#my paper is more afraid of me than i am afraid of it. mantra
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when school brings u to tearsss but u have to keep pushing thru LOL
#my fault my attn span is just so bad im so burned out and cant write two papers in the same day lol#so it took me forever fr to read a few articles and i stoll dont feel equipped to write yet but i need to start#whayever#laid on my bf for 10 min kept asking if he loved me to feel better and my motivation to finidh this shit is thay i can sleep for like 12 hr#hrs after if i want 🙋♀️🙋♀️🙋♀️🙋♀️yasssss#im so tired but at least its morning now nd more ppl are awake on the dash im literally so lonely LMAOO#i hate working alone at nite w no oke awake and no one to talk to or interact w 😭😭😭😭even social media interaction#im soo silly#moved to the couch got a dr pepper and a banana health queen lolll and my build a bear moose for emotional support#</3#my paper is more afraid of me than i am afraid of it. mantra
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Committing the Feeling (Alfie Solomons x Reader) [Request]
Hellu
Could you maybe write an Alfie x fem!reader fic, where they’re married and she comes up to him and takes him to their bedroom, but then, instead of getting naughty she just asks, if he could scratch her back and then they just end up cuddling.
Idk what this is I’m just in the mood for exactly that 🤪 — Requested by anon
Warnings: blood
Gif Source: michaelgreys
You liked to watch Alfie when he wasn’t looking. Part of you suspected he could feel your eyes on him, but if he did, he never let on.
It still rocked you each time you remembered the two of you were married. It seemed like a dream, one you were terrified of waking up from. Alfie was involved in such dangerous business, even if no one dared touch him directly. He was sure to attract the attention of some young upstart hoping to make his bones by taking Alfie out.
Lately, that fear had begun to grip you deep in your chest. Every little car backfire made you think of gunshots, and each knock at the door sounded like the hand of Death. You found yourself trembling with anxiety at all times of the day with no discernible reason.
So you watched him more and more, committing his face to memory, trying to make something in your mind you could hold onto. And Alfie sat there reading his paper or listening to the radio, none the wiser.
One night, Alfie returned home later than usual. You turned to greet him and froze. Blood covered his shirt and hands, crusting dry on the latter, still soaking wet on the former.
“It’s not mine, love,” Alfie assured you, heading into the loo.
His appearance rattled you the rest of the evening. You could barely focus on chopping the vegetables or even what the radio relayed when you both adjourned to the sitting room.
When the clock struck nine, you stood, your body rigid with tension, and grasped Alfie’s hand. He glanced up at you in surprise, eyebrows arching. You tugged him off the couch, leading him toward the bedroom. Alfie let you, a low rumble starting in his chest as you sat on the bed. He was on you in an instant, pushing you into the mattress, beard scratching your chin as he pressed his lips to yours. You responded for a moment before pulling back, your heart pounding suddenly in your chest.
“Wait,” you whispered.
Alfie stopped, a deep furrow creasing his brow. “What’s this?”
“I…” You choked on the words, unsure how to get them past the lump in your throat. “I…can you scratch my back?”
Frowning, Alfie stared down at you in disbelief. “You want me to do what?”
“Scratch…” Shaking your head, you rolled away from him, sitting upright as your stomach clenched. “Forget I said anything.”
A tremor rolled through you suddenly, your stomach clenching again. Curling toward your knees, you pressed the heels of your palms against your temples. You felt sick, the feeling permeating your whole body.
A heavy hand pressed against your back, gently scraping fingernails against you. You let out a shuddering sob, unable to suppress it.
“Talk to me.” It was a command, gruff yet gentle.
“I’m…afraid.”
“Of what?”
“Your work scares me, Alfie.”
“You knew what I was when you married me, woman.”
“Yes, but I didn’t know how awful it would be…to know that you could get hurt or killed any day at any time because of it.”
“Is this because of the blood?”
“Not just that. It’s everything. It’s when you stay late or you send Ollie or someone else ahead of you. I always imagine the worst, and it’s eating me.”
Alfie’s large arms encircled you, drawing you to his chest. He gently folded you down onto the bed, nestling you against him. You shook with unshed tears as he held you, trying to contain everything within yourself.
“I’ll be okay.” You whispered it like a mantra. “I just am so afraid of losing you.”
“I’m here,” he growled into your ear. His voice rumbled through you, soothing. “I’m deciding when I die. You can stake my hat on that.”
You laughed despite yourself. Only Alfie would sound so convincing. His arms pulled you closer, holding onto you tight enough to make it hard to breathe. You didn’t mind. Instead, you tucked yourself as close to him as you could and held on, committing the feeling to your bones.
#Alfie Solomons x Reader#Alfie Solomons#Alfie Solomons imagine#Tom Hardy#Tom Hardy x Reader#Tom Hardy imagine#Peaky Blinders#requests
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Poltergeist boyfriend
Bill Denbrough x Stanley Uris
When his parents told him that they were moving, Bill expected a new house or a futuristic apartment, but instead he got an old and rusty house. So there he was, big box full of books in hands, looking the house up and down with a sour look in his usually bright eyes. He looked at the window of the left upstairs bedroom, where he saw a figure looking at him. He looked around to find hid mom, but the figure was gone when he looked back. Stupid old house, stupid long road, stupid heavy box. Georgie, on the other hand was more than happy to go inside, running around the porch and urging everyone to move faster. Bill went inside and asked his mom to see his bedroom. She pointed the medium one upstairs, the same room where he saw that figure.
The next day he went to his new highschool. There, he met Eddie, Richie, Ben and Bev. He hit it off with Bev, but there was never gonna be anything between them, as Bev was dating Ben and Bill was very gay. The school was ok: the teachers were kind, the halls were clean and bullying was taken very seriously. Plus it was only five minutes away from home, which meant that Bill could get there in time to say bye to his parents before they left for work. For lunch he had mashed potatoes with chiken, his favourite. While he was eating, he heard a loud thud coming from his bedroom. Licking his fingers of grease, he went upstairs, ready to yell at Georgie for going in his bedroom. But the bedroom was empty. The only thing out of place was the picture of him and Mike, his old friend for the other town. When he picked it up he could swear he saw the same figure behind him in the glass. Placing the picture back, he ran downstairs to finish his meal. Little did he know, that would be the first of many encounters with the supernatural being.
Things started getting weirder and weirder over the next a few weeks. Wednesdays were Alphabet Soup days for the Denbroughs, but they got strange for Bill. Everytime he'd pick a spoon of letters, they would always spell things like: youre cute, i like u, i love u. He'd come home to see drawings of him and a boy on his desk. He blamed Georgie at first, but the young boy denied everything. All the drawings showed Bill either hugging or kissing this curly haired boy. He even saw this boy in his dreams, either looking out the window or playing the piano in the living room. Whenever Bill would open his english notebook he'd be met by short love poems, always signed S.U. But the worse happened when he brought people over.
The first time someone came over, it was boy named Jake, who was Bill's project partner. He only stayed in Bill's bedroom for five minutes, while Bill was making tea, when he cursed loudly and ran out of the house calling Bill nuts. Bill chased after him, confused and hurt, but looking to his bedroom window from the front yard, he saw the curly haired boy dissapear behind the curtains. This happened to everyone who came over to Bill's. It even happened to Eddie. The boy left after 30 minutes, saying someone was watching him and throwing stuff at his head. Bill was desperate, to the point where he begged Beverly to help him. Bev was a witch, so she was more than happy to help him figure the problem out. Her best guess was that a spirit that was bound to the house had taken a liking in Bill and was trying to chase potential partners away.
The plan was for Bill to hold hands with Bev, pretend to be dating so the spirit would give her its worst. That was exactly what happened, but Bev stood her ground. She ignored the yelling in her ear, the things thrown at her and the very scray ghost following her. At some point, Bill saw the ghost and warned Beverly that it was a diffrent one. The usual ghost was a boy with light curly hair and kind brown eyes. Beverly said that this scary ghost was a shape the boy was taking to scare her away. After a couple hours, Bev pulled Bill into the living room.
"Bill, I have to leave. Here you go. Inside this box there’s a ouija board. You have to paly alone, so that the poltergeist will have to join you. I also wrote you instructions on a paper I taped on the back of the box. This being really really likes you, so there’s nothing to worry about. I’m just worried I might anger it by staying longer. You’ll be fine.” and with that she left. Bill took the board and the planchette to his bedroom. Sitting down he read the mantra Bev gave him outloud and looked around.
“I’m alone, supernatural being, so you have to join me. Please join me.” With that, Bill lifted his head to see the curtains move. He was a little freaked out, but he calmed himself down. The scary ghost emerged form the other side of the room, looking around with wild eyes. It passed Bill by, yelling and ran downstairs. Bill was thanking God that neither Bev, nor his parents or Georgie were home to see the scene unfold. The door behind him opened again and Bill saw the boy coming in the room and sitting on the floor, oposite of where he sat. The supernatural being was in its regular form, probably calming down after seeing Bev was gone. It put its hand on the planchette moving it around to spell “Hi Bill”.
“Hi! Can you please tell me your name?”
“Stanley Uris. My family lived here 45 years ago.”
“But you’re supposed to be alive today.”
“I am, but I was killed in an accident at school. Two kids locked me in the boiler room as a prank. A teacher found me dead 12 days later. I was burried in the back yard of this house.”
“Why do you harass my friends? Why do you give me poems and drawing?”
“Cause I like you and I dunno how to express it. I chase people away cause I’m afraid you’ll like them more cause they’re alive. Was that girl your girlfriend?”
“She is a friend, I’m gay. I did that to make you respond.”
“I would’ve responded either way. You have nice eyes. And I like your drawings. You’re cute when you are focused.”
“You’re cute now. Is there any way I can make you be alive, sort of. Like in Beetlejuice?”
“I am dead. What’s Beetlejuice?”
“A musical about a demon. If someone said his name three times, he could be touched and seen, it was almost like he was real again.”
“I am not a demon, but I get it. You can make me real, sort of real. By allowing me to come into your world at will. You need black salt and moon water. Your witch friend has them for sure. You also need a picture of me. You can find one in the attic. You can do it tomorrow. I’ll guide you.” and with that, Stan moved the planchette to goodbye and went back to the window, where he vanished. Bill instantly called Bev and asked her for black salt and moonwater. Bev was happy to help again.
The next day, right after Georgie left to meet up with his friends, Bill dashed to the attic and looked in all the furniture until he found a picture of Stan. It was a picture of him playing the piano. Bill took it, ran to his room to get the board, took the salt and water from his backpack and ran to his bedroom. Stanley responded in less than a second.
“You got everything?”
“Yes, but you need to tell me what to do with them.”
“You need to go to the backyard and take 27 small steps from the back door forward. You’ll be somewhat above my body. You need to sprinkle salt around yourself in a circle, emerge the photo in moonwater and put it in front of your feet. Put some more salt on the picture and say this: I, Bill Denbrough, allow Stanley Uris to come back into this world at free will. I will be the only one to see him. He’ll step in the land of the living and come out of it whenever he wants. That should do it. I’ll be watching you.”
“Will I be able to touch you that way?”
“Yes.”
“Will you be able to leave the house?”
“Yes. I’ll also be able to return to land of the dead if I’ll feel like it.”
“Cool. Ok. Let’s do it.” And with that Bill went in the backyard and did exactly as Stanley had instructed him. At first it seemed like nothing happened, so Bill decided to go back inside. Once inside, he felt a hand on his shoulder while going up the stairs. Turning around he came face to face with Stanley.
“Hi, Bill! Wow you have soft skin. I have soft skin. Your clothes look nice. Mine are kinda old. Your hair is so soft as well. Mine is curlier then yours I don’t really like it that much. What do you think? Is my hair that bad?” Stanley started rambling. Bill just looked at him with wide eyes. He was real. Bill took a step forward, throwing himself in Stanley’s arms. Stanley didn’t respond at first, but hugged back in the end. It was going to be one hell of a ride, teaching Stanley how to be human again, how would his parent’s react, showing Stanley the modern world, but he was ready. After all, Bill would do anything for love.
Hello, Erica here! I just wanted to thank @bi-teen-angst for the headcannons posted their account. Sorry for the bad grammar and for the fact that I am 1 year late with this. I wish everyone the best.
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Puppy Love
Summary: At this point, you’re not even trying to remedy the issue.
1,498 words
Warning tags: smut, dubcon, stalking, possessive, unprotected sex (wrap it up yall, pwp, one shot, unhealthy relationship
Puppy Love
Passion and fury blanket the room in an uncomfortable heat.
Your breaths become one – coursing through your lungs after just coming out of his.
His moans start wherever yours left off, and in this moment, you didn’t care who started and who ended.
This was the most disconcerting sexual encounter yet. On your back, this becomes clear.
Your eyes roll into the back of your head in pleasure, willing your approaching orgasm to go away so you can savour the feel of his silk covered rod ram into you some more. Through your breathless cries, you were able to hear the small disturbances on the hard floor where Jungkook lifted himself off you so he sat upright, never leaving the tight, hot passage that he called home.
“When will you stop playing with me,” he asks pushing his raven hair out of his eyes, anger still clearly laced in his voice – even now.
You answer him by craning your neck to the side, staring at a spot underneath the couch.
Trembling hands grip your neck in a ghost of a choke, tracing the veins on your neck and lingering on that particular area right underneath your ear. That same purple mark that had enraged him and the reason Jungkook was taking out his anger on you.
Suddenly, he grabs your jaw so you could face him. “Fucking look at me!”
Your eyes meet his and you’re so overwhelmed you think you might cry in earnest.
“I said when are you going to stop? I thought what we had was special.”
He rams into you harder and smacks one of your hips hard enough that you’re afraid your neighbours might have heard across the road. “I-I…” You start stammering. “I told you, Jungkookie, we are not- AH – together,” the last word ends up as a mantra.
“You said I was special.”
“You are! I said-FUCK!” He had grabbed your wrists over your head in one hand and he had a handful of your sensitive breasts in the other.
“You told me that I was special, yet you’re still dating other guys!” He punctuated each word with a hard thrust that you felt in your heart.
“Oh my God, Kookie,” you whine. “We were kids,” you bite out. “For the last, fucking, time, you were my best friend, so I said that.”
Sure, he was a few years younger than you, but you had no way to tell the little boy who ran up to you with a Valentine’s Day card that you weren’t interested. He had been following you all over your junior high school since the year started. You thought his crush was cute, so you often indulged him in his sweet words and drawings and innocent nuances.
In high school, you had become friends, and now with you in college and him being an idol, your relationship drifted apart naturally.
Or so it should have. You two hardly spoke anymore, let alone see each other.
But for some reason, he always managed to find out about any new boyfriends, or he always happened to bump into you, or rather pop up at your apartment, just when you had gotten a fresh new love bite.
“Tsk.” He suddenly flips you over, not being careful at all on the hard floor and you knew you would bruise. The feeling is replaced with utter bliss when he continues to drill into you like a machine.
You are about to sigh when he grabs your neck in a chokehold and begins to whisper in your ear. “You knew what you were saying and I know you love me. If you didn’t you wouldn’t have acted that way. Ever since you went to college you started acting differently towards me. It’s like you changed and I fucking hate,” he emphasizes with a slow and deep grind, “it.”
A chill ran up your spine. This had to stop.
Well, not the sex part, but you have to put an end to this obsession he has. He sounds crazy.
He breathes into your ear and licks the outer part slowly, like he was eating something that was too sweet to put in your mouth all at once. “When did you stop loving me,” he pants out, stuttering slightly as he normally did when he was close.
As if possible, he starts to rut into you faster. Thin red velvet met pink steel, over and over. The candle you were burning to read your novel before he broke into your apartment flickered eerily, making the room feel hotter than it actually was, but it illuminated the place enough to see Jungkook shutting his eyes tight when you looked back at him.
You clench around him, willing him to finally reach his end. You do not know how long he had been going at it, but you do know you are deliciously sore, delectably worn out, and had climaxed nine times already.
Still, he nibbles on the spot on your neck that Victor had so eagerly ravished last night. He licks it and kisses it as if he was trying to suck it off of your skin completely.
However, that was one of your weak points – every guy you slept with, including Jungkook, often found that out during foreplay.
Your falsetto reverberates across the walls. Drool is hanging from your lips, but your high is so painful that you don’t notice. You almost missed the flood that accompanied it between your legs where Jungkook pistons into you with no mercy.
“Noona noona noona noona noona,” he calls incessantly as a crescendo as you thankfully feel the warm deposit leak into your womb.
You both stay in that position, too tired to move.
As the electricity of your orgasm that once ran through your veins develop into a warm blanket of calm, you hear sobs behind you and immediately look back in worry.
Jungkook was full on bawling, hands carelessly wiping at his face, as his cock still sat in you.
“Noona, please, don’t stop loving me. Don’t leave me. I can’t make it without you. I won’t.” He stammers and convulses, but he manages to get all the words out.
Tears that were once of bliss collect and fall again in devastation. “Jungkookie, I won’t. You know that we are good friends, but-“
“But I don’t want to be a friend, Noona.”
“Jungkook, get out….” He was still half hard inside of you and it was getting uncomfortable as you dried up.
“No, I’ll never leave you,” he hugs you tightly as if to prove it.
“I mean get your penis out of me. It’s starting to hurt.”
“Oh, shit, sorry.” He pulls out and carries you to the bathroom, sitting you down on the counter as he ran you a bath.
“Jungkook, shit, listen to me,” you say, finally realizing that you had to stop allowing him to do things like this. He hums in acknowledgment. “Look at me.”
Obediently, he turns to you, fully focusing on you as the bathtub fills. His puppy-dog eyes burrowing into your heart is already breaking down your resolve.
“I want you to wash your face, put your clothes back on, go home, and get some rest.”
He looks at his feet childishly and suddenly you’re reminded of the tiny 7th grade boy who came up to you randomly with construction paper flowers during lunch one day.
“You won’t block me on everything again; will you, Noona? I couldn’t take it if you do it again. I’ll kill Victor if you do. I know where his dorms are. Noona, don’t think I won’t.”
You swallow hard, trying not to show how scared you are. “Kookie, let’s just take a bath, then and sleep. I’m tired.”
As if he puts on a mask, his serious expression flipped into his bunny-like smile and he nods.
He places you in the bath and you let him wash you.
This was his version of damage control you noticed. He looks at each bruise on your skin and kisses it softly.
Next, he would dry you off and lift you into your bedroom, where he would dress you in some pajamas that he bought for you, but you never wore. Still naked, he would lie behind your clothed body, stroking your arms gently as you drifted to sleep.
Of course, like always, he will never be there in the morning. It’s around 6 am when you notice the coldness of the bed and see he was already gone. Gone before you could talk to him about the previous night’s events and what it means. Gone before you could ruin his fantasy that you were his girlfriend.
Somehow, he had known about you and Victor’s new fling.
Before he ended up in some freak accident like Dillon, or before he slips on some stairs like Bartholomew, you decide to break things off with Victor.
You groan in pain while silent tears fall. Everything hurt.
Everything.
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Should… | Tom Hiddleston x OFC (Emma Masters) | Chapter 2 | … I Tell Him?
Pairing: Tom Hiddleston x Emma Masters
Summary: Five years ago, Emma Masters just landed her first big acting gig on a soap opera. While it is not much, it is an opportunity to grow. While out celebrating, she meets up with a fellow actor, Tom Hiddleston. While she doesn’t recognize any of his work, the two hit it off. Before they know, they are getting hot and heavy in the elevator up to Tom’s room. Like ships passing in the night, the two never manage to meet again.Now five years later, Emma is a heavy hitter in the prime time drama world and Tom is a Golden Globe winning movie star. Their paths cross again but things have changed. Will they do what they should or fall to their deepest desires?
This Chapter: Emma never expected to run in Tom again, but yet here he is in the same restaurant, five years later. Will he spill the beans on that one night and what will become of the sparks between the two of them!
Warnings: smut, vaginal sex, fingering, drunk sex, oral sex, cheating, unhealthly relationships
-
“It is not that funny, Thomas,” Emma chuckled, digging her nails into Tom’s arm.
Tom took an empty seat at Emma’s table and Corrinne leaned in closer to Tom. Even though Corrinne worked as a publicist, she still swooned over celebrities—good-looking male celebrities. Tom fit that bill to a T. Tom squeezed your arm back.
“Well, maybe I exaggerate.”
“Come on you two, spill.” Corrinne urged on.
“I happened to be in New York when I partook of the hotel bar. Em and I ended up sharing a table.”
“I just won the part of on All My Heart and celebrated with a few drinks. Tom and I ended up talking for the rest of the night.”
Corrinne’s eyebrows arched up; she wanted more and Emma refused to cooperate.
“Although, she didn’t know who I was.” Tom added, giving Emma a playful punch in the shoulder. Emma blushed. Not her proudest moment.
“Emma! How did you not recognize him?” Corrinne said, aghast.
“I wasn’t into superhero movies five years ago! Sue me!”
Tom chuckled. “It was quite alright.”
“And?” Corrinne asked, wanting the rest of the story.
“And…” Tom continued, “we exchanged numbers with plans to meet again in three weeks when I returned to New York, but this one stood me up.”
Tom nudged Emma in the shoulder. Emma blushed. Thank God for Tom’s discretion. The gossip magazines would have a field day.
“I did not! We mutually cancelled!” Emma protested.
“Ah, no. I made plans, and you cancelled by text. Something about rehearsals. I assume someone got scared.”
Tom wiggled his eyebrows at Emma. Corrinne leaned back in her chair and looked at the two of them. Tom and Emma laughed at some unheard joke and Corrinne laughed along.
“But enough about the past,” Corrinne interjected, “What brings you to L.A., Tom? I thought you lived in London.”
“True. I am here for work.” Tom chattered on nervously, “I have some screen tests, auditions, and what not for an upcoming project.”
“I would assume a big movie star didn’t audition anymore.”
“Stories of my fame are exaggerated I am afraid. The auditions are for the leading lady in the project. You understand, Emma.”
Emma nodded.
“Yeah. I hate those chemistry tests. All those eyes on you.” Emma scrunched up her nose. She didn’t have Tom’s star power, so auditions took up a significant chunk of her time when she didn’t have filming.
“And what about Em? I thought you lived in New York?” Tom asked.
“Uh, I moved out here about two years ago. My series films out here.” Emma responded. She would never tell him but she followed his career and life in the papers over the years; she hoped Tom did the same, but his comment dashed her hopes.
“Oh, your series? Isn’t the show called something like Silver Surfer or Silver Fox?” Tom quipped, twisting his face into mock contemplation.
Tom lied. After that encounter in New York, he spent the following years keeping tabs on Emma’s career; the two Daytime Emmys for her role on All My Heart, Silver Sable, all of her accolades and successes.
“Silver Sable.”
“Right! And what kind of TV show is it? An action show of some sort?” Tom commented, relentless in getting the response he wanted.
“It’s a superhero show.” Emma muttered.
“I was under the impression you didn’t like superheroes?”
Corrinne chuckled at the banter. These two baited each other left and right.
“I’ve changed.” Emma snapped back, a smile on her face.
“So it seems.” Tom’s eyes raked over Emma’s body and she blushed once again.
Corrinne choked on her drink.
“But enough about me. What is—” Tom started before a gentleman tapped on his shoulder.
“Sorry to interrupt. Tom, we need you back at our table.” he said.
Tom rose from the chair.
“So sorry, Luke. I will be right back.”
Emma sighed in relief. With Tom leaving, her secret remained safe. Tom started off back towards his table but he spun on his heel, pulling his phone from his coat pocket.
“Before I leave, Em.” Emma popped her head up to look at him, “I need your number, the old one doesn’t work.”
Emma didn’t expect him to still know her old number. When her fame rose and her personal number somehow made its way into her fans’ hands, she changed numbers.
“Of course, Tom!” Emma rattled off her personal cell as Tom punched the digits into his cell.
“Perfect.” Tom leaned down and placed a quick kiss on her cheek. His lips still soft like Emma remembered. “I will call and we must do lunch!”
Tom jogged off before Emma responded. After a few minutes, Corrinne cleared her throat. Emma turned and narrowed her eyes at her friend. “Spill it.”
“So… there is more to this. Care to share?”
“No comment.”
“Fair enough. So he seems nice.”
Emma blushed.
“And sexy as fuck.”
“Corrinne!” Emma spat.
“What? That man is sex in a suit. So when are you going to tell him?”
“When I’m ready.” Emma mumbled as she returned her attention to her salad.
-
Tom texted her once so she would have his number too, but Emma guessed she wouldn’t run into Tom again for some time. It wasn’t as though the two of them ran in the same circles. Their only professional link was their portrayal of Marvel characters. She hustled through the next few days in a bit of a fog. She never expected to run into him again. And she didn’t expect all those feelings and emotions to rear their ugly head.
“Earth, Emma!” Mary, her assistant, yelled.
Emma jolted in her seat.
“Ahh!” Emma waving her arms about catching herself before she fell on her face. “Yes, Mary.”
Mary suppressed a giggle.
“Okay. you have auditions all afternoon. The first one is in an hour and across town.”
Emma groaned. Some days she regretted living in Brentwood. She enjoyed the space and privacy but hated that it meant driving for hours in Los Angeles traffic. Emma, a native New Yorker, never developed the taste for sitting in traffic for hours to go 30 miles.
“Fine. I will leave in fifteen minutes.” Emma rose from her chair to go get ready. “And since I will be gone for the rest of the day forward the calls to your cell and take off around 3.”
Mary’s face lit up.
“Thanks, boss! Don’t forget the last audition is at 4 and a chemistry test, so bring a change of clothes.”
Emma took off to her bedroom and took a quick shower. Fixing her hair into a simple ponytail, she applied a light amount of makeup and dug through her closet. She settled on some simple jeans and a nice top and packed a body-conscious dress along with some heels and a small bag of makeup for her last audition. Twenty minutes later, Emma took off in her car.
As predicted, Emma sat in traffic for an inordinate amount of time and made it to the studio with no time to spare. The audition process still bothered Emma. Although Emma’s career was well established in television, her agent hoped to use her success as Silver Sable to push Emma into film roles. That meant auditioning. Six months in and no one took the bait. Perhaps she should stick to TV.
The first audition was for a period drama. Emma could smell the Oscar bait a mile away. Based on the reaction Emma got when she walked into the room, she did not fit the role at all. The whole ordeal took ten painful minutes. Emma repeated the process two more times with varying degrees of success.
Once she reached her final audition, she ducked into the bathroom to change. Emma already went through several auditions for the part in a new romantic comedy. Now she came in for a chemistry test, the part she hated. Chemistry tests made Emma feel like an object, not a person. But these types of auditions were the cost of doing business.
Emma shimmied out of her jeans and slipped into the dress. The neckline was lower than her usual outfits but whatever. She pulled her hair down from the ponytail, letting it fall around her shoulders and retouched her makeup and added some extra mascara and blush. Emma examined herself in the mirror.
“Here goes nothing,” she said to no one in particular.
Emma walked back out into the hallway and took a seat with three other actresses. They all looked about five years younger than Emma, with their boobs cinched up to their chin and hems flirting with indecent exposure. Emma grew disheartened. All these other girls looked like they stepped out of the pages of a magazine, Playboy to be specific. Emma’s aesthetic was more akin to In Style. She looked over the lines as they called one of the other girls into the room. She could feel the butterflies; no matter how many times she did this, Emma always got butterflies.
After about 15 minutes, they called her in. She straightened out her dress as she walked into the room.
“And you will be reading with our male lead…” the PA explained as Emma looked up from the lines to see Tom standing in the room.
“Tom Hiddleston.” Emma finished.
Tom smiled.
“In the flesh, Emma.” Tom extended his hand, Emma shook it in a daze.
What the fuck is happening? kept repeating in Emma’s head, a mantra. She took a few deep breaths. She realized the people in the room were still talking.
“… so I will be kissing you in this scene.” Tom’s voice punctured through Emma’s mental haze.
She nodded, and the scene began as they took their places.
“Do you mind?” Emma started as she pushed past Tom.
“Do you mind? This is my room and my bed. You are a guest.” Tom countered.
“Really, that’s not what you called me last night.” Emma smirked as she moved closer to Tom, his blue eyes glittering in the lights.
“Don’t flatter yourself, sweetheart. You’re not my type.”
“Oh, you mean dumb, blonde, and young. Then you would be right!”
“If there was any other choice here, I would gladly take it.” Tom moved in closer, his nostrils flared.
“Keep to your side of the bed tonight. Your snoring kept me up.” Emma huffed out the line, her breath puffing into Tom’s face.
“Touch me with your cold feet one more time and see what happens.” Tom sneered as he leaned into her space. The tension ran high.
“You and what army?!” Emma barked as Tom pulled her into a kiss. She pushed at his arms but he held firm. She relented and melted into the kiss. The memories of that night flooded back to her. They parted and turned to look at the six other people in the room. For once, everyone looked Emma and Tom rather than staring at their phones or drinking their coffee.
“Uh… We’ll be in touch.” one of the men said.
Tom shook her hand again, and she walked out of the room. Emma got about halfway down the hallway when a voice rang out.
“WAIT!”
Emma stopped and turned to see the PA from earlier.
“Wait. Can you come with me?”
Emma blinked but followed the petite girl to another room. This one was empty, save a couple chairs and a couch.
“Just wait here, please.” the assistant asked as she gestured towards the couch.
Emma plopped down and kicked her heels off. She pulled her phone and started replying to emails. Twenty minutes passed and then forty-five minutes. After an hour and fifteen minutes, the PA returned and took Emma back into the same room. She expected to see the same group of people as before, no one remained. Except for Tom.
“What’s going on?”
Tom looked at the floor, avoiding eye contact and pushing a nonexistent piece of lint with his shoe.
“I was hoping you would accompany me to dinner?”
“Is that why I have been sitting in a room for over an hour?”
Emma’s face turned red. Tom’s face fell.
“In part. The casting directors wanted to bring you for another reading after everyone else finished, but I insisted it wasn’t necessary.”
Emma’s eyes widened.
“Are you saying I got the part?”
Tom smiled.
“Unofficially, yes. But wait for your agent to give you the news in a few days. Try to act surprised.”
Emma squeed out loud and did a little dance. Without considering the situation, she jumped up and kissed Tom on the lips. He blushed at the sudden contact.
“Does that mean yes to dinner?”
Emma nodded, not realizing what she agreed to until they pulled up to the restaurant.
#tom hiddleston#tom hiddleston fanfiction#tom hiddleston fanfic#tom hiddleston x ofc#tom hiddleston fluff#tom hiddleston imagine#tom hiddleston angst#tom hiddleston smut#tom hiddleston serie#should
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Title: Like I Can
Rating: M
Genre: Yandere/horror, smut
Pairings: Taehyung x Reader, Jimin x Reader
Word Count: 10.1k
Warnings: Yandere themes (obsession, stalking, non-consensual voyeurism, threatening, light sexual harassment), Smut (oral (female receiving), derogatory names, unprotected sex, dirty talk, cum kink), college au, bashing economics.
Summary: Through a chance encounter of circumstance, Taehyung came into your life like a mantra. His mind was entranced with you, wanting to give you nothing more than his mind, his heart and soul. And even though another lover has hold of your hand, Taehyung was going to show you, that your other lover could never love you like he can.
A/N: This fic was written as a part of @bang-tan-bitches Monster Mash Writing Challenge! And though Halloween may be over, every time is the right time for a gold ol’ fashioned yandere smut fic!
It was another long and boring day. You tapped your pen repeatedly to a rhythm in your head that no one else could hear as you leaned your cheek to rest against your open palm. Your eyes shifted to look at the clock across the room. Only a few more minutes before you could escape the hell of a class that was Economics. You tapped your foot impatiently, praying for the minutes to move just a little faster. You didn’t have anywhere important to be after class, but you wanted nothing more than to cuddle up and bed, catch up on your YouTube binge of the new Shane Dawson series and just relax.
Across the room, a pair of eyes were trained on your fingers. How they curved and fiddled with the cheap plastic of the pen, how they molded into the soft flesh of your cheek and twirled around a strand of loose hair framing your face. Oh, how to be that close to your body? How soft would that supple skin feel beneath rough hands? With fingers slowly skimming down your frame as soft noises left your lips in a mantra, pleading, for something rougher, harder-
The second the professor dismissed the class you sprang up from your seat, hastily shoving your laptop back into your bag before making a beeline for the door. You were so close to the exit, so close to walking through the threshold with the rest of your rushing peers. In your haste to leave though, you had bumped into a rather firm surface, causing you to fall flat on your behind.
“Ow…” you mumbled, rubbing your sore shoulder and noting the pain from your tailbone.
“I-I’m so sorry.”
Suddenly a rich, bright pair of eyes were staring into your own, flickering over your body in a quick survey. You smiled gratefully, taking the outstretched hand the man had offered to you as you rose gracefully to your feet. You eyed the flexing muscles in his arm as he pulled you up and you unconsciously licked your lips.
“It’s okay…uh, Taehyung, right?” you asked as you picked up your fallen bag from the floor.
“Y-Yeah! We were in Western Civ together last semester.” a blush crept up Taehyung’s cheeks while his fingers played with a fray in his jeans. “A-Are you sure you’re alright Y/N?”
You raised your brow at him, cocking your hip to the side as you fished your earbuds out of your pockets.
“You remember my name?” Taehyung nodded eagerly as he watched you plug the jack into your phone. “Usually no one remembers who I am.” you hummed, fiddling with the music app on your phone.
“How could I forget you Y/N.”
It was a statement, not a question. You stared at Taehyung for a second too long, and you were sure he could tell that the chuckle you let out in the next second was too forced. Too loud in your ears. But he only smiled at you with his lips parted in a grin.
“Alright, well, I guess I’ll, umm, see you next class.” you gave Taehyung a little wave, putting your earbuds in your ears and turning the volume up as loud as you could, leaving the room and the tall man behind.
Taehyung sighed softly, shaking his hips in a little dance as he picked up his dropped book from the ground. As he bent down, a clear shine stared back up at him. He grabbed his book and the pen that had dropped next to it. Your pen. The same pen that you had been fidgeting with just moments ago. Filled with dark navy ink with teeth marks in the plastic end, Taehyung hummed softly and slipped it into his back pocket.
He’d have to return it to you later.
~*~
The following day came and went, and you found yourself sitting back in the throes of the evening Economics class. Your professor droned on and on about the importance of market price-ups and consumer intelligence but you couldn’t care less about the words coming out of his mouth.
“Damn,” you muttered under your breath as your hand rummaged through the small pocket of your backpack. Just wonderful. You had managed to lose your favorite and only pen. You sighed, leaning back in your chair just to accept the fact that it was just now taken into the void of lost things. You tapped at your computer in regret as you now were forced to take notes in a Word Doc; you weren’t the fastest of typers and you knew you were bound to miss some of the information. Stupid professor for not posting his lessons online. You’d have to borrow the extra notes from someone later, you mused.
In the same spot from across the room, steady eyes followed the slow pace of your fingers moving across the keys of your laptop. It was almost as if he could hear the soft taps of frustration from such a distance and the eyes couldn’t help but crinkle up in amusement. But they soon widened when they noticed the bite to your lower lip, how the soft pink flesh disappeared and returned with a dark and heady blush. He wanted to make that blush appear all over your body. From your lips, slick with love and the promises of what’s to come. From your cheeks, flushed with embarrassment from begging for more and more of him and only him. From places even lower, bruised and marked with the imprints of his hands, his teeth, over supple and smooth skin as he claims you as his. How his ears would tingle as your broken whimpers leave those cherry-kissed lips, calling out his name, asking to be used, begging for more of his touch, pleading for him to just go a little lower and feel how needy I am for you-
You almost cried in relief when the professor wrapped up his lecture, quickly reminding you about the term paper that would be due in a few weeks before waving a dismissing hand in the air. You hummed a tune to yourself as you brought your bag into your lap, double and triple checking that your pen was in fact not there before huffing in defeat. You pulled out your phone as you stood from the desk, trying to remember the brand of the pen so you could order some more of them online when a large hand slowly skimmed the wood of your desk, dropping the pen you had lost in its wake. You managed to catch Taehyung’s wink before he left over the threshold of the classroom, and you hastily packed up your things in order to catch up to him.
“Hey, Taehyung!”
He turned at the top of the stairs, his smile large and radiant when he knew it was you calling out for him. He waited for you to catch up with him, and he couldn’t help but chuckle at the tiny stride you had. It was completely and utterly adorable.
“Hey you.” Taehyung chuckled at your grateful smile as you brandished the pen around like a sword. He knew you were thanking him for returning it, but his thoughts barely processed the words the left your lips. He was staring into your eyes instead, at the swirling colors and emotions they held.
“Would you mind if I walked you home?” he asked suddenly, cutting off your rambling about how smoothly the pen’s ink wrote.
“Um, sure! Yeah that’d be nice.” you nodded, staring the descent down the stairs with Taehyung at your heels. “It’s been getting darker sooner, and the house I’m at is a little ways away.”
“You live in a house?” Taehyung cocked his head to the side as he held the door open for you, his lips pulling up when you thanked him.
“Mmhmm! Well, me and my roommates rent it out from this lovely little old couple. They’re retired down in the warmer parts of the country and they rent the rooms out to the college students for a little extra cash. It’s nice having private bathrooms and a bathtub, you wouldn't believe.” you chuckled as you guided Taehyung off the main college road and towards the little suburbs that surrounded the campus.
“It sounds lovely.” Taehyung hummed as he observed the quaint little houses you both passed by. Some lawns overgrown; others manicured with wilting flowers from the changing seasons. They were bright and welcoming, with yellowing streetlights and weeping willow trees.
“Loki!”
Your outburst startled Taehyung, and he watched with wide eyes as you ran up to a small blue house, trampling through the front yard to grab a black cat from an open windowsill.
“Is that your cat?” Taehyung chuckled as you pressed soft kisses onto the cat’s head.
“He may as well be,” you chuckled as Taehyung stroked the cat’s back. “He’s my roommate’s. But he loves hanging out on my windowsill because the sunlight always hits it just right. But I usually crack my window to air out my bedroom and I’m always afraid this sweet man is going to run away.”
Taehyung hummed thoughtfully at your words, nodding his head while your voice filled his mind.
“Well, thank you again for walking me home. I really appreciate it.” you smiled and you could’ve sworn Taehyung’s eyes grew three shades brighter.
“Of course, any time Y/N. You and Loki enjoy your evening.” Taehyung sent you a wink and turned on his heels, walking back down the sidewalk from which you came.
“Huh,” you muttered as your fingers scratched behind Loki’s ears. “What do you think Loki?” you turned to look into the cat’s green eyes and he blinked back at your slowly.
“Exactly as I thought,” you nodded as you walked into the house. “A little weird...but oddly charming.”
Later that night you entered your room with a sigh, letting your back fall against your bedroom door as you rubbed your eyes. You had to put Jisoo and Jennie to bed, those two drunkards, but you loved and cared for them too much to just leave them out in the cold living room drunk off their rockers at three in the morning. So, you put them both to bed, placed cups of water and Tylenol by their beds for the morning to come and hurried off to your room before they could catch you. Not that you think they could get out of bed once they hit the soft comforter as sleep lulled them away.
You heaved yourself off the door and moved to the little speaker that sat on your desk, pulling your phone out of your back pocket while putting on some soft music. You clicked on the lamp, basking the room in a soft glow as you swayed along to the music, throwing your phone on your bed in a flourish as part of your dance. It’s late, you thought, no one will see me this late in the night. You began to sing along softly to the music when you moved to crack open the large window in your room, letting the crisp fall air inside as your open curtains swayed with the breeze.
Oh, what a beautiful voice you have.
You swayed your hips from side to side as you sauntered over to your dresser, pulling it open with a little extra shake of your hips in time with the beat from the song. Your back was to the window as you shimmied out of your jeans, your voice muffling against your shirt as you pulled that over your head too. Your bare back was exposed, making you shiver from the cool wind hitting your skin. You quickly pulled off your panties and replaced them just as fast with a pair as dark as twilight.
That color looks so delectable against your skin, oh how would you react to me pulling them down your thighs with my teeth? So slow with my tongue just barely brushing over your skin, leaving you bare and open to my wandering eyes.
You opened another drawer and hummed in thought as your fingers roamed over the soft fabrics nestled within. You made your decision and plucked the silk shirt from the confines of your dresser, letting the white fabric envelop your arms in cool kisses against your skin as it fell down over the curve of your back, the hem just barely covering the twilight between your legs. You danced around your room and turned the music down just a little lower before landing on your bed with a soft plop. You kicked your legs up in the air, watching them keep in time to the rhythm of the music with soft giggles falling past your lips. You picked up your phone and the screen illuminated your face as you continued to kick along to the song, your thumb brushing over the LED screen gently.
Oh, how you tease me in the best of ways, angel. Moving your hips and those legs in such a tantalizing way, like you want me to kneel in front of your alter and just beg for your touch, your voice, your taste. Then to tease me with silk kissing your skin so beautifully, covering the parts of you that I want to devour the most. If only I could touch you, make you mine beneath my lips and fingertips. I’d have you begging for me, pleading please don’t stop, I need you, I want you so so bad, please unravel me with everything you have to give. Oh, sweet angel, I will make you mine.
Your head snapped towards the window, gazing out into the still night. You stood slowly, approaching the window with soft steps. You poked your head out, looking left, looking right, before humming in confusion. You closed the window, locking it and drawing your curtains as you made your way back to bed. A feeling of uneasiness settled in the pit of your stomach, a shiver running down your spine. No, you were just imagining things.
If only you had looked straight down in the rose bushes below. You would’ve had a sight to behold hiding behind soft petals. Messy brown strands of hair sticking up in places from where a hand ran through the silky strands. Sweet sweat running down a sharp, curved jawline, tasting like rosewater cologne and a mixture of adrenaline and regret. Full, parted lips, whispering dirty thoughts to the moon as they grew red from exertion and the bites to savor the feeling of long, rough fingers wrapped around a desperate hardness.
“Fuck…”
He tucked himself back into his jeans as he rose on shaky knees, hoping to peer through your window one more time, to send you the sweetest goodnight kiss, but whined in disappointment when he found his view obstructed by unwanted curtains. The hours had been worth it, just to see you lose yourself in your own world, to watch you be so in tune with your body and thoughts. He knew he was obsessed, but how could it be so bad when it made him feel so fucking good?
He stood on his feet and scurried off into the darkness of the night, waiting for the next time you two would meet and see each other again.
~*~
Taehyung would like to think you and him have become acquaintances. You would always give him a wave when you walked into class, and he’d wave back from his perch in the raised back of the classroom. He asked you to join him in the back one day, the seats to his left and right always conveniently available, but you declined, telling him you couldn’t see that far away and needed to sit towards the front. He recommended maybe seeing an eye doctor, but you just laughed and told him you couldn’t afford that. His heart broke when you told him that. You deserved the best things in the world, and nothing less, including optical care.
On Monday you didn’t come to class.
On Wednesday you still were nowhere to be found.
Once Friday rolled around and you still weren’t coming to class, Taehyung was out of his mind with worry. Throughout the entire class Taehyung couldn’t focus. All his thoughts were on you, you, you. Where were you? Were you okay, hurt, did you need help? Why didn’t he think to get your number before you had up and vanished? His leg wouldn’t stop shaking and his fingers tapped impatiently on the desk. He was going to see you, he needed to see you. He needed to make sure you were okay.
Once the class was over, Taehyung jumped to his feet and hurried to the door, determination set in his features.
“Taehyung, can you come back for a minute?”
Taehyung growled in annoyance before turning back into the room, plastering a fake smile onto his face as he approached the professor’s desk.
“Yes sir?”
“Miss L/S emailed me last night-”
“She did?! Is she okay?” Taehyung suddenly was very interested in what the senile old man had to say, his eyes widening with worry.
“She’s fine Mr. Kim, just very sick at the moment.” the professor eyed his student for a second before shaking his head.
“Anyways, she asked me if I could give you this week’s handouts to give to her. She said you two were friends and would like to get started on the make-up work over the weekend.”
“Friends…?” Taehyung’s lips pulled up into a dreamy smile as the professor dumped the week’s workload into his waiting arms. “I’ll make sure she gets them sir.”
“Very good. Enjoy your weekend Mr. Kim.” the professor watched as Taehyung left the room, arguably in a better mood than he has seen his student in, in a long while.
Taehyung walked as fast as he could down the sidewalk towards your little home. God, he hoped you were taking care of yourself. Or your roommates were helping you out. But it would be pointless anyways, he knew no one could take care of you like he could.
He approached the little blue house, slightly out of breath and hair askew as he knocked on the door. When he heard the door rattle, he managed to pull a smile up his cheeks, hoping to make a good first impression on your roommates, but his smile slowly slid down his face and formed into a scowl once his eyes met who was standing in the threshold.
“Oh! Um, hello.” the man on the other side of the door smiled, his pretty pink lips matching the color of his soft, fluffy hair. “Can I help you?”
“Where’s Y/N?”
The other man frowned at the tone in Taehyung’s voice, and Taehyung couldn’t help but chuckle when the other man stood just a little taller, puffing his chest out.
“Who’s asking?” he raised his brow at Taehyung.
“Jimin,”
A soft croak sounded from further in the house and Taehyung’s heart broke at the sight. You approached the two men slowly, being dragged down by the large purple blanket wrapped around your shoulders. Your eyes were hollow and empty, and your nose as red as can be, but you still mustered up a smile when you saw Taehyung, and that alone made his heart soar in his chest.
“Y/N, you should be in bed.” Jimin lightly scolded you, wrapping an arm around your shoulders.
“Screw that, you were taking too long.” you mumbled and Taehyung snorted at your comment.
“I have the missing work from this past week.” Taehyung held out the papers lamely, and Jimin’s face lit up in recognition as you took the stack.
“Oh! So, you’re Taehyung then?” Jimin held out his hand. Taehyung stared at him for a few seconds before begrudgingly taking the peace offer, not missing the way Jimin’s hand squeezed just a little too hard. Not that Taehyung wasn’t doing the same.
“In the flesh.”
“Jiminie, could you please go put these on my desk for me?” you looked up at Jimin with wide eyes, batting your lashes up at him. “Please?”
“Sure, anything for you babe.” Jimin smiled down at you, giving your head a little scratch. “Nice to meet you Taehyung.”
“Mm, likewise.” Taehyung said as Jimin left the entryway.
“Thank you, Taehyung.” you sniffled, rubbing your nose with your fist balled up in the blanket. Taehyung cooed softly, a cute pout pulling down his lips.
“Are you doing okay Y/N? Really?” you sighed at the seriousness in his voice, nodding your head slowly.
“I’m doing better than before; this isn’t even the worst part of it. I should be back in class on Monday though. Hopefully.” you managed a smile. “Thankfully I’ve had Jimin to help nurse me back to health.”
“Are you and him…?” Taehyung let his thoughts trail off, looking at you expectantly.
“Together?” you finished with a cough. “Mmhmm, for a while now.”
You were thrusted into another coughing fit, and didn’t see the malice in Taehyung’s eyes once he heard your confirmation.
“Feel better soon Y/N.”
You looked up to see Taehyung running away from your house, you watched him for a second before shaking your head, turning back inside.
“What a strange dude…”
~*~
Taehyung cursed as he lay in bed that night, scrolling through all your social media: Facebook, Twitter, Instagram. None of them mentioned nor showed Jimin even once. He shook his head and threw his phone down onto the comforter in frustration.
“Jimin,” Taehyung growled, punching the mattress. He stood, moving to the small desk in the corner of the room as he thought. He glanced at the wall in front of him, freshly painted and dried into a beautiful dark navy blue. The same color of the panties you put on a few nights ago. Your favorite color. He smiled when his eyes met your face, again, and again, all pinned up on the blue wall in front of him. Most pictures were from your social media, but some he took himself from his little hiding spot in the rose bushes, from the back of the classroom when no one else was paying attention. He opened the journal that rested on the desk, glancing through the written fantasies, the moonlit thoughts from the dirtiest part of his mind on what he wanted to do to you, what he desired, what he needed to have.
As he flipped, he came upon a page he had written with the pen you oh so clumsily dropped. Your name. Repeated over and over again in loops and hearts and every which way between. Taehyung thumbed at the indentations in the paper, remembering how hard he had pressed, how hard he had held himself while the thoughts of you overfilled and controlled his mind, bringing him the greatest pleasure that was dried onto the paper as he came with your name on his lips.
Taehyung chuckled.
Jimin. He was merely an obstacle in Taehyung’s plan to make you become his. Jimin couldn’t even compare to what Taehyung could do and give you. Would Jimin study every part of you like Taehyung had? He knew everything. From your favorite color and food, right down to the name you had given your pet rock in the 3rd grade (It was Thor, oh how he loved your nerdy side). Would Jimin be willing to retrieve the stars for you? Or maybe the moon if you had wanted it. He would even go as far as to retrieve the Heart of the Sea for you, despite his fear of the deep ocean. If you wanted it, Taehyung would do it. He would do anything and everything for you, and your love. Would Jimin sacrifice himself for you? Would Jimin kill for you? Because Taehyung knew he would. He would tarnish his hands crimson, stain his clothes with the blood of those who tried to keep you from him, of those who hurt you, who doubted his hard-raging love for you.
Taehyung knew you didn’t need a boy. No. Jimin was a boy. You needed a man. A man like Taehyung. A man who was willing to serve your every beck and call, every want and desire. You needed to be worshiped and loved.
And Taehyung was going to make that happen. He was going to show you what true love really was.
Once he got rid of the pesky problem known as Park Jimin.
Taehyung was walking back to his apartment from his Thursday class, Hozier blaring through his earbuds as he observed the campus, catching your beauty in almost everything. From the way the leaves were starting to change their colors, how rainbows shined in the rain puddles from the shower earlier in the morning, to the last few butterflies migrating south for the chill to come, everything was just beauty incarnate for you. And right on the outskirts of campus, next to the science department, did Taehyung see him.
Jimin, leaning against the hood of a silver Volvo, idly scrolling through his phone. Was that perhaps why you liked Jimin so much? Because he had a car? Not that you needed it in a college town anyways, fucking showoff.
“Taehyung!”
The devil was really trying his patience today.
Taehyung listened to Jimin’s call, pulling the earbuds out of his ears as he approached the shorter man.
“Let me be blunt,” Taehyung started before Jimin could even muster a hello, his mouth grimaced into a sneer. “I don’t like you. And I really don’t want to be seen with the likes of you in public, so what do you want?”
Jimin just smirked, his eyes growing dark as he crossed his arms over his chest.
“I just want to know what your problem is, dude.” Jimin spat. Taehyung scoffed.
“I should be asking you the same thing. How could someone like Y/N be associated with someone like you?”
Jimin chuckled, moving into Taehyung’s personal space as he looked him up and down.
“You have a lot of nerve saying something like that to me.”
“I’m not afraid of you Park Jimin.”
“Oh no, I know that perfectly well,” Jimin smirked. “But I know you are scared of losing something else. Or should I say someone else?”
Taehyung’s face fell and Jimin chuckled triumphantly.
“I knew it. You’re jealous of me because Y/N is with me and not you. But guess what weirdo.” Jimin shoved Taehyung’s chest, causing him to stumble back. “Y/N is mine. Not yours. She may not see that creepy obsessive aura shit you have going for you, but I do. And one word from me can keep her so far away from you the only thing you’ll be seeing of her is her name on a restraining order.”
“You don’t deserve Y/N. You stole her away from me, and I promise you I will be getting her back.”
Jimin just laughed, so hard that tears came out of his eyes.
“Are you delusional up there? We’ve been together for months, and you just came into her life, what? A few weeks ago? Get out of whatever fantasy you have in your head; you’ve never had her and you never will.”
The two men were now face to face, scowls on their lips and eyes shining with fury.
“Y/N will soon realize that she needs me, not you, in her life.” Before he knew it, Taehyung was laying on the ground, winded and out of breath.
“Don’t make me hurt you anymore Taehyung. I’m only going to tell you this once. Stay away from Y/N. She’s mine. And she’ll never belong to you.” Jimin growled as Taehyung stood on his feet.
“She’ll see. Y/N will figure it out on her own that she wants me. She loves me.” Taehyung mumbled.
“Oh, you think so?” Jimin chuckled. “We’ll see about that. And you know what, I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt. I won’t tell Y/N about any of this, just to humor you. Now get out of my sight.”
Taehyung couldn’t be happier to listen to what Jimin had to say. He left the campus faster than he ever had before.
Oh, he was going to kill Park Jimin. He was going to prove him wrong.
~*~
Taehyung was the first into Economics like always. He always wanted to get there first, so he could wave and smile at you from his spot in the class. When you walked in today though, his heart did little flips in his chest. You were wearing glasses, a soft smiling pulling up your lips when you returned Taehyung’s wave. You paused for a moment, your nose scrunching up in thought before you started to climb up towards him, and oh no, no Taehyung swore his heart was going to explode once you were right next to him. You cocked your hip out, a playful glint in your eyes as you tapped on the desk to his right.
“Is this seat taken?” you giggled as Taehyung shook his head no, plopping yourself into the chair next to him.
“You look a lot better.” Taehyung hummed as he watched you take out your laptop. You chuckled, rolling your eyes at him.
“Thanks, girls love hearing that.”
“N-No! That’s not what I meant! You always look amazing, but you were sick and looked miserable and I just, ah…” Taehyung could feel his cheeks heating up, this wasn’t how he wanted this conversation to go. When he heard your laughter, Taehyung peered over at you through his bangs, a sheepish smile on his lips.
“You’re cute Tae.”
“Cute?” Taehyung’s heart thumped a little faster.
“Mmhmm,” you nodded as you dug through your backpack for paper and your trusty pen. “I am feeling a lot better though, thank you. It’s just fun to tease you.”
Taehyung’s heart skipped a beat when you winked at him, and he could feel himself melt into the chair at the thought of you teasing him a little more. In both the light and the dark.
“I heeded your advice.” you continued as you pulled off your glasses to wipe the smudges off of them. “An early Christmas present from my mother. They’ll have to do for now until I can get contacts.”
“I personally think you look beautiful.” Taehyung murmured. It took him a second to process his words before he looked over at your shocked expression. “With the glasses I mean, they just enhance your eyes.”
“Oh,” you chuckled, looking down to fiddle with the keys on your laptop. “Well, thank you.”
You were both thrusted into silence after that, as other students came walking in and when the professor started the class. Sitting next to you was both a blessing and a curse. For one, Taehyung got to brush knees with you all class and got to notice all the little details he could never see before. Like how when you were bored, you’d play with your fingers, or how you crossed your ankles and knees every few minutes, almost as if you couldn’t find any comfortable position to rest in. He got to smell the heady and perfect scent of your perfume; lilies, violets, clementines and something a little sweeter that Taehyung could only describe as you. And in the stolen glances he took, he was fixated on your lips. In the way you nibbled on them when you were concentrating, how you pouted in confusion, and how you always seemed to be wetting them with the tip of your tongue, gliding along the smooth, pink skin almost teasingly slow, like you were purposely riling Taehyung up for him to take you in the way you deserved. He almost couldn’t take all the teasing.
“Don’t forget to check the partner list for the group projects, they’ll be sitting here on my desk.” the professor shut his briefcase with a resounding click, and immediately the class stood, ready to get home after the long night class.
Huh, class wasn’t over that soon, was it?
“Do you wanna go check the list?” you asked as you stood, packing your things up before slinging the bag over your shoulder. Taehyung immediately stood, shoving his things away as he followed you down to the teacher’s desk, a smile spreading across his cheeks.
“Looks like the angels has destined for us to be together.” Taehyung chuckled.
“Or maybe the professor just paired us together due to the sick week fiasco and he knows you'll be able to catch me up.” you stuck your tongue out at Taehyung, and he wanted nothing more but to taste your tongue against his own.
“Here, gimme your phone,” you held your hand out expectantly towards Taehyung.
“W-Why?”
“So, I can give you my number for the project, silly.” you shook your head, making grabby motions with your fingers.
“I, um, my phone’s dead! Yeah, that’s it, so let me just put my number in yours.” Taehyung chuckled and you eyed him wearily.
“Fine,” you relented, handing over your phone after unlocking it. “If you didn’t want me to see the boobs as your lock screen you could’ve just said so.” you teased. Taehyung shook his head, hiding his smile through the bite in his lip. If only you knew that his home and lock screens were pictures of you, one taken from class, another from a beach photo shoot you posted on Instagram last summer.
“Did you want to maybe start it tonight? At least the initial planning if you’re free?” Taehyung asked, hopping on any excuse just to be with you as he gave you back your phone.
“I can’t tonight. It’s ‘date night’.” you rolled your eyes as you and Taehyung walked out of the classroom. “Jimin and I try to meet at least once a week to hang out, since he’s busy doing all his pre-med shit we rarely get to see each other. Monday just happens to be the night where we’re both free.”
“Oh? Is that so?” he hummed in thought.
“Yeah, so unfortunately I have to head back. But I’ll text you later, yeah?” you smiled at Taehyung and he couldn’t help but return the gesture.
“Sure, I’ll see you soon Y/N.” he waved as you left the building, a smirk taking over his once innocent smile.
~*~
Your curtains swayed with the breeze from your open window that night, reaching out to your form laying against the bed. Tonight, you were accompanied by another, the both of you cuddled under a blanket as you indulged yourselves with reruns of The Bachelorette on your little laptop. You knew Jimin only put up with your silly reality television to make you happy, which is why you were cuddled into him so closely and intimately, with your head on his chest as your hand idly traced shapes into his abdomen. You knew Jimin just wanted to be close to you, to escape the stress of school even for just a night. You leaned further into his touch, where his hand was petting through your hair gently, savoring the contact.
“She’s an idiot.” you mumbled into Jimin’s skin. Jimin just chuckled at your comment, looking down at you with shining eyes.
“And why do you say that?”
“It’s obvious that she loves him, and that he loves her back” you hummed and shook your head while you watched the Bachelorette dismiss the losers for that episode. “But she’s getting rid of him because he’s not as good looking or as rich as the other men are. Stupid.”
Jimin cupped your cheek and nudged you to look up at him. You giggled when Jimin nudged his nose against yours, carefully shutting and placing the laptop on the bedside table with his free hand.
“I agree. A stupid reason to eliminate someone from an obviously scripted TV show.” you rolled your eyes at Jimin’s sass, smiling nonetheless when he placed a gentle kiss on your lips.
“If we were in that position I just wouldn’t leave, I’d stay and fight for you, my love.” Jimin explained with a flourish, pulling you up and onto his lap.
“My hero,” you teased, cupping Jimin’s cheek in turn, pulling him closer.
“I know right,” he hummed with a cheeky smile gracing his lips as he indulged you in the kiss you were craving.
Jimin wrapped his arms around your waist, supporting you as you pushed Jimin back to lay against the pillows completely. He was so warm against you, his lips tasting like the remnants of the coffee he had earlier and the spearmint gum he had to chase the bitter taste away, but you couldn’t imagine a taste any sweeter than Jimin’s. You allowed yourself to relax against Jimin’s chest as he deepened the kiss, allowing his tongue to meet yours as your hands roamed from his cheeks to his shoulders, massaging the tense flesh beneath your fingertips. You hummed in approval when a hand moved up to tug through your hair, a gasp falling between your parted lips when Jimin’s other hand gripped the flesh of your ass, gently squeezing and fondling as his lips moved down your jaw to press hot, wet kisses into the flesh of your neck.
His lips and tongue were so hot against your skin, your light breaths turning into soft moans when he applied more pressure, sucking and nibbling at the base of your throat. You knew he was leaving marks, the possessive man Jimin was. Normally he wouldn’t dare mark your neck, usually he preferred to leave his claims of possession in lower, more hidden places, but you couldn’t care less when his lips felt so good against you. You whimpered softly at the menstruations, pulling on the back of Jimin’s neck to pull him up for another kiss.
Jimin chuckled at your enthusiasm, relishing in the whine you gave him when he moved his lips from your mouth to your ear.
“Do you love me Y/N? Am I the love of your life?” he teased, his fingers moving up from your ass to travel underneath your shirt. You nodded, letting out a shaky gasp when his teeth dragged against the shell of your ear, his hot breath fanning over the abused skin as he took your earlobe between his lips, lightly tonguing at the soft flesh.
“Use your words, princess.”
“I love you, Jimin,” you moaned when Jimin’s hands found your covered breasts, fondling the flesh between his grip as his thumbs traced the top of your chest. “God, you’re the love of my life.” you whimpered as you started to grind into his lap, and Jimin chuckled at the desperate and shaky movements of your hips.
“That’s right, my fucking beautiful slut.” Jimin growled in your ear, making you gasp and whine when his hands moved back to your hips, stopping your gyrating movements.
“So desperate for me, hmm? My needy little girl.” Jimin smirked, letting his lips brush the lightest of kisses against your cheeks. You turned your head, trying to capture his lips with yours but he moved down to your neck again, leaving more blue and purple blossoms in his wake.
“My slut loves me so much, right?”
“Yes,” you moaned, doing your best to move your hips against the growing hardness between Jimin’s legs, but his grip was too strong.
“That’s right princess, because no one loves you as much as me. No one knows your body like I do, and no one can make you feel pleasure like I do. You’re mine.” his voice was raspy and deep and you whined at his words.
“Please, Jimin…”
“What do you want Y/N? Go on, use your big girl words and beg for me.” Jimin smirked against your collarbone, laving his tongue over a very tender bruise.
“Jimin, please, fuck me! Make me yours and only yours, I want to feel every part of you against me, I want to feel all the pleasure that only you can give me.”
Jimin couldn’t resist anymore, pulling you in for a searing kiss. You moaned in relief, eagerly kissing him back with tongue and teeth as he gathered you in his arms and flipped your positions on the bed so that he was the one on top. You ran your fingers through his pink hair as his fingers unbuttoned your night shirt, relishing in the feeling of his touch. Jimin broke the kiss with a soft pop, smirking at the pout in your lips, all swollen and red just for him.
“Take your shirt off slut, I want to see you.” Jimin ordered, sitting back on his heels to take his shirt off too. You threw your shirt aimlessly into another part of the room, watching Jimin with bated breath.
Jimin was breathtaking. His body firm with golden skin stretching over tightly packed muscles. You licked your lips at the sight, wanting nothing more than to have a taste of him on your tongue.
“Can I touch you?” Jimin smirked at your question, purposefully flexing his muscles as he hovered back over you, his hands coming to rest on either side of your face.
“You may.”
You almost cried in relief as you ran your hands across his chest, down his abdomen to thumb at the muscles and smooth lines he worked so hard to achieve.
“You look so beautiful with this color on you princess,” Jimin whispered as his thumbs toyed with the straps of your marron bra. Jimin carefully undid the hooks, pulling the fabric away to reveal your bare breasts to his wandering eyes. You keened when he gripped your breasts between his nimble fingers, moaning as his thumbs played with your nipples until they became hard. Jimin hummed softly when you buried your head into the crook of his neck, leaving your own marks of possession into his skin that he’d wear proudly.
“C’mere.” Jimin pulled you up into a lighter kiss, taking his time as his hands worshiped your breast and as yours explored his abdomen. His fingers moved from your breast to your shorts, gently toying with them before he stood from the bed, admiring how debauched and sultry you looked just from his hands and lips.
“Take them off.”
You followed Jimin’s orders eagerly, a rush of arousal flowing through you as you tossed your shorts and underwear in the same direction as your shirt. Jimin chuckled at your desperation, as he slowly slid off his sweatpants. Your mouth watered at the sight; his dick was so hard and so thick; you felt another rush of arousal drip down your thighs and you knew Jimin saw when you heard him groan hungrily.
Jimin climbed back onto the bed, laying down on his stomach in front of you, his face only inches away from your dripping core. He wrapped his arms around your thighs, pulling you closer to him. His nose ran up and down the inside of your thighs, making you shiver with the feeling of his heat so close to where you wanted him the most.
“So pretty,” his voice was husky and deep and it made you clench in anticipation as you felt yourself become wetter from Jimin’s words alone.
“Fuck, you’re so wet for me. Spread your legs wider for me princess.” Jimin guided your thighs to part even further, exposing every inch of you to his lust-filled eyes and he cursed.
“You’re dripping, you dirty slut. Your cunt is so pretty, so wet and aching to be filled with my cock, hmm?”
“Please, Jimin.” you begged, your stomach clenching and legs trembling.
“Bet I could just slide in, no prep needed. But that wouldn’t be nice of me, would it? You wanted me to give you the pleasure that only I can give you. To feel every part of me against you, to make you mine.” Jimin placed staccato kisses into your thighs, and you moaned when his lips kissed at your folds.
“Jimin, please-” your words were cut off by a whimper when his tongue slowly moved up your labia.
Suddenly, Jimin’s lips were sucking at your clit and you were gone, moaning without restraint as you tugged at Jimin’s locks, urging him to get closer. His tongue was like hot fire against you, burning your skin as he moved between your clit and your dripping hole, building you up with fast and precise strokes to your clit only to bring you back down with the full of his tongue gently gliding through your lips to lap up every drop of your essence.
When Jimin moved back up to your clit after bringing you down for a third time, you shoved him deeper into your pussy, grinding against his tongue as you took what you wanted with broken moans of pleasure falling past your lips. Jimin’s fingers soon joined the mix, one then two slipping in easily as he started a brutal and punishing pace.
“Jimin,” you cried when you felt your release building up in the pit of your stomach, urging him closer as he moaned against your folds. He released your clit with a pop and you cried at the loss of the pleasure, moaning just as quickly when he added a third finger to pound against your g-spot relentlessly.
“What is it? Does my slut want to cum around my fingers?” Jimin’s lips hovered over yours, his eyes staring intensely at the expressions flicking across your face.
“Oh, shit,” you wailed, closing your eyes from the embarrassment at having Jimin look at you so intensely.
“Look at me Y/N.”
Your eyes shot open at the growl in Jimin’s voice, daring not to disobey him at the cost of your orgasm steadily building up. You were horny and so, so close to cumming.
“You want to cum?” Jimin asked mockingly, his thumb flicking over your clit. You were chanting a mindless mess of pleas, begging Jimin to bring you to release.
“Yes, yes, yes, yes. Jimin, please, please let me cum. I want to cum around you so bad.” you cried.
“Who’s making you feel this good?”
“You! You are Jimin, please, please-”
“That’s right, now cum around my fingers, slut.”
And you did, clenching hard around Jimin’s fingers as you cried out his name into the night. The pleasure was blinding and overwhelming, making your body tremble as you rode out your high through Jimin’s relentless pounding, clutching at the bed sheets beneath you as your thighs shook from the pleasure. Jimin removed his fingers from you, humming as he looked at your release dripping off of him, taking his fingers into his mouth and sucking down your taste eagerly.
“There’s a good girl, coming just from my fingers and tongue. You taste so fucking good, so sweet just for me.”
“Jimin,” you whined for him once you saw him sit up. His cock was dripping and red and looked so thick; you wanted nothing more than to feel it pound inside you, so deep. You clenched at the thought alone, and even though Jimin’s fingers were wonderful, you wanted something harder and hotter pounding at you instead.
“Don’t worry princess, I’m far from done with you.” Jimin smirked, his lips and chin shining with your release. He hovered back over you, his thumb gently stroking your cheek as he gave you a sweet kiss. You moaned at the taste of yourself on his lips, wrapping your legs around his waist to pull him closer to you.
“How do you want it princess?” Jimin asked after indulging you in your fill of kisses.
“Wanna be on my hands and knees for you.” you admitted softly. Jimin chuckled and pecked your lips, gently slapping your cheek.
“Then get to it slut.” Jimin’s voice grew hard again and you readily got in position, arching your back and presenting yourself to Jimin’s gaze.
“Mm, you’re so fucking gorgeous.” Jimin planted a harsh slap on your ass, making you moan as he fondled the flesh, soothing the slight burn.
Jimin lined himself up with your entrance, teasingly dragging the head of his cock through your folds before sinking it inside you. You both groaned in unison as Jimin stretched your walls, sliding every inch in until he bottomed out inside you, his hips flush with your ass. He stopped to let you adjust, and you savored the feeling of how thick Jimin felt inside you; how hot and hard he was pressing in all the right places.
“Jimin, please, move.”
That was all Jimin needed before he started moving his hips, pounding your cunt into oblivion. Jimin’s grip was tight on your hips as he fucked you raw, pushing you down into the mattress until your arms gave out. He draped himself across your back, holding your hips up as you moaned wetly into the pillow beneath you. Jimin brought his hand to your hair, pulling your head back up to hear your moans and cries fully, making the most beautiful music to his ears.
“What a good little slut,” Jimin praised. “Letting me fuck you nice and deep and raw.”
“Shit!” you wailed as he pulled your hair, increasing the pace of his thrusts, his dick stretching you out wide and rough, just the way you liked it. “Jimin!”
“God, you’re so tight,” Jimin growled, his hips slamming into the flesh of your ass. “This dripping cunt was made just for me, wasn’t it?”
“Oh, God, please, please-”
“That’s not my name Y/N.” Jimin cooed mockingly, grinding his dick deeper inside of you as his sweaty chest pressed even closer, his hot breath coming out in pants next to your ear. “Who’s making you feel this good?”
“You! Jimin, Jimin, please-” you started to cry, wanting nothing more than to come again.
“You’re doing such a good job coating my cock, slut. So tight and pretty, wanna fill you up until you’re dripping.”
Your pussy clenched around his hot, hard cock. Jimin hissed, increasing the pace of his thrusts.
“I felt that slut, you just got so tight around me. You like the sound of that? Want me to cum in this dirty, greedy pussy of yours?
“Jimin,” you gasped, getting closer to the edge from Jimin’s relentless thrusting. He was going hard enough to hurt, his breaths coming out in harsh pants against your ear only serving to rile you up even more. “Please.”
“Want you to cum around me,” he said, removing his hand from your hair to rub harsh circles over your clit. You wailed into the pillow below, pushing your ass further into the air as you whined. Your second orgasm was rapidly approaching, making your whole body tremble with want and need.
“Need you to cum around me slut, so I can fill you up just the way you like it. Make it nice and messy for you, make sure everyone knows you belong to me. Make sure you feel me dripping from you for days.”
You cried into the sheets, gripping them tightly in your fists as your pussy clenched around Jimin’s dick, pushing you closer and closer until you came with a scream, thrashing around the bed in pleasure. You felt tears coat your cheeks as Jimin’s pace somehow became even harder, pushing you into oversensitivity.
“That’s it, such a good girl for milking this cock, now you’re going to take what I’m going to give you, right?”
You nodded helplessly, trembling under his pounding as you tried to clench around him, to make Jimin feel just as good as he made you feel.
“Fuck, yes, you’re clenching me so tight,” Jimin panted, and you soon felt a warmth spread throughout your pussy, hot and bursting from your seems as Jimin came with a shout of your name, grinding himself into you to prolong his pleasure.
Jimin collapsed on top of you, whispering soft praises and words of encouragement into your ears as he kissed your head. He carefully pulled himself out of you and you both groaned at the loss of warmth.
“Shit Jimin,” you chuckled breathlessly, flipping yourself over to look at the creamy mess between your thighs. “You outdid yourself this time. Holy shit.”
Jimin just giggled at your praise, pressing a kiss on your forehead.
“I’ll be back.” he winked, walking into your adjoining bathroom and returning quickly with a wet cloth. He carefully wiped you clean, humming softly as he did so and blowing you kisses from his pursed lips. He dropped the cloth back off in the bathroom, throwing you a new pair of panties and your sleep shirt as he pulled on his sweats. You put the items on gratefully as Jimin joined you back on the bed, holding you close to his chest as his fingers rubbed your back.
“I love you, Y/N.” Jimin mumbled into your hair.
“I love you too Jimin.” you looked up and frowned at the serious expression on his face. “Are you okay? I was fine, right?”
“Oh princess,” Jimin placed a kiss on your lips and you melted at the contact. “You were amazing. I just want you to know that I do love you very much.”
“Oh,” you hummed softly, placing a kiss on Jimin’s cheek. “I love you too. Very much.” you giggled and Jimin couldn’t help but smile down at you.
“I’m going to head to the bathroom, okay?”
“Alright princess, then cuddles?”
“All the cuddles you could ever want.” you agreed, pecking his lips before heading into the bathroom.
Jimin waited until you shut the door behind you before standing from the bed, moving towards the open window. Jimin opened it just a little wider, breathing in the fresh night air.
“Next time, make yourself less obvious, you fucking pervert.” Jimin watched as Taehyung stood from his hiding spot in the rose bushes, unashamed and debauched under the moonlight.
“Did she…?”
“Do you think we would’ve done all that if she knew we had an audience?” Jimin rolled his eyes.
“Are you going to tell her?” Taehyung asked. Jimin just chuckled.
“I’m not sure, I like seeing you on edge. If you leave her alone, then I won’t.”
“We have a project-”
“I know,” Jimin cut Taehyung off. “After the project, you leave her, you leave us, alone. And your little secret will go down with the both of us to the grave.”
And with that, Jimin shut the window and the curtains, blocking Taehyung’s view to the inside of the room. Taehyung knew then, that he’d have to bring his plan to fruition a little sooner than planned.
~*~
It was Friday night, and you were all alone with Jimin by your side. Jennie and Jisoo were out, and Jimin was surprisingly not cramming for some kind of test, so you both took it upon yourselves to spend a little more quality time together, this time on the living room couch, watching anime on the huge TV the homeowners had left for the housemates. You were both cuddled up, snacks on hand, and everything was perfect.
A knock sounded at the door.
“Do you want me to get it?” Jimin made a move to stand, but you pushed him back down.
“No, you sit. I’ll get the door.” you stood, walking over to the door and opening it with a smile.
You remembered being pulled outside, against the wall of your house as something was pressed against your face. You heard Jimin shouting and an exasperated sigh before everything faded to black, not even remembering falling face first to the ground.
You had never been drunk before, but if you were to guess, this is what a hangover would feel like.
Your head was pounding against your skull, like a migraine that would be impossible to cure. Your face hurt, feeling heavy and weighed down against your head. You didn’t even want to open your eyes in fear of more pain being brought down upon you. But you managed to do it anyways.
This wasn’t your room.
That was your first thought when you sat up, rubbing your heavy and tired eyelids. These weren’t you bed sheets, no matter how comfortable the red gingham was surrounding your entire body. Your eyes looked around the simple room, but you were soon wide awake when you saw what was sitting so blatantly in front of you.
Your face.
More importantly, your pictures, strewn about the navy-blue wall in front of you, arranged in the shape of a heart. The memories came flooding back as your body was thrusted into a state of shock. Jimin’s yelling, being shoved against the side of your house as your eyes met the ones of-
“Angel!”
Your head snapped in the direction of Taehyung’s voice as he entered the bedroom. In his arms was a tray, and he hummed softly as he sat on the corner of the bed, placing the tray right on your lap with a satisfied smile. Chocolate chip waffles, with bacon and hash browns on the side with a glass of apple juice.
“You know my favorite breakfast?” you cringed at how small and broken your voice sounded, and you couldn’t bring yourself to look up at Taehyung’s enthusiastic nod.
“Of course, what kind of boyfriend would I be if I didn’t know what my girlfriend loved?”
You stiffened at Taehyung’s words, keeping your eyes trained on your lap, trying to avoid the appetizing food in front of your face.
“I-Is...Jimin-”
“Don’t!” Taehyung growled, and you couldn’t stop the whimper that left your lips. “I don’t want to hear another man’s name coming out of your lips. The only name you should be saying is mine.”
Taehyung shook his head in disappointment, but in the next second he was giggling like a little boy in a candy store.
“You’re going to be the death of me angel, with all the power you have over me.” Taehyung sighed wistfully.
You took a deep breath, trying to calm the shaking in your body and to keep the tears from streaming down your cheeks.
“Is...h-he...okay?”
“He’s alive, don’t worry angel,” a wave of relief rushed over you. You managed to look Taehyung in the eye when you spoke your next words, trying your best to put on a brave face.
“What do you know about me?”
You listened to Taehyung’s rant of love, admitting everything that he knew about you that he found from your social media and your intimate family’s pages as well. And you were scared at how detailed he was, even down to the dates of specific events happening. He went on and on, confessing his sick and obsessed love he had for you. And he did it all with a smile, with adoration overflowing in his eyes. When he finally stopped, after twenty long minutes, you didn’t know what to say or what to do. But Taehyung seemed to know.
Your body was stiff and still when Taehyung moved to sit behind you, his arms wrapping around your waist as his chin fell onto your shoulder. You felt sick to your stomach, and the delicious smells from the food in front of you only worsened your nausea. You almost thought you would throw up when you felt Taehyung sag against you, pressing his chest into your back as he inhaled through his nose, letting out a shaky exhale with each breath he took. He was smelling you. Tears welled up in your eyes as panic overtook your entire body, wanting so bad just to get away, but you were trapped.
“Angel, eat.”
His words were simple, but all you heard was the underlying malice in his voice. You didn’t want to anger Taehyung, so you grabbed the fork with shaky hands, cutting yourself a piece of the waffle and placing it in your mouth. Your shoulders shook with sobs as tears started to stream down your face.
Of course, the food was delicious.
“Shh…” Taehyung whispered into your hair, gently swaying you both side to side as you dropped the fork on the plate with a loud clang. Taehyung pressed a gentle kiss into the side of your head. Though his lips were warm, you felt frozen to the core when you felt his legs wrap around yours, an aching hardness pressing into the small of your back.
“It’s okay, don’t cry. You’re where you belong now Y/N. Now you can finally be loved and worshiped the way you should be, the way you deserve to be.” Taehyung chuckled softly, and it took all your willpower to not move away when Taehyung’s lips brushed your ear. “Because he’ll never love you like I can.”
#bts#bangtan#bangtan x reader#bts yandere#bts smut#bts yandere smut#v#taehyung#kim taehyung#bts v#bts taehyung#bts kim taehyung#jimin#park jimin#bts jimin#bts park jimin#v x reader#taehyung x reader#kim taehyung x reader#jimin x reader#park jimin x reader#taehyung smut#jimin smut#bts college au#yandere au#vmin#bts x reader#bangtan smut#bangtan yandere#bangtan sonyeondan
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here, i wrote a smutty, angsty oneshot about the most recent episode. it incorporates spoilers we have for next week’s episode too, jsyk
title: how big you can love
words: 3500
rating: m
It’s only when you’re close to death do you realize just how big you’re able to love. The magnitude of it all; the absolute infinite capabilities of your heart. They say that everyone who’s ever jumped off the Golden Gate Bridge and survived regretted it the moment their feet left solid ground. There’s always love inside—of family, of yourself, of life—but darkness likes to disguise it as pain and grief and hatred. It’s only during the fall that its true face reemerges. You can only really know yourself and your ability to love when you’re about to die.
And it’s not that Daryl ever forgot that he loved her. Quite the contrary, in fact. His whole life lately has revolved around a continuous push-and-pull game, where she tugs herself one way, and he tugs her right on back. But that’s the thing—he’s been so preoccupied with keeping her grounded that he’s put aside the reason he’s doing it in the first place.
Now that he’s dying, though? Now he remembers.
Face beaten to a pulp, his leg gushing out more blood than he can stem with the pressure of his hand, Daryl lies on the floor of some rundown dusty shop that has been cleaned out for years, and feels the vastness of his love for her.
When he closes his swollen eyelids he sees her face, smiling the way she used to in the beginning, with an unwavering kindness that he hadn’t been used to and didn’t know how to comprehend. On his bruised and battered shoulder he feels the phantom weight of her head resting on it, and the squeeze of her fingers around his bicep.
On the other side of the wall, Alpha—the monster who broke Carol’s final tether and made him lose his grip on her—is droning on about the meaning of it all. She’s nearly dead, too, and remembering just how much she loves power. But Daryl isn’t listening. He isn’t here, not really. His heart is still beating, but he’s transcended his body, existing only where his memories of her lie.
They’re right when they say that your life flashes before your eyes, because she is his whole world.
He should have told her that.
Should have chanted it like a mantra to her every day.
It was never the right time, and now there’s no time left. Funny thing, time. Always keeps you guessing.
At least he’s not afraid. Carol was the first to teach him that letting people in can be safe, and she’s keeping him safe now, in his final moments.
Daryl thinks someone is saying his name; thinks there may be footsteps circling around his dilapidated form. He can’t be bothered to make heads or tails of it, though.
He’s too busy remembering how big he’s able to love.
*
Lydia’s tourniquet saved his life, the clever girl. He’s proud of her. Not because she helped him. He’s certainly grateful, but he’s proud because she has developed a love of others instead a love of control like her mother, and he knows exactly how difficult that is when someone is trying to literally beat the compassion out of you.
He’s home in Alexandria, holed up in the infirmary that has yet to recover from the giant hole Siddiq left in his wake. Trainees fuss over him with unskilled hands—people who had observed the late doctor’s handiwork, or came into the community with rusty medical knowledge from CNA jobs in their 20s, or what have you. It’s a testament to how worn down he is that he doesn’t care that he’s confined to a bed and at the whim of other people’s touch. He spends most of his time sleeping, trying to heal his battered body that is unfortunately much too familiar with this song and dance.
In his moments of lucidity, however, in between the aches and pains, he remembers how big he loves her, and he wants to ask everyone who walks by if they’ve seen her, but he’s afraid of the answer. With how they left things, and with her tendency for running, he doesn’t want to know where she ended up after he left her at the collapsed entrance of that godforsaken cave.
At night, though, he thinks he feels her thin fingers lacing between his thick ones, entwining them with a gentle squeeze. He thinks he feels his hair being brushed back, and maybe even lips pressing against his forehead. He thinks he hears soft reassurances whispered in his ear.
But then he wakes up, and no one is ever there.
*
It takes a full week for them to let him go home. A week. Seven days. And truth be told, they probably would have kept him longer, except he finally loses his patience, and gets right up on both feet, ignoring the throb in his injured leg, and walks right out the door.
He gets it. There’s a war on the horizon, and Michonne is out at sea somewhere, Hilltop has two of their members lost underground, not to mention he still hasn’t asked about Carol, and at the end of the day, no matter how well-meaning everyone is, or how concerned they are about his well-being, he knows that, first and foremost, at least right now, he’s an asset they can’t afford to lose.
He’s not gonna take it personal.
But he’s also not staying in that fucking infirmary a second longer.
When he gets home the house is quiet, and usually quiet doesn’t bother him, but today it feels exceptionally lonely. He’s grown accustomed to the sound of RJ running around playing, with Lil’ Asskicker at his heels, but they’re with a neighbor right now. Lydia is no longer confining herself to the brig, but she’s still not feeling welcome, and comes and goes, checking on him before disappearing back out into the forest, and Daryl, who has done the exact same thing on more than one occasion, would be a hypocrite to ask her to say in one place. But even his dog isn’t here. He’s with a neighbor too. Daryl’s all alone in this big empty house.
Or at least he assumes he is.
Leaning against the front door, shifting his weight off of his bad leg, his eyes wander up the stairs, and it takes him a good five minutes to decide if it’s time to answer the question he’s been dreading asking since the moment he got through the Alexandrian gates.
He starts up the stairs, slowly, still sore, and they creak under his weight. He gets to the top and comes face to face with the entrance to her room and finds the door cracked open. Swallowing, he takes those last few steps and nudges it the rest of the way open with the palm of his hand.
There’s a duffel bag.
It’s lying open on the bed, and he can see some clothes thrown in haphazardly, and the hilt of a knife. Around the room, dresser drawers are pulled out, and belongings are scattered on the ground. She’s getting ready to run, and his stomach twists.
Entering the room, he surveys the chaos around him. He doesn’t know where she went, but assumes she’ll be back soon to finish her packing job and hit the road. Was she even going to say goodbye?
A white-hot rage washes over him, because why the fuck does it always have to go this way? It’s always something; always him running to be by himself, or her running from herself. The two of them never learned how to sit still, but he’s sick of it. He loves her too big to lose her again.
He starts putting her things back where they belong; takes out each item of clothing from the duffel bag one-by-one, folding them neatly and laying them in the dresser drawers. Unsteady on his feet, he fights through his pain to reach down and clean up the floor. A lot of it is junk—a pair of socks with holes in the heels and toe, a lighter with no juice left, a pocket mirror with a jagged crack down the middle—but some of it is the exact opposite. Some of the stuff on the ground are treasured items thrown around in anger, like a birthday card from Henry, a drawing of Sophia made by Jadis, and several letters Daryl wrote her during her time out at sea that he didn’t realize she had kept.
He treats these items with care—uncrumpling the corners of aged paper and blowing dust off—before setting them gingerly down in a neat pile on her table. Then, when the room is no longer in disarray, Daryl takes a seat on the edge of her bed and waits.
It’s about fifteen minutes later, give or take, when she returns. She steps into her room and then stills like a statue at the sight of him, not unlike she had the day he came to confront her in that little house on the border of the Kingdom. She takes stock of her tidied up space. With a weak groan, she presses the base of her palms to her eyes.
“Don’t do this,” she says. “Just go.”
“No,” Daryl says simply, and she lets her arms fall, hanging limp at her sides. There are tears sliding down her cheeks but her face is stoic.
“I only stayed to make sure you were okay,” she says. “Clearly you are, so now you can let me go.”
“No,” Daryl says again, not unkindly or harshly, but with an air of finality that she chooses to ignore.
“Look at what I’ve done, Daryl,” she yells then. He doesn’t flinch. “I trapped two of our own. I’ve essentially brought the Whisperers to our front doorstep. I almost got you killed, for Christ’s sake, you almost died, and it would have been my fault, and I have a lot of blood on my hands, Daryl, but if I had yours? I’d rather die and go straight to hell.”
“I’m alive,” Daryl says.
“But you almost weren’t.”
“But I am.”
“But not everyone is. Not everyone will be, once this war is underway. Anyone around me has the risk of becoming collateral damage.”
“Then you have to get yourself under control.”
“I can’t.”
“Yes you can.”
“How?”
“By talking to me, Carol, like I’ve said all along.”
Carol laughs bitterly, blinking up at the ceiling and shaking her head.
“The fuck do you want me to say, Daryl?” she asks, eyes trained above her at nothing. “Do you want me to say it hurts that my son’s head was put on a pike? That the woman who did it is still walking around on this Earth without any consequences? Yeah, it fucking hurts.” She looks at him then, with a leveled glare. “Do you want me to say that the only good thing that came out of two decades of abuse was my baby that I ended up not being able to protect? Who died all alone without her mother there to hold her?”
She starts pacing, breathing heavily.
“Do you want me to tell you how I once told a scared little boy I’d tie him to a tree and let the walkers eat him just so he would leave me alone and not be around the fucking curse that I am, and yet he got ripped to shreds anyway?”
She approaches the bed, standing right before him, wetting her bottom lip.
“Should I tell you,” she says in a harsh whisper. “About how Lizzie killed her little sister with a knife I taught her to use, and how I took her into the yard and told her to look at the flowers while I shot her point blank in the head?” Daryl’s surprise must be evident, because she smiles humorlessly and says, “Yeah, you didn’t know that one, did you? You didn’t know that when Lizzie died she didn’t have any bites. No wounds. She was in peak physical health. But I killed her anyway, Daryl. Lord knows Tyrese wouldn’t do it. He just gave me the go-ahead and stayed in the house with Judith while I blew a child’s brains out onto the grass.”
“Carol—”
“No, you wanted me to talk, so I’m talking.” Her whole body is shaking. “Every child that has ever been mine is dead. I am the common denominator. I am lethal, and it doesn’t matter if they’re the good guys or the bad guys—when people are around me they die. And I’m not letting you die, Daryl. I’m not.”
"You ain't a curse," Daryl says.
"Then why are they all gone?" Carol breathes, tears coming faster now, and all Daryl wants is to brush them away. He reaches out to her, but she takes a step back. "No," she says.
"I still wanna be here for you."
"You already tried, and look how that went. I took her from you. I didn't mean to, but I did, and you don't get to forgive me just because you think you should out of some sense of loyalty. Tear into me. Get angry. Tell me to fuck off so I can get my stuff and go."
Daryl has to resist rolling his eyes. 'I took her from you.' There she goes with that junior high playground bullshit again, like any of this has to do with if he like likes Connie. As if this has nothing to do with how deeply she's hurting and how deeply he wants to help her, because she's right, he almost died, and now he remembers how big he loves her and isn't soon to forget.
He says, "I ain't tellin' you to fuck off. And I ain't lettin' you leave."
"It's not up to you where I go."
"Then it ain't up to you where I follow."
They hover at this impasse, shooting daggers at each other. Carol wipes her face and takes a deep breath. He can see her preparing her next big polemic in order to push him far enough away that she has time to escape.
"Daryl—" she starts, but she doesn't finish her sentence, because in one swift movement Daryl gets up off the bed and into her space. He cups her face, and before she can protest he's pressing his lips to hers.
They stand that way for a beat. Then another.
Her eyes are wide when he leans back to look at her; scared and devastated and wanting all concurrently. She opens her mouth to speak.
"Shut up," Daryl says, and kisses her again.
It takes a moment for her to respond, and when she does it feels reluctant. But then, slowly, her arms snake up the length of his torso and drape around his neck, and that's when he feels her give in. She tilts her head for him to get a better angle, and parts her lips for him. He slides his tongue against hers lazily, running his hands down her back until resting them on her hips. He tugs her forward, eradicating completely the distance she tried to put between them as they come flush together.
Breaking the kiss, Daryl rests his forehead against hers as he walks her to the bed. He lays her down tenderly, and she rests on a pillow, watching him. He climbs into bed too and hovers over her, brushing his knuckles down her cheek.
"You're hurt," she reminds him softly, noticing how he's favoring one knee.
"I'll be okay," he says, because he really couldn't care less, but she shakes her head.
"Lie down," she says, shifting to make room. "Let me."
Daryl hesitates only a moment before settling down on his back, hoping she won't run.
She doesn't. Instead, she leans down and kisses him sweetly, taking hold of his hand and placing it on her navel. Daryl bunches the fabric between his fingers, and then uses both hands to work the buttons undone. He makes each one come open with such delicacy that he feels like one of those people who open gifts by carefully peeling every piece of tape off and then folding the wrapping paper neatly once it's removed, because the unveiling is just as important as the prize underneath.
He helps her shrug off the shirt entirely, and she reaches around to undo the clasp of her bra. Slipping it off, suddenly she's before him, nude from the waist up. Parts of her skin are marred by years upon years of violence, but there is no inch of her flesh that he doesn't worship. He feels her up, taking time to get to know every texture of her torso, from the smoothness of her belly, to the roughness of her scars, to the tautness of her nipples as he brushes his thumbs over them, making her sigh.
"I love you," he says. She shuts her eyes and more tears dribble down the bridge of her nose.
"You shouldn't," she says. "I wish you didn't."
"Hey," he says gently. "Look at me."
With what seems like tremendous effort, she opens her eyes and meets his gaze.
"I want you to love her," she says. "Or anyone. Anyone else. Don't love me. Please."
"Not up to me, sweetheart," Daryl says, running his fingers through her hair. She leans into the touch. "I love you, and that's why I need you to stay."
"And I love you. That's why I need you to let me go."
Daryl sits up and kisses Carol long and hard.
"No," he says when he pulls away, and Carol gives a helpless sad little laugh.
"I don't know how to be better," she says. "And I can't risk you getting hurt any worse on my account."
"You don't have to fix everything overnight. Just let me help you. Please? Let's get through this together."
"I'm so angry all the time, Daryl. I'm angry and I hurt."
"I know, but lemme tell you somethin'. You don't feel that way 'cause you're a bad person. You feel that way 'cause you love so big you can't hardly handle the pain that comes with it. That's what it's all about. It's about how big you can love."
"If love hurts this bad then it's cruel to let you love me."
"Nah. 'Cause the only thing that hurts worse is not bein' able to love at all." Daryl nuzzles his head against her belly and places a kiss in between her breasts. "C'mere," he says softly, and pulls her down.
They undress each other with the same care Daryl showed with her shirt. She sheds tears all over again at all his new bruises from this latest fight, and he kisses them away, telling her not to cry. That he's okay. That he's grateful for the clarity his brush with death has given him.
He says this all without words. Instead he inscribes the messages with his lips along her collarbone and breasts, with his hand slipping down between her legs and sliding along her wet folds until he finds her entrance and presses two fingers inside her. She pants softly, running her own hands over his bare flesh aimlessly, caught up in the sensations he's provoking in her body. He encircles her clitoris with the pad of his thumb; a featherlight, rhythmic motion, while his fingers still pulse against her walls.
She cums with a shudder, crying even though he told her not to. She kisses him so tenderly, even as she expands and contracts wildly around his hand. And god is it satisfying to finally be able to give her something good.
Once she's recovered, she straddles his hips like she belongs there, and Daryl holds her gaze as she lowers herself down, making small noises as she stretches to fit all of him inside her.
At the first roll of her hips, Daryl feels that same feeling he did on the floor of the shop; that overwhelming understanding of how big he loves her, and maybe that means it's not only death that reveals such truths. Maybe there are moments like this littered all throughout a lifetime. Not that it matters. He doesn't need revelations, he just needs her, and while she rides him like she's reminding herself of all the good parts of love, he knows that he has her. Finally, she's his.
He lets go with her name on his lips, and she swallows it with a long, languid kiss. They stay that way as long as they can, until he can no longer stay inside her. They lay side-by-side then, legs intertwined and hands lazily exploring parts of each other's bodies they may have missed.
"Go to sleep," Carol tells him when he yawns. He brushes his thumb over her lips and she kisses it.
"Will you still be here when I wake up?" he asks, and she nods. And she means it. He knows when she's bullshitting him.
"I'm scared, though," she admits a few minutes later, after he thought the conversation was over.
"That's okay," Daryl says, burrowing in closer to her, as if trying to become one. "Just as long as you stay. All the rest we can figure out together."
"Are you sure you want to love me?" she asks.
"Yes. And even if I didn't I wouldn't have a choice."
"It's hard to love this big, Daryl."
"I know, sweetheart," he says, pressing his lips to her pulse point. "But it's worth it."
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Can I Be More Than The Person I Have Become?
Here I am again. Once every few months, sometimes years I get that urge to put pen to paper or in this instance finger to keyboard.
When I was little reading my mom’s Jodi Picoult, Danielle Steele or Avon romance novels I felt inspired. I wanted to write a book people would cherish and love. Then I read Purple Hibiscus and then the doubts came.
Purple Hibiscus is one of my favorite books ever and the author Chimamanda is an inspiration to me. But the doubts came because I believed I could never write a book as amazing as Purple Hibiscus, that stirred so many emotions and feelings in me that with each rereading makes me discover something new. It didn’t help that Chimamada is that perfect Igbo first daughter who has a first degree and not one but 2 MA’s and speaks fluent Igbo.
My admiration for her was tinged with a lot of jealousy. I am an Igbo first daughter, that can barely speak/understand Igbo despite growing up in Nigeria most of my life, I only have a BA in Law, I failed spectacularly at a Masters programme that from the start I only applied to because I thought it was expected of me.
There are so many flaws in myself I could spend hours picking on but won’t for the sake of bringing down the mood of this article/opinion piece. Despite feeling I could never measure up to CNA I still chose literature as my elective in my GCSE’s and WAEC exams. Had an A for both and was the best student in class for the former. But I still felt like a fraud. I understand English, I speak it but the technical rules stump me sometimes. Like the semicolon… No matter how many times I can’t seem to retain when it applies. I suck at writing dialogue because I am always confused where to add the apostrophes and commas. Subject verb agreement, well I stumble my way through and hope for the best which has worked out okay so far.
I used to write in notebooks fervently in Secondary School. I would craft stories which would get passed around different students and their compliments and eagerness to read my words fueled me. I was going to be a writer maybe.. Get my first degree in Law then a Masters in Creative Writing. Maybe after becoming successful I’d be the next Michaela Coel adapting my work to the screen to great critical acclaim.
Well let’s just say reality hit hard, no punches pulled whatsoever. I left my sheltered Nigerian boarding school after graduation to go to the UK full time for my A Levels. First mistake was spending my years pocket money in under 3 months. Second mistake was essentially being mute for my first year of school. I have always been quite reserved and find it hard to talk to people. Going to a full boarding school meant I saw my classmates almost 24/7 so bonding and socialisation was inevitable. Well with A levels only having 3 subjects to study and it being a day school meant I could go a week without speaking to anyone except the lovely lunch ladies in the cafeteria.
If I am being honest I wasn’t used to interacting with white people and felt self conscious about my accent so it was a perfect storm.
Then the whopper…I have always had a complicated relationship with food. Since I was younger my weight has fluctuated heavily. It didn’t help that my mom was one of those slightly bigger women who decided to become a gym addict and drop all the weight. A lot of her insecurity from being bigger rubbed off on me, directly and indirectly.
Having your mom take you to exercise classes at 13 hurts. Having your mom be so happy to see you lose so much weight because the food at your boarding school sucked hurts. Having people complimenting your mum and asking how you're related to her cuts even deeper. Every stab at my heart at confidence got buried deep. In school, I would restrict my eating by spending breakfasts which I hated asleep in class, would skip a few lunches then binge at dinner times. This had the effect of keeping my weight stable.
Even then my mom still criticised my weight. When I look back at my size 12/14 self in secondary school who was gorgeous, a rage fills me. I was so beautiful but with zero confidence. I hurt so much and wish I could go back in time for a few minutes to tell myself I was worthy of being liked, by others and myself.
Eventually being away from my mom, the safety of my boarding school friends and siblings made it easy to seek solace in food. I was in the UK, I was living in student accommodation and for the first time in my life I had a debit card. I spent hundreds of £s a month in takeaways. Then I spent over £100 on diet pills which made me feel ill. In under a year I went from a size 14 to 24 to my mothers horror and mine. I didn’t know about the body positivity movement or Tess Holliday. I only knew that my mom was angry and sad and worried I would die in my sleep one night.
In almost a decade, that has been one of her mantras when talking to me about my weight. That she can’t bury her child and she’s afraid one night I will sleep and not wake up. In her mind its concern, but the way she says it feels like emotional manipulation.
Reading back there’s a lot of mother bashing going on, but it is not intentional. Some people are besties with their mothers and I prefer a more distant relationship. We will eventually get to the daddy issues but that will take some tears and a while before I can go into that.
I crave the catharsis of writing. The word vomit and jumbled feelings in the pit of my stomach. It helps me see myself as that idealistic 16 year old with a heart full of dreams and hopes. Not the current dried out husk I think I am now. I think of my future in abstract terms.
I don’t see a family, mortgage or dog. I just see myself barely existing. I feel this with a resigned calmness. Then I have my internal spiral of being to shortsighted and hasty in writing my life off at 25. I read tweets about people finding first love in their 30s, going back to school in their 40’s and getting into their careers in their 50s. Then I hear that voice in the far corner of my mind whispering, do I even want to make it to my 40’s…
And I answer back quietly that I really don't want to make it to my 40s. I’ll maybe hold on till my parents die so my mom doesn’t lord it over me that she had to bury her child and not the other way around. But some nights I really don’t want to be alive. Some nights I wish I was never born and just like clockwork the tears start. Those tears that I hold in and the dark thoughts I numb with the stimuli of food, YouTube and now K dramas.
For the past few years, I have made my Other World. This Other World is essentially a parallel universe. In this universe I have no issues with food, I have an incredible metabolism that means I can eat virtually anything without guilt. I make friends my first day of college and join so many student societies and actually participate. I push myself in school and get into my mother’s dream of a Russell Group. I choose LSE though she wishes I chose Queen Mary. I work hard, join the Law Society, meet a lovely British Nigerian with a great background, we date a few years and get married. I get a Masters in Creative Writing and have an amazing blog which gets adapted to a critically acclaimed series and I am fulfilled.
Sometimes my Other World self changes. She is the daughter of millionaires who is a genius, polyglot and fighter of social justice. I can sing, know martial arts and take the movie world by storm. Other times I am just pretty and living a simple but happy life. I know in my heart that these are just fantasies and sometimes I wish I could be like Buffy in that episode of BTVS and stay stuck in that Other World fully. I’m sure you’re thinking about my family who I’d leave behind. My response is I can’t miss them if I never remember I had them.
I am the first daughter, the Ada. My parents though flawed always tell me I am a great role model for my siblings. I am seemingly still a virgin, don’t drink, do drugs or rock the boat too much. And I feel even worse. I feel guilty that with all they have sacrificed that they have been stuck with an average daughter and by upper middle class Nigerian standards, if that even exists, a sub par Ada. I feel defective looking around and seeing others in the peak of their careers, vetting engaged, building houses for their parents. I am still afraid of driving!! I can’t even get that basic skill down.
4 years post LLB, no LLM to at least lessen me not being a lawyer and stuck in a customer service role almost 3 years now. I know I am at fault for not making the right decisions. Not applying for the grad jobs or vacancy schemes in time. Being so down and depressed I wouldn’t leave my room for days and weeks at a time. Failing all my LLM modules, adding back all the weight and more after boot camps with my parents, not having enough savings and having an even worse accent after almost a decade in the UK.
My self-deprecating joke I tell is that my sister is the multi talented one, my brother the smart ambitious one and as my parents say I have a big heart. That essentially my parents would say my thing is having a big heart, like that ever helped anyone build a career. I thought if I couldn’t write then I could maybe study Social Work. That got shot down by my mother and I was persuaded to go into the path of Law for University. I applied for Social Work Schemes and got rejected multiple times over multiple years. I was too scared to sink my own money to self fund a Social Work Masters in case it became another LLM fiasco. SO now I have made Teaching my next career goal. I am resigning myself to it the way Henry the 8ths spouses and mistresses must have whenever he wanted to bed them. Powerless and without a choice. Then I think that’s false equivalency and my pain could not be on the level of the pain they must have endured.
So many feelings, deep thoughts and memories flow out when I get the writing urge. I will likely never actually share this in full for obvious reasons except maybe anonymously. These few pages have jumped through quite a few time periods and experiences. My thoughts aren’t always linear and that ties in with something else I acknowledge but haven’t been serious about. I legitimately think I have ADHD and/or BPD. Watching the diagnosis episode of Crazy Ex Girlfriend by the amazing Rachel Bloom shone a light on feelings and behaviours I have had for a while. Maybe that’s why from the first episode of the show I was in love. She was stuck in the past, holding onto Josh who represented a time in her life of happiness. She had cutaways to magical musical numbers involving herself and the people around her.
The ADHD comes from following iconic black women on twitter who were outspoken about their diagnosis and bringing focus to how black women were being underdiagnosed. But then I think maybe I want to have ADHD as an excuse for the failures in my life and with the current NHS waiting lists I may not get a formal diagnosis for a while. So for now I manage and exist.
I like being honest in my writing. Exposing those dark parts of myself that I let fester in the recesses of my heart and mind.
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#personal
The holidays are quiet if not a little more restful than usual. I facetime’d my dad and his wife and talked to my mom on the phone. Since I left my job way back in July I haven’t had much video contact with anybody. Everybody is too busy baking banana bread on YouTube I guess to check in. The final days of my employment had devolved into a virtual SCRUM twice a day led by myself on camera. It was exhausting at times to lead but kept people focused. That is when they bothered to show up. One of my employees was off making music with my boss half the time I was trying to lead those discussions. I’m beginning to sense a theme. People saying they are there but not really. Maybe the mic is muted. Maybe you can’t see behind the screen. All I know is the follow through lately with people is missing entirely. I spent a good hour the last two days trying to decouple a credit card from my old job’s contact info. I’m locked out of both the phone number and the email attached to the account. I got the run around trying to provide a US passport to confirm my identity. It was good enough to enter China alone. The first call that ID was sufficient. They had said they sent an email to follow through with the process to two different emails I provided. The email never came most likely because neither had been tied to the account previously. I called back on Christmas eve and suddenly the passport wasn’t good enough. Neither was an expired driver’s license. The woman actually asked me why I hadn’t renewed my driver’s license. I told the truth. My ex girlfriend stole my car. That didn’t really help the situation. I sent a passport photo to unlock my facebook but they never followed through. I had an easier time unlocking my Fortnite account with it although that took a full week. I ended having to call the police on Christmas eve to explore filing a report for fraud and identity theft. The police officer on the phone pretty much gaslighted me at the end of the questioning. “Nothing criminal.” he stated plainly. I didn’t get mad. I didn’t even complain. I simply said Happy Holidays and hung up. Much like I’ve hung up on the last twenty years of my life at this point. Nobody seems to want to answer the video call. The opening introduction if they did would be something like “What exactly have you done with my life?” Maybe they’re afraid to confront the truth. The media, the government, and even the police seem to not want to believe evidence that contradicts their narrative. I guess you could throw up your hands and revolt. But the holidays have been peaceful and quiet enough to simply roll my eyes and move on. I’ve had years of failures to connect. COVID has taught me a lot of things. I heard the mantra in all the mandatory corporate webinars. This pandemic has brought to light structural problems we were never aware of before. Sexual harassment in the workplace. Check. Organizational corruption. Check. The fact everybody is full of bullshit and will just mute the mic and pretend it never happened. Check. People feel invincible behind a screen and think they know it all. Check. Now that we’re aware. What do we do? How do we move on with our life now that we have all this space? How do I even care about participating in a broken process when I have no debt and fiscal maturity? How can I go back to being the old me when I’ve been completely erased and conveniently forgot about? Why would I even bother?
Mostly I take the time with this process to make sure my identity is completely secure. Which is why it’s not really fun to be locked out of twenty years of your own information in the form of an email account and forgotten about for six months. But this is just the structural reality come to light. Much like the rest of America is waking up to the reality of what greed really does to people. That was my Christmas present this year aside from the coffee that never came and that Cyberpunk game that I don’t really have the time or the subpar computer setup to criticize. I’m guilty of tricking myself into thinking people care about me. I have statistical data from the last six months that proves otherwise. I also have financial data that points to whatever hustle I have been hustling during that time has paid off and will continue to. But I don’t really have an answer to anything. I’m in the worst kind of limbo. I don’t get the sense these days that I should even remotely worry until July. Which is kind of like saying fuck you to the world for the next six months. I spent the last six waking up from a nightmare. The only times I look back is to clean up the mess. And a Christmas Eve call to the police is kind of messy. But the result is more of the same for me. An extravagant “I told you so.” I’ve been telling myself for awhile now a lot of things. Some of them were kind of unbelievable. Now those very dreams are all I really take comfort in. The limbo I’m in is more pointed to the light at the end of the tunnel than the void. But I can’t say the same for everybody else. I work for myself for the time being. It looks really nice on paper. I can even pay myself if it fits into my organization’s financial outlook. But none of this matters when you or your struggles don’t even exist to people other than to mock or judge it. All the work we do to survive. All the work we do to create art and to be beautiful in the face of chaos. All of that is negated by a loud mouthed jerk who can bark you back into submission. A mob of dumb ass fraudsters that talk over and mute any opposition without any warrant or merit. The press follows this mentality pretty clearly. Everybody has a hot take and a theory. But nobody wants to sit down and listen to the culmination of lies spread about people and situations. Everyone is too emotionally interested in sharing their recipe for banana bread to an invisible audience. I guess I could be guilty of that too. Except that I share actual human emotion and care with a community of people who pay attention week to week. For a person like myself who has no real need to worry about money for the foreseeable future what’s the value of care and attention? A lot. I don’t feed myself with vapor or fake sentiments. I take it all at base level as real as it gets. You can’t build a future on speculation. You can technically if you are in the stock market. But risk is risk. And money is money. No one can be me at the end of the day. Sometimes I can’t even prove I’m myself. My mom reminded me I had to provide ten pieces of documentation to renew my passport ten years ago. The reasoning was simple. The government did not believe I existed. No bullshit. A decade later nothing really has changed. I’ve been to Shanghai by myself and eaten McDonald’s. I read all these Republicans talk about how you put your identity at risk just setting foot in that country.
And yet when does the rhetoric and brainwashing fall flat on it’s face? When you can’t pass economic stimulus to not only save your own people but the fragile stock market all this bullshit is built upon. I could keep telling you I told you so. Or I could save my own ass. And largely I did without really owing much to this country whatsoever except taxes in Q1. Taxes billionaires don’t have to pay because they offer us so much relevant employment and benefits that fit on their bottom line. The real truth is that America would rather not face the truth. It hasn’t for years. It’s built on this kind of thing. It always has been. And the world gets bigger and the excuses get worse. And so what does anyone expect a person like me to do after you openly admit that there’s nothing criminal going on here. How does that sound when you’ve been treated openly like a criminal in so many unsettling ways that you just don’t want to participate in society anymore? Not that anyone really asks me to participate. They’re too busy signaling or whispering secret messages. Is it suggestion or valid communication? I’m the one that has to shift through it all and detangle the mess from what is real and what is some sort of mass hallucination. An alternate reality hunger game that the rich have been playing for years without any punishment or oversight. When you get caught up in the crossfire they expect you to know the drill. Keep your mouth shut if you know what’s good for you. None of this is good for me. You could argue it made me the beast that I am. But I am the one who had to actively make that choice to adapt and survive. But I’m not like any normal person these days. I refuse to admit it anymore. They say the first step to recovery is admitting you have a problem. I have a problem. One that it seems I cannot fix. And if you isolate and quarantine yourself from an entire twenty years of nostalgia what is left? Where are the texts of merry xmas from yesteryear. Probably pinging my old work number. I can’t access my facebook. Maybe that’s for the best. I can’t shut down lines of credit until I renew my state ID. I could jump on a plane and visit Shanghai Disney quicker than I could prove I’m alive to the US government. And when does the constant gaslighting break down? When do we realize that people gaslight to cover up an elaborate lie that has gotten out of control. That we are not all in this together. Not by a longshot. That the problem of connectedness is right there in front of our faces. We’re exhausted propping up entire infrastructures that keep a bloated empire alive. Family fortunes built on opioids and war strewn out across the landscape in trusts and elaborate tax schemes. Oligarchs that have generational wealth that buy our politicians and scam people into debt and forced labor. This is America. This is the systemic problem the pandemic brought to light. This shit was built this way. And like any fort constructed with shaky foundations, good luck hiding from the storm in that shit. At least I can still access my Epic account. What am I going to do for the next six months? Complain about something I can’t fix because everybody wants to consider me part of the problem? I don’t know what to do anymore except move forward and lead by example. There’s enough quality people who follow to keep me warm with those thoughts through the holidays alone. I won’t be drunk on a zoom call. I’ll be in bed watching Wonder Woman or something. When everyone you worshipped comes out of this looking fake, tired and exhausted you’ll know where to find me. Unlocking more accounts tied to an identity that doesn’t exist anymore. Nothing criminal. Hopefully people will stop treating me like one eventually. <3 Tim
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So, yeah. Therapy later today. If we can call it therapy, it's outpatient something or the other, not with a therapist but with a nurse. But given that I can't afford real therapy, it is what it is.
The plan is to fill papers. I'm okay with that, I like doing them, and it sounds like there'll be more this time than just the beck depression one. I've filled that so many times I'm kind of getting bored of it by now. The thing is, I have an extremely pressing matter on my mind and that's what I'd like to talk about.
I didn't know I had a system - let's say a month ago. It's not that I didn't know about my Others, it's that I refused to think about that as anything out of the ordinary. I've masked this thing up as long as I can remember, I'm not sure when it morphed from not knowing any better to deliberately modifying my language to come across palatable to others while still referring to the people I share space with every now and then, and quite honestly I've just never given it that deep of a thought. We've had our order and the rules by which everyone comes out and behaves, with me at the front taking responsibility for the rest and covering our asses so that we look "normal" to the rest of society. I never stopped to question whether other people are the same as me, I just knew that if they were, it was something that should be kept inside and not talked about, unless it was in a context of creativity. Writers were particularly easy and comforting to associate with, after all, don't we all have muses? Is it weird if mine are commenting on what I'm doing, living rent free in my head at all times, and sometimes take over my life entirely? If they buy my clothes and I buy clothes for them, if some of them feel more real than I am?
We had this way of keeping quiet, only associating with each other and occasionally with these other writers, but never directly. All my life I've had them sitting here commenting on my doings, but I've never talked back to them, never really acknowledged them further than by making sure they're alright, they're safe, and giving up control when it won't get us hurt. I knew about them and they never complained, we got along, we got through the day.
All this time I've very, very firmly kept it away from mental health professionals. My mantra throughout my treatment, which started when I was a child, is that I've got this. I can tell what's real and what's not. The parts of me that don't fit the definition of reality - my delusions, my paranoia, and my invisible cohabitants - are things that we don't talk about unless necessary, because a rational person would call that insanity. And it was never necessary with my Others, not like it became necessary with my psychotic symptoms when I stopped sleeping and believed the world was about to end. My Others are well-behaved. We take care of each other. They help me survive and I keep them safe. We have our own thing going.
And since they've never been a problem, just people I live with and experience everything through, I never recognised that this is an issue, or, like I said, abnormal. Maybe everyone does that. After all, those other writers just laugh it off when I tell them what X is thinking right now, how I'm being judged for what I said inside my own brainspace. So it's just creativity, isn't it?
Until I met others who, well, have Others. "Have you considered maybe it's not just imaginary?" "You sound like me." and "That's DID."
It's been one fucking HELL of a month. It feels like everything just kind of fell apart and the more I questioned it the more it was all over the place and I was no longer in perfect control as I thought I'd been. I've realised so many things about myself recently that I don't know how to process and my head hurts. One of them is that I'm barely a person on my own. I'm a paper doll. 2D. All I am is self-hatred and regret. I'm a traumatized mess who's been so hellbent on making everything look normal that I killed my functioning with it. The second I talked to Them, the second We had the smallest fraction of mutual communication instead of the one-way street I'd upheld for years, it's like a dam broke open.
I don't have to do this alone. There's no POINT in trying to do it alone, because I am so little, such a small portion of the whole. I don't have the fucking energy to take care of everything. So now we share tasks. At first it felt strange, after all, is it not the same hands picking up the trash and cooking the food and carrying the groceries? What difference does it make if it's me or J or T?
Turns out, every bit of difference. They have separate spoons from mine. J's not afraid of germs and he loves cats, he has no problems taking care of the litter box every day whereas I couldn't reliably touch it on a weekly basis and always, always had to throw out the entire thing instead of scooping out the dirty litter. T loves the outdoors, loves going out, loves getting his blood flowing, and loves carrying the weight of grocery bags up a hill whereas I'd rather die than do it as often as it needs to be done. M is patient and kind and will remind us when we need to rest and recover, he'll remind us that it's time to take a painkiller, and schedule us time to do yoga.
Together, we've planned up a sleep routine and a list of tasks for everybody. I care for the body and our social life. M manages the household. J takes care of the cat litter and reads books, which is more important than it sounds. He helps with my appointments. T exercises, takes out the trash, vacuums, goes shopping.
In the midst of all of this, and I haven't even began to catch up or adapt to what my life has turned into, I just... feel so much better. I called my mother and she asked me what's the magic trick I've pulled to sound so happy and full of energy for the first time in a long time. I can't tell her. I jokingly referred to my alter ego and T told me to never call him that again. I don't know how to explain this to anybody. I don't have to do this alone anymore. I can just let them help me. I can let them do what they've been trying, in their own ways, to do this whole time.
I don't have to act like I'm not crazy when nobody's looking, or around my friends who support me and mine even if we come across that way.
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Rafael Barba Imagine (Extra 2)
“Rookie.” You groaned, sending a glare in Nick’s direction. He just smirked. “You know what, how about we settle this in a little one on one.” You were in one of the training rooms.
Liv thought it would be smart to brush up on your strengths since the annual physical was coming up. It was stressed that all officers were fit to perform adequately in the field. You had just finished a sparring session with Amanda, who proved to be a formidable opponent. Liv was even more of a challenge.
After about ten minutes with her you were fighting to hold your ground. When fifteen minutes passed you called it quits, declaring Liv the champion. She patted you, helping you to your feet after a not so graceful fall. Now you were challenging the guys. If you couldn’t earn respect through rank, you would do it through a little brute strength.
“I don’t want to hurt you (Y/N).” Carisi and Fin laughed at Nick’s statement.
“Maybe you’re just afraid to get your butt kicked. “ you taunted. You knew Nick, he’d never back down. Too much testosterone rolling around in his brain. “Alright then.” he shrugged off his hoodie, nothing but a white fitted vest underneath. He circled around with his fists raised and you did the same, sizing him up. Everyone else stepped back, giving you the space you needed to spar.
He was the first to make a move charging with a punch. You countered, sidestepping and spinning around, nudging him on the back roughly. He stumbled, catching himself at the last minute. Amanda giggled. “Seems she’s got you riled up Nicky.” He chuckled.
“Very funny Rollins. “ His eyes focused back on you. “Nice counter.” you didn’t pay mind to the compliment. He was just trying to throw you off your game. You’d been so immersed you didn’t see someone else walk into the room.
“Eyes up, mind focused.” Liv encouraged. You smiled. She always said then when you fought with her. It was a chant of sorts. Even on the job. You lost count of how many times that mental mantra got you out of sticky situations. You needed an effective way to take him down, but he was bigger and knowing Nick he’d brace himself, if for nothing more than his ego.
You grinned internally, an idea springing to mind. You moved in, faking a punch to his face, he blocked his jaw as anticipated, so you took the opportunity to strike him in the stomach. Twisting on your feet and planting a swift kick to his abdomen.
He staggered back in surprise, just about ready to fall. You turned again, this time dropping low and kicking his feet right from under him. He fell flat on his back, grunting on impact. Fin and Carisi were laughing loudly, they had been recording the entire thing.
Liv folded her arms, smiling at you and Amanda sent a thumbs up. It took you a while to realize that they weren’t the only ones there. Your cheeks colored instantly when you saw the suited attorney. His case was hanging from his hand, eyes glued to you. The way he was admiring you made your stomach do flips.
“Smile pretty boy.” Fin sang.
You wiped the sweat from your brow, moving over to him with a hand outstretched. He grinned, still a bit winded from the fall. He took your hand, when you tried to pull him up, he pulled you down into a bear hug.
“S-Stop!” you said between laughs when he wrapped his hand around your body tickling you. “That’ll teach you, no one kicks my butt.” he said playfully.
“O-Okay N-Nick stop I’ve had enough!!” you screamed through your wild fit of giggles. You had a feeling they got that on tape too.
“I believe she said that was enough.” Barba’s stern voice broke the sounds of laughter and Nick released you.
“Alright Counselor, we’re just having fun. No crime in that.” Nick spoke. When you caught your breath, you looked at Barba, really looked at him. He was almost leering at Nick. Your brows knitted in confusion. His green eyes focused back on you in something keen of possessiveness. Your heart leapt at the intensity of his stare.
He couldn’t have been...jealous? That was crazy. Everyone who worked in NYPD knew you and Nick were close, in the sibling sort of way. Nick was like your older brother, nothing more. You cleared your throat, trying to ease the now strained atmosphere.
“I-I’m going to hit the showers.” you muttered, rushing passed everyone. You didn’t even look at Barba, you were afraid he would see what his eyes did to you. When you left, Amanda and Liv exchanged a look, somehow putting the pieces together. They smiled at each other, both reaching a sort of realization.
~~~
“How the hell does this stuff pile up so quickly.” you stared at the documents, wishing that if you looked at them long enough they would disappear. Nick turned his chair in your direction with an understanding look. “Tell me about it.” He had a pile equally as high as yours. You snickered, pulling open your desk to get another pen.
Your eyes widened and you jumped out of your seat. Nick rushed to your side furiously. You clung unto him. “What is it!” he looked panicked. When he saw what you were so terrified of he blanked. “Are you serious, an insect.” he huffed out a laugh. You cringed.
“J-Just get it out!” you whined. He took up a napkin from your desk, grabbing the spider into the paper. He crumpled it up, tossing it into the trash. “Better?” he asked, amused. You nodded, a bit embarrassed that he was now aware of your fear of bugs. The both of you were oblivious to a pair of eyes that was practically glaring in your direction.
After the little inconvenience you went back to signing off documents. Amanda was smiling behind her paper, and Olivia walked passed, giving her a low five behind her back.
~~~
“Damn it why do they put the coffee so high up!” you were standing on your toes, yet you still couldn’t reach it. Some idiot decided to place it on the top shelf. “Need a hand?” someone called. Nick walked up behind you, plucking the glass bottle from it’s spot easily. You grinned. “Thanks Nick.” you turned, going to take it out of his hands.
He just raised it over your head. “Nu uh, maybe you should work on getting taller rookie.” he teased. You were still pressed to the counter, leaning on Nick’s chest to get the bottle. “Nick, do you really want me to floor you in the middle of this precinct.” He didn't take your threat seriously, still holding the coffee away from you.
“I hope I’m not interrupting anything.” A voice hissed. There was so much venom in those words and you leaned to the side, catching Barba standing in the doorway of the kitchen. Nick turned with a raised eyebrow, lost.
“Something you need counselor?” The tension that rose made you uncomfortable. Amanda was peaking from her seat, watching the scene unravel.
“No, just waiting for you both to stop flirting and do your jobs.” That made you angry. Nick stepped back with a laugh. “We weren’t flirting.” he didn’t sound embarrassed either, because you and Nick both knew what type of relationship you held. It was completely platonic, and it hurt you to think that Barba didn’t trust you to be alone with a guy. Especially Nick.
You didn’t even want coffee anymore. You stormed off, sending a pissed look at Barba.
~~
“Hey, you okay, you’ve been sulking since this morning.” Nick asked. He really was a darling, if only Barba could be so understanding. “I’m fine, I just had a bit of a spat with a guy.” you didn’t collaborate on which guy it was. Your relationship was still very much a secret. Luckily Nick didn’t push. “Well if he needs a stern talking to just let me know, then again I know you could handle yourself. “ you smiled.
“Thanks Nick.” He returned your smile as he started packing his things to turn in for the day. “See you tomorrow, I hope you work out your guy troubles.” you sighed. “Me too.” you replied as he walked off with a wave.
Your eyes moved back to the fairly smaller pile of paperwork on your desk. Even if you tried you wouldn’t be able to focus. Your phone vibrated on the desk. You looked over, your previous anger returning at the sender of the text.
“We need to talk.” it read. He had some nerve. When you got a hold of him you were going to give him an earful.
“Your place?” you texted back.
“Yes.” Was his only response. You didn’t answer after that, just shoved the phone into your coat pocket. Since clearly no work was going to be done now, you stacked the papers into a pile, leaving them for a later date. Grabbing your coat from the back of the chair you stood pulling it onto your body as you made your way out of the building. You were working up what you were going to say to Barba as you stepped into the elevator.
~~
Standing outside his apartment you knocked twice. He was at the door in ample time, opening it. You stepped in silently, and he closed the door, following you inside. He still had his suit on, and you noticed a glass with what you assumed was scotch on his table.
“So, care to tell me what that was about with you and Nick.” you scoffed. You couldn’t believe he was interrogating you.
“Are you really questioning me, am I a suspect in some crime sir.” you bit back. His lips were in a straight line, eyes flaring. “I think I’m allowed to be angry with the way you and Nick act around each other. I respected your need to keep us private, but touching him like that. If you’re tired of me just say so!” he was yelling now.
“Are you kidding! I only said we should stay private because I thought that’s what you wanted. Besides, Nick and I are friends, we don’t see each other that way!” you were fuming.
“Right, with what I saw in the training room and then today in the kitchen. If I didn’t know any better I’d say the both of you were sleeping together. “ His accusation made you stop short.
“Do you...really believe that?” That stung. Did he really think you were some cheap girl that sleeps with every guy in the precinct. Barba must have sensed how much his words hurt you, because a look of regret crossed his face. He looked down. “I-I didn’t mean that I just, I feel threatened, and I can’t tell you how much I want to hug you or kiss you and claim you as my own in front of everyone. Nick gets to touch you so freely and it irks me that you encourage it.”
Your eyes stayed glued to the ground for a while. “The reason I’m so fond of Nick is because I...h-he reminds me of someone I lost.” your throat tightened, unsure if you could continue talking.
Barba was struck with a sudden realization. He remembered what he said about you having a hard past, maybe this was linked to that. “M-My little brother h-he..I lost him when I was younger. Even though he was the younger one he always looked after me, he was practically the adult in my life. Nick he just..sometimes I swear I can see him in Nick. I told him that too and he just..he just smiled at me and told me if I was ever in need of someone, to call on him. He’d be the little brother I lost. “ tears streamed down your cheeks. It felt nice to finally tell someone.
“I had no idea..” you shook your head and Barba pulled you into his arms.
“I shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions. I know you’re not that type of person. I guess I just let my pride get the best of me.”
“Yeah you did.” you giggled, wiping at your eyes. Barba chuckled, running his hands down your back soothingly. You leaned back a little to look at Barba, without a word you leaned in, pressing your lips to his. He returned it, hand running up your back and into your hair. Your hands lifted, pushing the suit jacket off his shoulders. It fell at his feet and you started to back him up unto the couch. He fell back a bit surprised. You stood there, undoing the buttons of your blouse.
Barba took your hands to stop you. “(Y/N), you don’t have to..” you bit your lip. It felt like so long since you touched Barba, which in fact had only been a few hours. You needed this.
“W-We don’t have to do anything, I-I just..I really need to feel you right now..” you pleaded. How could he say no to that. When you got through all the buttons you shed the article of clothing. Standing in your bra and suit pants. You lowered unto the couch, knees on either side of his waist. You dainty fingers moved to his shoulder again, pushing the red suspenders off. When they were down, your attention shifted to his shirt. Barba didn’t say a word, just watched as you undressed him.
Finally free of the buttons, your hands slipped under, sighing at the warmth that emitted from his skin. He let out a pleased sound, hands skimming over your shoulder. You dove forward, kissing him passionately. Barba matched you, maybe craving this as much as you were. The skin on skin contact made it that more delicious. Your body rocked into him, hand grabbing at his short dark hair. Barba welcomed every movement, every kiss with just as much urgency. Who knew this was how the night would end.
~~~
When you walked into the precinct the next day, to say you were walking on air was an understatement. You and Barba didn’t even sleep together. After your very heated kiss, you just held each other until the morning. It was exactly what you needed.
“What’s got you all smiley?” Amanda pressed. She was spinning from side to side in her chair. You tried your best to wipe the swooning look off your face. Amanda was way to perceptive.
“Nothing.” you evaded. Nick was sitting there all smug. He was the only one who knew for certain you had a boyfriend. Your eyes shifted when Barba walked in not long after.
He had a similar look on his face. One of pure euphoria. Olivia stepped out of her office with her glasses on, briefing you on the new case. You tore your eyes away from Barba, trying to focus on the case. You were startled when Barba marched over in your direction.
As he got close you started to visibly panic. “C-Counselor is there something we can he-” his hand reached out, slipping a hand into your hair and pulling you forward. A squeak left you at the sudden move as Barba kissed you right there, in the middle of the precinct. It took you awhile, but you responded. Arms wrapping around his neck as you melted into him. A couple of whistles and a few cheers were heard in the background. Amanda and Liv high fived.
“I knew it!” you pulled back, gathering your thoughts. You turned at Amanda’s words.
“Y-You knew?”
“Well, I had a hunch. I’ve been trying all week to get Barba to come clean.”
“All week..” wait. “Y-You were the one that put the spider in my desk, and the coffee, I knew it usually wasn’t placed that high!” you accused. She smirked. This whole time she was trying to make Barba jealous. Barba laughed too.
“Well at least now they know who you belong to.” he growled into your ear.”
You swallowed. He finally released you, sending you a wink as he headed to his office. You just stood there flustered. You couldn’t believe that just happened.
Nick walked over nudging you. “I guess you worked out your guy problems.” you sighed, laughing under your breath.
“I guess I did.”
#rafaelbarba#reader insert#Law and Order: Special Victims Unit#barbaxreader#hotbarba#raul esparza#nick amaro#rollins#carisi#fin#OliviaBenson#rookiereader#nypd#jealousbarba#fiercereader
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When the Sun Begins to Fall Chapter Five: Dear Gilbert
Read the full story here:
https://archiveofourown.org/works/21255530/chapters/50608787
Chapter 5: Dear Gilbert
May 12th, 1901
Dear Gilbert,
The Notre Dame is quite possibly more ravishing than even I could have ever imagined and I am ever so thankful that you decided to share it with me.
Your letters have been most wonderful but I do find myself envious of your and Winifred’s time in the city of love, finding myself longing for an adventure all my own. Perhaps someday, I too will be able to journey to Paris. But I find that to be unlikely.
Have you seen Diana since your arrival? She sent post that she was going to attempt to make her way to see you at her earliest convenience. She exclaimed she would love to take the two of you about the city with your final stop being the Louvre. If you decide to go, you simply must share your experience with me in your next letter. It is said to hold some of the most romantical pieces of art in all the world.
I certainly hope you are sleeping and eating properly, Gil. You have created quite the most horrible habit of over burdening yourself. Make sure you are taking time to take care of yourself but also taking moments to enjoy the beauty that is surrounding you throughout the streets of Paris.
As for the going ons in our neck of the world, there is sadly very little for me to report. The orchards have begun to sprout lovely blooms as they do every late spring. Bash has done a brilliant job of replanting Mary’s garden fully, filling it with bright flowers and delicious vegetables. Dellie has become a master mud pie maker (they definitely look better than they taste). OH! She has also begun to create the most marvelous flower crowns, I even wore one to class the other morning and received the most cordial compliments. She is truly a kindred spirit, Gil. Hopefully you will be home before the blooms fade so she can make one for you.
Oh Gil, I find myself missing your company horribly. No one can make conversation as lovely as you. No one challenges me or allows me to share my ideas freely. It’s been ever so lonely. I wish you would return home… I wish you weren’t marrying someone else and that instead, you could love me. But perhaps the biggest wish I have is that I could provide you with all of the happiness that Winifred brings you because Gilbert Blythe, I am most thoroughly in love with you. There. I said it. I, Anne Shirley-Cuthbert, am in love with you. I have been for as long as I can remember. Not a day goes by that I regret not telling you to stay. Not a day goes by that I wish I would have taken your face in my hands and...
Anne stopped writing as tears flooded the paper. “Oh Gil…” she whispered, longing for the man she knew she could never have. Why couldn’t she have been born into a family of rich businessman, into a family with connections and renown. Then, perhaps, she wouldn’t have had to leave him when he told her he wanted to stay.
Wiping her nose, she pulled out a new piece of paper and started the letter over, word for word, carefully trying to avoid soaking the page once more. Once she arrived to the final paragraph, she stopped, tears welling once more. She couldn’t say those words to him. Never. She had made her choice.
A knock came at the door. “Anne? Are you ready to go?” Roy’s sultry voice called through the closed door. Anne quickly wiped her eyes and nose once more.
“Almost,” she choked out, scolding herself for potentially letting on that she was an emotional wreck. She cleared her throat and adjusted how she was sitting in hopes to raise her confidence. “You go on ahead, I will join you all shortly.”
Roy shifted uncomfortably outside the door. “Are you sure? I don’t mind waiting.”
“I’ll only be a few more moments, I am finishing a letter to....” Her voice caught as a tear fell down her cheek once more. Anne silently prayed he wouldn’t hear it her voice shaking and ask her what was wrong. She wasn’t sure she could bear to answer him.
After a moment, Roy shifted once again, this time preparing to step away to give his fiancée the space she seemed to desire. “Well, don’t take too long, we have a boat to catch if we want to make it to Cole’s exhibit on time.” Anne heard retreating footsteps echo throughout Aunt Josephine’s mansion.
She sighed as she turned back to the letter, unsure of how to end it without making an utter fool of herself. Suddenly, a devilish thought came to her. The pen began floating across the page, words flowing from her that she never expected to write.
Oh, Gil, also I have some exciting news of my own. I was going to wait to inform you of this when you returned home but I simply cannot contain my excitement. I have met someone! His name is Royal Gardner (isn’t his name most devine). He is everything I had ever imagined my destiny to be. Tall, dark, handsome, incredibly smart, and the most marvelous of dancers. When we first laid eyes on each other, it was just as the novels had described: love at first sight. I am thrilled for the two of you to meet, I am sure you will get along swimmingly.
Take care of yourself Gil, and give Winnie my best.
Your Kindred Spirit,
Anne
———-
“Breathe in,” Anne obliged, breathing deeply as Doctor Charles Ward pressed his stethoscope firmly against her under clothes. Marilla stood perched in the far corner, eyes searching for any indication of how her girl was feeling. Gilbert, however, found himself feeling incredibly uncomfortable.
A gentle burn crept upon his cheeks as he stared at Anne’s flushed face, his eyes fighting to glance down to her bare skin. Winifred, you are engaged to Winifred. Anne is just your patient and your friend. He had repeated the mantra to himself at least thirty times. Alas, the words did not appear to be sinking in. Because every time she would suck in a deep breathe, his eyes would stray to a particular freckle that lay just below her collar bone. Had that freckle always been there?
Just as his straying eyes were about to search her for more unique markings, Anne focused her sight on him. He met her deep blue orbs, taking notice of how weary they were. Despite saying she had a full night of rest, the black under her eyes gave her away.
“Mr. Blythe,” Doctor Ward motioned for his assistant to join him. “Come here for a moment.” Gilbert felt his breathing catch.
“Uh sir, I, uh, had a listen to her, uh, lungs yesterday…” The words came sputtering out before he could stop them. The doctor glared up at Gilbert, which sent a chill slide down his spine. He may look like a man who had little to fear in this world, but the man who he had been apprenticing under for over four years had a way to wilt his soul. Mustering confidence, he regained his composure and pulled his stethoscope from around his neck. “Yes sir.”
Gilbert felt Marilla’s eyes bare into him with each step he took towards Anne, as if she could sense the conflict within his mind. Anne smiled gingerly as he took one final step to her side. Doctor Ward beckoned Gilbert’s ear and whispered, “Yesterday, you said that only her left lung was rattling, correct?” He nodded in response. Doctor Ward’s face contorted, his eyebrows scrunching together as he turned back towards Anne.
“Now Miss Shirley, I am going to have Gilbert listen to your lungs now. I need you to take a large breath and let it out over the course of ten seconds, do you believe you can do that?” Anne nodded, eyes slowly closing as if she were dozing off. “Good, now Gilbert, place your stethoscope here.” Before Gilbert could stop him, Doctor Ward grabbed the diaphragm of his stethoscope and placing it against Anne’s right lung.
As Anne was breathing in, annoyance crept into Gilbert’s soul. How could he be using Anne as a teaching moment. It felt wrong. Just as he was about to pull away, he heard the sound that had made him so fearful the previous day. Only this time, it was in both of her lungs. He didn’t want to continue to listen, for he shuddered at the thought of what the sounds meant.
Suddenly, Anne sprung into another round of wheezing coughs as she clenched her chest. “Anne, I need you to remain calm,” Doctor Ward helped her remain upright as Gilbert stood motionless, continuing to listen in horror. Soon Anne began to panic, fighting to catch her breath. “Gilbert, tell her to remain calm, she had to try and stabilize the cough.” But he couldn’t form words, all his thoughts focused on what he was listening to. Anne’s lungs were rattling like one of Dellie’s old baby rattles. Marilla sprang from the corner, closing the gap between her and the bed with a sprint.
“What’s wrong?” Marilla grabbed Anne’s free hand. Anne’s eyes desperately searched for Gilberts, desiring comfort and safety. When she finally found them, he could only see one thing: fear.
Gilbert ripped the listening device from his ears, throwing it on the floor as he tried to think of what to do. He kept his eyes locked with Anne as tears began rolling down her cheeks. In all the time the pair had known one another, he had only ever seen her afraid once, and at that time he had been able to save her. This time, fear was beginning to consume him as well. Through the fear, however, an idea came to him.
“Move,” he demanded, shoving his mentor to the side. Anne’s hand flew from her chest, frantically reaching for Gilbert as he positioned himself behind her, balling his hand into a fist. He brought his fist to the center of her back with one forcefully whack.
A ball of pus flew forward, narrowly missing the doctor before landing on the floor. Instantly, Gilbert heard Anne breathe deeply, pulling as much air into her lungs that she could manage.
“Thank...you…” she whispered through heavy panting, reaching for his hand. Gilbert took her hand within his own, trying to not shy away at the burning of her skin.
“Not a problem Anne-girl,” he responded, giving her hand a brief squeeze. He began to move from behind her when she tugged his hand, almost begging him to stay.
“Gil,” Anne whispered, throat sore from the fit she just had. “Am I going to die?”
Marilla frightened eyes shot to Gilbert as he looked between hers and Doctor Wards anxious ones. Words caught in his throat, realizing that he wasn’t sure how to answer his friend. Could he tell her that he wasn’t sure? Would that bring her any comfort or would it just instill more fear than she was already feeling?
He desperately wished that Doctor Ward would respond to her, give her all the answers she desired, but Anne had addressed him. She wanted the answer from the man she trusted perhaps more than anyone in this world. Because, despite how scared he was, she was petrified. And he knew that he would do whatever it took to protect her.
Sliding from behind her, hands remaining clasped with one another, he took a seat facing her on her bed. “You’re going to be just fine…”
“Mr. Blythe,” Doctor Ward’s voice was harsh, frustration leaking through.
Gilbert glared over his shoulder, demanding the man to silence himself, before turning back to his dearest friend sitting before him. “You’re going to be just fine, Anne.” Calm washed over him as the corner of her lips raised ever so slightly, her eyes drooping. He placed a hand behind her, guiding her into the pillows Marilla arranged ever so carefully behind her. “I promise.” He whispered as he pulled the covers over her shivering body.
“Gilbert.” Doctor ward scolded as Gilbert’s eyes shot to his. Coldly, his voice just above a whisper. “Hallway. Now.”
Without waiting for a response, he stormed out the door. Marilla and Gilbert exchanged glances. “Well, this should be fun,” he mumbled, giving a sarcastic eye roll for good measure.
Marilla, who was attempting to remain stern but worry was consuming her, threw her head back towards the door. “You get out there,” she muttered as she sat on Anne’s bed, not releasing her hand for a single moment, eyes not leaving the resting woman before them. He hesitated, not wanting to leave the room, but he knew that as usual, Marilla was correct.
“I’ll only be a moment,” he muttered before making his way into the hall, ready to receive his scolding.
-------
“What was that?” Charles Ward bellowed as Gilbert gently shut the door behind him. He held a hand out, signalling for his mentor to lower his voice. He passed him, leading him past Matthew’s former bedroom, stopping at the top of the steps.
“What was what?” Gilbert asked, playing dumb.
“You know bloody well what,” The Doctor hissed, trying to keep his voice low. “You cannot promise a patient…”
“She’s my friend,” Gilbert shouted abruptly, fingers beginning to tingle as they did every time he felt frustration boiling within. He balled them, trying to focus his anger anywhere besides his voice. After a deep breath, he leveled his voice as he continued. “I simply had the desire to reassure her that everything was going to be alright.”
“Reassure her?” His mentor let out a dry chuckle. “I have always admired your ability to care for your patients but I fear your judgement is being clouded by this woman.”
Gilbert clenched his jaw, fighting the scream he felt forming in his throat. “My judgement is perfectly fine.”
“Really now,” Charles crossed his arms, speaking to Gilbert as if he were scolding a young boy rather than a man. “ What was her blood pressure last night?” Gilbert looked down, realizing he didn’t know the answer. “What about her pulse? Respirations? Temperature?”
“It was late, she was exhausted…” he mumbled.
“Exactly my point, you are treating this girl as your friend. You”re allowing your personal relationship with this woman to prevent you from seeing what is truly happening!”
Gilbert turned to face Anne’s door once more. “Anne is going to be fine.”
“Gilbert, you cannot be that blind.” Charles response was frigid. “You are not the same boy who asked for my help so many years ago.” Gilbert opened his mouth to interrupt but Charles cut him off, wagging his finger in front of his apprentices face.
“Now you listen to me, son, and you listen good. I have been doing this for a long time. I delivered your father, for Lord's sake.” At the mention of his father, Gilbert’s anger began to simmer once more, readying itself to overflow. “And I am telling you, I have never heard someone’s lungs as horrible as hers.” He threw his thumb in the direction of Anne’s door. “And by you sugar coating her diagnosis, you have done her a great disservice by not preparing her for what’s to come.”
Shock overtook rage and Gilbert found himself unclenching his jaw, trying to process what he had just been told. “Wait, wait, wait,” he sputtered, shaking his head. “Doc, you’re sounding like you’re prepping her death certificate.” He fought to meet his mentors eyes, looking for any indication that he wasn’t being serious, that Gilbert was right in thinking this was just a slight case of pneumonia. But Doctors Ward’s refusal to directly meet his gaze caused his stomach to plummet into the floor. “No.” He felt his knees slack, the room began to spin around him. Frantically, he reached for the nearest wall, feeling the need to stabilize himself before he fell down the stairs.
Charles reached out, grasping Gilbert’s arms tightly in his hands, pulled him away from the edge of the stairs. “Gilbert, breathe. Breathe.” Doctor Ward began breathing in through his nose deeply, urging Gilbert to mimic him. He was unsure of when he had begun to hyperventilate but he forced his breathing to slow, matching his breathing to the man he had just been quarreling with. “Good. Good job.”
He straightened, vision ever so slightly blurred, his knees still shaking but he felt better than he had just moments before. Doctor Wards hand remained on his arm, shooting glances of remorse to his young apprentice. “I am terribly sorry son.”
“For what?” Gilbert questioned, genuine confusion filling his voice. Charles mouth sat agape, wondering if the young man before him had truly become delirious or was simply in shock.
“For the girl, of course.” He spoke each word slowly, articulating each word as if Gilbert was dim.
Gilbert clenched his jaw. “Anne. Her name is Anne. And she is going to be fine.” He yanked his shoulder from the Doctors hand, anger was beginning to find its way back into his soul.
Doctor Ward held up his hands defensively, once again speaking slowly. “Gilbert, son…”
“Stop calling me son.” His voice boomed, Doctor Ward stepping back when his eyes peered down to Gilbert’s slowly forming fists. Gilbert had no idea where this anger was coming from, normally he was able to work through his emotions without it affecting anyone. And he had never minded Doctor Ward calling him son, the man has given him incredible opportunities and taught him many valuable lessons over the years. However, at the moment, it was insulting. He was treating Gilbert as if he didn’t understand the gravity of the situation. As if he didn’t just hear that Doctor Ward, the man who was supposed to try and save people, was signing Anne’s death certificate as she lay in the next room. This anger was different, this was pure, uncontrollable rage. “You are writing her off after seeing her for all of five minutes. I have known her for six years! So do not speak to me as if I am allowing my judgment to be clouded when you are signing a death warrant without even trying to save her!”
“Gentlemen!” A voice shrieked from the top of the steps. Both mens eyes shot to Winifred, both unaware of how long she had been observing them. She glided towards them, carrying an air of elegance but also an aura that would strike fear into the burliest brutes. “Now, gentlemen, I hate to interrupt this *discussion but,” she slid her hand down Gilbert's arm, wrapping his fist in her hands. “I do believe that if you so chose to continue, you should do it elsewhere.” Gently, she glanced over her shoulder, pulling Gilbert’s attention towards Anne’s door once more, only this time, he found it open. And within that opening stood a mortified Marilla, who looked as if she could faint at any moment.
Rage melted away as remorse quickly took its place. He tenderly stepped towards Marilla, letting his hand slip from Winnie’s. “Marilla, I…”
“She...she’s asking for you,” Marilla managed to whisper as a tiny sob escaped her lips. Winnie pushed past Gilbert and took the older woman in her arms. Tears soaked her sleeves as she began to lead Marilla towards the steps.
Winnie peered over to Gilbert remorsefully. “I’ll make some tea, give you two some time.” Without another glance, she guided the sobbing woman down the stairs, leaving Gilbert alone with his mentor once more.
Charles rested a timid hand on Gilbert’s shoulder, giving it a light squeeze. “Would you like me to go with you?” Gilbert’s eyes remained focused on the door at the end of the hall as a series of coughs began sounding off. Despite the fight the pair had just had, he wished that Charles could come in with him, remembering that years ago, he left him to deliver the news to Mary that she was in fact dying and how difficult it had been. Gilbert had been furious with him for quite some time after that, so far as questioning his career choices, when it was Anne who reminded him why he wanted to become a doctor in the first place. It was Anne who reminded him that caring too much was always was the right thing to do. He owed this to her, to do anything in his power to help her fight this disease.
“No, thank you sir. I will be okay.” He glanced over his shoulder, meeting Doctor Wards eyes. Slowly, he stepped down the hallway, stopping a few steps away from Anne’s door before turning back to see Charles still staring at him. “And sir, I apologize for my outburst.”
“It’s quite alright Gilbert, the news can be hard to handle.” Doctor Ward smiled softly. He had attempted the smile for comfort, but Gilbert felt the rage trying to make a reappearance. “I’ll explain to Miss Cuthbert, start having her make necessary arrangements for Anne.” Gilbert nodded, turning around before he would start shouting again. Instead, he escaped into his thoughts.
*You’re wrong this time Doc. She’s going to be just fine. You have never seen a more powerful force than Anne Shirley-Cuthbert.
-------
“Knock knock,” he exclaimed audibly as he slid through the open door. Anne was still propped up against the stack of pillows, her eyes still fighting to remain open. Gilbert made his way over to the bed, sitting in the chair beside her bed. He had a feeling he would be sitting there quite often over the next couple of days. “Hey Carrots.” Anne’s eyes widened quickly, suddenly alert.
“Honestly Gil, do you think now is the best time for that?” Her voice was hoarse but he could hear the laughter that so often came when he used her despised nickname.
Gilbert leaned forward, leaning against her bed. “Well, I don’t see any slates around, so I suppose this is as good a time as any.” Through her exhaustion, Anne fought off a smile but it was to no avail. Her ocean eyes sparkled with glee as a small chuckle escaped her lips before it was joined by a chesty cough. He leaned forward, ready to sit her up if necessary.
She gave out two more coughs before she spoke. “You know, every time I cough, I can feel that crackling you mentioned.” She rubbed the side of her ribs, as if she could massage away the internal pain. His throat constricted and his cheeks began to burn. Anne turned to him, smiling weakly as she inched her fingers towards his, stopping just close enough their fingertips were touching. “Oh Gil, I’m alright. Calm yourself.”
He knew he wouldn’t calm down, not until she was out of this room. Not until he saw her walking through the forest, greeting each tree good morning and building crowns from the most beautiful blooms. Not until she was teaching young minds that the world is indeed larger than this small minded town they had been raised in. He wouldn’t be calm until he saw Anne, his dearest friend, be her remarkable self once again.
Gilbert’s eyes wandered to their fingertips, wickedly wishing he could take her hand within his own and hold it for the rest of his days. He longed to feel the comforting warmth of her skin against his own, the feeling only she had ever provided.
But then his mind drifted to just below them, thinking of his fiance pouring tea for the distraught Marilla Cuthbert, doing her best to care for people she hardly knew. His thoughts proceeded to drift to Royal Gardner, the man who held Anne’s heart and hand, and would for the rest of their days. Anne and him, they were nothing more than childhood friends who had followed different paths. As much as it pained him, he knew that allowing himself to crave her touch was disgraceful.
Anne’s mind must have been processing similar thoughts simultaneously, because the same instant Gilbert went to sit back, she pulled her hand away and rested it against her chest. Her eyes, however, didn’t leave his as tears began to pool on her lower lids. “Sorry, I just..” she whispered. “I’m so terribly frightened Gil.”
Gilbert felt his own eyes moisten, wishing he knew how to comfort her properly. He would give anything to be the one in her place, fighting as his lungs were slowly filling with pus and fluid. A single tear escaped her lid, leaving a stained trail as it slid down her cheek. To hell with proper. His hand shot towards her, pulling it from her chest and intertwined it with his own.
Electricity shot down his spine, but he fought the feeling. His friend was afraid and he planned to do everything in his power to comfort her and help her heal. No matter what it took. Anne took her free hand, reaching up to his face and wiping a stray tear he hadn’t realized was falling. “Gil,” she whispered, her voice catching. “Be frank with me.” He swallowed, squeezing her hand lightly, already knowing the question she was going to ask. “Am I…”
“Get back here!” A voice screamed from just below Anne’s bedroom window. The pair exchanged glances, unsure of what demon had just been unleashed within the gates of Green Gables. “You’re destroying your dress! This is not how a lady behaves!” Instantly, their faces shifted into amused smiles, all anxieties and woes melting away. The screaming voice could only belong to one woman: Eliza Barry.
The kitchen door slammed below them, soon being followed by the sound of someone sprinting up the stairs. “What on earth..” Gilbert overheard Marilla cry from below as the door slammed for a second time. “Eliza?”
“Oh Marilla, my deepest apologies, I informed her about…”
The conversation was interrupted by heavy foot falls running down the hallway. Gilbert and Anne pulled their hands apart, him bringing it instinctively up to his curls. He peered at Anne from the corner of his eye to find her beaming when the door slammed open.
Gilbert was unsure he had ever seen Diana Barry look so frazzled in all his life. Her bun had loosened, allowing strands of hair to fall wildly around her face, an assortment of leaves and twigs sticking out every which way. And her dress, which he was sure cost more than what he made in a year, was now covered in brown sludge and had begun to fray at the bottom. He tried his best to stifle a laugh as she breathed heavily, eyes searching for Anne. For the first time since his arrival, Anne grinned ear to ear, appearing as if the presence of her bosom friend had cured her of all ails.
“My dearest Diana,” Anne called from the bed, trying her best to hold in a cough.
“Oh Anne,” Diana’s eyes filled with tears, a smile dancing on her lips. “My mother just informed me that you had taken ill and wouldn’t be able to make it today. I simply knew I had to come see you…” Diana began to step closer to Anne, when Gilbert stood blocking her from stepping any closer. “Gilbert Blythe, what is the meaning of this?”
“Well hello to you too, Diana,” he smiled, clearly bemused as his old friend tried to dance around him. “Diana, stop. Anne is very sick, highly contagious. You need to keep your distance.”
“Oh, so only you can be near her?” She asked clearly annoyed, Gilbert felt a blush creeping on his cheeks. “Now, Doctor Blythe, I have been half way around the world for the last two and a half years and if you do not move out of my way this instant, I will be forced to push past you, which would be most rude of me.”
Gilbert weighed his options. If he wanted to follow procedure, he would have Diana remain a safe distance away. It was his job to ensure the safety of those around him and not to spread disease. However, he had determined when he entered medical school that he would always put his patients' needs first. Which, at the moment, meant allowing his patients dearest friend through to hug her.
With mock frustration, Gilbert stepped aside, allowing Diana to pass. Within a second, Diana threw herself across Anne’s lap, wrapping her arms tight around Anne’s torso. Tears began to stain Anne’s nightgown, Diana’s euphoric sobbing muffled within the cloth.
“I have sorely missed you, my dearest bosom friend,” Anne whispered, weakly pulling her arms around Diana as tight as she could. Gilbert watched the pair, unable to fight the smile he had been trying to suppress.
When the girls finally separated, Diana grabbed hold of her friends face, her smile falling instantly. She lifted the back of her hand to Anne’s forehead, recoiling at the heat emitting from her friends skin. “My Lord, Anne, you are burning up!” Her focus shifted to Gilbert, hundreds of questions swimming through her mind.
“I am so happy you are here Di,” Anne coughed into the crook of her arm. “I don’t know if I could bear the thought of not seeing you again…” Before she could finish, she coughed twice more, each one sounding worse than the other. Her lungs were forcing fluid up again.
Her panicked eyes found Gilberts, who in turn ran towards her bed, helping her sit up fully to hopefully prevent her from choking once more. Anne’s breath started to catch once again. Her panic setting in as she latched onto his arm, digging her nails into his skin.
“What’s happening,” Diana panicked, too terrified to move. Gilbert positioned his fist in the center of Anne’s back, fighting the pain he was feeling in his forearm from her nails.
“Alright Anne, I need you to try and cough on the count of three. Just as we did before, remember?” Anne wheezed, nodding in understanding.
“Gilbert, what is happening?!” Diana shrieked.
He ignored her, trying to maintain his calm as best he could. “Alright, one, two…” he lifted his fist high in the air as Diana’s face became void of color. “Three!” As his fist made contact with Anne’s back, she managed a weak cough, causing a thick ball of green mucus laced with streaks of red to fly from her mouth. The ball projected onto Diana’s skirt, trying to absorb into the fabric. Anne gasped, loosening her grip on Gilbert’s arm as she inhaled panicked breathes. “You did it, Anne-girl, you got it.” She leaned into him, exhaustion overtaking manners.
“What’s wrong with her?” Diana asked, tears streaming from the corner of her eyes. Gilbert felt Anne’s breathing began to stabilize, slowing ever so slightly as she drifted off to wherever her dreams were taking her this time.
“Pneumonia.” Much to his dismay, he moved from behind her, leaning her back into her pillows once more. He adjusted them so she was sitting up a bit higher, pulling her blankets up to her chest. “Her lungs are essentially filling with fluid, so sometimes, when her lungs are trying to constrict and can’t,” He turned his attention towards Diana, looking down at the stain forming on her skirt. “Mucus forces it way out.”
Diana’s eyes joined his, though she didn’t seem to show much concern for the skirt. “Gilbert…is she…”
“No.” he replied curtly. Diana glared at Gilbert as he cleared his throat. “Sorry,” he mumbled. “But no, Diana, she is not going to die. I’m going to ensure it.”
Diana considered his response and found it satisfactory, knowing if anyone could save their Anne, it would be Gilbert Blythe.
She turned back towards Anne, clasping her hand within her own. “May I sit with her for awhile?”
Gilbert hesitated, knowing if Diana was there, he would be expected to leave the room and he found himself petrified of what would happen it hr wasn’t around. “I don’t know Di..”
“Only for a little while.” Her eyes pleaded with him as he bit his lip, tempted to refuse her request. Diana glared at him, growing frustrated with his hesitation. “Besides, your fiancé is downstairs. I’m sure she would love for you to join her for at least one cup of tea.” The words were cold, she knew how to hit just the right chord to make him leave. Gilbert bit his lip once more, looking down at the sleeping fire queen before him and then over to the door.
“Alright, but I will be right downstairs if you need me.” When he was met with silence, he turned to make his departure, glancing back only for a moment to see Diana’s gaze had softened as she began humming Anne’s favorite hymn.
Special thanks to: @royalcordelia and @rootedbutfl0wing you are both gems <3
#anne with an e#anne x gilbert#anne with an e fanfic#anne shirley-cuthbert#gilbert blythe#shirbert#i need a nap
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Witch Hunt Chapter 18: Epilogue Part II
The final chapter of Witch Hunt! Thanks to all of you who stayed with the story!
Ao3 link.
The rest of the ride back to Yellow’s apartment was much more relaxed, and the two seemed to have found their rhythm with one another. They talked and made plans, just like they used to.
Once getting off the bus, the two walked into the small downtown area, looking for the tea store. They walked past windows with bright displays in them, Blue’s eyes flicking from one item to the next.
Yellow nudges her, while she had been looking at one of the displays for a particularly long time. “Do you want anything? I can buy it for you.”
Tearing her eyes from the pretty things, Blue looks at Yellow. “Oh no, I just think they look so lovely. All these beautiful things, and I had no idea they even existed!”
Hooking her arm around Blue’s sleeved one, Yellow leads her into the next store. The first thing that hits them is the herbal scent, wafting into their noses.
In contrast to the coldness outside, the whole store seemed warm. Steam curled from little sample cups placed on trays in various parts of the store, and cozy mugs and kettles were displayed.
Blue’s eyes went wide, and she nearly skipped up to one of them. “Look, Yellow! Look how beautiful this is!”
Following at a slower speed, Yellow glanced at the cup in Blue’s hand. “Very pretty,” she replied, curling an arm around Blue’s waist.
A cheery voice interrupted them. “Would you like to try our featured tea of the day? It’s a spiced vanilla black tea.”
The couple looked at the woman, dressed in a red apron carrying a silver tray. She held out a small paper cup. Blue took it, giving her a small smile and took a sip.
“Oh, this is delightful! I’ve never tasted anything so exquisite,” she said happily.
Yellow took a cup, peering into it briefly before downing it in one go. She tried not to grimace, and said nothing.
The saleswoman gave them one last bright smile before walking away. “You can pick some up near the counter there!”
“Did you like it?” Blue asked, her eyes searching. In the fluorescent light of the store, her eyes barely glowed, only shone a deep cerulean blue.
“It was alright,” Yellow said, not wanting to speak negatively of something that Blue so clearly liked.
But Blue saw right through her and laughed lightly. She touched a hand to Yellow’s arm. “It’s okay if you don’t like it. I know you prefer coffee.”
Yellow gave her an embarrassed smile.
The two perused the rest of the store, Blue taking a sample of each tea they had on display, and Yellow following her around, listening to her talk.
“This one, it really does taste like sunshine!” Blue says after trying a citrus tea called “Sunshine”. Yellow nods encouragingly.
“And that one over there, it tastes like a warm embrace,” Blue comments after trying an Earl Grey tea.
“Oh, this is wonderful, just like roses!”
“But the one with the yellow package, I think it’s my favorite, because it reminds me of you. It’s strong and spicy, but gentle at the end.” Yellow takes a sip of this one.
Finally, they completed their circle around the store, and Blue holds a stack of a dozen empty paper cups in her hand.
“Do you want to buy any of them?” Yellow asked as they inspect the tea kettles at the back of the store.
“Well, I am rather fond of the one called “Earl Grey’. Would it be alright if we bought some?” Blue said, unsure.
“Of course! I want you to have things you like in our apartment,” Yellow said, moving to grab a box of the tea. She quickly walked through the store, finding what she needed, and going to stand in line. She reached out to grab Blue’s hand, her hand grabbing air.
Yellow looked around, finding herself alone. “Blue?”
Small sniffling noises draw her attention behind a large display. The blonde moves out of the line, stepping around the obstruction to find Blue with her arms wrapped around herself. Her head was bowed, and her shoulders were shaking slightly.
“Hey, what’s wrong?” Yellow’s voice was as soft as she could make it, and she placed a warm hand on shaking shoulders. Blue leans into the touch, turning her head to bury into Yellow’s chest.
“Our apartment…” Blue mumbled, her voice muffled.
“Um,” Yellow said, her voice a bit too loud in her confusion.
“Can I help--oh, sorry!” the cheery saleswoman said, stopping suddenly when she took in the scene.
Yellow nodded, pulling Blue closer against her. The woman quickly left, but the interruption had given Yellow enough time to process what had gone wrong.
“You don’t have to live with me, of course. I can help you find somewhere else to live, as soon as we get to my laptop,” Yellow said soothingly.
A tear stained face jerked up to look at her. “N-no! I want to live with you!” The fear in those cobalt eyes squeezed Yellow’s heart, and she laid a kiss on the crying woman’s cheek.
“I want you to live with me,” she assured her.
Blue sniffed, looking at the ground. “I’m sorry. It’s just that you said ‘our’ apartment and...how are you so willing to let me in your life like this? I don’t deserve this. You.”
Yellow paused, thinking about how to respond. She slipped a few fingers into Blue’s soft hair, stroking her head errantly. “I’ve been calling it ‘our apartment’ in my head for a few weeks already,” she admitted at last.
“What?” Blue looks back at her in surprise. Her tears had stopped falling, but her cheeks still glistened in hard lighting.
Rubbing the back to her neck with her free hand, Yellow begins to blush. “Well, you were always there, and I started to look forward to you being there when I got home. I was honestly a little afraid that you’d leave.”
“No!” Blue gasped, gripping the blonde tightly. “I want to stay with you.”
Yellow laughed lightly, extracting herself from the embrace. “Then why don’t we finish up our shopping and then we can head back to our apartment. We still need to get you a pillow and a blanket.”
“Okay,” Blue agreed, stealing one of Yellow’s hands to hold.
The two women walked up to pay for the tea, heading to a home furnishing store. There, Yellow wanted to buy the biggest, fluffiest pillow for Blue, but the white haired woman insisted that Yellow’s chest was much better than any fancy pillow. They settled on a medium sized one and a thick duvet.
It was when they arrived home that they truly found their rhythm. After Blue had touched everything in the apartment with childlike wonder, and Yellow cooked a plain dinner, the two cuddled in front of the TV. It was an experience, so new and profound, but so familiar and similar that both women knew that this was how they wanted their life to be. Together.
That was their new mantra, their new purpose. They completed each other.
And everyone who met them thought the same.
...
Blue eventually met Jasper and Pearl, who after some hesitance, came to understand that she was part of their lives too. There was no denying how much happier the blonde seemed now that she had Blue.
And Blue was happy, as well. After Yellow left for work on the first day, Blue set her mind on finding a job. She quickly found a part time position at the local library, which suited her just fine. Eventually, after taking night courses for a few years and some help from Connie, she became a history professor at a local community college.
Yellow’s mixed martial arts studio flourished, and she had to hire additional teachers to help her teach when her classes got too full. After a few temporary instructors failed, she convinced Jasper to finally step away from illegal fighting to help her. The move was initially hard for Pearl, having lost her two closest friends to another city, but soon after, she was contacted by an international modeling agency, and travelled frequently for photoshoots.
Connie surprised no one when she announced her position as head researcher at a prestigious university. It was nearby, and she when she wasn’t fervently working, she spent weekends at Yellow’s apartment to chat with her sister and Blue. They were often joined by Starlight, who always brought them exotic magical gifts from around the world.
They never saw the witch again, something that weighed heavily on Blue and Yellow’s minds. Blue, with her compassion, lamented that it would be lonely to live all alone for so long. Yellow, with her fury, assured her that it was what the old woman wanted, and more importantly deserved.
But Blue bore the scars of her time under the witch and her resurrection, so she thought of the skeletal, grey woman often. Maybe one day she could convince Starlight to tell her more of her mother. And maybe, if she were brave enough, could persuade her to send a postcard.
Because Blue got her happy ending. By taking her body, and trapping her as a spirit for hundreds of years, she had the opportunity to meet a feisty, but shy blonde. And for that, Blue held only gratitude for the witch.
#my writing#bellow diamond#blue diamond#yellow diamond#white diamond#pink diamond#connie#steven universe#steven universe fanfic#steven universe au#witch hunt
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Fixing It (a Dean/Cas 15x08 inspired coda)
Dean Winchester walked a long & difficult road. House burning down when he was 4, constantly being on the move until his father lost a fight with demons at the age of 25. Reunited with his mother only to lose her again. Have a son only to lose him, too. Of all the shadows that have crossed his path, he thought one of the main sources of light was his husband Castiel.
But he had to ruin that, too.
Can he ever have that shine again? Or are there things that are too good for him to hold? Will they mend what was broken?
“We met in an office like this, actually… or, outside of one.”
“Really? Why don’t you expand on that Dean.”
Dean shifts, glancing over at where Cas waits perched on the other end of the crimson couch. It drew Dean’s attention upon walking in, the sweat around his collar doubling imagining how hot it must be to sit on it. Like roasting over a pit. The image grew stronger when he glimpsed how the therapist’s hair matched her furniture.
“Well,” he squeezes his wrist, staring at his feet, “I was going to this place for a few weeks now as part of… recovery, for this thing that happened to me.” Nails bite at his skin while skimming the surface of his memory pool. “All the physical scars healed, but there was still something not clicking up in the head department -”
“Dean,” she says, halting his descent into the deep end, “You don’t have to dredge up past trauma. I didn’t ask for that. I asked about when you first met Castiel.”
His vision, once blurry, now refocuses on the rivulets of blood trickling from where his nails broke skin. “Right,” Dean coughs, “Yeah… yeah, thanks… anyway -”
Five minutes. Traffic on the highway made him late by five minutes. Dean hurried out of his car and over to the small storefront Dr. Richings rented. Not the most promising places for help in navigating his mental health, nestled between a hair salon and a Pizza Hut, but it accepted his very threadbare insurance. Plus, after getting to know him, Richings earned his respect and vice versa.
Except, with now six minutes past when he should have been there, Dean threw all his hard work away. “If you’re going to be late,” John’s voice in his head echoed, “why bother showing up at all.”
He paused, hand on the door. Breathing deeply, Dean mumbled, “Because if it matters… you have to show up.” The bile simmers and sinks into the bog it rose from, beaten back by one of the mantras Richings taught him. Waiting another beat to calm his rapid heartbeat and remind himself the other man won’t be too mad, Dean finally entered.
“Look, I know what Dr. Richings said but-but I don’t think it’s enough to warrant giving away my appointment!”
Someone with a voice like scuffed leather blocked the path to Tessa’s desk. Broad shoulders, either from actual muscles or extra padding given by the rumpled trench coat. Dark hair sticking up like he stuck a finger in an electrical socket seconds before.
“Sorry Mr. Shurley,” Tessa said, “but as I’ve been trying to tell you, we didn’t give your spot away. The doctor decided last time that you needed to have your session another day.”
“But… but it’s me !” Shurley guy continued, “Dr. Richings always reserves Thursday appointments for me at this time! I mean…” he gestures to the empty row of seats shoved against the wall, “there’s no one else here! No one comes in on Thursdays!”
“Be that as it may, this Thursday is different . The doctor is backed up and has been running over with each session as it is. He’s almost done with his one o’clock, and then he’ll see -”
“Me,” Shurley demanded, “Come on, who else could it be?”
Dean cleared his throat, finally making his presence known. Shurley whirls around, eyes wide at the interruption. Cheeks twinged pink from being caught in the act. Adorable if he didn’t see how much of an asshole he was being. As it was, Dean tamped down the urge to gasp at how the blue of his eyes contrasted with his heated, tanned skin. “Actually,” he said, “Dr. Richings is supposed to be with me for the next hour.” Glancing behind the other man, he nodded at Tessa. “Hey.”
“Dean,” she sighed, smiling, “I was wondering where you were?”
“Traffic.”
Tessa nodded, shuffling papers around on her desk. “Like I was saying, Richings should be finishing up any moment. You can sit anywhere to wait…”
He winked, “Thanks.” Dean smirked, making sure to connect with Shurley’s gaze before striding towards the chairs. Collapsing at the one closest to the magazine pile on a nearby end table, he picked a random gossip rag and began reading.
A shadow fell overhead, blocking the pictures of Michael Jackson’s doctor as he was hounded by paparazzi. “Dude,” he scoffed, squirming under Shurley’s intense stare, “ever heard of personal space.” Their knees knocked together, denim brushing against paper-thin slacks.
“Give me your appointment.”
“Excuse me?”
“I’ll pay you,” Castiel said, grabbing his wallet, “A hundred dollars. Two hundred. Please .”
“Look,” he said, slapping the magazine closed onto his lap. “I get you’ve got your problems, you’re in therapy. But so am I. Understand that I need this just as much as you, maybe more so?”
Owlishly, Shurly blinked at him. “Three hundred?”
“Jesus!” Dean barked, “No amount of money is going to get me to move.”
“I highly doubt that.”
“...What’s that supposed to mean?”
“From my experience, people will always compromise given the right amount.”
Dean bristled, feathers finally ruffled. He stood chest-to-chest with the other man. More aware of how different their outfits were. His streaked with faded oil stains and grease marks, having come from work. If Shurley were worried about dirt getting on his clean white shirt or blue silk tie, he didn’t show it. “In my experience, smart mouths lead to fat lips .”
“Was that,” he spluttered, “what that a threat?”
“Yeah it was. Problem?”
Shurley glared, leaning closer. An impossible feat given how thin the space between them was. Electricity crackled underneath, Dean’s ears roaring from an elevated heartbeat. “It may shock you,” Shurley growled, stoking flames in his belly from the low timbre, “but I am no stranger to violence.”
A line pulled from the movies that, in any other context, would have Dean creaming his shorts. Instead, tethered to the aggravating man, the pleasure felt bittersweet. “Actually, I’m not,” Dean told him, “everyone you ever met has probably wanted to knock you upside the head.”
Silence washed over them, then. Tension leaking into every empty crevice until they were wound up tighter than toys. Quickly, in the blink of an eye, it all faded. Sucked away by the sound of a door opening.
“...you did really good today, Ms. Rosen. Next week I wouldn’t mind reading some of these stories you’ve written. Maybe… try your hand at writing something pulled from life instead of TV?”
“But a good story isn’t going to come out of nowhere…” her eyes dipped towards them, a nervous smile twitching to life. “Actually… scratch that. Inspiration has been struck.”
Dr. Richings looked at them, too, cursing under breath. “Why don’t you schedule your next appointment with Tessa, I have to deal with this.”
“Ugh, fine…”
He stalked over, lightning creasing his brows. Imposing in his stoicism. Dean tried to keep his cool, but broke immediately when Richings crushed his wrist in a strong vice. His almost-opponent flinched as well. “No fighting,” he said, “ ever .” Assured they were thoroughly chastised, he let go. Dean rubbed his wrist, wincing. The doctor ignored him in favor of Shurley. “What are you doing here Castiel?”
Shurley tried answering, except- “Castiel?”
Castiel glared at him, “It’s a family name.”
“I bet,” Dean huffed, “people are only named like that out of obligation.”
“Why you -”
“Dean,” Richings hushed him, “quiet. Castiel… your appointment Is not until tomorrow.”
Finally, Castiel seemed uncomfortable. He fidgeted, fingers playing with the ties of his coat. “I know,” he said, “I know we agreed to try stepping… outside my comfort zone . But a whole day? It’s… couldn’t we have done baby steps?”
“Baby steps,” Richings frowned, “you mean like having you order a different coffee from your usual cafe?”
“Well -”
“Or having you pair your suit with a different color tie.”
“Blue with white stripes felt weird -”
“Castiel,” Richings sighed, “we’ve been doing a ton of baby steps. A Friday appointment is still a baby step. There’s nothing to be afraid of.” He reached over and laid a hand of Castiel’s shoulder, “That’s what brought you here, right? Fear?”
Nodding, Castiel said, “Yes, I -”
“No,” Richings cut him off, “hold onto that fear. Write it down. Bring it to me tomorrow and we can sort it then. This is Dean’s time.”
Castiel, affronted, glanced between the good doctor and Dean. Dean smiled, a friendly gesture of de-escalation. “An invitation to punch you in the face,” Castiel called it whenever they told the story to friends.
When he left the building, Dean immediately turned to Dr. Richings. “Wow,” he muttered, “what a piece of work…”
“Don’t do that.”
“Huh?”
“Castiel’s a very good man,” Richings told him, “albeit somewhat… peculiar . But aren’t we all?” He scratched at his chin, staring at the door. “He’s been a patient of mine for some time now, and what you saw today was a vast improvement. I’m asking a lot of him, and he’s trusting me. Don’t judge him on an almost bad day.” Brow raised, he trailed his gaze across Dean’s body. “Actually… you two would get along really well, given the right circumstances.”
Dean blushed, “What? Him? No way doc…” Clearing his throat, he pushed past him and towards his room. “C’mon, we’re here to analyze my sucky brain not my sucky love life.”
“I didn’t say anything about love , Dean…”
“Shut up.”
Castiel chuckles, rubbing his thumb across his threadbare jeans. “You were an awful assbutt -”
“Can’t believe you still use that word…”
The woman across from them, perched on her chair, hums through plum lips. “An eventful first meeting,” she says, “Real hell. And that was when cupid struck?”
“No, not really,” Castiel says, “a few weeks later, I brought my car into the shop where Dean works. He fixed my car up while I waited, and we didn’t know who the other was until it came time to assess for payment.”
“Figured the guy who owned the truck was a messy dork,” Dean chuckles, “at least three different books in the passenger seat footwell… empty containers of tea with the bags inside them… and tons of loose pages with so much highlighting -”
“All my students’ tests and papers flew everywhere after the crash,” he says, Dean not needing to look to know his nose scrunched high on his face. Lines criss-crossing over themselves adorably. “Forgive me if I was more concerned with my car.”
“Super concerned,” Dean smiles, “Bothering Bobby every half-hour, asking about your car -”
“Bobby? Oh… your boss, Mr. Singer?”
“Correct Dr. MacLeod -”
“Rowena, dearie,” she coos, “call me Rowena.”
Castiel flushes, squirming. “Right, sorry… Rowena. Bobby was Dean’s boss. And I wasn’t bothering him, I was concerned. I’d had my truck since my dad bought it for me in high school and I… I was a touch too sentimental in the past. I didn’t want to have to get a new car… so Bobby placated me, telling me how his best mechanic was making it better than new.”
“Ol’ bastard did love to exaggerate…”
Rowena smiles, checking through her notes. “Now Castiel, this isn’t the first time you’ve mentioned your… sentimentality . From your files it looked like you were going to Dr. Richings for a number of years about this. Why did you stop going?”
“I started getting better,” he says, “doing what the doctor suggested and… and meeting Dean helped me overcome many of the obstacles I normally struggled with. I’m sure you can see in my files the day I came to Richings without wearing my usual trench coat.”
“Probably next to ‘thank God for Dean’s clumsy fingers and open cans of motor oil’.”
“ Dean ,” Castiel hushes, the name ripped from his lips. A rush of quiet follows, and the warmth normally following his name hurts. Sobers any levity. “Anyway, weekly appointments became bi-weekly… which became monthly and bi-montly until, well… until he passed away.”
“I’m sorry for your loss,” Rowena says, squeezing the arms of her chair in lieu of their knees. Dean accepts the sentiment, meaning well-sourced in her thick accent. “And thank you both for telling me all this… I must admit when you two first started coming to me, I was wondering why. Mainly because of the lengthy history you two had with another doctor. Wasn’t sure if there was a falling out or anything…”
“No,” Dean tells her, “nothing like that. Me, I stopped going when I needed to. Went back whenever I got a bit overwhelmed with life and… spiralled .”
“Do you think that’s what happened then, Dean?” Rowena asks, “Did you spiral too much without Richings’ help until you crashed?”
A storm cloud rolled overhead, thundering. Shadows flashed over Dean’s eyes, vision blackening briefly and exploding with the colors of the room. He mulls Rowena’s words in his head. Uncaring to how they sound when it’s Richings saying them. Or Sam.
“I’m not going to let you give up like this,” Sam said, standing over the guest bed. Blanket held high over Dean so he couldn’t hide under it. Pillow long kicked to the floor. “We’re all worried about you. Bobby keeps asking me when you’re going back to work.”
Dean gurgled, rolling away so he wouldn’t face his brother. Squishing the empty bags of chips, turning crumbs into dust.
“She’s highly recommended,” Sam continued, “I met her through a client. Prosecution wanted us to give a detailed history of her mental health, and MacLeod was her therapist. She helped me with my case and even took the stand when the time came to strengthen our defense.”
“So?” Dean asked, “Good for you. Don’t see how that affects me.”
“Because she’s smart, kind, and won’t take any of your shit,” he tells him, “and you need that right now.”
“I don’t know Sam. That sounds like you, yet I’m still here…”
“Because you don’t want to listen to me. You don’t want to listen to anyone . There are only two other people who might help but you’re not speaking to one and the other is dead .” Sam sat on the bed, mattress dipping. “Dean… Richings can’t help you anymore. You need to see someone… talk about what happened -”
“What’s there to talk about?”
“So much Dean!” Sam yelled, “I might not know all the pain you’re going through but I understand a lot of it. I know what it’s like to feel loss . And now… she was my mom, too, Dean. Jack was my nephew. We’ve already lost enough people… stop giving them away.”
Anger flared inside Dean, and he clawed through Sam’s bedspread. “You think I’m giving him away? No, Sam. Cas can make his own choices. He don’t seem too keen on stopping by anytime soon for a chat.”
“He’s willing to go.”
Faster than the spark breathed to life it was snuffed. “What…?”
“Cas?” Sam said, “I already tossed the idea his way. If you agreed to go… he would too. He still believes you two can fix this.”
Dean let Sam leave without another word. Wouldn’t speak to his brother the following morning, not even attempting to sign his disparate malice to his sister-in-law. Kept to his vow until Sam dropped him off for the first session at the high rise. Made it all the way to the fifteenth floor, stewing in his aggravation. Until the elevator doors opened and he caught sight of a familiar trench coat.
“Cas.”
Barely a whisper, his name echoed in the empty waiting room. His husband looked up from his lap, dropping the strips of his ratty security blanket. Hurt welled in his too-blue eyes until he shut it down. Caged by purplish bags and new wrinkles. He retreated to his trench coat, pulling it over his t-shirt.
Like it didn’t make him any less ridiculous.
Dean signed in with the receptionist, finding the furthest chair away from Castiel and setting up camp until their names were called.
Neither were too keen to do anything in those first sessions.
Four months in, there’s been progress. But no light at the end of the tunnel.
“Tell me Dean,” Rowena carries on, “do you think Dr. Richings could have helped you process the recent tragedies that blew up your life?”
Dean scoffs, “I wouldn’t say blew up -”
“You lost your son to a horrible illness days and your mother to a careless drunk driver,” she speaks over him, tone smooth and sharp like a thumbtack piercing a corkboard. “Burying both within a matter of days of each other. You’ve lost your job. You’re no longer living in your house. And you’re here, in my office, because you’re inches away from your separation turning into a divorce . Tell me again how your life isn’t in complete shambles?”
He glared at her, arms crossed. “When you put it like that…”
She sighed, pinching her brow. “I didn’t mean to get cross with you, dearie, I just…” Rowena sets her notes aside and stands. “We’ve been at this awhile. You’re both good people who’ve been dealt unlucky cards. I wish neither of you had to go through what you did.”
“But we had to,” Dean growls, “I’ve always had to. Mom, Jack… I don’t know why I thought it would be different…”
Mary Winchester nearly died once. The Winchester brothers thought she did, perishing in a fire that consumed their childhood home. John spirited them away before they saw it fully collapse. Too early. For if they stayed a bit longer, they would have seen a fireman carry a somewhat charred, unresponsive woman to a nearby ambulance.
Maybe their family would have been whole. Maybe Dean could have grown up at a normal pace. Maybe their home wouldn’t have been a sleek, black muscle car from the past.
Maybe John Winchester wouldn’t have lost his battle with the demons goading him to drink every night until he couldn’t take it anymore and blew his brains out. Not telling either of his children until they received a call from a motel owner south of nowhere telling them how they found his body.
At least in John’s death, they found a new beginning.
Mary attended like a vision, almost too good for reality. They were right, when Dean approached her and a heavy fog clouded her vision. “Dean?” she said, “It… sounds familiar.”
After the fire, Mary woke with no memory past one of meeting a man with his foot glued to the accelerator and a taste for classic rock. Her parents filled her in on nothing. Keeping her in the dark about her sons, the ones named after them.
It took years for her memories of them to return, to create new ones. And they were for nothing.
Almost as pointless as taking in the child of a dear, late friend.
“He is technically my nephew,” Castiel said, watching Jack play with other kids his age. Arm wrapped over Dean’s shoulder. “And we both know Nick won’t have anything to do with the boy. Kelly wouldn’t want him shuttled off to some foster system, to be forgotten.”
Jack tripped over the basketball, landing on his knee. Dean jumped. An urge to run over and check on the boy awoke in that moment, seemingly from nowhere. He ignored it, instead watching what happened next.
Rolling over, Jack pulled his knee close and checked it. From how exposed the skin was to wear and tear by wearing shorts, Dean guessed he must have scraped it. Except there were no tears.
Jack stared at his knee for a long time, enough that the kids around him picked the ball up and continued playing without him. Then, after a minute that felt like hours, he turned to where Dean and Cas were standing. Looked at them, silently asking ‘Can you believe this?’
Dean chuckled, leaning into Cas’s embrace. “Yeah… yeah, okay. Let’s do it.”
“You’re sure?”
“Sure sure,” Dean said, “We’ll be good for him… and him, us.”
They were wrong then, too. Jack’s father struck with a vengeance, taking them to court for custody over their boy. With Sam’s help Dean and Castiel barely managed to keep guardianship of him.
It wasn’t a long duty. Almost as soon as their legal troubles were over the medical crisis began. Cancer too far along, Jack’s candle flickered dangerously in the wind.
“Dean,” Castiel says, closer than he was before, “Dean it’s not like we could have known any of this was going to happen.”
“But we should have!” he yells, “My life’s been nothing but some big cosmic joke. Some-some show that a cruddy audience jerks it to whenever I’m in pain.”
“That isn’t true.”
“It is Cas,” Dean says, blinking through tears, “Why can’t you see I’m just a lousy screw-up, huh? Your dad was right about me…”
“Hold on a minute,” Rowena stops him, hovering nearby, “what did you say?”
Dean rolls his eyes, wiping at the stray watermarks. “That I’m a screw-up -”
“No,” she waves him off, “about Castiel’s father?”
He scowls. “Yeah. What about it? He’s not the first person to call me a screw-up…”
“But you mentioned him , specifically,” she continues, walking back to her seat. Notes in hand, Rowena asks, “Has your father been a sore spot for a long time, Castiel?”
Castiel startles, glancing away from Dean. “What? I… uh, yes. I guess? Ever since Dean and I started dating he hasn’t been the-ah… the most supportive .”
Something bitter roils in Dean’s chest when he laughs. “It took your brother and sister locking him in a bathroom to keep him from interrupting our wedding.”
“He has this… idea of what me and my siblings should be doing with our lives,” Castiel explains, “Some of us followed in his footsteps and joined the family company. While others… rebelled. My brother Nick went into politics. Gabriel is a producer in Hollywood and Hannah… they teach sculpture at a community college in Maine.”
“So your profession as a professor -”
“Was not well received,” Castiel sighs, “Every decision I made that he didn’t agree with, he saw it as me not achieving all I could do. That I was limiting myself. He pushes people very hard. As you can see me attest to in my files many of my neuroses were not aided by his parenting.”
Rowena scribbles on her notepad, tone lilting when she connects a few dots Dean cannot see. Too busy trying to figure out what she’s doing, he doesn’t see her turn to him. “Dean, my boy,” she starts, “why did you bring up Chuck just then?”
“What?”
“When you were talking to Castiel, you mentioned Chuck. Why was he on your mind?”
Dean shrugs, slumping in his seat until his knees hit the coffee table. “I don’t know. Sometimes when I’m in a funk my brain plays a mixtape of all the people who’ve said bad things about me and the dashboard buttons stick, so there’s no stopping it. Like I said, he wasn’t the first to call me a screw-up, definitely not the last.”
Rowena nods, mirroring his too-wide smile. “Of course,” she says, “you’re not telling me the whole truth, are you?”
He pinches his thigh. “I’ve told you enough.”
“What aren’t you telling me, Dean?”
“I know that if I’m not ready to talk about things, I don’t have to.”
“This isn’t about being ready, Dean. This is about not wanting to face whatever happened -”
“Who said anything happened!” he yells, leaning forward, “I didn’t say that! It’s not like there was anything to happen. Nothing happened! I made sure of it when Chuck -” Dean bites his lip, cheeks heating under the victorious leer Rowena shoots his way. He avoids meeting Castiel’s curious stare when he returns to his earlier position. “You’re awful.”
“Awfully amazing,” she says, “Now… you and Chuck. Was it a recent altercation?”
Dean checks the clock, aware of how little time is left of their appointment. Waiting her out is preferable to dredging up that memory.
But then, “Dean…”
Looking at Castiel was a mistake. At his soft eyes, his parted lips, his overgrown stubble. Make him hoist the white flag and resign to mortifying ideals.
“It was a day or two after Jack’s funeral,” Dean begins, talking to his hands, “Cas… you’d gone with Gabriel to pay for the service. I was putting casserole after casserole away…”
“Coming!” Dean yelled, dropping Donna’s plastic Tupperware onto the counter in his haste to answer the door. He hurried when the incessant knocking grew louder. “I said I was coming,” he grumbled, “what’s so important that you’re… oh .”
Chuck stood on the other side, an air of casualness wafting from him. Dressed casually in a fitted Henley, dark-wash jeans, leather boots and a jacket. A total sum of more than what Dean made in a month. “What?” he asked, “Not gonna invite me in?”
“Finally admitting you’re a bloodsucker then?”
He pursed his lips. “Cute.” Chuck strode past him, “Where’s my son?”
“Cas isn’t here,” Dean told him, door still open, “If that’s all?”
Chuck glanced back, smirking. “Not that easy. I didn’t come here for him.”
Dean frowned, slamming the door shut. “What Chuck? What do you want?”
“I came here to talk to you.”
“Sure,” he huffed, “because you couldn’t have done that when you were at the funeral.” They barely shared a glance, Dean only knowing Chuck came by a whispered warning from Hannah and a peek at the back row when going up for Jack’s eulogy. “If you’ve come by to say you’re ‘sorry for our loss’ or some other bullshit… I don’t need to hear it.”
“Well… now that hurts Dean,” Chuck said, “Jack was as much my grandson as he was your son… actually, he was more . Biological factors considered -”
“ God !” Dean groaned, pinching his nose, “Haven’t I already suffered enough ?” Sagging against a nearby wall, he waves at his father-in-law. “Come on. Out with it so we can get this over with.”
Contempt flashed to life on Chuck’s face, quickly smothered by a self-satisfied smirk. “All right. Fine . I’ll skip the appetizers and present the main course.” The metaphor knocks his eyes so far back in his head they roll forward again without help. “I’m here to offer my help.”
“Help? What kind of help do you think we need?”
“The kind of help I can provide,” he explained, “ Money .”
Dean tensed, gaze flicking to the other man. “Money?” Five letters that made every nerve left in his body join their brothers, when one by one they turn to ash. Stoked to burn by memories, time after time of Chuck’s snide comments about their lifestyle. Being forced to listen, to bury his anger, with each insinuation he made from ‘concern’.
“Money,” Chuck said, fiddling with the jacket zipper, “You know… you could make a higher salary if you applied yourself more.”
He scoffed. “If I applied myself any more I’d be pushing Bobby’s wheelchair down a staircase.”
“Then maybe it’s time to consider a change?”
A chill rushed down Dean’s spine. Before he could comment, Chuck rushed into his spiel. About how Michael decided to leave the company after falling for some vagabond during a corporate retreat. “Adam’s a nice boy,” Castiel tells Rowena, “and very charming. I mean, he got my brother to pick up yoga .”
“Anyway,” Dean says, a fierce itch tingling behind his eyes, “instead of promoting from within, he got the idea to rely on old-fashioned nepotism.”
“From how you describe your father-in-law,” Rowena says, “It doesn’t seem like he’d be pretty keen on doing such a thing. What drove him to make such an ask?”
Dean sneaks a peek at Castiel, frowning.
“I know neither of you two are in a good place right now,” Chuck said, “financially, I mean.”
“How would you know that?”
Chuck switched to an even more irritating expression. Lips stretching in plastic sympathy. “Because of something I overheard after the service.”
“Castiel and Gabriel were talking,” Dean says, “About how, with both Jack’s and my mom’s… a huge chunk of our savings was gone. Not taking into account the money we funnelled towards medical bills until we found a St. Jude’s we’re still paying off. We were scraping by each month as it was… after all that…”
“It is to be expected,” Rowena says, “after such traumatic events for money to be a sore subject.”
“But,” Dean sighs, wiping at his nose, “I had to… I had to hear it from hum .” He shifts, turning to face his husband, “Cas, I had to hear it from Chuck and not you .”
He heard a lot from Chuck. When Dean rejected the offer, repeated with shaky confidence how they were doing fine with where they were, his father-in-law went livid. “You really are a fool,” he spat, barreling past him towards the door, “every day my son spends married to a buffoon like you is another he subjects himself to torture. Because you, Dean Winchester, are poison . You take so much from Castiel and push all your problems onto him and give him nothing . It’s no surprise all of this happened, because you wreck everything you touch. I hope you enjoy the gutters when the bank evicts you from your home in a month. Not like they’d be able to turn a profit on this shitty thing…”
“And then he left,” Dean shrugs, numb to the gentle caress of Castiel’s hand on his back.
“After all that?” Rowena asked, “He shouted at you and you did… what?”
“I did nothing,” he said, “I couldn’t do anything when he was right.”
“Dean -”
“He was, Cas,” Dean cries, “I mean, look at us! We’re in freaking therapy because I couldn’t lose just my mom, or my son… I had to lose you, too and I couldn’t handle it.”
Castiel readies another dismissal, but keeps his finger on the trigger. Tongue pressed against teeth, only part of him moving his brows furrowing above. He loads another, more deadly bullet into the barrel and fires at his heart. “Is this why, Dean? Why you pushed me away? Why you… you became so cold ? Why you said all those hurtful things at me?”
Dean wrings his hands, copper all he can taste. “I blew up,” he admits, “You were just… there. Being so kind… so caring, and I - I was so mad that I couldn’t be the same. Too full of my own bullshit that I couldn’t stick to my vows and be there for you.” Choking back a sob, he rocks into Castiel. “I never meant what I said… I… everything I said, were things I thought about myself.”
Rowena hums, scribbling in her notepad. “Dean, is this something you’ve done before?”
He nods. “I… yeah. I’ve had a history of being unable to process my anger in a healthy way. Or… at least that was how Dr. Richings described it.” Dean attempts a smile, lips twisting into a grimace. “After he helped me through that… dark period, I’d still go back to him from time to time-”
“When life started spiralling?”
“Yeah…” Sighing, he pulls from Castiel’s embrace, unable to rely on his husband as a shield. “I’ve… it’s always been a problem, since I was young. This anger. I don’t know why it’s there but it’s like it… it never goes away. And when everything becomes too much, and the voices in my head get too loud I… I…”
“You blow up?” Rowena finishes, glancing at Castiel, “Hurting those caught in the crossfire?” She adjusts in her seat, crossing her legs. “Has he ever blown up at you like this?”
“A few times,” Castiel admits, “But usually, with some time and space, we come back together. Normally only a few days, but…”
“But this was going on for much longer.” Rowena taps her pen, staring at Dean. “Why didn’t you seek to resolve this? If the pattern is blow up, space, reunion… why break the cycle?” He won’t answer her. Chews on his tongue so he can’t answer. It doesn’t matter. “Did you think you were doing Castiel a service by staying out of his life?”
“Shit,” he breathes. A nail pierces his heart, hammered in expertly by Rowena. “How are you this good?”
“Because I am dearie… so if you will?”
His mouth flaps for a beat, only no sound accompanies it. Throat stopped up by fear, thick and watery and not enough to truly choke on. Dean looks at Castiel, studies the infinite sadness rippling across his eyes. The only part of him that dare show how he’s feeling. “Because of this,” he growls, “because you’re holding back from me.”
“What -”
“Here I am having a breakdown and you look like it’s another fucking Saturday!” Dean yells, “Like you… you checked out, and were just waiting for an excuse to leave. At least… at least that’s what I believe, after talking with Chuck.” He gasps, tugging at his hair. “Christ, Cas, if you were worried about money why didn’t you bring it up with me? Why don’t you tell me how you’re feeling? I want to help but it’s like… it’s like you won’t let me .”
“Dean,” Castiel says, “I… I don’t know what to - to… I’m not waiting for an excuse to leave you -”
“Well how was the poor boy supposed to know that, Castiel?”
Castiel whips around towards Rowena. “Excuse me?”
She sighs, flipping through her notes. “In every session, you’ve been a willing participant. Moresoe than your husband. However… everything you ever said was about him or in relation to him… we never hear any ‘I’ statements from you.”
“I highly doubt that,” he says, lips twitching into a nervous smile, “I just said ‘I’... and I did it again!”
Rowena arches a brow. “In fact,” she continues, “didn’t you mention how, the day after Dean left you, you were ‘chugging coffee to stay awake in class’.”
“It was a very important week for me, most of my students’ grades were calculated from these presentations -”
“An average person in this kind of situation would not be too keen to go back to class,” she says, “in fact, you didn’t miss a single class since. Did Dean’s absence really affect you?”
“...Of course it did!” Castiel snarls, cool facade entirely shattered under the implication, “My love for Dean is as infinite as the stars in the sky or-or… or the amount of fucking purple you have in your office. But I know when to put my own troubles aside for others -”
“That you do, Castiel,” Rowena agrees, “In fact… it said in your file you have a tendency to absorb others’ burdens at the expense of dealing with your own?”
Dean watches Castiel barely contain his ire. Fingers twitching against his knee, scraping the denim. Eyes almost shut from how tightly they squint across the table, like he could smite her with a thought.
“You spend all your energy trying to fix things,” she says, “that there’s no time to hone in on what you’re feeling -”
“Because I know what I’m feeling!”
“Good! What is it, then?”
“I… It’s... “ Castiel sighs, sagging into the couch now, “I’m tired, I’m… I’m empty . Like there’s been this darkness inside of me, chipping away until I’m nothing but a husk. And I figured maybe… maybe if I didn’t give it any attention, it would go away.”
“That’s no way to beat a beast like that, Castiel,” Rowena tells him, “You should know. Your history with depression -”
“Was a fucking nightmare,” he cuts her off, “some days I couldn’t get up from my bed I didn’t think it was worth it. Once… once, it was so bad, I nearly lost my job because I kept missing classes. All because I allowed myself to stare into the abyss and was foolish enough to blink.”
Rowena won’t quit. “You’re scared.”
“Damn right I’m scared.”
“And because of this fear,” she says, “you shut yourself off. Kept things bottled up.”
“Not… not entirely,” Castiel says, looking to Dean. “I… all your life, you’ve had other people’s shit dumped on you. Your dad’s… your mom’s… grandparents, co-workers, former partners… I didn’t want to be that. Didn’t want to put you through anymore of it. You had your own problems, and I wanted to be there for you .”
“Cas,” Dean sighs, reaching across to curl his arm around his husband’s shoulders, “When we stood across from each other all those years ago… I wasn’t accepting just the good parts. It was all of you.”
“But -”
“Everyone else dumped on me without my consent,” he says, “You… I want to be there for you. To help. Be equal… not treated with fucking kid’s gloves.”
“I know, Dean,” Castiel says, a tear traversing the planes of his cheeks, “I’m sorry.”
“We lost so much already,” Dean sniffs, “and we almost lost this… I’m sorry, too.”
They hold each other. Reacquaint themselves with parts they kept themselves from sharing because of their own stubborn beliefs. Dean breaths in the scent of laundry detergent around Castiel’s neck, heart aching because he missed it. Because Sam makes his own instead of buying Tide like a normal person.
“Now this is really lovely, boys,” Rowena says, clapping. Drawing them from the embrace, “Truly. But… we’re not out of the woods yet.”
“Yeah,” Dean says, “too easy, right?”
“You’ve made a lot of progress already,” she winks, “so I doubt the rest will be hard. That being said… our time is officially over.”
“It is?” Castiel asks, “That was all an hour?”
“An hour and five minutes but… who am I to rush healing,” she shrugs, “Besides, my next patient is a total narcissist and making him wait will be good for him.” Rowena stands, beckoning them to do the same so she can shake their hands. “I think you two are finally ready for some homework.”
“Homework?” Dean winces, “C’mon, Rowena…”
“Nothing too serious,” she laughs, walking them towards the door, “The two of you have taken so many hits, that it’s definitely bruised your relationship. So I want you two to take it back to where it all began.”
“Meaning?”
“Recreate your first date,” she tells them, “Reflect on what drew you two to each other and remind yourself of all the happiness that existed because of your union. And write it all down, because come our next meeting I want to hear all about it!"
“We will, Rowena,” Dean says, smile more genuine than ever, “Thank you.”
“All in a day’s work, dearie…”
They leave her office, walking side by side to the elevator banks. When it opens up, someone rushes out and between Dean, uncoupling their joined hands. Dean only notices they were glued together when forced apart, and quickly fixes that mistake.
“I’ve missed being able to hold your hand,” he says.
“I missed having your hand hold mine.”
Dean looks at his husband, calm with very obvious tear-stains on his face. “Do you think we’ll ever get back to where we were?” he asks under the delightful mediocrity of elevator music.
Castiel meets his gaze. “I’m not sure,” he says, “I don’t believe we can ever be the same as we were yesterday but… I hope we can be better.”
“So do I…” A breath. “I love you.”
“I love you too, Dean.”
---------------------------------------------------------------
Rowena walks to her car, fixing her hair into a ponytail. “Fucking naturalists,” she huffs, “Not everything can be cured with fucking crystals… if you’re gonna get into witchcraft at least make it interesting .”
At her car, she moves to enter. Only her phone chirps with a new message, drawing her focus. “Please don’t let it be a patient,” she says, checking.
She reads the texts, and smiles.
It was a patient. Rather, patients. Dean and Castiel sent her a photo - a selfie. From years ago, by the looks of it. Followed by another picture. A recreation of the first, with the same table, same candle, and same bottle of wine. Same all-consuming love for each other.
Thanks, doc .
“These are the moments that make it worth it Rowena,” she says, “make it all worth it…”
#Supernatural#Spn#Spn15#15x08#Castiel#Dean Winchester#Rowena MacLeod#destiel#deancas#destiel fanfic#deancas fanfic#supernatural fanfiction#spn fanfic
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Of Coffee And Cookies (Chapter 6)
...I had to get one last chapter out to you guys before the new year! I wish you the merriest, happiest new year to you call!
Enjoy!
Link to AO3
---Anna was absolutely miserable. Today was one of the worst shifts she had worked in a while. It was a happy hour day, meaning the store was more packed than normal and customers were grumpier than normal when their coupons wouldn't work. She had been scheduled to close with her least favorite shift manager- the one who always seemed to have it out for her, always giving her the positions she hated most with no reprieve. A headache started building mid shift, and her nose was getting stuffy. That didn't even mention the awful email from this morning. She just wanted to go home and let this awful day end.
Thankfully her shift did in fact end, and Anna made it home to her cozy apartment. She entered quietly in hopes her older sister was actually sleeping for once. Now that her grant had been approved, the planning and research kept her far busier than she was before. And even still, Elsa was insistent on keeping up with her social affairs as if she didn't have an extra ten hours of work per week.
Anna was glad to see Elsa sleeping on the couch, a research article and highlighter in hand. She had worked herself to exhaustion again. Perhaps it was time for bed for both of them.
Before Anna could wake her sister gently, the tickle in her nose escaped in a loud sneeze.
Het-schoo! Het-schoo!
"Anna, you alright?"
Damn it.
"'m fine, Els," she said, her voice stuffy and congested.
Elsa looked up at her with concerned eyes. "Pretty sure the word 'fine' doesn't have a 'd' in it." Before she was even able to protest, another sneeze ripped through her chest, and Elsa had a hand on her forehead. "You're warm, Annie."
Anna sniffled pitifully, reaching out for a tissue. "Just a cherry on top of this day."
"Happy hour was that good huh?" Elsa asked moving off the couch and walking out of the room. "Well I don't think you'll be worrying about work tomorrow at least."
"If they'll even let me off," Anna murmured, curling herself into one of the blankets the cats hadn't taken over.
"They can't do anything if you've got a doctor's note," she said returning with a thermometer. "Open." Anna complied, letting her big sister coddle her a bit. She felt awful, and Elsa was helping: there was no reason to fight it.
Elsa brushed stray hairs out of her face, getting another feel of her forehead. Elsa's hands were always nice and cool; Anna wished they could stay like that forever. "101.2. I think you've earned yourself a sick day, Annie," Anna groaned lying against the couch, utterly exhausted. "Come on, let's get you to bed."
Elsa helped pick her up, and guided her to her bedroom. "Thank you, Elsie," she murmured, sleepily crawling into bed. Olaf jumped into bed, curling himself close to her chest. "Hi, Olaf. Come to keep me company?" The white kitten snuggled himself in, a tiny ball of warmth. Soon enough, Bruni followed behind, curling up at her feet. "Thank you, you two."
Elsa smiled and gave both of the cats a rub on the head. "Take care of her, boys." She then gave Anna a tender kiss on the head. "Get some rest. You know where I am if you need anything."
Anna was fast asleep before she could reply.
---
"I'll have a grande americano, with two sugar packets, please."
"Can I get a name for the order?"
"Hans."
Anna looked up, eyes bulging. Hans was there in front of her with those stupid sideburns and that dumb tie she hated so much. What was he doing here? He wasn't supposed to be here. How did he know where she was?
"Yes, sir." She wouldn't acknowledge it was him. Maybe he didn't even know it was her.
"Not even going to make eye contact, dear? I know your mother taught you better than that. Come and give your fiancé a hug."
Anna shuddered. "You're not my fiancé. You can't be here. I have a restraining order against you!"
"No piece of paper is going to keep me away from you. What are you gonna do? Cry about it? Run home to your big sister? Well guess what, dearie. There's no one out there who loves you. I'm all you've got."
"No! That's not true!" She could feel his hands wrap around her hips. How did he get behind the counter like that? This couldn't be happening. This couldn't be happening. This couldn’t be happening. "That's not true!"
"That's what you think." Anna felt a cool metal against her back. "Pull a stunt like this again and it'll be more than the gun in your back."
"No, no, no, no!" Anna screamed. "Help! Kristoff! Elsa! Anybody!"
---
Elsa bolted out of bed, waking from her sister's screams. She ran into Anna's bedroom, watching as she thrashed about, almost as if she was running away from something. She pressed the back of her hand onto Anna's forehead confirming her suspicions: her fever was spiking, no doubt making her nightmares worse.
"Anna, shhhh, shhhh," she soothed, stroking her hair. Elsa was careful to wake her, trying not to scare her further. Anna had suffered enough already. "It's just a dream, love. You're safe. It was just a dream."
Anna's eyes opened suddenly, fear evident. "Elsa," she rasped, hot tears falling from her eyes.
"You're okay, you're okay." Elsa rocked her sister back and forth, giving her whatever comfort she could. "Your fever's getting worse. Will you let me take your temperature and get you some medicine?"
Anna shook her head violently. "He's gonna get me. He's gonna win and he'll find me," she cried.
"Who, love?"
"Hans," she choked out, struggling with a coughing fit.
Elsa patted her sister's back, trying to bring her breathing back to normal. "He's not allowed anywhere near you, remember? He's not gonna get you."
"But- but- but-" Anna was cut off by coughs again. "They- they said he's appealing against the permanent order. He's going to win and he's gonna get me!" she sobbed.
"Anna, honey, no that's not true," she soothed.
But Anna shook her head, relentless. "They emailed me yesterday. The lawyers- they think he's gonna win."
Elsa tried to hide the worry in her eyes. It wasn't possible. They had done everything they could to ensure he could never touch her again. And yet, here he was getting another chance. She wanted to look at that email and give the lawyers a piece of her mind, but now wasn't the time. Anna needed her.
Elsa held her sister close, continuing to rock her back and forth. "I won't let anything happen to you. I promise. I told you that night he would never get to you again. And I intend to keep that promise."
Anna nodded against her chest. "I don't feel good, Elsie."
"I know you don’t, love. I know," she soothed. "I'm going to get you some medicine, okay? And then we'll take care of everything else as it comes." Gently, she pulled the covers back over her feverish sister. "I'll be right back."
Leaving to grab supplies, Elsa kept it together until she reached the sanctity of their bathroom. She let a single tear fall and then refocused herself. Anna needed her to be strong, and strong she was going to be.
---
"You okay?"
Maren's words pulled her out of her thoughts. Elsa couldn't stop thinking. She had spent all day with the lawyers discussing what could be done with Anna's case to prevent the worst case scenario. She was falling behind on her lab work and grading papers for her undergrad students. On top of it she was worried about Anna. It had been four days and her fever was still hanging on with little reprieve.
"Fine, Mare," she said a little too curt.
Maren frowned at her. "You sure? You aren't coming down Anna's cold are you?" She tried to touch at Elsa's forehead, only for Elsa to swat it away.
"I'm fine, Maren," she said a little more sternly than she intended. Elsa could feel the tension throughout her body. She knew it wasn't Maren's fault she was upset, but it felt like her emotions had their own mind right now. She sighed. "I'm sorry I'm being cranky. Forgive me?"
Maren looked at her with concerned eyes. "If you tell me what's going on."
Elsa rubbed at her eyes. "I can't, Maren. I can't burden you with this."
"Elsa. You're my girlfriend. It's not burdening for you to talk about your problems with me."
Elsa sighed again. "This isn't your fight. Please leave it alone. I can't talk about it."
"Why not?"
"I just can't. Please." Why did Maren have to have that stupid stubborn disposition? Why couldn't she just drop it?
"What are you so afraid of happening if you do? Let me help you." Maren said, frustration evident in her voice. Elsa shut down, unable to do anything else. She couldn't tell her, not now. She just couldn't. "Oh now you're gonna go quiet on me? Real mature, Elsa."
Honeymaren stood up from their table, shoving the chair in a bit too hard. "Come back to me when you're ready to act like an adult."
"Honey, wait!"
But it was too late. Homeymaren had walked out and left. Elsa sat there in shock, a tear rolling down her cheek. Why did she have to ruin everything?
Hiht-choo!
As if the day couldn't get any worse. How had everything gone so wrong so quickly? She was just trying to protect Anna. And yet here she was in a cafe, anxious and scared and probably sick with no sense of direction.
"Conceal, don't feel. Conceal, don't feel."
She hadn't said her father's mantra in years. It wasn't healthy, but she needed it. She needed the feeling of her father's guidance. Pushing her emotions away may have ran Maren away, but it protected Anna. That was all that mattered. Elsa couldn't- no, wouldn't- let her down again.
#frozen#frozen fanfic#frohana#snow sisters#elsamaren#my fic#poor kids are going through the ringer#i say as if it is not my fault as the author
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The Prison Kingdom
Chapter 1: The Empty Legacy
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Summary: The world is becoming more and more dangerous, both on land and sea. It’s time for you to face this fight, and dragon, on your own terms. Even if it means siding along with the kingdom who would condemn your kind without mercy.
Warnings: Mention about decapitation.
★ Disclaimer: I do not ship Lotura and I respectfully ask that this story to not be tagged as Lotura. This is a Lotor x Reader/Self-Insert OC story which is in no way related to Lotura at all. Please be respectful of my chosen pairing. ★
A/N: It’s a medieval-ish AU with dragons. What more could you want?
1 . 2 .
-
[There’s an old saying among renegade sea folk: The pirate that counts their booty are mere thieves.
War and death have pillaged the water and dirt of the planet for centuries, costing innocent lives from both sides. It was easy to paint the enemy as the enemy, as the one who needs to die before their sword cuts down your soul. It was easy to defend what you righteously believed needs to be defended, whether that be gold or the treasures that come with family and friends. It was easy to embrace that the laws of the sea were, at best, just rumors among the free people.
And such laws, such rules whispered by the dead man, don’t apply to the mystical wildlife. They don’t apply to creatures who have no loyalty, who have no other moral besides kill and eat for survival. From the trolls of the mountains, to the mermaids of the sea, to the fae of the forests, to the very dragons who control elements with ferocity matching the epitome of death itself, it would do well to remember that a set of fangs have no set order to kill.
But while beasts and monsters roam, and kingdoms rise and fall to the tests of time, and legends become lingering myths by the breath of the wind, it is the folly of prideful ignorance which murders countless more than the culmination of every bloodthirsty demon known in existence. With that in mind, tread carefully around those you would call allies or friends or like-minded folks. The Codex of Life may preach all-for-one and one-for-all, but deep down, it is a beautifully written lie for the over-eager martyrs.
Do not fall for such false speech regarding the dichotomy of good and evil.
Severing a hydra’s head will not kill it. Mana spells are useless against the naga’s of the Ice Plateaus. Beware of the volcano whose smoke takes form of two lovers, for no weapon or mantra can quell their rage should you cross them on a full moon. This collection of knowledge will help spread death, strike fear and hope in the hearts of many, and I leave this to you, my child.
You will have no legacy to follow. You are the bastard child I left behind to reach that unreachable freedom. You will make your own name amongst the farthest edges of the sea with every gale that blesses your sails.
You are a pirate.]
Closing the leather-bound journal, you skimmed your thumb over the pressed design of crossbones and cutlass’ on the cover. A legacy forgotten and one you would never know about? Dead men tell no tales, indeed. But regardless, this book would help with the bounty you were debating on facing. The paper was flimsy, hastily ripped off the pole to save for later, but the words were clear as day. And if you were able to complete this task, pocket enough shiny coin to support your entire crew with all the rum and pleasure they could want for years on end, leave behind your own legend, then that’d be enough for you.
“Seeking Dragonslayers of all kind! Report to Altea, Blessed Kingdom of Oriande!”
Then, hastily scribbled at the bottom.
“Speak to Paladin Takashi of the Black Mane Guild.”
Hefting yourself from your seat, you downed the rest of your mug reeking of ale and moist wood. The jovial band played, the patrons danced, the entire room was filled with fighting life, and it was impossible to not let it flow through you. It felt wrong to hold such a book in this place, the taboo writings from death’s bleeding quill. And so, with a tip of your hat and a silver doubloon for the ever so diligent barkeep, you stumbled out into the chill of the night with nothing but your guns, your sword, and the magical warmth of ale to keep you steadfast and eager towards your freedom.
But freedom always came with a cost and you paid a leg to chase it.
When you passed through the heavily fortified gates of Altea, shimmering in that pristine metal forged only by the elves of old, nothing came as a surprise. This place, this kingdom, the people here, were rich with elegance and practically congested in an air of royalty. Prim and proper. Clean, lethal, and ready to strike while looking mystical by default. Alteans, they called themselves. A long generation of the ancient Elven deities, granted with the dwindling power of magic.
The book states they do not share their secrets with outsiders. Not even to those stupidly loyal to them.
Imagine the raised brow of confusion when you saw their captain, that Takashi fellow, was a werewolf. So far from his pack, this one. Though, it made sense. Ferocious, fierce, werewolves were not meant to be trifled with, full moon or no. The loyalty of the wolf combined with the logical reasoning of man? Smart. Now, the real question was where did his allegiance lie?
“Paladin Takashi, I presume?”
Grey eyes, like the foggiest of winter nights, met yours and you saw him size you up with but a flash. Not lecherously, no, more like how a soldier would assess a fight, a situation, a potential ally or enemy. With amusement glistening in YOUR eyes, you found that he couldn’t pinpoint you down. A pirate on land? Joining the fight for a good cause? Yes, yes, you heard it all before. Walking ironies were always meant to be suspicious.
But pirates had charm and you knew when to use it.
With a flourished bow, both exaggerating in mock and respect, you spoke through a grin, “Allow me to introduce meself, ser. I be known as Peg-Leg the Kegmaster, cannon crafter and duelist extraordinaire of The Mermaid’s Doom, here at yer service.”
“A pirate?”
“Aye, a pirate, and if ye gunna be needin’ a slayed dragon, then yer gunna be needin’ what I have’ta offer.”
“To be honest, I’m surprised the guards didn’t detain you at first sight. But, desperate times call for desperate measures,” he replied freely, not at all with a judgmental tone but one of legitimate concern for you, for a stranger.
“An’ I be the perfect one fer those desperate times, mate.”
You placed the bounty parchment on the table in front of him then slid into the seat, onlookers tending to their own business. Coming here, to the central command of the vigilant army, there were all sorts of different kinds of folks around. Some wielding spears and donning turtle shells on their backs, others like Shiro with ears and tails and even fangs of werewolves, feathered harpies whose talons looked lethal enough to kill a shark, and even dwarves armored with fine metal from top to bottom.
A ragtag group of people, all coming together to fight one monster which has been blighting their landlubbing surface for who knows how long. An honorable cause, but as they say, there’s no honor amongst thieves. That’s why proving yourself right now would be pivotal to your aligned goals.
“By order of Her Majesty, Princess Allura, I have been bestowed the task of ridding the quintessence raged dragon of the north. Because of this, we can not allow magic-wielders to join our group. I know Peg is not your real name - “ you grinned cheekily, not at all affected by the admonishing tone in the truth, “ - but if you use quintessence to fight, I’m afraid you’re of no use to us on the frontline.”
“Nay, I t’aint one for hocus-pocus witchcraft. You start mutterin’ curses and voodoo gobbledee gook, I scatter like-a flock o’ gulls fleeing from the slimy tentacles of kraken itself.” With a nod to the paper, you continued, “If I were to be speakin’ the truth, matey, I’m here fer the gold. Nothing more, nothing less. Anything to do with yer kingdoms rubbin’ elbows with ya fancy silks are of no concern to me.”
Shiro leaned back, arms crossed, then tilted his head just a bit, not at all unlike a puppy trying to understand some strange phenomenon. He wasn’t a fresh soldier from the pack. Battle scars under his fur showed that this isn’t the first time he’s faced a foe bigger than himself. It was only by his strong connection with his righteous virtues and a debt owed to Altea, more specifically Honerva, that he was appointed captain of this draconic crusade.
But his trust in his instincts were always on point. That made him invaluable and right now? With watching you smile that smarmy smile, his instincts told him that, yes, you were good. Rogues were a recipe for trouble, add that with the lot of pirates, and you get chaos. An ace up the sleeve, a random boon that benefits all based on the law of uncertainty. Shiro would take a draw rather than a loss any day.
And he’s dealt with pirates before. Closely, in fact.
The Paladin rubbed his chin with his prosthetic arm, the smooth surface of quintessence run mechanism offering a small calm for his thoughts. “Where’s the rest of your crew?”
“The wind in the sails took ‘em to the sea. I chose t’stay. ‘Tis only a matter of time before this dragon o’ yers starts roosting in other lands and I ain’t one for facing more monsters below and above the waves,” your voice trailed off for a moment before your eyes snapped from his arm to his face, “Nor am I lookin’ to be noosed by yer masters. If this alliance can not be, I’ll be on me merry way an’ ye won’t need ‘ta worry about one more pirate on your plate.”
But he was no fool. Word of the growing stress between kingdoms reached even overseas in the last decade. News about the alliance between Altea and Daibazaal falling out with King Alfor’s death, or rather, “assassination.” It was rumored that the Galra leaders unleashed an ancient dragon, created of pure quintessence, to attack the Elven empire and cripple the nation. After the destruction which nearly annihilated the royal family, it fled to the Kral Zera holy lands, never to be seen again.
Until now. Shiro repeatedly told himself that perhaps this was just a dead end, a fairy tale told to keep kids safe and sound inside. A story meant to induce fear that the evil dragon can sense wrongdoings and will come eat you to gain more power. All leads he followed led to different answers, and this may be an unaccomplished quest in the end, but if that were the case, then he will serve to protect the innocent at the highest cost.
“The Black Mane work with several nations, not just one. If you can prove to be useful, be battle ready when needed, and are willing to help all, then consider yourself part of the pact,” he pulled out a folded paper from his pouch then slid it to you, “It’s a contract, rules to be followed while commissioned by the guild.”
“Yer giving me a set o’ rules?”
Now, this is where he let slip a grin hiding familiar mischief, “They’re more like guidelines should you choose to follow them, for your safety and the successful completion of this quest.”
“Tell me something, cap’n,” you asked, eyes reading but mindful of his attention, “Have ye ever broken one o’ them rules of yers?”
“Yes.” Straight answer with a tone of finality, a tone of that is all I’m saying on the matter.
You signed across the line, temporarily giving your time and life over to this noble cause, “Then do we have an accord?”
Shiro shook hands with pirates before. He’s taken more hands before, too. But what most people would suspiciously think about making deals with pirates were wrong. Honor and loyalty weren’t definitions they followed by their very soul, not like he did, yet as he firmly grasped your offered hand in agreement, his instincts told him one jarring fact.
This deal was empty, but oddly promising.
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