mentions of a toxic relationship.
name : jonghyun kwon.
nickname(s) : j & jong.
age : twenty-seven ( 27 ).
birthday : july 14th, 1992.
zodiac : cancer.
moral alignment : lawful evil.
gender : cismale.
pronouns : he/him.
height : 5′11″ ( five foot eleven inches ).
hometown : busan, south korea.
nationality : korean.
ethnicity : korean.
occupation : model & spokesman.
label(s) : the bellwether, the philophobe & the aesthete.
aesthetics : neon signs, love confessions, long eyelashes, dimples, breathless laughter, flushed cheeks, storm clouds, hands on your thighs, laughing at 2am, whispering secrets, piercings, sexual tension, city skylines, red wine, smashing a window, expensive perfume, biting your lips, making bad decisions, an adrenaline rush, glitter, polaroids, museums, smelling flowers, coffee shops, spicy food, sweet talking your way out of things, lattes, face masks, blankets fresh out of the dryer. hickeys, colored hair, piano musiv, bruised lips, smirking & getting drunk for the first time.
jonghyun is the son of bora & seul-ki kwon, two people who were not at the top of the food chain by any means. the family wasn’t poor, per say, but having one child was difficult for the couple, so jonghyun’s hopes of having a younger sibling was dashed pretty much from the start. he eventually grew accustomed to being an only child & his parents doted on him despite their low income, but they made it through the days thanks to bora’s ramen restaurant. seul-ki brought in some money as well as a police officer, so the family lived comfortably. jonghyun was fine with the drives to the next town over for their vacations & even though he didn’t have the latest gadgets, he was content with that.
his life flipped on its head when jonghyun went to tour what could someday be the college he’d attend. call it wishful thinking, but jonghyun hoped to attend seoul national university -- it’d help with his lack of experience and he’d be able to make a better life for himself & for his parents, but when he went out to explore around seoul with the group of friends he’d made, jonghyun was approached by someone claiming to be a model scout. jonghyun was attractive, sure, but he didn’t ever think he was modeling attractive. so, he talks to his parents about it & after he does some digging ( and finding out that the scout was real ), he decided that he’d give it a try and defer college by one year. if it didn’t take off, he’d go to college & forget about modelling.
after going through the motions & getting a portfolio together, jonghyun was soon going on go-sees & it didn’t take long for him to start booking shows and photo shoots. of course, he started with fashion houses in seoul & after making quite an impression in his home country ( even getting a deal with samsung ), jonghyun’s portfolio was growing more & more. when the year passed & he found himself making good money & the way that his parents were proud of him, jonghyun decided to pursue modeling full time. soon, he found himself leaving korea behind & settled in new york for the time being at the age of 19 to get bigger & better jobs. jonghyun spent about four years ( from 19 to 23 ) living in new york & during this time he became the face of a lot of companies ranging from, but not limited to: saint laurent, gucci, dior homme, louis vuitton & alexander wang.
he was also getting commercials & various endorsements. during this time, he was also participating in fashion week & was one of the few male models that actually had a walk & didn’t look like he was just clunking down the runway. on top of that, we’re all pretty aware of how fashion lacked diversity a few short years ago, so jonghyun was one of the models during the time where diversity started becoming more prominent ( even though there’s still a long way to go ). since he was still something of a ‘fresh face’, jonghyun getting these deals was wild & was soon on covers for gq, w, v, i-d, dazed, l’officiel hommes & he’s one of the few men featured on the cover of american vogue.
during this time, though, while he was on top of the world with his career, jonghyun met & married the worst man to ever exist. jonghyun met his husband at a fashion event & he belonged to a prominent family ( hm, let’s say like the duponts or the rockefellers ). his husband sucks, so we’ll give him a shitty name: allen. allen & jonghyun had something of a whirlwind relationship, secretly getting married after only eight months of dating. jonghyun was roughly 24 at the time & was still pretty wide-eyed to everything that was happening around him. he was still booking shows, photo shoots & everything in between; he had even started becoming a prominent figure on the front row.
now, here’s why his relationship was so bad: allen was not a good man in general. on the outside, he was suave & charismatic, when in reality he was mean & knew how to hide it in public. jonghyun’s attractive, there’s no doubt about it, so whenever they went to events & jonghyun was socializing, allen would get huffy puffy because he’s thinking that jonghyun is flirting with them ( jonghyun is flirtatious as hell so that doesn’t really help ). jonghyun would always brush allen off whenever he’d get huffy puffy because honestly, he was working, but allen liked to blow things out of proportion. it’s safe to say, in light terms, that jonghyun would get an ear full during their drive home, once they were home & sometimes even the next morning.
allen, while accusing jonghyun of being with other people, was actually with other people. jonghyun’s slight naivety when it came to relationships ( considering that allen was his first ‘real’ relationship ), caused him to sometimes turn a blind eye to allen’s cheating & overall mistreatment. i don’t wanna say he was passive, but he had passive tendencies, which allowed allen to continue his mistreatment because when he’d be upset it wouldn’t last long because allen would kiss him just right & he wouldn’t be mad anymore.
anyways, fast forward a year into the marriage & things get worse when allen’s sexual desire towards jonghyun fades into nothing. the marriage is all for show at this point ( so any public displays of affection was fake as hell ) & allen is still going for his jabs at jonghyun whenever they’re out. everything comes to a head one night when they’re stuck in yet another argument about jonghyun’s flirting. jonghyun’s upset & wants to leave, allen has had one too many & the situation ends with jonghyun being treated for a few minor injuries.
now, jonghyun is out of the relationship & made the move to los angeles in an attempt to put space between himself & the tumultuous life he lived in new york. legally speaking, jonghyun & allen are still married, but it’s only because allen ( for whatever reason ) refuses to sign the divorce papers & it’s been a little over three years. he’s started going by his maiden name again & his career has remained on top, but he truly hasn’t let himself fully be released from the clutches of allen.
jonghyun is bisexual as fuck & won’t let you think otherwise. since ending it with allen, he’s been kinda ho’in’ it up around town without so much as a care about who sees him. looks like he might bite you & he probably will if you make him mad enough. this is slightly unnecessary information, but he’s power bottom as hell & it shows :/ but is vers as well & a little kinky boi. he’s really nice though & love to talk fashion when given the chance ! he’s never the type to discourage people so whenever someone tells him they wanna model or work in fashion, he’s always down for it ! he’s very cutthroat, though & just because he could be considered something of a ‘veteran model’ since he’s been in the game for almost ten years, he treats everything like it’s his first time all over again. tl;dr : nice but will kill you if he needs to & prefers to not talk about his ex-husband.
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The Deal a Demon Makes
Explicit | 3,724 words | demon!derek | archive of our own
Stiles definitely had some serious regrets about being the one to so valiantly volunteer to take on all of the holiday shopping, whilst his father stayed busy working a graveyard shift down at the Beacon Hills Police Department. Usually, Stiles’ father did all the shopping. That was his thing. But this year, Stiles wanted to tackle an early New Years resolution of responsibility….and boy, it came back to bite him in the ass.
The Black Friday holiday rush was definitely not some sort of funny midnight joke. Holiday shopper survivors didn’t exaggerate when they said that people actually turned themselves into demons for a good deal —even for seemingly pointless holiday presents like a 10-pack of shampoo bottles, or electric can-openers, or backpacks. It was a living, breathing, screaming nightmare.
Stiles was lucky enough to make it out of the store in one piece, with only a few scrapes and bruises to show for it. He hurriedly rushed through the crowded sidewalk traffic, tossing out near-meaningless apologies whenever he accidentally bumped into somebody. All he really wanted to do was get back to his car and take a breather, not having to worry about some crazed fellow shopper stalking him down to take his purchased goodies.
The downtown district of Beacon Hills had been so crowded that Stiles ended up having to park about six blocks away from the store that he had planned to doing the shopping at. And whilst the walk hadn’t seemed so brutal the first time around, the walk back was doing its best to kill—Stiles was more than certain. And after surviving the large crowds of vicious people, getting run into by no fewer than five different baby strollers, and nearly maced by an old lady, Stiles was not about to let a victory walk do him in.
Stiles dove into one of the alleyways that broke up the towering wall of back-to-back department stores and restaurants. The sidewalks were almost as hectic as the inside of some of the stores, so Stiles was perplexed as to why he was the only one smart enough to take a shortcut and hop over to another—less crowded—street, in an effort to get back to where he parked.
The alleyway was a little bit creepy, most because it was night. But it was an alleyway….they weren’t supposed to be cozy. They were supposed to be creepy. Plus, Stiles couldn’t really complain on account of the fact that the alley was helping him get to his car faster. But nonetheless, Stiles couldn’t shake the fact that he had basically stepped into a completely different dimension.
The temperature of the alley was colder than the already super-cold November night, but that was because there wasn’t anybody around anymore. There wasn’t any crowded body heat to uncomfortably smolder in. The smells of the alleyway were also surprisingly more foul than the stench of hundreds and hundreds of sweaty people packed together into a department store, which was a smell Stiles figured he wouldn’t ever be able to forget.
But regardless of the coldness and the smell, Stiles was just happy to get away from the overwhelming noise. He could finally hear himself think again. The only sounded that Stiles could actually hear from outside of the darkened alley was the faint blast of Christmas music and the stinging chirp of donation bucket bell-ringers.
Peace on Earth, at last…..
Stiles made it to the midpoint of crossing through the alleyway, utterly lost to his own thoughts, until those thoughts were suddenly interrupted by the sound of a stranger calling out to him. A raspy voice caught Stiles’ attention, momentarily frightening him, and causing him to accidentally drop a few of the large shopping bags that he had been carrying around from store-to-store. But as the fell down to the watery alleyway ground, Stiles breathed in a moment of relief to allow the hinges of his fingers to take back good circulation.
“Hey, can you help me out?” The raspy voice questioned.
Stiles looked around to find the owner of the voice. At first, he couldn’t figure out where the voice was coming from because it was dark and the voice had bounced around the surrounding cement walls, making it seem as though the person speaking was calling out from somewhere else. But eventually, Stiles was able to locate the mysterious owner to the disembodied voice—much to his outraged dismay.
“Oh—god.” Stiles mumbled, utterly shocked at what he saw.
A couple feet away from where Stiles stood, there was some grimy-looking stack of naked muscle—casually sitting down atop the cement steps of a back entrance to one of the main street storefronts, underneath a dim, flickering fluorescent light—nonchalantly jerking himself off. Once more, the man seemed totally unfazed by the brutal cold weather and the look of confused shock on Stiles’ face.
Stiles’ head whipped around from side-to-side as he desperately looked around for somebody to explain the situation to him and confirm to him that he was, in fact, not hallucinating or dreaming. There really was a man sitting down on a couple of steps, completely naked, stroking himself under the moonlight. Sure, it was totally normal…totally not random…totally not even more proof that Black Friday really was some sort of day of the devil.
“Did you get everything on your shopping list?” The man asked, refusing to stop with the slow strokes of his own dick.
Stiles was baffled. He stared down to the stranger’s dick in disoriented dazzle, unable to pry his eyes away from the thickness and girth and the gentle gleam of precum that sparkled under the bright moonlight. It was just so….surprising. It had taken Stiles by genuine surprise. No, he hadn’t elected to cut through the alleyway with the intentions of bumping into some lewd man from the shadows.
“Uh, what was that?” Stiles questioned back, unwittingly licking his lips as he shifted his gaze away from the man’s sharp face, ruggedly jacked body, and tree-stump thick dick. “I was—uh, somewhere else for a moment there.”
“I said: ‘did you get everything on your shopping list’?” The man repeatedly, adding what seemed to be more warmth and charm to the rasp of his voice.
“Actually, I got pretty much everything that was on the list my father gave me.” Stiles explained. “I just couldn’t find this one thing I wanted to get for him—and oh my god, why am I even telling you any of this?!”
The man looked up at Stiles from under the shadows of his own lashes, seductively illuminated by the dim light above. He continued to stroke his cock—fearlessly, slow, and pleasurable. Even better, he liked the way that the little holiday shopper presented before him was unable to advert his eyes. The man could see the boy struggle and uncomfortably shift around.
“What—?” The stranger asked. “Have you never seen a cock before?”
“Not in an alleyway before…” Stiles muttered, scratching anxiously at the back of his head. “Listen, I need to leave. I have places to be. I still need to figure out what else I’m supposed to get for my dad.”
“How about…I make a deal with you.” The stranger propositioned. “If you help me out, I’ll help you out.”
Stiles squinted down into the man’s dark eyes, inquisitively. “What do you mean? How can you possibly help me? The store was sold out of the one thing that my father’s been drooling over for the past year.”
“Yeah, yeah—I know.” The man argued away. “The fifty-eight piece drill-buzzer deluxe in stainless steel.”
“How the fuck did you—”
“I have my ways.” The man asserted coldly, keeping up the languid strokes of his hard cock. “Now, what do you think about the deal I made you? I always make good on my promises…and you just have to give me a little something in return.”
There was something undeniably abnormal about the man. Stiles, however, couldn’t quite put his finger on it. It was like there was some kind of unspeakable dark force, a charmingly dangerous magnetism that tugged at Stiles’ body—drawing him closer to the stranger, closer into the field of temptation, and closer to whatever deal had gotten pushed in his direction.
“I’m not sure about this.” Stiles said, continuously looking directions of the alleyway to see if anybody else had opted to take their own shortcut.
“Then be on your way.” The man flicked his eyes towards the exit of the alleyway. “I’ll find somebody else to help with their holiday problems, just out of the kindness of my heart.”
“No—!” Stiles interrupted frantically, biting his tongue in surprise at his own eagerness. “I’ll make the deal…just—what exactly do you want me to do? You haven’t exactly been clear on that.”
The man laughed, wagging around the hefty weight of his leaking cock. “I think I’ve been clear enough.”
Stiles took a deep breath, taking a moment to gaze up into the serenity of the night sky. It was so delicate — innocently looking down upon him, always there to blanket him in safety and strength. But now….oh, now he was going to force the heavens above to look down upon perverted and lustfully lewd acts? And with a complete and total stranger?
Questions presented themselves. Was Stiles really going to let some random stranger clasp and tug at his body? Was Stiles going to touch the stranger — wrap his hands around where the stranger was hard and leaking? Was Stiles actually going to stain the alleyway with whatever unforgivable noises and juices he’d be unable to keep to himself?
No, he shouldn’t…and yet, Stiles felt no sense of hesitation. He dropped the remainder of the shopping bags that he hadn’t first dropped after being spooked by the shadowed alley-man. As he stepped closer to where the stranger remained on the cement steps, Stiles felt his muscles momentarily tense up with nerves—uncertain as to what he was truly getting himself into. But the gleaming smile of the stranger’s white teeth entranced him back into motivated courageousness.
Stiles positioned himself in-between the stranger’s open thighs, lustfully enthralled by the muscular hairiness of the man’s tantalizing body. He carefully lowered himself down to his knees until they were pressed down against the rugged asphalt of the alleyway. The stagnant puddles of rainwater immediately started to soak into the baggy denim of Stiles’ jeans, but he barely reacted to the coldness. He was already too far gone—unable to look away from the stranger’s massive, surging cock.
“Wrap your hands around it.” The man encouraged, shifting his hips and settling his hands behind his head. “You can start things off slow, I don’t mind.”
Stiles tentatively reached out with his hands, softly clasping both of them around the stranger’s substantial girth—only to immediately pull back both of his hands in surprise. It was hot…in the literal sense, right down to the touch. It was like running your hands alongside the exterior of a car, after letting the car sit around in the violence of the summer sun for a handful of hours. It burned…kind of hurt…but the heat was somehow addictive. Stiles felt so cold and he wanted to feel more of that warmth.
“It’s—hot.” Stiles noted. “—like embers.”
“I run hot.” The man confirmed smugly, nudging his hips upward to garner Stiles’ attention for the second time. “Now get back to what you were getting ready to do.”
Stiles wrapped his hands around the stranger’s cock again, this time allowing himself time to comfortably settle into the feeling of handling such an odd display of impossible, supernatural heat. Stiles could feel the palms of his hands tickle and become feverish, but refused to let that coerce him into backing down from the deal. Instead, he fought through the hesitation and started to move his hands.
The handjob started slow and stayed that way, at the request of the shadowed stranger. Stiles languidly moved his hands up and down, actively keeping both of his hands engaged around the stranger’s length. And despite doublefisting what he could fit into his hands, there was still a lot of the stranger’s shaft left exposed and out of capable grasp. If the man wanted the entire length of his cock jerked off, he’d need an extra set of hands to help out.
Nonetheless, Stiles didn’t complain. He found something engaging about tackling such an immoral challenge in the darkened alley as stranger passed by —ignorant to the inappropriate exploits that were carried out. And as the stranger occasionally commented on the handjob with smug applause or corrective critique, Stiles listened carefully to adapt to the ever-changing desire of the beast above.
The repeated movement proved hypnotic to Stiles. He found himself practically entranced at the sight of his own hands working themselves around a monstrous cock. The heat of the cock, the way the foreskin stretched with each careful tug, the pulsing veins of the shaft that pulsed explicitly under his palm…everything was so mesmerizing. But Stiles found himself especially caught up with watching precum glint at the leaking slit of the stranger’s cockhead.
As he watched, unknowingly lapping at the chapped bottom lip of his own mouth in anticipation, Stiles could have sworn he watched steam flutter away from the small drop of liquid. It was a hallucination, obviously…at least, that’s how Stiles’ mind attempted to rationalize and explain the abnormal display. Or maybe it wasn’t abnormal. Maybe it was just body heat reacting with the cold air.
Stiles thumbed across the precum that had pearled up at the stranger’s cock, feeling an unmistakable sting of heat pierce the skin of his thumb. It really was boiling hot—more than hot enough to produce steam. And yet, what should have been a feeling of genuine surprise inside of Stiles’ brain was immediately replaced with hungry desperation. The stranger ran hot…yeah, yeah…hotter than humanly possible….but what did he taste like?
Without thinking, Stiles popped the stickiness of his thumb into his mouth. He groaned out in arousal, closing his eyes to savor the sharpness of such a brutal sweetness. He could feel the heat of the liquid seep into the blood and course through his body, warming him from the inside out. If addiction was a flavor, Stiles had found it. Or better yet, it had found him.
Stiles surged forward, taking the head of the stranger’s cock into his mouth. He didn’t take the length down his throat, but rather, elected to suckle passionately at the flow of precum that drooled onto the expectant spread of his tongue. He couldn’t get enough of the stranger’s taste. It was sweet, mixed with the offensive musk of man. He wanted more. His body desired more.
“I didn’t say you could put your mouth on me yet.” The stranger reprimanded, tugging at the softness of the boy’s hair. “If this is how you respond to the taste of precum, you won’t be able handle what I plan to finish our deal with.”
“Please—I need more.” Stiles begged, staring up into the dark shadows of the stranger’s eyes. “I’ll make this feel good. If you cum, it’s okay — I’ll let you go again. You can take me again. We can make more deals. I just need more.”
“So….breakable.” The stranger commented calmly. He his hand down the side of Stiles’ noble face, swirling the pads of his fingertips in zigzags along the beauty marks on the boy’s pale skin. “Go ahead—feed your new addiction.”
Stiles didn’t wait for the stranger to change his mind. He dove right back down onto the man’s hefty cock, this time take actual length into the warmth of his mouth. He was voracious. Though, unable to take all of the stranger’s length into his throat, Stiles made sure to take as much as he could manage—which was at least eight inches by his own estimate. And for what he was able to take down his throat, the stranger didn’t seem disappointed.
The feeling of the stranger’s cock sliding down Stiles’ throat was unlike anything he had ever experienced in his life. He had given men blowjobs before —some rougher, some softer—but the stranger was in a league of his own. It felt weird, but not bad…just different. It wasn’t explainable. Stiles likened the feeling to what it might feel like to get a white-hot rod of iron speared down your throat….in a completely painless, inescapably erotic kind of way.
Stiles slurped and gagged, keeping up an acceptable rhythm to the movement of his head and the strokes of his fist. He continued to fist the stranger’s cock in one of his hands, figuring that it would bring upon an orgasm quicker. That’s honestly all that Stiles wanted. That was the only thing on Stiles’ mind. It’s what he desired more than anything else in the world — in that moment. He wanted the stranger to cum down his throat. He wanted to feel that boiling warmth inside…deeper than what he could only get with a simple blowjob.
“Come on, rest your throat for me.” The stranger instructed, tugging once again at Stiles’ hair. “We need to finalize this deal of ours, don’t we?”
Stiles reluctantly stopped sucking the stranger’s cock. He looked up to the stranger with a grand expression of dismayed annoyance, mixed with an obvious pout. The boy’s face was flushed and sweaty was exhaustion. His button nose was equally as red, but from the cold air of the night. Meanwhile, Stiles’ lips were puffy and wet—slicked beautifully with saliva and precum and eagerness to get back to work.
“Why can’t this be how we finalize our deal?” Stiles questioned seriously, leaning forward to take the stranger back into his mouth.
“Because — that’s not how this works.” The stranger asserted, pushing Stiles away from his cock again. “But don’t be dismayed. Your mouth has fulfilled it’s duty.”
Stiles’ face stuck up with confusion. “What do you mean?”
“Let’s give your knees a break from cutting into the asphalt.” The stranger said. “Now, undress yourself from the waist down and come sit here—I want you to ride the slick you’ve left on my cock.”
Stiles stood up from where he had been knelt down on the jagged ground, wobbling slightly at the sudden circulation that proceeded to run through his extended legs. At the stranger’s direction, Stiles hurriedly undid his pants and shuffled out of them, carelessly setting them down onto the wet ground to soak, before doing the same with his boxers.
The stranger slapped teasingly at his spread thighs, crudely depicting where Stiles was supposed to take his obedient seat. Stiles loyally followed the directions. He straddled the grimy stranger — making it so that their positioning allowed the both of them to face one another. But before taking a full seat, Stiles allowed himself to momentarily hover, feeling the inferno heat of the stranger’s leaking cockhead casually prod against his hole.
Stiles eased himself down onto the spit-slicked length with greed. The paranormal heat of the stranger’s cock felt even more concentrated in this way. As more and more of the troublesome length stretched open Stiles’ tight hole, it burned away any thoughts, questions, and hesitance that had briefly clouded Stiles’ mind. The only thing that Stiles could think about was riding the cock that filled him so extensively.
The speed and rhythm of the ride was unapologetically quick and rushed. Stiles didn’t care and it really didn’t seem to bother the shadowed stranger either. The aggressive sounds of their bodies slapping against each other bounced around the walls of the alley and most likely echoed out into the populated city streets, but Stiles didn’t care. His brain was far too clouded to even think about that.
As Stiles bounced around in the lap of the stranger, the two found each other’s lips in a gluttonous attempt to find even more ways to stimulate themselves. Stiles moaned and groaned and whimpered and plead filthy nothings into the stranger’s mouth, licking inside of the man’s heat—gnashing their teeth together, biting at one another’s lips, and fueling their continued hookup with an extra garnish of passion.
Abruptly, a thunderbolt of pleasure rocked Stiles’ exhausted body from the inside. He screamed out hysterically, feeling the surge of sweltering liquid erupt into his body. As he babbled out breathless cries, Stiles splayed one of his own hands across his stomach, crying out in orgasmic disbelief as he felt the distended overflow of cum impregnate deep inside of his body. He could feel the unyielding throbbing pulsations of the stranger’s immeasurable length through the slosh of his cum-filled stomach.
“It’s been a pleasure doing business with you.” The stranger chuckled, snapping his fingers.
There was a sudden flash of bright light and smoke and then the stranger was gone — as if erased from existence. Stiles found himself completely dressed and all alone in the middle of the empty alleyway, shivering uncontrollably from post-orgasmic anguish and still incredibly bloated —filled to the brim with the cum from some random man he had just fucked in the alley.
In his hand, there was a simple black shopping bag with sparkling tissue paper. Stiles held up the bag to see what was inside, surprised to find that it was the exact gift he had been unable to successfully purchase for his father during the Black Friday rush in the stores. Stiles reached down to the straps of the shopping bag and lifted up the gift-tag to see if there was a name available…and much to Stiles’ surprise, the gift-tag read:
“Pleasure doing business with you, Stiles.”
-Derek, your local Deal-Demon.
Stiles’ body seized and he involuntarily clutched at the handles of the shopping bad, feeling his own hardened cock spew out into the crotch of his dirty jeans. As he stood there in the middle of the alleyway, riding out his own orgasm, unable to do anything about it, he looked around in bewilderment—feeling the warm slosh of demon cum pour out of his overworked hole.
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All right, so, my dad said that he'd be gone for a few hours. I didn't think that meant three hours, I thought that meant like seven or something, so I, like the idiot I am, fell asleep at around midnight(two hours had passed since he left the house). Now, mind you, this is the person who doesn't turn their ringer on because they have so many annoying notifications in the middle of the night. And, also, I don't live here, I'm just visiting for Christmas.
As he leaves, he tells me to lock the bottom lock, okay, I do. He knocks and I open the door, he tells me, no, lock the top lock. So I do.
Let me remind you that I do not live here, so I had no idea that the top lock is what we refer to as the "deadbolt" while the bottom lock is the one that can be opened with a key. I live in an apartment, I knew it was a little fishy, but Dad said to lock the top lock, so I did.
Six hours later, I wake up to hear a strange garbled voice yelling my name. Like the idiot that I am, I shrug it off as a hallucination, and then it says my name again. And again. At this point, I've woken up just enough to realize "Hey, remember that Daddy can talk through the security cameras?" And I go Oh Shit and jump out of the air mattress, nearly falling flat on my face several times, and I sprint to unlock and open the door....I don't see anything.
At this point, I'm both half-asleep and blind. Was my dad standing in front of the door? Maybe, I don't know, because I'm fucking blind as a bat without my glasses. Regardless, the security camera light is blue, so he was watching it, and he knew that I was awake.
I go back to fucking bed and get annoyed at the buzzing by my head, I lean over, and, sure as shit, my dad is calling. In a panic, thinking he got diagnosed with cancer or something, I answer and put him on speaker (after a fat finger hit the power button, but luckily that either doesn't deny calls, or my dad immediately called back). He said "Unlock the door-" I said "Okay." And take him off speaker, dropping the phone, not bothering to get it off the charger or end the call, and race again to open the door. He ends the call just as I open the door, and do you want to know the first thing he said?
"I've been trying to wake you up since one."
I need not remind you that at this point it was six in the morning.
I apologize for a good minute, but he says it's fine and that it's his fault for telling me to lock the wrong bolt. He jokingly says that he expects bacon and eggs in the morning, then he pauses, and says "maybe at ten." I don't intend to wake him up until two, at least, because he deserves a good eight hours of sleep after that. He tells me to check how many missed calls I had.
He called me 27 times
I go back to bed, tweet in a still half-asleep frenzy, and I see a text from him with a screenshot of the weather....
It was 37F
We live in Texas, where it rarely gets this cold. So yeah, I can understand why he was freezing his ass off. Then I scroll up and see the other texts.
You still awake?
(Redacted) YOU LOCKED ME OUT!!!! IT'S REALLY COLD!!!!
I've tried to call over and over. I'm sitting in the parking lot in my truck
It's not your fault I told you to lock the wrong lock.
That last text was at 1:27 in the morning.
So yeah....thoroughly embarrassed and never going to sleep when someone's left the house ever again.
I can hear him snoring as I write this in the bathroom.
Anyway, moral of the story, never forget to turn your ringer on if someone left the house before you go to sleep. Because you are their only way of getting back inside in the middle of the night.
It's 7, so, goodnight, had to tell everyone because I am a horrible person and you should learn from my stupidity.
Edit: I lied. I can't go back to sleep. This will haunt my dreams for eternity. At least I got six hours of sleep.
#my story#true story#oops my bad#big oops#just having a moment#just had to say this#sleep deprived ramblings#6am thoughts#why am i so dumb#why am i posting this#just why#why#i try ok#i truly do#im going back to sleep#goodnight
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Helping Hands
Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four | Chapter Five| Chapter Six | Chapter Seven | Chapter Eight | Chapter Nine | Chapter Ten | Chapter Eleven | Chapter Twelve | Chapter Thirteen | Chapter Fourteen | Chapter Fifteen | Chapter Sixteen | Chapter Seventeen | Chapter Eighteen | Chapter Nineteen | Chapter Twenty
A/N: Hi! Did you survive? Good! TW for suggested non-con, sexual abuse. Does not happen, it’s just talked about. Also graphic violence and violent content
Chapter Twenty One: Backhanded
“I just wanted you to know that I have your boyfriend. And his kid. Just that.” Ty hung up the phone and thumbed the ringer off, but Bucky could see Tony’s face flashing on the screen, trying to call back. Ty ignored it and chuckled wickedly.
Bucky was growing to hate that sound. He was sick with worry for Steve; he had no idea what they’d done with him. When he’d woken up, head aching and ears buzzing, he’d been duct-taped into a chair, arms behind his back, legs spread and tape running from his ankles to his knees, holding him to the chair legs.
Tape was… not a good choice, otherwise cops would use it instead of handcuffs or zip ties, but it was good enough, especially when Killian still had a gun trained on him.
“Go ahead and yell,” Ty had said, grinning. “I really, really want an excuse to shoot you.”
Bucky glared up at Ty but didn’t scream. He had no idea where they were; aggravating his captors without any intel seemed a poor choice. “Where’s my son?” He started working his wrists behind his back, small, semi-circles, back and forth, calm, quiet movements.
Ty jerked his chin toward the back of the room. “Out of the way,” he said. “The kid’s just extra weight and to keep you on your best behavior. Killian doesn’t really want to have to hurt him, he’s kinda soft that way. So I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t make me.” Ty moved closer, his body all lean grace and beauty. Like a serpent, he was dangerous and fascinating. Gorgeous like a Greek statue. When he smiled, Ty looked genuinely happy. Delighted, really. Bucky began to understand what Tony, love-starved and lonely, must have seen in this bastard.
“He’s just a kid, he’s got nothin’ to do with this,” Bucky said. “Please don’t hurt him.”
“I don’t want to,” Ty said. “But I will, if you make me. My primary target, of course, is Tony. But you’ll make do, for the moment.” Ty took a few steps closer and backhanded Bucky across the face. Even knowing it was coming, Bucky flinched. The back of Ty’s hand was hard, brutal across his cheek. Bucky’s neck whipped to one side with the force of the blow, his headache exploding across his temples. The chair rocked dangerously and Bucky scrambled in the minimal few inches he had to get it balanced before he toppled to the floor. He shifted his legs, pushing his legs away from the chair, careful. Very careful.
He tasted copper in his mouth and spat blood onto the floor; he’d bitten the side of his cheek.
“Pretty,” Ty observed. “You’re a stoic type, yeah? Tony would be whining by now, the little baby. He was so much fun. I miss him.”
Bucky clenched his jaw, hate burning through his guts.
Ty hit him again. And a third time.
(Mobile readers, ‘ware the readmore)
Each time, Bucky rolled with it, letting his joints stay loose and ready, relaxing as much as he could. Tensing up made it hurt more. He’d taken a beating before. The fifth time Ty went for his face, Bucky twisted his jaw at the last second, teeth coming down on Ty’s hand. He got a pretty good bite in before Ty hit him in the gut with his free hand, forcing the air out of his lungs.
Bucky laughed, soft, ugly. “Tony’s stronger than you think he is.”
“You fucking bit me,” Ty exclaimed, holding up his bloody hand with astonishment.
“Bet your ass I did,” Bucky said. “Smack me again and see if I don’t bite your damn fingers off.”
“You want me to get the kid, is that it?”
“Look, asshole, we both know this is all a show,” Bucky said. He hitched in a breath and spat more blood. “You’ve marked me up. Take your fucking picture that you’re gonna show Tony and get this fucking game going. I’ve read this script before. I know how this ends.” With me and Steve dead. With Tony a couple million bucks short and left to mourn us.
“Huh,” Ty said. “You’re not as stupid as you look. Too bad for you.” He pulled Bucky’s battered phone out of his pocket. The screen was cracked, but Ty held it up and snapped a photo, then punched up Bucky’s contact list. Bucky heard the ping as the file sent. Christ.
“You want to listen to your lover beg for your life?” Ty asked, conversationally. “I can put it on speakerphone.”
Oh, god, Tony. Bucky shunted his gaze to the side, not answering.
Ty didn’t slap him this time; he’d learned that lesson. He walked slowly around the chair and kicked Bucky’s ankle. Hard.
Bucky grunted. He flexed the metal arm, carefully. His fingers moved, clicking the plates into place. He twisted his wrist.
“You didn’t answer the question, lover boy.” Ty circled him again, kicked him in the knee.
God, that fucking hurt. Bucky clamped down, a guttural moan barely escaping his throat, leaning forward in the chair as far as he could. He twisted his arm at that last moment, too, felt the thin plates on the surface of the metal wrist biting into the tape. Bucky shook his head, then touched his tongue to his lip. “Not really, no,” he said.
Ty grabbed a handful of Bucky’s hair, jerked his head back so far that his throat was fully exposed and vulnerable. “You think you’re so tough, don’t you? Won’t scream, won’t beg, won’t ask for your lover. But I know where you’re weak. So you better give me what I want, or your kid is going to pay for it.”
He should. Bucky knew that he should. Beg, cry, shake. Ty was a monster, and what he fed off of was fear. This was the man who’d tortured Tony – for years – and Bucky was having a really hard time giving him any satisfaction at all. Bucky snarled, “Yeah, well, what do you want?”
That got a smug grin out of Ty and he tugged on Bucky’s hair again. Pain crawled along Bucky’s scalp and he bared his teeth.
“That’s better,” Ty said, “but not quite good enough. I wonder what it would take to make you cry. Wanna find out?”
“Don’t you have something better to do? Like make a ransom demand?” If Bucky and Steve got out of this alive, he was really going to need to have words with Tony about getting better villains in his life. This one talked too much and was too fucking overdramatic. It would have been pathetic if Bucky hadn’t been so god damn terrified. He bent his elbows, shrugged his shoulders.
“More fun to make Tony worry about it,” Ty said. “He knows what I did to him, imagine what he thinks I must be doing to you.”
“You want someone to cry, where’s your little friend, Justin Hammer? He seemed really good at it,” Bucky pointed out.
Ty rolled his eyes in disgust. “You are no fun. Go on, Aldrich, get the kid. Let’s see if we can’t break our boy, here. Would you like that, Daddy? Watching Aldrich hurt your son? Maybe, if you beg real pretty, I might let you suck me off rather than shooting him. Sound like fun to you? Let’s see if we can get you real good at crying. I bet we can.”
“You sick fuck,” Bucky snarled, twisting as much as he could in the chair, the tape pulling at his skin. “Don’t you fucking touch him.” His voice went up, louder, as Killian disappeared down the hallway. “Steve! No, god damnit, you leave him alone!” He yanked at his arms, wrenching at his hands.
“Oh, come on, Daddy,” Ty said, grabbing his hair and practically ripping it out. “I know you can suck dick with the best of ‘em. And you don’t want Aldrich to hurt your son. Just let it happen. You know–”
Bucky threw himself backward in the chair, rocking it back onto two legs. For just a moment, it seemed that Ty would yank him back and it would all be over but the bleeding, but then the front chair leg tagged Ty in the calf and he let go. Bucky wrenched the metal arm, listening to the servos screaming, and tore the tape just before he hit the ground.
Air rushed out of his chest and his lungs were crying for oxygen, but he didn’t have time for breathing. Bucky rolled, hands free.
A quick lunge with his left hand and what was left of the chair exploded into splinters. He took a great gulp of air. Ty brought the gun to bear, but Bucky was already moving. He kicked Ty’s legs out from under him and a shot went off.
Then another, further away, and Bucky’s blood turned to ice-water. “STEVE!”
Ty pushed himself up, scrambled to his knees and brought the gun up. Bucky lunged, got the palm of his left hand flat against the muzzle. He turned his wrist, ripping the gun free from Ty’s hand, breaking Ty’s fingers in the process.
Another twist and Bucky had the gun pressed to Ty’s temple. “Call him off. Do it now.”
Ty closed his eyes, but didn’t say anything.
“I will fucking shoot you, I swear to Christ,” Bucky said. When Ty still didn’t say anything, Bucky wrenched the gun down, pulled the trigger. The pistol was a low caliber, not as explosive as Killian’s monstrosity, but it made a short, flat whap! noise and then Ty started screaming. Blood gushed from the hole in his leg.
“Call. him. Off.” Bucky pressed the hot muzzle of the gun against Ty’s throat.
“Aldrich!” Ty yelled, still whimpering.
Nothing. No screaming, no gun fire, nothing.
Bucky’s heart stopped beating. He couldn’t breathe. He glanced at the gun in his hand. “Steve!”
Slowly, Bucky climbed to his feet. He didn’t want… did not want to see. He’d watched his own goddamn arm get blown off, seen the fingers twitching in the dust as his blood spilled down his side, but he’d never done anything harder than get to his feet, knowing that if he went down that dark hall, he might find his son’s body.
There was silence, broken only by Ty’s agonized whimpers. That man, that man was responsible for all this fear and pain. Bucky turned, very slow, the gun coming up. He pressed the muzzle against Ty’s forehead. Go on, he thought, I really, really want to shoot you.
Ty met his gaze, angry and burning with hostility and fear. His face seemed to dare Bucky to do it, dare him to finish it. To descend all the way to Ty’s level. Go on, do it.
Bucky’s finger tightened on the trigger.
He knew exactly what would happen if he pulled the trigger. The bullet would go straight through Ty’s skull, splatter his brains all over the floor. The body would slump, just so; there wouldn’t even be enough time for Ty to scream before he was dead.
Just like Sarah.
No. He couldn’t. Bucky could not do that to another human being, not and retain any of his own humanity. Life and death was one thing; shooting Ty now? That would be murder, no matter what justification he tried to pin on it.
“Steve,” Bucky said, shaking his head. He twisted the pistol in his hand and walked away from Ty Stone without a look back.
Killian was on his hands and knees in the hall, shivering. The doors to what might have once been a laundry room were open, but the room beyond was empty. Sticky wads of tape stuck to the floor and door.
“Where is he?” Bucky asked, bringing the gun down to point at Killian. “Where is my son?”
“Suit,” Killian muttered, his voice low and indistinct. He looked stunned and dizzy, not a threat.
“What?”
Bucky whirled, a movement in the room behind him dragging his attention away from the wounded man on the floor to a man who was climbing in the window.
Bucky blinked. A fit, middle-aged man, gently balding, wearing a suit and carrying… a taser? Was just getting his footing in the room. The man took off his aviator glasses and grinned. He looked… vaguely familiar. “Mr. Barnes?”
Killian was attempting to rise off the floor and Bucky put his foot down in the middle of the man’s back, forcing him back to the floor, not taking the gun off the newcomer. “What’s it to you?”
“I’m Phil Coulson,” he said, putting the taser gingerly on the ground in front of him. “Mr. Stark is my boss; I’m on security team three. Ten minutes ago, I personally put your son in Mr. Stark’s car, after tasering this idiot who tried to shoot me.” He nodded toward Killian, keeping his hands in sight.
“Tony’s here?”
“Yes, sir, Mr. Barnes,” Coulson said. “Your son used his medical alert necklace almost an hour ago to let us know about your predicament. We’ve been tracking him. We’re um… here to rescue you. Where’s Stone?”
Bucky jerked his chin toward the front room. “He’s wounded, but he might be able to run. Unarmed, though.”
Coulson nodded. “If you’ll let me, I’ll bring backup in through the front.”
“Oh,” Bucky said, glancing at the gun in his hand again. He lowered it halfway, still uncertain and on high alert. “Sorry.”
Coulson touched his ear. “Killian’s down. Mr. Barnes is injured, but functional. Breach the front room. Come on, sir, let’s get you out of here.”
“What about–”
Coulson grinned, recovered his taser from the floor and shot it at Killian, who went down in a drooling heap. “I really, really love getting to use this thing.”
Steve wasn’t always in a cuddly mood; as he’d been getting older, he’d been more resistant to spending long periods of time sitting in Bucky’s lap. Fortunately for Bucky’s state of mind, that wasn’t the case at the moment. As Bucky and Tony sat in Detective Jones’s office and answered questions – carefully controlled by Tony’s exceptionally tall lawyer, Jennifer Walters – Steve was perfectly happy to sit in Bucky’s lap the entire time, leaning against his father’s shoulder and not quite sleeping. He kept jerking himself awake as soon as his eyes drifted shut, glancing up to make sure Bucky was still exactly where Steve had left him, and then drowsing again. Bucky knew exactly how Steve felt. It would be quite a while, he imagined, before he was willing to let his son out of his sight again.
Tony wasn’t much better, honestly. He kept one hand on Bucky’s wrist for the entire interview and when Bucky slung an arm around Tony’s shoulders, he could feel his boyfriend trembling minutely.
The detective didn’t mean to be thoughtless, Bucky decided; she just had a classic case of foot-in-mouth. Or maybe she was trying to make them angry in an attempt to stave off their nervous breakdowns, because he couldn’t imagine many more things that were harder to deal with than two grown men and a boy, all on the verve of various degrees of panic attack.
Bucky gave a statement. Steve said a few things, none of which Bucky wanted to hear. They had tied up a kid with asthma and stuffed him in a laundry room? Bucky almost started having a goddamn asthma attack of his own after hearing that.
“The captain is considering charging you and your security team with vigilantism,” Detective Jones said, crossing her legs. She had black combat boots on and Bucky found himself concentrating on the smashed wad of dirty pink bubblegum between her treads.
Tony gave her a flat look. “You know that’s a mistake,” he said. “You get that up in front of a jury, lady, and I’m a goddamn action hero. You think any American jury is going to convict me for tasering one guy and breaking into an abandoned building? I’ll pay for the damages, but you’re never in a million years going to get anything heavier than trespassing to stick to me. And when I go to the papers – note that I said when, not if – the city will bury you for it.”
Jones spread her hands. “Those decisions aren’t in my wheelhouse,” she said. “Way above my paygrade.”
“What’s the captain want, in this pretend little exchange of favors for not making me pay my lawyers?” Tony leaned back in the chair, calm, cool. Bucky could still feel Tony shaking, the vibrations in the tiny couch were rattling his bones. “Because I’m telling you, I like my lawyers and I don’t mind paying them to make your captain unhappy, if he’s going to make me unhappy.” On Tony’s other side, Ms. Walters smiled a shark’s toothy grin.
“Vigilantism is dangerous, Mr. Stark,” Detective Jones said. “I’m not casting aspersions on your security, obviously; they’re very professional. That being said, if this story gets spread around, citizens who do not have their caliber of training are going to be more likely to try to jump in and that’s going to lead to people getting hurt, and I don’t think any of us wants that. You and Mr. Barnes have both made waves through your recent heroism; we’d like you to use that influence responsibly.”
“I see,” Tony said. “You want me to lie–”
“No,” Jones said. “Just… don’t make a production out of it. Can you do that, Mr. Stark? Stay out of the papers for a while? It’s an election year.”
Tony laughed. “Me? Stay out of the papers? You have got to be kidding me. Do you even know who I am?”
“Try?”
“Sister, I try every goddamn day. I have a whole fucking team of people who try to keep me out of the papers. Jesus Christ,” Tony swore, getting to his feet and pacing around. “Seriously? You’re fucking kidding me?”
Bucky sighed. “Well, now you’ve done it,” he said to the detective. “Your captain’s going to be lucky if the first thing he does after he leaves here isn’t call a damn press conference.” Which Bucky totally didn’t want to do. He wanted to go back to Tony’s penthouse, have a shower to get the stink of Ty Stone off his skin, and then fall asleep on the sofa with his son sprawled out on his chest and hope to Christ that neither of them had any nightmares.
Bucky’d gotten a little bit used to the way people treated Tony like he was a package of explosives wrapped up in eccentric billionaire and quirky genius. Most of them reacted with some sort of exasperation and annoyance or, on the other end of the spectrum, laughing wildly at his bad jokes and sucking up. Jones merely leaned back in her chair with an aura of Job Well Done and winked at Bucky. She fucking winked at him. What the shit did that mean?
“I’m hungry,” Steve said, suddenly. Which Bucky kissed him for, because Tony’s anger melted away and Jones’s smug self-satisfaction was gone in an instant.
“If we’re not being detained,” Tony said, and waited pointedly until the detective nodded. “Then we’ll be on our way. You know where I am, if you need anything else. Aside from ‘stay out of the papers’ because if I can’t fucking manage it for my own privacy, I’m certainly not putting extra effort into it for New York City’s finest.”
“Really, what was that about?” Bucky stopped in the door as Tony led the charge toward the elevator.
Jones slipped him a business card. “This is my sister, Trish Walker. She’s a radio talk show host.”
“Oh, you are an evil, evil woman,” Bucky said, tucking the card in his front pocket.
She winked at him again.
~as always, @tisfan
winteriron tony x bucky tony stark bucky barnes prompts tisfan helping hands AUpoverty tourism kidnapping rescue Jessica Jones is a troll Phil Coulson is a badassBAMF!Bucky
#winteriron#tony x bucky#tony stark#bucky barnes#prompts#tisfan#helping hands AU#poverty tourism#kidnapping#rescue#jessica jones is a troll#phil coulson is badass#BAMF!Bucky
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For anyone that’s left behind.
Dear Someone,
When I thought about making my blog public to all my friends on Facebook, I made one thing very clear to myself. That this would not be a personal journal nor would it be an online pity party. This would not be where I scrawl down my secrets. This would be about sharing personal experiences with people I know, in the hope that, through my writing and in me, they may find a kindred spirit. It would be about dispelling confusion, and acknowledging things that we often cannot find words to describe. I’ve written about heartbreak and stress. Today, I’m writing about death. I don’t hope to tackle the topic, for I hope I’ll never have enough experience in this to tackle its every in and out. Nor do I hope to give platitudes or aid healing, because if you ever read this when you really need to, you know platitudes are not enough and healing is too lofty a goal for one blog post. I’m not aiming to philosophise either, because I have not reached even a tenuous understand of what death is. All I hope to do is provide companionship, by breaking down, if you will, the immediate moments, days and weeks after someone you love passes on.
Two days from the day I’m writing this, my grandfather will have been gone for one month. So, be warned, things are going to morose up in here. Crying about it and making you tear up over my thaatha is not what I intend, I only want to talk about death and the reality of life after it. However, such a reality is sad, so proceed, only if you want to.
How does it feel, a month later?
The very first thing I can say with absolute clarity is, it feels like yesterday. 30 days seems like chewing-gum. A small brick, innocuous on the surface, but it will stretch if you make it. If you’re thinking, “Ohmygod, enough with the metaphors Pallavi”, I’d say “STFU, metaphors are love, metaphors are life”. But, I’m here to hold your hand and tell you how it feels, either because you’re curious, or you’re going through something similar, or you’re just plain morbid. To put it simply, it does not feel like a month has passed. It feels like it happened yesterday. But when you start to really think about what happened in that month after someone’s death, you’ll start to piece together everything you did over 30 days. Me? I told a couple of friends. I learnt the basics of the British sign language. I made stuffed French toast and brownies. I drew my beloved thaatha. On the fourth day, I went to Ameerpet to get his picture framed. I had what seems like an unending chat conversation with my brother, who couldn’t be with me, because I didn’t want him to feel alone when I’m surrounded by family. I ate 3 and 3/4th puran-polis, I got a throat infection, watched Suicide Squad on TV and wore a kurta that my thaatha gifted to me for the very first time. I order a cheesecake from Guilt Trip on the day of his passing, and since then, I have ordered Dominos once and Wok Republic twice. 12 days with my family, as our mourning customs dictate. That’s 12 baths and 24 coffees and 36 meals, and multiple between-meal nibbles. I find it hard to believe that this has all happened. To explain it to you, imagine waking up one morning, and realising that you’ve done all the things I’ve mentioned over the course of the last day. The surprise and the disbelief and the urge to scramble and rationalise what you’re feeling? I feel all of that when I try to rationalise that it’s been a month since he’s passed on.
TL;DR? Expect to feel disoriented when you realise how long it’s been since your loved one has passed on.
How did I react?
My mom texted me in the morning, letting me know that my granddad was about to depart to the great beyond in about an hour. Not in as many word, obviously. I hightailed it to the hospital and ran up six flights of stairs, but I was too late. When I asked the throng of relatives and family friends what had happened, my aunt nodded at me. Imagine if you will, being very confused in a high stress situation. Everyone else is in on the secret and you’re scrambling for news. And you get a nod. Justifiably, I whispered/yelled, ‘what does that mean?’. She said, ‘ten twenty-eight am’ and my brain, although begging for specifics, made do with that. I was 9 minutes too late. I will spare you the gory details of seeing my grandfather after, because this is for you, and it isn’t about that. Tears were streaming down my face, and I was choking up when I held his hand. I could not associate my grandfather with what I saw before me. And here’s the thing. Here’s something you’ll acknowledge minutes after you see what’s left behind. Here’s the thing that may be the key to your healing much later. Let’s do a little exercise (way to sound like a pre school teacher huh?). You’re sitting down with your sister for a long overdue conversation. Imagine, if you will, her hair is longer, and red. And she has a smaller nose, and green eyes. Imagine she’s suddenly a boy. But you know she’s still your sister. So yeah, while you have questions about the particulars of her now-changed physical manifestation, ultimately, you can still have that conversation with her, right? She’s still the same person, with the same opinions, experiences, catchphrases and way of saying things. The physical body is something you see but is not necessarily the first thing you think of when you think of someone who’s close to you. To put it brashly, the physical body is a side character; replaceable and inconsequential. When I looked down at my granddad, I realised, my granddad is not this man I see now. My granddad is my memory of him. He is affection and confidence, and hating upma, and he is my memory of him teaching me how to frost cakes and he is haste and he is a kind man clad in all-white. This man in front of me is cold and while some part of me still thinks ‘thaatha’ when I see it, my thaatha is alive because I remember. Tears were streaming down my face and I had choked up. I was crying. But at no point in time did the realisation seem as final as it does in the movies. Again, imagine the brain is a collection of people playing Chinese Whisper. One part, the part that receives visual stimuli, is the guy that starts the game. Thaatha is dead, he whispers to the next guy, and then the next guy and so on and so on. I’m not sure the people in my head have stopped playing that game yet, not all of them know. Because I haven’t had that bone deep sense of realisation. And maybe I never will. Because to do so is to grasp and understand and process death, in all its colossal entirety, and no mortal can do that. No. Mortals spend months crying about new, small things that remind them of this unfathomably large thing happening to them, and the reality of death comes in bits and pieces. I’m convinced that if we tried to understand death in its entirety, our brain would explode like that Nazi woman’s did in Indiana Jones: Kingdom of the Crystal Skull. You wanna talk about mind fucked? Death is mind fucking.
TL;DR? Dissociating the body from the person is a thing that happens. Don’t fight it. Also, death is life altering, but it comes in bits and pieces, not all at once.
What are the next few days like?
Slow. And these next few days will be very hard to recall for you. I’d imagine the same aftermath for someone who is drunk or high, when you know you did something but you can’t remember what. I’ve never been either, so I can’t be sure, I suppose. So, I’m going to break these hazy few days down.
Physically, I was exhausted. Imagine your worst day. The very worst. And multiply that by 20. That’s how it was. I didn’t want to move, I wasn’t hungry or thirsty but I still felt hollow. My chest hurt. You could call it heart ache, but scientifically, I don’t think the muscle, Heart, is supposed to ache, otherwise, you’re due for a hospital visit yourself. Nevertheless, there is a bubble of in the middle of your chest. For me it was around my diaphragm. It feels like anxiety, the kind you feel in your stomach before an exam, except a little more solid, and less like butterflies fluttering. The lump in your throat doesn’t go away and the heaviness in your head (like your whole head, not just eye pain and neck pain) keeps that lump loyal company. You may look back on this time and realise, you lost the consciousness of everything under your upper chest.
Mentally, the best way I can describe it is moving through ‘pakam’. You know, the thick syrup that’s made from jaggery? Imagine walking through a tank full of that. The days after someone’s death tend to be dragging and stifling and heavily bear down on you. And it also feels surreal. At the time, you don’t really have an awareness of what’s going on. I was aware enough to place that cheesecake order, but I fell asleep for an hour after that. I was not cognizant enough to make sure my phone was next to me, with its ringer on loud, as anyone who’s just placed a food order is wont to do. It feels like those days when you have a high fever and are really sick. You know what you’re doing, but you can’t rationalise, correlate or be logical, and things seem filtered through.
TL;DR? The days that follow, you may feel dissociated from yourself, going through the motions, and physically, you’re basically a wreck.
How can I help a friend who’s going through this?
Personally, the most inane thing I’ve heard all month and the few days preceding thaatha joining his family up there is, ‘My prayers are with you’. The sentiment is appreciated. I’m glad to know you are with me, by my side, here, when I will need someone to listen and to fall onto when my feet give out under me, as I feel they surely will. But as a person that is losing her thaatha, there are certainly more relevant things I can stand to hear, other than ‘God be with you’ or variants thereof. Unless the person you’re consoling or offering condolences to is extremely religious, which I am decidedly not, the helpful thing to say is something along the lines of ‘I’m here for you if you want to talk, whenever you need me’. To be frank here, even while you’re telling someone this, the most you’ll get out of them is a sad smile. Don’t expect a show of gratitude or an immediate spilling the beans session. Most of my very close friends said this to me. Again, it’s the sentiment that’s appreciated here, but don’t feel bad if we don’t take you up on your offer. And definitely don’t feel guilty about not being able to get through to your friend in her time of need. The biggest reason we don’t respond to your offer is: we are surrounded by family who are also grieving. We feel their grief too, which makes our own feeling of sadness that much more solid, and for the first few hours or days, the grief actually settles around us like a wet blanket. We are physically tired, but also tired of talking about the death itself. So please, do not be disheartened if we do not take you up on your offer. What we really appreciate, though, is talking about the person. Not about their death, but them. It makes us smile and it makes us remember that the person is still alive, albeit not in a physical way. So, if you want to help, help us remember the person we lost.
Another thing we need a little bit later in the days after, is to talk about anything other than death and the person that died. At this point, we’re surrounded by so many people who are grieving, and quite frankly, we’d give anything to talk about something else. Not because we’re callous, or dismissive, but because that’s just human nature. Unfortunately, surrounded by so much of human nature, we can’t approach our relatives, asking about vacation plans or the latest gossip, because everyone is at a different stage in their grief. So, we’ll call you, and of course, as our friend on the outside, you’ll understand that this huge thing has happened to us, and you will want to offer your condolences. But don’t be surprised if we ask you the latest gossip, or where you are or what’s going on in that TV show that we haven’t watched in a while. In fact, it’s never a bad idea to ask if we want to talk about something else. You’re our scuba diving tube, and you’re helping us take a breath of fresh air.
TL;DR? The most helpful thing you can do, is ask us about the person that’s passed on, and make us remember the good times. And sometimes, make us remember our life outside of this.
There’s a whole lot I didn’t cover. I think I’m further along on my road than this post would suggest, but like I said, death is stupefying in its magnitude and talking about it extensively makes me weary. I’m sorry if this post isn’t as eloquent as the others, but this is intended to be a hand-held tour of having someone very dear to you die. Maybe you’ll use this as an insight into the mind of a friend who is going through the same, or maybe you are the person going through it, and are looking for clarity or comradeship. In any case, I hope this fulfills whatever you need it to.
Love,
Me
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