the numbers instead of words were too much

showing you care🌙scott mccall

Scott McCall x Reader

Word Count: 354 (sorry it’s so short)

Request: N/A

A/N- So this imagine is dedicated to my pea Fizzy (@scotttstilinskiii). Thanks for putting up with my weirdass questions and stories, and for being my self-dubbed ‘Number One Fan’. I hope you and everyone else enjoy! Much love, R :) x

You were happy with Scott: not only was he your boyfriend, he was your best friend too. The two of you were completely, utterly, undoubtedly in love, but a stigma seemed to have accumulated around ‘those three words’. It’s not like you hadn’t told each other you loved each other before, but the moment the two of you started dating, it seemed unacceptable to just drop into causal conversation. So, instead, the two of you made a silent and unknown promise to one another, to show that you loved each other; even if you weren’t going to say it.

For you it was wearing Scott’s lacrosse hoodie around school, and his spare jersey to games. For you, it was taking his Mom dinner at the hospital on the nights that he couldn’t. For you, it was helping him catch up in school, and ensuring that he keep his grades up. For you, it was spontaneous road trips and surprise sleepovers. For you, it was knowing that his favourite food was Mexican, and always moving wasabi away from him when you had sushi, so he wouldn’t fry all the nerve endings on his tongue. For you, it was being by his side, through it all.

For Scott, it was bringing you bouquets of flowers, just because he wanted to. For Scott, it was Facetimeing you for hours upon hours, talking about anything and everything under the sun. For Scott, it was stroking your hair until you fell asleep in his arms, and wrapping you in blankets, because he knew you hated the cold. For Scott, it was simply asking how your day had been, and listening to you ramble about every possible detail you could think of. For Scott, it was being there through the good and the bad.

You knew that all of the things that Scott did translated to, “I love you, Y/N.”

And he knew that everything you did for him amounted to, “I love you, Scott.”

The two of you were content with showing each other how much you cared, because sometimes, actions can speak louder than a simple three words.

Take Me With You

“I’m home.”

The door of their shared apartment clicks a soft thud as eager footsteps hurry themselves towards Chuuya. Before he can even respond with a “welcome home”, Dazai’s hand had already sneaked around his petite waist. His free hand grabs the redhead’s hair lightly, facing and luring him closer until both of them are staring eye to eye. His bandaged eye, although not seen, gazes intently at Chuuya’s blue locks, before leaning in to a tender kiss.

No words or whatsoever, just one Dazai and a Chuuya completely losing sense of everything outside their display of affection. The redhead’s hands creep behind his partner, playing with the hem of his shirt as his coat is now disregarded somewhere on the floor. Dazai’s hands move to cup the latter’s cheeks, steadying his face before nibbling his lips in way of asking entrance. Chuuya concedes, parts his lips a little, enough for Dazai’s tongue to explore the insides of his mouth, tasting like expensive wine and himself.

It has been six months and neither Chuuya nor Dazai knows how they fell into this some kind of pattern. Sure, they still fight and taunt each other like always, but right now, they’re obviously clueless of where they’re standing at all. Are they rivals? No. Rivals might be at each other’s throats, but not literally. Rivals don’t scream each other’s name at pleasure too, nor cuddle against one another when they have a room of their own. Certainly, they’re something else. Lovers? Well sort of. Although it wasn’t said verbally, both of them has this kind of understanding.

Chuuya tips his head back slightly once Dazai breaks the kiss to fill his lungs with air. His eyes is closed, yet he feels as if he sees Dazai panting to catch his breath, Dazai, only Dazai, not anyone else. Everything about Dazai is alluring and maybe with every second he spends with him, he falls in love more and more with the bandaged freak; but that’s something he won’t dare admit even in the afterlife.

When the brunette’s no longer deprived of oxygen, he places soft kisses on Chuuya’s neck, licking under the strap of his black choker. He bites the point where the shoulder meets the neck, marking him in a delicate bury of teeth. He trails kisses then, from his collarbone to his jaw and up to his chapped lips once more. The kiss is slow and gentle, unlike other kisses they’d shared during heated courses and intimate displays. Lips meet lips in a familiar rhythm, their tongue dances along with every sway of Dazai’s bangs tickling the tip of his nose. Just chaste, too pure and too innocent that it’s almost hard to believe the brunette initiated it.

Chuuya’s hands run themselves higher, drawing nonsensical patters on the other’s back. The way his partner brushes his fingers past his skin is far too arousing that Dazai feels himself weighing on the redhead more and more. Chuuya’s legs go weak against the executive’s intoxicating lips and Dazai takes the opportunity to lean him against the floor. Every touch feels more like whispers of promised forever rather than simple drive of lust. More like silent confessions rather than harsh eagerness. And it’s more like their home. This feels like they’re home. Beside each other.

Dazai belonging to him.

Dazai kissing him.

Dazai wanting him.

When they break off the kiss, Chuuya opens his eyes only to see the other staring deepy, as if trying to look right through him. His right eye might be bandaged but Chuuya still feels the same intensity, and is that sadness he sees on the other’s locks? His face shows no emotion, but it’s Dazai. And Chuuya knows him more than he knows himself. Dazai breaks into a soft smile, one that screams fake if you ask the redhead.

“Is anything wrong?” He asks, dusting off his coat. Dazai moves to stand up from his previous position. Chuuya follows, curling his legs before doing the same. The other speaks no word as he spreads himself on the couch. There’s darkness in his eyes, akin to something he’s seen when Dazai went home drunk and crying one night after Mori summoned him. That moment is still as vivid as ever, and Chuuya remembers cuddling beside him all night preventing him to break apart. The same night he soothed him to sleep as he promised he’s there and he’s never gonna leave him alone, no matter how much he hates his guts. Maybe that’s when Dazai first admitted he’s in love with Chuuya.

He has never seen that sight again, until now.

Dazai looks…so sad. He looks like a human for the first time in years. Something breaks inside the shorter man. Does he really know Dazai as much as he think he does?

The executive flings open his arms wide, pulling Chuuya to sit down on his lap. He buries his head on orange strands, nuzzling his nose in comfort. Chuuya feels so safe. The silence continues for ages, cold wind blowing their bodies yet the arms wrapped around his torso is enough to counter the chill. “Odasaku’s gone.“ He offers no explanation, just simply closes his eyes and lets his chest fall on a steady rhythm. Chuuya heaves a sigh and kisses his temple softly.

He releases himself from Dazai’s grasp and goes directly to their kitchen. He makes coffee then, not too bitter as per Dazai’s taste. He walks back to the executive with a cup of coffee in his hand, only to see him making his way towards the redhead’s bedroom. A forlorn expression on his face. If this is any other day, he would’ve thought that bastard has his own room, why does he keep sleeping at his? but today is not just an ordinary day. He has to be by Dazai’s side, has to remind him that’s he’s always there, and no—he’s not going to leave. He has to, because even if he has a choice, he’d still choose him over anything else. Dazai is still a bastard though.

Even so, Chuuya opens the door and finds Dazai sprawled against the bedsheet. He smiles again, fake, so fake that he wants to punch off that shitty look on his face. Nevertheless, he places the cup on their table, joining Dazai on his own comfortable bed.

He snuggles closer to his partner, breathing against his chest in perfect harmony. Not wasting any moment, Dazai quickly girdles his arm around his partner. Removing his unfashionable hat—in accordance to him of course—with another hand, he showers his lean chest with soft kisses up to his neck. Chuuya’s hands are moving around his body and it takes everything in Dazai not to devour him right there and then.

No, he can’t. This will be the last time, he tells himself.

“I love you.” The brunette breathes out. He brushes Chuuya’s hair to the side and fully kisses him. Their lips fit each other so much, first thing they noticed when the redhead used corruption for the third time and Dazai used his mouth to nullify said ability. Since then, they just knew they belong to one another. No labels on their relationship or whatsoever, just the two of them loving each other inhumanly possible.

“I love y—”

“No, Chuuya. You don’t understand. I love you so much it’s making me crazy. I’ve never felt this way to anyone before and I doubt I ever will besides you. You’re the only person I and will ever love, Nakahara Chuuya. I can never love someone the way I love you and I–I’m so glad you’re mine. I’ll live and die for you.”

Tears stream down against the redhead’s face. Something he doesn’t notice at first drop and even the second, third, fourth, up to the last. Because right now, all he hears is Dazai. All he sees is Dazai. All he tastes is Dazai. All he feels is Dazai.

All he knows is Dazai.

Just the two of them sharing warmth under the white blanket, shielding them away from the cold the night brings.

“I’ll always love you.” Dazai ends with his lips on Chuuya’s forehead. A promise.

Chuuya tucks his head under his partner’s chin, smelling the faint yet unique scent of Dazai. He ignores the fact that although Dazai expresses his feelings a lot better than he can, he’s not the type to blabber all those things to him without any reason. Maybe it has something to do with Oda’s death? He doesn’t know. But what matters now is Dazai loves him and he loves him as much as well. There’s still wedding of their own to look forward to, so his vows can wait a little. He’ll tell Dazai how much he loves him; and together, they’ll spend forever in each other’s arms.

One day, Nakahara Chuuya will no longer be Nakahara. Something, he knows he won’t ever regret.

So in silent hum of the night and the monlight illuminating their figures, Chuuya succumbs to slumber.

Dazai Osamu leaves the Port Mafia an hour later, forsaking all his promises he knew he would break the moment he made them and a sleeping Chuuya—unaware of the missing warmth beside him.

Joining the Armed Detective Agency from a faraway country, Dazai supposes he has a good life now—away from scent and taste of iron, or tantalizing grins imprinted on his ex-mentor’s face. Away from screams of torture, from his subordinates fully consumed in darkness and maniacal laugh of suffering. Away from his weakness, a man in form of short 160 centimeters and blue eyes.

He’s learned to live a normal life, life in the side of light as per Odasaku’s last words were. The side that saves people, he remembers. It might not make a difference but at least, he’s not standing on corpses or crimson red anymore. Instead, he’s gifted with everyday smiles from people he has helped, oblivious of the number he killed back in the Port Mafia. He still hasn’t found a reason to live, so he searches and searches, even if it might sound impossible to the likes of him.

Well, he found it a long time ago, but he let it go, thinking that reason was too much and was undeserving of him.

And now, listening to Kunikida’s same old sermons brings a yawn out of him. Kunikida Doppo, his new partner, is reciting his weekly report in front—words echoing on the four corners of the room though they don’t reach him. Tormenting him is way more fun than listening to his blabberings after all. It’s too boring, Kunikida’s words are boring. The only thing interesting in this place is how he can make fun of them all he wants and get away with it just fine. No thrill, but at least, he’s found some people to protect and is following Oda’s words. This is enough, right?

This is his new home.

A home where people accepted him regardingless of his past, when there’s a lot of reasons not to.

Yet during times of sunsets and tranquil nights, he still finds himself cold and snuggling closer to his pillow, before getting disappointed that none of the things he has can fill his chest with warmth. In times, he even finds himself crying, and lips aching for one’s mouth that he used to know so much. A little more than usual, he holds his phone to his ear, desiring to dial his digits just to hear his voice one last time. He can’t though.

How are you, Chuuya?

I bet you’ve already moved on.

Well, Dazai can’t blame him. Surely, the shorter man loathes him so much now. Who wouldn’t though? When he just said all those cheesy lines only to leave first thing in the morning. As if Chuuya didn’t matter to him. As if he’s nothing but a toy he had fun playing with. As if they never happened at the first place. After all, those are the most logical conclusion, right? It isn’t surprising that the redhead will think of his love as nothing more than pretend. That Nakahara Chuuya is nothing more than a pawn to Dazai Osamu.

Which he isn’t. Because he is so much more. Because he loves Chuuya more than anyone else. Because Chuuya is his weakness and strength at the same time. Because Chuuya is his life. His reason to live.

Mori-sensei had already gotten rid of Odasaku, knowing full well that Dazai Osamu, in fact, treats the guy as his closest friend. In plan of driving him out of the Mafia, his former boss sets everything up, to which Dazai doesn’t notice until it’s too late. Then what about Chuuya? He might be powerful but what will Mori do to him if he learns that Dazai, of all people, holds some romantic feelings for the redhead? He’ll use him of course, which is why he left before that can even happen.

He doesn’t mind getting hurt, but Chuuya, he won’t let anyone hurt Chuuya. So the most conventional way of doing so, is leaving. After all, he can’t let Chuuya get hurt because of his love. He can’t let Chuuya suffer because of his existence.

He let him go, but it’s alright.

It hurts but he’ll be alright.

It’s not alright, but it will be.

It has been four years after all.

He wants to hear his voice so much, wants to feel him again so badly—and ask if they can try again when eveything’s over. When Mori’s gone and no hindrance can ever stop them from falling in love with each other. When the time comes that the both of them can finally be happy and whisper soothing worlds to lull the other to sleep—wrapped in his own body of bandages and scars—he’ll promise to never leave again. A promise he won’t break anymore. It’s not possible, but he’ll wait.

“Oi, are you listening?” Kunikida’s voice breaks his train of thoughts. He’d forgotten that he is, in fact, in a meeting with all staffs of his new found home, tackling about some important matter that everyone needs to hear. It completely slipped his mind though, as images of a certain redhead lingers around his mind a while ago.

The blonde glares daggers at him, even Fukuzawa is looking at him with hint of disapproval. He’s in trouble now but he can get away with it, of course. He flashes his most charming smile and says, “But this is sooooo boring, Kunikida-kun. Just like you.” He adds with faint mockery.

“Why you—“

“Enough now.” The president of the armed detective agency dismisses them with a raise of his hand. Kunikida scowls before continuing his report. Everyone sighs then, returning to listen at the blonde’s words after thanking Dazai for a few seconds off. The brunette just let himself fall to his chair, another sound which irks the blonde more than ever. Though, with the threatening eyes of Fukuzawa-san glaring at the both of them, Kunikida knew when to shut up.

“Dazai.” Edogawa Ranpo calls him from behind. The great detective flashes him a grin, something which screams warning at first glance; but Dazai is unfazed. The shorter man sheers his glass bottle—some toy he finds amusing, to Dazai’s confusion—before staring at him when the words fall off his mouth. “Call him.”

Which is why after their supposed meeting, Dazai hurries back to his apartment; a dead and plain cold house, with no redhead around to pepper him with light kisses and hungry ones. He fishes his phone out of his pocket and lies at the king-sized bed, too wide for him alone. He has never looked at anyone since Chuuya, after all.

Considering he has never said anything about the redhead at anyone in the agency, Dazai supposes Ranpo figured out what was bothering the brunette on his own. Well, they may or may not have noticed his usual spacing out whenever the words short, blue, hat and wine are mentioned. Or how he’s never interested at anyone flinging themselves onto him, politely declining them by saying he has someone waiting for him at his home—a lie, obviously. Or maybe it’s just too damn apparent that he longs for someone not with him anymore, someone he shouldn’t be missing when he’s the one who threw their love and partnership away.

Someone he left alone in the darkness to bathe himself in light.

He flips his phone open and types his number, now strange to the way his fingers press the screen ever so lightly in a familiar pattern. He hears three rings and almost hangs up, when a voice, his voice, blooms through the confines of his room. Dazai notices the light shake of his hands.

Disappointingly, it sounds like a voice message—but Dazai’s silently grateful for he doesn’t know what to say at all. Should he start with “Hey it’s me, Dazai.” and follow with “I’m the traitor, do you still remember me?” Well, of course someone with a brain wouldn’t say that, but he still finds himself chuckling at his own humour.

The person on the end of the line speaks. “Hello, this is Nakahara Chuuya. I’m out on a mission right now so I can’t get to you.“ His voice resounds against his room. “I’ll be gone for a few days but I’ll call back when I return on Thursday. If this is Akutagawa, fuck off don’t go into my room and mess with my things again. The last time you did, you fucking left the door open you asshole.”

Dazai cracks into a soft a laughter. Seems like his subordinate adapted one of his everyday habits, a deed he used to do a lot back then. The brunette’s lips curve a little, it’s touching how Akutagawa and Chuuya have gotten closer during the four years he’s gone. Not that he blames them though. Maybe a lot of things had already changed. Such a shame he wasn’t there to see them grow.

“If this is Tachihara, for the last time I’m on a mission! I’m not in some kind of bar again drinking my ass off those heavenly liquors. Damn it! Mori-san sent me here, don’t fucking insist I’m just trying to get myself drunk. If this is Elise, sorry I can’t play with you right now, but when I get home I will. Well if this Kouyou-nee-san, sorry for not telling you I’m leaving for a few days. I didn’t get the chance to talk to you yesterday, but I’ll be back. If this is anybody else, wait for the tone and leave a message. I’ll call you back.” Chuuya says, in a way Dazai’s so familiar of.

So fond of.

Nakahara Chuuya sounds better without him, so who is he to ruin him all over again?

But that doesn’t stop him from missing his touch though.

Just as he’s about to hang up, the voice sounds once more after mere seconds of silence. Dazai almost drops his phone. Almost. “P.S. If this you bastard Mackerel, I still love you.” And he hears the beep.

The brunette doesn’t notice himself crying. Doesn’t notice the phone slipping away from his hold to the hard floor beneath him. Doesn’t feel his legs anymore and doesn’t see anything at all due to his blurry vision. The bandages around his torso are all wet now, tears drenching every part of it. He feels himself shaking wildly, clawing his fist enough to draw blood.

I still love you.

How can Chuuya hang onto him for so long?

Even after four years?

Dazai shakes his head roughly. No, no this can’t be. He can’t go back. He can’t hurt Chuuya again. Chuuya’s fine, Chuuya’s a lot better. And maybe just one more month will help him get rid of his feelings for Dazai. Chuuya should hate him, should curse his existence for leaving him without saying anything. He doesn’t deserve Chuuya, the redhead’s far too good for him.

He can’t break him again. He knows better.

So with that thought, he falls asleep. Cold and alone in the darkness of his room. The words I still love you followed by his own please stop loving me still ringing in his ears.

Four months later, he tries again.

It’s more of a gravitational pull rather than rational thinking. Or is there even rational thinking on the first place? He’s not so sure anymore. Dazai doesn’t give a damn and all he knows is that he yearns for someone else’s voice and it might be a bad idea but he’ll try anyway. He might break again and lose focus on his work just like what happened months ago, when he first called the redhead, but it’s okay. This time, it’s for goodbye. He doesn’t call to bring anything or anyone back, just a closure. Just for one last time. For the sake of his stammering heart, too stubborn to let go.

Four years and four months, surely he would have forgotten about him, right?

He doesn’t know what he’d say, but it takes five seconds when the other end of the line picks up. “Hello, this is Nakahara Chuuya.” The other starts.

Another voice message.

“Mori-san summoned me and I think he’s giving me another mission so I can’t talk with you right now. However, I’m certainly going to be back at Sunday so I’ll just call you then. If this is Q, damn it stop breaking into my room! My hats are not fucking toys, you got me? They’re my collection! Collection! And no, my wine isn’t bitter milk either. If this is Higuchi, stop pestering me into helping you with Akutagawa, that guy has no heart to begin with. Just give up.” Chuuya says as a matter of a fact.

I hope you’d given up on me too. Dazai wishes he can respond.

“If this is Kouyou-nee-san, sorry for not telling you again! Mori-san was in a bad mood earlier so I had to go immediately. I’ll drop by and talk to you next time, I promise! If this is anyone else, wait for the beep and leave a message. I’ll call you back.”

There is soft silence, until, “P.S. If this is you bastard Mackerel, I still love you.”

The tone sounds and Dazai recites his own number.

All things he’d said about closure and other damn lies he can’t keep up with anymore now off from his system. Now, all he thinks of is Chuuya, his orange hair and blue locks; and the way his name rolls off his tongue as if they’re meant to be.

Chuuya still loves him and he loves Chuuya more than ever. So what’s stopping them? Mori? No. It was never Mori. His cowardy is to blame. If he truly loves Chuuya, he’ll fight for him. He’ll save him. They’ll escape together and be happy in confines of their own affection. Because if he truly loves Chuuya, he’ll come back. And that’s why this time, he’s not going to let him go again.

To hell with being meant to be or not! Whatever happens, not even fate can drive him to give up on the redhead again. If Chuuya has waited this long, who is he to refuse? This time, he’ll make sure it will work out. He’ll give Chuuya the love he deserves. He’ll make him happy and make sure he pays for the four years the brunette had hurt him.

So Dazai smiles, a real one, waiting for Sunday to come.

Saturday night and Dazai doesn’t expect his phone to start blinking and vibrating, rummaging under his pillow at such an ungodly hour. 2:30 AM, he checks, as he rubs his eyes sleepily at the noisy piece of trash below him. He grips the small piece of device and flips it open, surprised at the words twinkling and maybe even mocking him at his groggy state. Chuuya’s name flashes at the screen.

Dazai’s heart skips a beat.

No more than a second later, he slides over the accept button.

“You bastard is this fucking you?! How dar—“ No doubt it is Chuuya. Same old angry Chuuya.

“Chuuya. Listen first I’m—“

“HOW FUCKING DARE YOU?!” The other breaks into sobs, resounding clearly at the end of the line. The sounds claw Dazai’s heart more than ever. It hurts, hurts him more than anything, hurts that he’s the reason the man he loves is breaking apart, hurts that no matter how much he wants to, he cannot be there to comfort him and tell him everything’s going to be okay.

It hurts that he cannot kiss his pain away.

“Chuuya, I’m sorry for leaving. I’m sorry for everything, really.”

“You’re not.” There is agitation on Chuuya’s voice and the brunette feels himself sinking down the Earth. He hates himself, hates himself for leaving, hates himself for making Chuuya suffer, hates himself for not telling the other to move on before disappearing to shadows.

Hates that Chuuya never unloved him, when he thought he would.

“If I had my way,” A hiccup. “I would’ve gotten over you.” Dazai notes the desperation on his voice. His phone is threatening to slip from his hold, but the little strength he has left is preventing the piece of technology from hitting the tiled floor. Dazai Osamu is crying, he’s crying that even after four years, he still misses Chuuya, no one but Chuuya.

He’s crying, realizing how much of a horrible person he is to hurt the only one who would never think of hurting him, the same way he did.

And that’s when he realizes, there’s still some human in him.

“Chuuya.” He whispers ever so softly. His lips are quivering in agony. He feels so empty, so hollow, so incomplete, without his partner by his side. It’s been four years but Chuuya’s name still hurts the same as it rolls off his mouth. Too familiar, as if he hadn’t avoided saying the other’s name since the night he left him.

“Please come back, Dazai. I want to go home.” Chuuya’s voice sounds so fragile.

Because Dazai is his home.

Because no house can ever give him the warmth he dreads, If Dazai is not inside.

Because a home is being wrapped in Dazai’s embrace.

Because home is wherever Dazai is.

A small smile plays on the detective’s mouth. Tears stream down his face in queue, happy—joyful even, to hear those words coming out from the man he loves more than anything. Maybe it’s time to go home. Maybe four years is enough already and the time has come for them to reunite. Maybe they weren’t even meant to stand on different sides. Just beside each other, partners. Always beside each other.

For twenty-two years, Dazai had never been wrong, not even once— but he realizes, the day he left Chuuya was the first time he had ever been.

The first mistake he’s ever done.

“Just so you know, bastard. I’ve tried going out with other people, but you just have to mess me up every time. Do you plan on making me alone for the rest my life?” The redhead’s words cut his thoughts.

“Same here, my cute little hat rack. You know I can never love anyone, if they’re not you.”

Chuuya curses, throws profanities at him while tears are still obviously escaping his eyes. His muffled voice just confirms Dazai’s suspicion and he wants nothing more than to hug his redhead and make love with him again. Only to show the other how much his love never changed after all those years.

“I’ll be home.” Dazai promises, and he’s never been this happy during those four years the redhead wasn’t by his side. “And P.S. I still love you too.” The former executive grins, maybe teasing Chuuya a little—but he’s too goddamn emotional right now to even retort in mockery.

Because Chuuya, for the first time in years, learns that when Dazai says he’ll be home, he will be.

“I’ll wait for you.” A promise.

Promises they will never break again.

Nonverbal Jack (Pt. 2 - Texting)

(part 1 here)

Overall, Jack isn’t great with technology. The exception to the rule is texting. Ever since he got his first cell phone Jack loved that he had the option to just text people. He didn’t have to actually talk to anyone. He didn’t have to spend an hour working himself up for a five-minute phone call.

His parents worried at first it would encourage him to be closed off if they just texted, but his therapist assured them it was best to let Jack communicate however he was most comfortable, as long as he was communicating. So they started a habit of texting even when in the same house, sometimes when in the same room. On weekends Jack could go a full day without saying a word out loud and he loved it. Even when he could speak he found it so much easier to find the right words when they were written instead of spoken.

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Ship: Nalu
Word Count: over 2.5k
Summary: After years of finding strange drawings on her arms, ‘hi’ was the only word Lucy could come up with.
About: I’ve wanted to write a soulmate AU for a while now, but this one’s a bit different than the usual ‘I’m getting old and I still haven’t found my soulmate even though everyone else has’ soulmate story (not that I don’t like those). 
Disclaimer: I don’t own Skype, Wikipedia, or Fairy Tail.

It had been happening for years now. Some mornings, Lucy would wake up and find black ink scribbled up and down her left arm. At first, she thought it was just a prank. Maybe one of her friends had been sneaking into her house and drawing on her. But when she asked, they all said it wasn’t them. Levy, for probably the first time ever, had no clue what was going on. Juvia and Mirajane went on and on about a soulmate or a secret lover. Meanwhile Erza was arguing with Lucy about whether or not to call the cops.

Whoever was doing it, Lucy decided, wasn’t doing it to prank her. Otherwise they would have drawn things other than simple patterns that spiraled like DNA and the occasional flame-like symbol, which were usually done with red and orange pen instead of black. Maybe if it were a prank there would be writing involved as well. Maybe if she tried leaving this mystery person a message, they would leave her alone.

Lucy walked over to her desk and pulled open her top right drawer to fetch her favorite rose-colored ink pen. Without even thinking, she uncapped the pen and placed the tip above her left hand.

“I’m so going to regret this,” Lucy muttered to herself. In normal circumstances, pen ink was relatively easy to wash off of skin. However, in the past when Lucy tried to erase the black ink off her arm, it wouldn’t come off. It would just disappear a few days later like it was all a dream.

Lucy’s pen hovered over her hand and, instead of thinking though what she was going to write, she impulsively wrote the simplest thing she could.

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You Have an Overprotective Brother and He Doesn't Know You Are Seeing Him (Part 3)

Part one     Part two

{ this is the last part… Hope you enjoy :)) }

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Preference: You Have a Overprotective brother, and He Doesn’t Know You Are Seeing Him (Part 3)

*Two weeks later* 
It had been more than a bit of time, since your little incident with Luke and Y/B/N. After your brother had stormed out of the room, Luke followed him, but didn’t seem to bother speaking with him; instead he just left the house, and you hadn’t heard from him since. Regardless of the number of voicemails, and messages you’d left him, he didn’t seem to care. 
Now, Y/B/N on the other hand, was much easier to deal with. Not that you two were on very good speaking terms, but the awkward tension that was not too long ago carried between the both of you, had definitely minimized. After Luke had left, not another word was spoken of either the event that had just taken place, or Luke himself. 
You sat on your bed, back pressed against the wall as you once again hopelessly dialled Luke’s number; you couldn’t help it, you needed an answer. 
Even if he wanted to end things, and as much as it broke your heart, you needed to know. You pressed the cold metal to the side of your face, the never ending ring of the dial tone filled rang through your ears. A long sigh escaped your lips, as you heard the all too familiar voicemail for the millionth time. You threw your phone onto the floor, pulling your knees into your chest, and resting your head on top of them; you hadn’t even noticed the light tears that poured out of your eyes, until they dripped onto your ice cold palms. You knew him not answering, and avoiding you probably meant he wanted to end things, and as much as it hurt, it was the truth, and you were going to have to live with it. 
“You trying to call Luke?” your brother stood by the frame of your door, one hand on the handle, peering into your room. So caught up in your own little charade, you had no idea how long Y/B/N had been standing there, curious about how much of it he had really seen. 
“Why do you care?” you brought your head up from your knees, shaking it briefly. “This is your fault anyways,” you muttered under your breath, only quiet enough for you to hear- or so you thought. 
“My fault?” he crossed the room, walking over to your bed, “you’re blaming me for dating my best friend behind my back?” 
“I’m not blaming you for that. I’m blaming you for overreacting. I’m blaming you for punching Luke for no good reason. I’m blaming you for the fact that Luke is probably never going to speak to me again because he’s too loyal to break your friendship,” you cried, as Y/B/N sat himself on the edge of your bed, brows furrowed; almost a look of sympathy crossed his face. 
“You really like him, don’t you?” he asked, looking down at the palms of his hands. 
You simply nodded in response. 
“He’s actually downstairs. I invited him over to talk to me, but I’m sure he’d rather want to speak with you.”
“You serious?” you almost immediately leapt off of the bed, running into the hallway, and peering over the railing to sure enough see Luke standing by the counter.
You raced down the stairs, “Luke!!” you yelled, causing him to instantly whip is head in your direction. 
“Y/N?!” he said uneasily, but that didn’t stop you from running straight into his arms, holding him in a tight embrace. 
“It’s cool with me if you’re together, as long as you don’t make out in front of me,” Y/B/N called from upstairs, causing you both to laugh, as you stepped back and let go of Luke. 
“I missed you,” he whispered, placing two fingers underneath your chin, and bringing your face closer to his, until you’re lips finally connected. Full of desire, and longing, you could feel Luke smiling into the kiss. 
“HEY!!” Y/B/N called from upstairs, and Luke drew back immediately, still smiling. 
“Sorry!” he yelled back.

As soon as Ashton left your room, Alex stood in front of the door; blocking it. 
“Move.” you said, agitated, attempting to shove him out of the way, but he grabbed your arm. 
“You’re not going anywhere,” he stated refusing to budge. 
“Alex. Stop being an overprotective dick head, and let me go,” you retorted, a new level of sass finding its way to your mouth. 
“Did you not hear me?” he questioned, “you’re not dating Ashton. And you’re not going anywhere, he said, leaving your room. 
**A couple hours later** 
It was dark now, and from what you could hear there was not movement going on downstairs, so you assumed Alex had gone to sleep. Your plan was to sneak out, and run to Ashton’s place, which wasn’t more than a couple blocks away. It was still too risky to leave using the front door, so you figured you could exit through the window. After all, if Ashton could have made it up, how hard could it be to get down? 
You opened the window, gently taking out the screen, in hopes of being completely silent. You set the screen on your bed, and shimmied out the window, legs first. About half way out, you reached onto your bed and grabbed the screen putting it back into its place, to reduce suspicion incase Alex came into your room, having previously stuffed your bed with a pillow, to create the illusion of a body. 
You hung from your window sill, slowly letting go and dropping onto the grass underneath. You sighed, brushing yourself off, and looking up at the window in which you had made your escape. “That was easy,” you smirked, proud of yourself, as you began walking out of the back garden. 
“Was it?” you heard a voice behind you; Alex. Fuck. “You could have hurt yourself,” You scoffed, before turning around. “Care to tell me where you plan on going at this hour?” 
“None of your business,” you spat. 
“Actually it is. Why don’t you come on back inside then?” walking closer to you, and grabbing your elbow, ushering you to walk alongside him. 
“No.” You tried keeping your stance, but his grip was too tight. He dragged you back inside the house. “I hate you,” you said, teeth gritted. 
“I don’t care,” he responded, “I’m going to go and speak to Ashton tomorrow,” he paused, as he guided you up the stairs, and back to your room, “look, I don’t care if you hate me. You can hate me for the rest of your life, but I’m doing this for your own good. He’s just going to fucking break your heart.” 
“How can you just say that!?” you yelled, completely fed up with your brother. 
“I can say that, because I know him. I know how he thinks. You’re not dating him and that’s final. I’m gonna make sure Ashton’s clear on that,” he closed your door, walking away from your room, and leaving you defeated and helpless as you laid on your bed, ready to shed more then a few tears.

You woke up when a bright light reflected off of your eyes, causing you to squint until your eyes adjusted to the brightness. The source; the sun peaking through the white curtains. You rolled over, to find a awake Calum, staring off into space. 
“You’re up!” you smiled, snuggling closer into his side. 
“Mhm,” he mumbled, kissing the top of your head, and wrapping his left arm around you. 
You had been staying at Calum’s for the past three or four days, mostly just to avoid going home, and seeing your brother. You hadn’t spoken to him since you and Calum walked out, regardless of the amounts of missed calls and voicemails he had left you asking where you were, and when you were coming home. 
“You know babe as much as I love having here, you just really call your brother,” he said, drawing little circles into your back. 
“I know,” you sighed. 
“I mean I don’t want to be the reason you guys are fighting, or you not going home, and-” 
“Fine, fine, fine! I’ll call him!” you ushered yourself out of bed, and grabbed your phone, heading out into the hallway. 
“Hello? Y/N?!” he answered the phone almost immediately. 
“Hey,” you answered slyly, unsure of where this call was going to take you. 
“Where are you? Are you ok? You hadn’t been answering the phone, i was worried,” he bombarded you with questions. 
“Yeah, I’m fine. I’ve been staying at Calum’s house, you don’t have to worry,” you answered. 
“Of course,” he exhaled into the phone. 
“Why do you have such a big problem with him?” 
“Because he’s a punk and I don’t trust him being with you,” he retorted, as if he’d been practising what he was going to say to you. 
“See thats where you’re wrong. If he was such a ‘punk’ would he have let me stay with him for the past 4 days? You don’t know anything about him,” you argued. 
“I know enough about him to know you shouldn’t be with him.” 
“We’ve already had this conversation! If you can’t accept the fact that I’m going to date Calum, then don’t look forward to me coming home anytime soon,” you said, ready to hangup. 
“Y/N wait!” he paused, letting out a deep sigh, “if it means you’ll come home, and we can be on good terms, I’m fine with you going out with Calum. Just let him know if he hurts you I’m going to whoop his ass,” Y/B/N finished. 
You sighed with relief, your heart beginning to race in excitement. 
“Thank you so much Y/B/N,” you said, finishing your good-byes and racing into the other room to tell Calum your good news.

After Luke and Calum had come back home, it was very clear that Calum was doing his best to avoid you and Michael. He only talked when and if he needed to, keeping a straight face for most of the night. 
When the night had grown on, and Calum had decided it was time to go, he simply said your name not more than once, tilting his head in the direction of the door, indicating his request. 
“Tell me how it goes,” Michael whispered into your ear, before you could walk out the front door. 
The anticipation of getting in the car was horrendous. You knew that Calum was either going to finally lose his shit, and yell at you, or the entire car ride would be filled with an eerie silence, which frankly, was worse than being yelled at. 
You finally opened, and closed your door, and sat yourself on the leather seating. Unfortunately, your second guess had been correct, and the majority of the car ride sat in utter silence, but you were determined to break it. 
“Cal..” you taking a deep breath, “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about Michael and I, it was completely my fault… You shouldn’t blame Michael for it.” 
“Ok.” he responded, simply. 
“Ok?” you asked, questionably confused. You definitely expected more of an argument. 
“All I wanted was an apology,” he stated. 
“So you’re ok with Michael and I?”
He slowly nodded his head up and down in response. 
“Thank you, thank you, thank you!!” you squealed, hugging his arms which were still in the wheel. 
“Aye now. I’m still driving,” Calum said, slightly laughing. 
You let go of him, a huge grin plastered to your face, which didn’t show any sign of leaving; at least until you got home, and broke the news to Michael.

Hope you enjoyed! :))

Msg me if you want to be bffs


I think I’m finally ready to tell my story. For a really long time, I tried to peg my experience as insignificant with the hope that I’d eventually just forget about it. I gawked at my mom and best friend when they told me that I should write about it because I could help other women who may’ve ended up in a similar position. Their push frustrated me: “I don’t want to help other women. You bringing it up at all is hurting me, can’t you see that? I’m just trying to keep my head above water, and I want so desperately to just forget about it. Please help me do that. If you love me, you’ll help me do that.” I still carry this same apathetic attitude with me a lot of the time.

I remember about a month after it happened, I flew out to see the man who was half responsible. I sat next to someone who somehow thought it was appropriate to talk about all of his personal beliefs with me. I remember him saying, “those women are murderers, the whole lot of them.” I can’t really explain how that made me feel, but it was like someone actualizing the most dreaded thought you had about yourself, and I think I would have ran for the nearest emergency exit if I wasn’t gripping my seat as tightly as I had been.

So yeah, I am 1 of those 3, but I want you to know that I’m also a daughter and a friend and a teacher and a sister. And I think if you can remember me as those things instead of a murderer or a number, you may not hate me as much as I often hate myself. I’m telling you this partly because my silence about it is eating me alive. But I also think that maybe my mom and friend were onto something. You know, maybe my words can help and heal other beautiful women who are struggling too, so here you go:

I remember I requested a towel to be put over my face because I didn’t want the anyone to see me cry. And I remember asking my best friend who had come with me to turn her back towards me and just tell me funny stories to keep me distracted. And I remember after the fact, just looking at these amazing women who demanded no explanation from me for making my choice, but gave a compassionate hand to hold instead. And although it was the saddest day of my life—there is no denying that—their sensitivity and strength was the most beautiful act of life I have ever experienced. I looked at them and managed to tell them through the tears that they had saved my life.

Now for a more critical part of my story. I think part of the reason I still have these residual feelings of shame and guilt is because it has been stigmatized in these incredible ways, and I mean “incredible” in the literal sense of the word. The fact that you can’t enter a Planned Parenthood without people shoving their opinions down your throat is a problem. And the fact it remains a “hot button” issue automatically suggests that there is something shameful in what I did, and that the quality of my entire character is somehow up for debate. And what’s scary about that is thinking of how many voices are being silenced; how many women are swallowing their grief out of fear of being called these egregious names. And as long as white cis males continue to threaten the vitality of women’s reproductive rights, women are going to feel ashamed, women who aren’t ready to be parents are going to have children anyway, and society will ensure the continuation of institutionalized oppression, including patriarchy and child neglect.

And I could go on and on about how I’m well-educated, and have a great teaching job now, and have my entire life ahead of me, but…what is the point? Am I suddenly more “deserving” of my access to healthcare services than someone in a different situation? These are reproductive rights we’re talking about. They should be accessible to every woman, regardless of socioeconomic status, personal background or location.

Lastly, here’s the thing: illegalizing ANYTHING won’t stop it from happening; it will only ensure that it’ll happen in an unsafe environment. Women are still going to seek treatment. But you can bet that they won’t have access to clean facilities and follow-up preventative care to ensure that they never have to go through something like this again.

So, that’s where I am. There’s no point in lying and telling you that I’m okay, because I’m not. The man I spent loving for four and half years is no longer part of my story. I struggle with my feelings every day, and I don’t think that’ll ever go away. But if these words can, in any way, act as healing agents, then they’ve served purpose…and I can live with losing 10, 20, 100 followers who after reading this, still don’t get it. And women who have been where I have, don’t feel pressured to share your stories. If not talking about it is what you need to do to feel okay, then do that. But at the same time, don’t feel ashamed to speak up. You made a healthy choice that was best for you, and I am proud of you. Finally, if you ever need to talk to me about anything, whether it’s related to this or not, I am here. And I will listen and I will try to validate your thoughts and feelings and we will get through whatever it is together, because your issues are my issues are her issues are our issues.

Thank you so much for opening up about your experience! Your courage and openness could very well help someone else who is struggling with their abortion.