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samsno1 · 9 months

Text

Celebrating

Dean Winchester x F!Reader

hi, heres what i promised to the dean girls! i don't know what to say, this is long and i don't know if the smut is good enough, might edit later, also, dean in this red jacket is my favorite

Summary: It had been a while since you got some and at night of celebrating a successful hunt you expected to finally, after a long time, get laid

Warnings: SMUT, piv, unprotected sex (wrap it up), finger sucking, jealousy (? if you squint), oral f. recieving, fingering, dean is so in love ohmygod, english is not my first language, not proof read (if i forgot anything let me know)

Read it on AO3

WC: 4.7k

You can learn how to change Y/N for your actual name here

enjoy!

It was difficult for you to find anyone willing to spend the night with you in the current settings of your life, having to lie about what you do, who you are…Basically create a whole new personality just to be able to bring someone to your motel room. In that sense, it was frustrating, both sexually and mentally to be put in this scenery but, either way, saving lives was more important than getting laid, even if you were thoroughly stressed beyond comparison by your inability to find a guy (or girl).

You, Sam and Dean had gone to California for what you discovered, after great questioning and piles of research, was a simple salt ‘n burn of a poor ghost of a roadkill and was haunting that particular highway and crashing trucks of drivers who were mildly intoxicated behind the wheel.

After finding out where the bones were buried you went to the cemetery and started digging up the grave. Shovel after shovel of dirt fell behind you while you panted in exhaustion until you hit something hard at the bottom of the hole you dug up.

You harshly broke the wooden casket, revealing the remains of the ghost and a putrid smell hit your nose like everytime it happened when you had a salt ‘n burn. You scrunched up your nose and threw the shovel on the ground beside you, reaching with a hand towards Dean for him to help you get out of the hole.

“There it is.” You say proudly as you stare down at the decomposed body being covered with salt by Sam while Dean reaches for the alcohol in the bag and the lighter in his pocket.

You three watch as the bones light up in an orange fire, burning away what’s tying the poor soul to this world, the heat radiating in your skin. After some time you bump your shoulder with Dean’s, making him look at you.

“Let’s go, I need a shower so we can go out and celebrate” You say with a grin as you turn back to walk towards the Impala and Dean follows suit along with Sam, the fire slowly extinguishing itself behind you.

You opened the door to the backseat, the creaking of the hinges echoing through the night, getting inside and closing the door with a thud. Dean and Sam sat in their designed seats at the driver and shotgun, respectively, and you drove into the night towards the motel.

“I saw a bar not far from where we are staying” Dean said and you hummed and Sam nodded. “You two might have to come back alone, you know” He suggested with a smirk and Sam scrunched his nose and let out an amused huff and you chuckled dryly, a weird nausea bubbling in your stomach.

Deep down you wished Dean could see you the way he sees the bartenders and strippers in bars or clubs you three often go to. You didn’t know if he thought you were too rough, too scarred, both mentally and physically. You usually dressed up nice, using makeup from time to time when you noticed your eyebags were getting darker or when your lips looked too pale. You also tried your best with clothing, well, the best someone could do when you were a hunter. Either way, you never looked like those girls, they were absolutely stunning, even for you, and you couldn’t compete with them.

You shook your head. You were probably thinking these things because it had been some time since you last got laid. Tonight was your night, you were feeling it, you were taking someone to your room.

Dean turned the car off after parking and you got out, going to the trunk to get your bag.

“You guys meet me in my room? I’ll most likely take longer to get ready” You said with a grin and the boys nodded. You took out the keys to your room and got in, throwing your bag over your bed and going to another bag you had in your room, where you kept your “fancy” clothes and makeup.

You took out a beautiful black dress with long sleeves that ended in your mid thighs. It was a dress you thrifted when you went on a hunt alone a while ago and never had the opportunity to use it. When you tried it on, though, it hugged your curves in all the right places, made your body look amazing and you felt as confident as one could feel.

You left the dress over the bed and rushed to the bathroom to take a shower, smiling to yourself. You took your time, washed your hair thoroughly and finished it off in the usual way. In the hunting life you often get your hair very dirty almost everyday with blood, dirt, ectoplasm…you name it. So, keeping it lucious and healthy was a process that you grew fond of doing to recollect some of that normalcy that hunting didn’t give you.

You came out of the shower with a towel wrapped around your body and picked up an underwear set that was, well, sensual to say the least and dropped the towel to the ground to put it on, the dress going over it, careful not to mess up your hair in the process.

You looked at yourself in the mirror and whistled in surprise at your own appearance, you looked good. Time for makeup.

You didn’t do much, a simple concealer, contour and blush with mascara and a smokey eye was enough to drop any man to the ground.

You decided to put shoes on because, first, if you really had to walk back, heels weren’t helpful, second, you didn’t have your heels with you at the moment.

While you were finishing up you heard a knock on your door. You opened it and there they were, Sam and Dean, practically on the same looks, just cleaner, waiting for you.

They both eyed you up and down, drinking your appearance in, Dean dropping his jaw slightly as he stared at your exposed thighs. Sam let out an impressed sigh and cleared his throat.

“Wow Y/N you look…amazing” He said and you smiled, looking down, feeling a tad bit embarrassed.

“Yeah…” Dean agrees, half on earth, half in his head trying to get rid of the thoughts of those beautiful legs wrapped around his neck while his nose deep into your–

“Well, thank you, I hope it isn’t too much.” You said.

“No, n–no, ha, it’s not, at all,” Dean said to quickly, finally grasping the courage to look into your eyes, the beautiful colors drowning him and your shy smile making him want to smash his lips to yours that moment. He cleared his throat. “Shall we go?” He offered.

“Yes, let me just get my phone” You said and went inside for a couple seconds, coming out with it and your wallet. “C’mon!”

You passed through them and went towards the car. Sam elbowed Dean to make him turn to him.

“You are staring at her like she’s a cheeseburger and you haven’t eaten in days, man” Sam teased and Dean frowned at him “You were practically drooling”

“I–I was not, okay? She just looks…pretty, that's all” Dean said, ignoring Sam’s ‘Yeah, right’ and going to the driver's seat in the Impala, you already sat down in the backseat. After Sam got in you all went to the bar and you felt particularly excited this time.

“Okay, every single one who tried to flirt with me was a disaster” You said, coming back to the table with a sigh, Sam and Dean almost laughing at you as you handed them their beers. “Seriously, who do I have to kill to get laid in this shit”

You took a swig of your beer and looked around once more, trying to find a decent man for you to take back tonight when you eyed a handsome black haired guy a few feet away. You smiled to yourself and got up from your seat.

When you walked up to him you didn’t see it but Dean was fuming with jealousy, this feeling bubbling up inside him that made his fists unconsciously clench over the table. He tried flirting with other women that night, chatting them up like he usually did but it all went down the drain the moment his eyes darted to you again, a guy practically snuggling up to you while you gently pushed him away and refused his advances, either not finding him attractive or just not feeling a spark.

He should be the one you looked at, he knew everything about you, how you liked your coffee, your favorite drinks, the faint lines that would appear around your lips when you smiled, the way your eyes lit up when you were talking about something you enjoyed. He knows you.

Sam noticed his brother’s demeanor and called out to him to snap him out of his jealous haze. Dean turned his eyes to Sam and he had this stupid smirk on his face, sipping the beer once again to hide his amused smile.

“What?” Dean snapped, his hand wrapping around the bottle, the cool glass doing nothing to ease his temper down, his knee going up and down under the table with nervousness.

“Nothin’” Sam answered and finished his beer, getting up and leaving a couple dollars, enough to pay for the beers he drank. “I’m going back, y’know, tired. Tell Y/N”

Dean nodded, he didn’t know if Sam meant for him to tell you that Sam went back or that you’ve been in his dreams for months now, not all of them cute and fluffy, some made him wake up with a hard-on, sweating and longing for you.

He looked in your direction and you were coming back with an annoyed face, arms crossed in front of you, feet stomping the ground. Dean made a confused face and when you got back to the table you sat down on the chair with a scoff, his eyes never leaving you.

“He has a girlfriend” You murmured and then realized you were one man short “Where’s Sam?”

“He called in, tired” Dean said and you hummed. He had a weird look on his face, something you couldn’t make out what was. You sighed and looked down.

“I think we should go too, this night was disappointing to me” You breathed out a laugh “I’m impressed you didn’t find anyone, I saw some girls eyeing you”

“Nah, I’m fine,” He said and finished his beer. You widened your eyes at him but didn’t say anything, just nodding hesitantly in shock. “Let 's go?”

He said getting up and you mirrored him, pulling your dress down a bit, Dean’s eyes on you all the time. He bit his lower lip and mentally told himself to cool it.

As you two walked towards the car you couldn’t help but look at him up and down, silently appreciating his figure. His strong jawline, his green eyes now dark thanks to the night, his slightly crooked nose that made him look unique.

When you got into the car, in silence, you drove back to the motel and you felt an unmistakable tension in the air and you were worried you might’ve done something to upset the man. You started to fidget with your fingers over your lap, the street lights going past the car through the window as Dean sped up through the pavement.

His hands gripped the wheel, holding back the urge to pounce on you right there and then. When he parked the car and reached for the door handle you held his wrist.

“Wait! Dean, is something the matter?” You asked, big eyes looking into his as he looked at you, noticing the trouble behind those beautiful orbs. He wanted to punch himself in the gut for making you feel bad. “What happened?”

“Nothing it’s just…” He trailed off and looked at your hand wrapping his wrist. His other hand enveloped over it and your skin flared up with goosebumps. He felt warm, rough, his strong grip comforting. You took your hand away from his wrist, allowing his hand to wrap over your and pull you into him.

You yelped and was about to question him when you felt his plump lips against yours, his other hand hesitantly holding your cheek and you melted. It took you a while to process what was happening. Dean Winchester is kissing you. Though, when you did, your free hand went to the back of his neck to deepen the kiss.

Everything felt like a fever dream and you were afraid that if you pulled away you’d wake up and Dean would be gone. His lips had a taste of beer lingering from the night out, they were full and smooth. You felt like you were drowning in this feeling until Dean pulled away, seeking a breath of air.

You looked between his eyes, your breaths molding into each other from the closeness. You moved the hand he was holding up his chest, to his shoulder, up to his cheek, his eyes closing and his head snuggling against your hand, his fingers fidgeting around your wrist.

He opened his eyes, a thousand feelings swimming behind his green orbs as you both communicate in silence, an agreement, a revelation. You smiled and pulled him in again, this time with no hesitation. His hand went down your arm slowly, your skin warming up where his hand passed by, and settled by your waist, pulling you closer. His tongue teased your bottom lip and you eagerly opened your mouth with a low moan.

At that, he smirked into the kiss and pulled you over his lap, the steering wheel digging into your back, his hands both placed at your hips as you unconsciously rocked against him. He let go of your mouth again and you stared down at him.

“I wanted to do this so bad” He whispered and you smiled, your fingers playing with the hair at the nape of his neck mindlessly. He placed a loving kiss at your jaw and pulled away again while you hummed, content.

When you looked at his face again there was a frown and he was avoiding your eyes. You grabbed both his cheeks and made him look at you.

“What was that thought, hm?” You ask lightly as to not push him away. You didn’t want this to end, not ever. He seemed nervous.

“What does this mean to you?” He asked and you furrowed your eyebrows. “To me, Y/N,” he continued, his hands rubbing up and down your thighs “you’re everything, I mean, you– you’re perfect. You’ve seen everything I’ve done and never let me down, you’re beautiful and so much more. If to you I’m just a way to get off then–”

You cut him off with a peck on his lips.

“Stop. Right there.” You started, looking deep into his eyes. “Dean I– you are everything I’ve ever wanted, needed. You mean more to me than words can describe, you’re not just a one night stand, you’re my dream”

When you finished, he didn’t waste a second to wrap a hand behind your neck and steal your lips again, his mouth addicting. There was so much passion, feeling and desire pumping through your veins.

Your dress was high on your thighs and one of his hands squeezed the flesh hungrily, making you groan in his mouth. He went further with his hand, his thumb caressing over your covered sex and you opened your mouth in a whimper.

Dean attacked your neck with kisses and hickeys, his teeth leaving a pattern over your skin as his hand ghosts over where you need him the most.

“Dean…” You say, a beg behind your words and he pulls away, both his hand and his mouth, making you shiver from the lack of contact and the cool feeling his saliva left behind over your neck.

“Sweetheart, as much as I’d like to have you in the car,” He said, his voice rough and deeper with lust, his pupils wide as he opened the door, a cool breeze coming in that did little to nothing to cool your skin off. “you deserve a bed, another time” He finished, leaving an open mouthed kiss under your ear.

Another time. You nodded, words failing you as you stepped out of the car, adjusting your dress and hair the best you could to seem decent. Dean stood up behind you and let a hand linger on your waist, eager to touch you at all times and all ways.

You both walked towards the door of your room, Dean’s fingers tightening on your skin the longer it took for you to get the door open. The moment you were able to open it, he pushed both of you in, turning you around and pinning you to the door inside, closing it with a loud noise behind your back and his lips were on your again, his hands roaming over every inch of your skin.

You yelped in shock but soon reciprocated the touches and kisses, your fingers wrapping around his jacket and pulling it off, his hands momentarily leaving you to drop it to the ground. When his hands came back he grabbed both your legs and lifted you, forcing you to wrap your legs around his hips for support, his fingers digging into your skin yet again.

Your hands pulled on his hair, your tongues battling in a messy kiss when you feel your body move to the bed, your body being gently placed over it.

Dean pulled away, standing up fully and you took him in with a bite of your lip. He unbuttoned his flannel, slowly and you lifted your dress over your hips, lifting them off the bed to help, revealing your panties and over your head to take it off completely and throwing the fabric away.

Dean’s breathing got heavier, the confine of his pants bothering him as he finally discards the flannel, torso naked to you. You drink his defined physique with hooded eyes and he smirks down at you, his head going close to the waistband of your panties, eyes never leaving yours as he leaves kisses from your hips to your stomach to the valley of your breasts until he came face to face with you again, a smile lingering in his lips making one of your own appear on yours.

Your hands grab at his cheeks and pull him in again as he holds you by your waist, pulling your near naked torso into his. His fingers ghost over every inch of new exposed skin as if he was memorizing every atom of your being like you were going to disappear.

Your hands start to explore over his chest, the strong muscles flexing against your palms, your nails scratching at his wide back and shoulders.

His hands travel behind your back to unclasp your bra and you let him, letting the undergarment go loose against your breasts and Dean takes it off. He drinks the view in, staring and you start to feel self-conscious and take your hands to cover yourself up. Dean catches onto that and kisses you again, one big hand grabbing at your right breast and you whimper in his mouth.

“I always knew you were beautiful” He whispers against your lips and pulls back to look at you again “But you are the most perfect thing I’ve ever laid eyes on”

This time you turned away from him with a stupid smile on your face.

“Says you” You say and turn to him again, your hands over his shoulders and moving towards his back “Your back is a perfect place for my nails to dig in” You whisper seductively on his ear and leave a hickey on his neck. He groans and lowers his head to wrap his mouth around one of your nipples, the warm feeling against the sensitive nub making you arch your back into him and your fingers to tangle in his hair.

“Dean, fuck–” You moan as he gently bites your nipple and moves to the other breast, his eyes looking at you from below and drinking in your noises.

One of his hands sneaked up your inner thigh and teased your clit over your panties and you shivered, a smirk on his lips against your breast. He slowly took your panties off, discarding them on the ground and now you were completely bare below him, vulnerable.

His middle finger pressed over your clit and you arched again.

“Dean, please…” You beg, your best attempt at puppy dog eyes looking down at him and he adds his ring finger, starting to do slow circles over the sensitive nub as he kisses up your neck, your noises of pleasure egging him on.

He lowers his fingers to your entrance and he slips both in with no restraint given your wetness, the feeling making you let out a moan and grab onto his shoulders as he hooks his fingers inside you, touching that special spot.

He smirks smugly and continues his ministrations, your pussy clenching and tightening around his fingers making him groan.

“You’re so wet” He mumbles “I wonder how you taste like” He gives your nose a peck, your mind too drowned in pleasure to respond to his words. He kisses down your body, his fingers never leaving you, until he's facing your cunt. He places both your legs over his shoulders, your thighs resting around his cheeks, the light stubble leaving a tingly feeling behind.

He leaves a lingering kiss over your clit and you buck your hips, looking for more friction. He teases a bit more, biting and sucking at your inner thighs, everywhere but where you needed his mouth to be. You took charge and grabbed at his hair, pulling his face closer and he complied.

“Oh, fuck!” You groan.

His tongue licked at your sex and your loud moans echoed through the walls, the warm muscle doing wonders against you and the mix of his fingers bringing you closer and closer to the edge, your eyes fluttering close in bliss.

“Dean, God” You moan as he squeezes your thigh. All the ministrations send shivers down your spine, your core tightening inside you, that familiar rush of warmth spreading through you. Your thighs try to close, forgetting Dean’s in between and he hums against your cunt, the vibrations making you feel like you were in heaven. “I’m cumming”

“Cum for me princess” He mumbles and you let go with a chant of his name. The feeling washes over you, making you feel lighter for a couple seconds, Dean helping you ride out your orgasm. When the stimulation becomes too much and you whine and squirm away, he gets up from his knees, chin glistening in your juices. He took his fingers out, a grunt scaping your throat at the emptiness. It was a sinful sight.

He crawled over you again, his middle and index finger teasing at your bottom lip.

“Open up” He said, voice deep and demanding and you obeyed, opening your mouth and letting his fingers in. You lick your juices clean off his fingers, never breaking eye contact, humming and moaning against his digits as Dean bites his lips with force. Your hand travels down to unbuckle his belt and he takes his fingers away from your mouth to kiss you.

Once you got the belt open, Dean backed away, taking his shoes off and unzipping his pants. Meanwhile, you drank in his appearance. His hair was a mess, a thin sheen of sweat covering his skin, his arms flexing as he lowered his pants along with his boxers. He was divine.

When he dropped the jeans his eyes drifted back to you, catching you staring and he smirks.

“See something you like?” He asks, closing the gap between you again, smashing your lips to his in yet another breathtaking kiss.

He completely lies you down on the mattress, his elbows supporting his weight over you as his cock bumps against your sensitive sex and you gasp, hand gripping the back of his neck.

“Fuck me” You say, bluntly and whiny but he gets the hint and aligns his member to your hole.

“Yes Ma’am” He says and starts to insert himself inside you, an immediate groan coming out of both your throats, his forehead dropping to the nape of your neck as his fingers dug into your hips, holding himself back to not slam into you at full force. You felt amazing around him, the warmth of your walls made him never want to go away.

“Oh my God” You moan as he slowly goes deeper, his cock throbbing inside you. Once he bottomed out you were breathing heavier than ever, pupils blown and nails teasing at his back. “Dean”

“I’m right here sweetheart” He reassured you and left kisses over your shoulder to distract you. You grinned at his sweetness and rolled your hips against his, a sign that he could move.

“Move, please, I want to feel you” You mumbled and he obliged, instant pleasure going through your body.

“God, Y/N” He moaned close to your ear as he went faster, your moans getting louder.

He smashed his hips against yours, eyeing the way it went in and out, being deliciously consumed by your cunt, glistening with your slick and cum. He stared at you, your fucked out state, the way you were a moaning, whimpering mess beneath him and he felt proud to be the reason you were like this.

You felt every inch ripping your insides, Dean’s hands roaming through your body as his lips left bite marks and kisses around your skin. His lips wrapped around your nipple and everything just added more to the pleasure when his tongue circled around your nipple.

“You’re so pretty” He groaned after pulling away from your breasts and felt that familiar feeling go through him as your pussy clenched tighter around his cock. He was close and he knew you were too. His hands traveled both down to your lower body, one pressed over the skin under your belly button and the other circled your clit messly.

When he pressed down over your lower belly you felt him impossibly deeper and grabbed at the sheets underneath you to ground yourself to reality.

“Jesus– Fuck Dean, please!” You moaned incoherently as that bubble inside you was about to pop “I’m gonna cum, baby, please” You moaned again and you knew he was close to, his hips stuttering and losing rhythm.

“Cum with me Y/N” He said and not even seconds later you unraveled beneath him, your high hitting you like a bus, a loud moan rippling through your throat and Dean pulled out, cumming over your stomach, his chest heaving with his breaths.

Dean forced himself to get up and get a wet towel to clean you up in the bathroom, coming back and gently wiping away the fluids. You were spent and at the same time as happy as you could ever be.

You adjusted yourself in the bed while you waited for Dean to come back from the bathroom after discarding the towel, his naked shadow visible thanks to the light inside. When he walked out he smiled at you and snuggled beside you, tucking your head under his chin and wrapping an arm around your waist.

You were both silent for a while until he spoke up.

“I love you so much” He said “And no, this is not post sex haze, I’ve loved you for so long” He admitted quietly above you and you felt your heart beating ten times faster at his words. You looked up at him and placed a gentle hand over his cheek to make him look down at you.

“I love you too, dumbass” You say with a chuckle and kiss him deeply again, pouring all the love you knew you felt towards him into the kiss.

A/N: Notes and reblogs encourage me to keep writing, feedback makes those writings better. Thank you for reading, Xoxo.

2K notes · View notes

alyrasturnz · 3 months

Note

"fluff this" and "angst that"

fwb!matt x reader based on the song "false god" by t swift!!!!!!

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎FALSE GOD

❐ summary » y/n and matt maintain a facade of friendship while discreetly fucking in private. they satisfy their desires without the chain of commitment, though beneath the surface, they secretly yearn to be able to call each other their own. who could have foreseen that a seemingly innocent post on your instagram could burgeon into something far more profound?

❐ pairings » bsf!matt x fem!reader

❐ warnings » literally smut , swearing , mentions of blood if you whip out a magnifying glass , pet names [ princess , every single variant of sweet ] , car sex

❐ a/n && w/c » the first smut fic i have ever written.. am i doing this right ? 😭 this took me 24 hours im not joking • 3.79k

matthew.sturniolo replied to your story: Look real pretty, sweet thing

matthew.sturniolo replied to your story: You busy?

he recognizes your presence from the scandalous story you've just shared on Instagram, but he remains indifferent.

his nonchalance is but a facade, for he finds you utterly irresistible in that tiny dress—a garment he's taken off you so many times that the number eludes him, each instance a cherished fragment of his recollections.

he could’ve merely enclosed his hand around his own length, allowing his imagination to paint an obscene tapestry of her cunt enveloping his completely, but he understood that if he could just endure the wait a bit longer, he would soon be enveloped in the euphoric sensation of her skin against his own.

yet, he can vividly recall how it clings to your curves, the mesmerizing sway of your hips—a dance that intoxicates his senses, and the way it causes his arteries to swell with an almost unbearable intensity.

he felt the torrent of his blood vessels surge toward his cock, suffusing them with a fervent flush as the pre-cum seeped, a slow and insidious seepage that betrayed the hidden depths of any sort of purity he had left.

he could just see the swarm of lecherous admirers vying for your attention, plying you with drinks and undressing you with their eyes.

yet, he is confident in the knowledge that none of them could ever satisfy you in the way he can.

thus, he presses the heel of his palm against the throbbing bulge in his pants, attempting to quell the surge of desire. his fingers tap restlessly at his phone screen, your salacious story flashing before his eyes once more, eliciting a low, ragged groan from deep within him.

matthew.sturniolo sent you a message : Need a ride? Gotta talk to you about something important, princess.

the immediacy with which you open that notification is almost reflexive. a testament to the alacrity with which you have always responded to him.

yet, it was uncharacteristic for him to adopt any semblance of earnestness with you. the tacit understanding between you both was unequivocal: he relished the company of a pretty girl to his heart’s content, unburdened by the exigencies of pressure or commitment, which was indubitably for the best, given matt sturniolo’s enigmatic nature.

“has something happened?” you inquired as matt allowed a breathier, almost sardonic chuckle to escape his lips while scanning over the message. he let it linger for a few more seconds, savoring the moment, fully cognizant of your tendencies and the intricate dance of anticipation that played between you both.

thus, he was already en route with an unquenchable pulsate in his cock as you sent your location a few moments later.

matthew.sturniolo sent you a message : See you soon, sweet girl

the impatience seeps through him like a relentless tide.

matt becomes acutely aware of it, the realization dawning as he clutches the rhythmic tattoo of his slender fingers drumming against the wheel, each tap a testament to the silent storm brewing within.

yet his impatience pales in comparison to his mounting annoyance, a sentiment vividly betrayed by the imprint of his throbbing cock, oozing against the fabric of his slacks when you finally step out from the dim, grimy doorway he has been fixated on with an intense glare for what feels like an eternity.

but you’re wide-eyed and so adorable when you notice the familiar vehicle, one you’ve seen the inside of a few too many times for it to be just casual now.

yet, your eyes, wide with innocent wonder, betray an endearing charm as they alight upon the familiar vehicle— one whose interior you have explored with such frequency that it has transcended the realm of casual familiarity

he suddenly feels too hot under his clothes as he’s clears his throat, his eyes following your figure until you’re opening the passenger door with a smile that’s just as pretty as you always are.

there is no hesitation as you approach him, the radiant smile that unfurls across your features upon recognizing the chestnut-tressed man in the driver’s seat ignites a warm, effervescent sensation within his chest.

a sudden, oppressive warmth engulfs his throat as he clears, his eyes unwaveringly following your graceful figure until you open the passenger door, your smile unfurling with a beauty that is as enchanting as ever.

your grasp of the world and his standing was but a fleeting shadow in the vast expanse of reality. you knew that he was a youtuber, yet your knowledge was limited to the whispered confessions he shared during those tender nights, your body resting against the rhythmic cadence of his heartbeat.

however, any trepidations that dared to creep into your thoughts were swiftly vanquished when matt, with a voice imbued by unwavering resolve, assured you that there was no cause for worry.

he would be your unwavering sentinel, shielding you from all harm.

as you finally settle into the car, he perceives the flicker of apprehension in your eyes, recognizing that you likely suspect he has called you here for a matter of grave importance.

"is everything alright? your message left me unnerved, matt,” you murmur, your voice a soft whisper that disrupts his obscure reverie, yet paradoxically seems to stoke the embers of his desire.

he chooses to let the silence stretch, the tension palpable in the air as both of you take a breath, savoring the moment. the pause lingers, a deliberate tease, before he finally shifts the car into drive, a mischievous grin playing on his lips.

"oh? worried about me, sweet thing?" he replies, his voice a low, velvety murmur. his large palm comes to rest against your thigh, giving it a reassuring squeeze. yet, despite his comforting touch, your eyes still brim with curiosity, silently questioning the abrupt end to your night. not that it mattered much; after all, your ride home was graced by the presence of someone as irresistibly handsome as matt.

or who could’ve been your ride home if he actually had any intention of taking you there. but just as quickly as the car starts, it stops again in a darkened alley, one you've both scoped out before. your 'driver' reclines his seat back, a silent invitation as he pats his lap expectantly, the shadows playing across his face in the dim light.

“matt-“ you huff, playfully rolling your eyes. yet, as you attempt to slide over the center console, you feign ignorance to the way the corners of matt’s lips widen into a knowing smile. "is this why you picked me up... seriously?" your voice carries a whiny edge, spoken through a pout that holds no real irritation. not when you feel the chestnut-haired man’s hands, warm and familiar, taking their usual place on your hips, guiding you effortlessly onto his own.

"hmm.. come on now, don’t try and pretend you weren’t teasing me. did ya’ miss my cock, ‘s that it?" matt drawls, his voice a low, mellifluous murmur that seems to permeate your very essence.

as he leans forward, his lips graze along your jawline, sending electrifying shivers down your spine. a deep, guttural grunt escapes him at the first lascivious press of your pussy against his clothed cock, even through the fabric.

his fingers twitch into your skin, a silent and fervent entreaty for more, each touch igniting an insatiable yearning.

"looked fuckin’ greedy for it in those pictures, princess." he’s such a tease, and he can feel the palpable effect his words have on you when your next exhale trembles against his neck.

gooseflesh erupts along his ivory skin at the tantalizing proximity of your bodies, but it’s not enough for him; he yearns for you closer, a voracious need that demands fulfillment.

matt feels your fingers trace against the nape of his neck, eliciting an involuntary shudder from him.

he deliberately exhales a prolonged breath against the shell of your ear, the warmth cascading over your skin.

his lips then begin a tantalizing journey, pressing kisses along your cheeks and trailing them to the very corner of your lips, only to stop short, just to revel in the endearing whine you emit in response to his calculated tease.

"you can simply confess that you missed me..." you manage to tease back, though your breath catches in your throat when matt finally allows his lips to brush yours. slender fingers traverse the expanse of your skin until they grip your jaw, rendering you immobile as if ensuring you cannot close the distance until he decrees it.

his movements are excruciatingly deliberate, tantalizing, yet just close enough for you to discern the next low rumble of his words. "is that so?"

he doesn’t give you a moment to process his words, let alone respond, before his lips are on yours, and he’s kissing you like he’s been starved for this all night.

his movements are urgent, a stark contrast to the playful nonchalance he usually wears like armor. when his tongue slips past your lips, dancing with your own, you feel the tension melt from his shoulders, a subtle shiver running through his hips.

the way your whimpers dance through the air leaves him feeling dazed, a lingering echo of the drink you had before he arrived still present.

you hadn’t consumed enough to feel a buzz, but just enough for him to taste the cloying sweetness of the liquid on his tongue as he sucks on yours, groaning at how it momentarily satiates his sweet tooth, yet leaves his deeper craving for you unfulfilled.

the initial, delicate brush of your fingers against the waistband of his slacks elicits a deep, heavy exhale from him, as if he is releasing a breath he had unknowingly been holding, the sensation weaving a spell of ardor over him.

matt’s own fingers reluctantly abandon your skin to assist in tugging them down, a sigh escaping his lips at the first hint of sexual liberation. with a single, decisive tug, he pulls the constrictive fabric away, until his leaking cock rests against his abdomen.

he clicks his tongue in mild frustration when you pull away from him, lifting your dress up around your hips, the motion a tantalizing tease that leaves him yearning for your touch once more.

his abdomen tightens with a jolt of ecstasy, sending his mind spiraling into a fuzzy haze, where coherent thought dissolves into the intoxicating sensation of pure, unadulterated bliss when your hand wraps around the foundation of his cock, giving it sequence of deliberate, languorous pumps as matt groans, subdued and ragged before he’s sending you a grin which causes an involuntary constriction within your very core, as if your innermost being is ensnared by an invisible force. “knew you were fuckin’ hungry for it, sweet girl,”

one of your arms hooks around his shoulders, and it feels almost instinctual the way his arm snakes around your hips, drawing you nearer. his larger hand gently supplants yours as he positions his pulsating tip between your legs, and then his lips find yours once more, sealing the moment with a kiss that speaks volumes.

fuck, he takes solace in the knowledge that he alone is privy to this intimate vision of you, a privilege that fills him with a profound sense of contentment. matt believes that with the very first caress of his cock through your folds, it would render his mind a void, shrouded in a misty haze as he watches his cum effuse from your puffy cunt.

his cock twitches underneath you when he feels it prod at your flexing hole, his eyes fluttering closed in bliss when he finally begins to sink into you. he’d normally take his time prepping you for the stretch, but when your lips part to moan at the first saccharine squeeze around him, he thinks your pussy was made to fucking take him anyway.

his cock convulses underneath you when he feels it prod at your flexing hole, his eyes gradually flutter shut in a state of bliss as he finally succumbs to the embrace of your tight cunt. he would typically dedicate ample time to meticulously readying you for the stretch, yet, in the moment when your lips gently part to moan at the first saccharine squeeze around him, he thinks your pussy was made to fucking take him anyway.

“shit, wish they could see how fuckin’ pretty y’ look on my cock, princess.," he murmurs. by "they," he refers to the silent spectators who have glimpsed your story through matt's eyes. he shouldn't care, shouldn't dwell on it as much as he does, but oh, how it consumes him.

but now, you find yourself here, and now, it is he who conjures your moans and sighs, as his cock deeper into the warmth of your cunt. his eyes drift downward to observe the delicate manner in which your puffy folds unfurl for him and he thinks you’re fucking hypnotizing.

he allows his head to recline against the headrest, a sigh escaping his lips as he senses the moment your hips align perfectly with his, giving you a moment to acclimate to the stretch, all the while striving to maintain his composure and not succumb to its biting embrace.

but you are as eager as you are radiant, and matt feels as though he has ascended to heaven with the first genuine sensation of your body dancing against his, elevating your hips until only the tip of his cock is reposing in your warm flesh before your pussy descends once more into repose.

his eyes, once reminiscent of the ocean's azure depths, have now darkened, their hue transformed into a stormy, intense focus on the way your pretty tits jiggle with every saturated affinity of your hips with his

“it feels so fucking good, matt," you murmur through parted, pouty lips, your thoughts clouded with arousal for his sinful prowess. you lose yourself in the sensation of his proximity, and it's almost instinctual the way his fingers find their way to the nape of your neck, drawing you in for a kiss that is as fervent as it is necessary.

matt kisses you as if you are the first drop of water on his parched tongue after a relentless drought, savoring every essence you offer and more, as his body moves in perfect harmony with yours.

“yeah? nobody treat this pretty pussy like i do, princess? i know what y’ need.” he grunts against your lips, his cheeks tinged with a rosy flush, and with the way he's holding you—desperation etched in the firmness of his grip against your skin—you'd think you might dissolve into the ether if he dared to let you go. “fuck— this pussy was made for me”

the muscles in matt’s sculpted physique quiver beneath you, trembling with a barely contained intensity when he grinds his hips up to meet yours, deliberately pulverizing his pelvis along your puffy clit until he’s swallowing those pretty sounds that only he likes to pull from you. the blunt head of his cock slides along every one of your sweet spots perfectly and it feels like he’s igniting every nerve ending in your body.

the rhythm he establishes is nothing short of remarkable, considering his imposing stature and the confined quarters of the car, but the way he fucks you is more than just that. it’s unrelenting but fervent, and the warmth that only he can ignite along your thighs makes you feel as though you’ve swallowed the very essence of the sun itself when he holds you closer, momentarily pulling away to gaze upon you once more.

“yes- ah! i, i need you.. matt, fuck.” you exhale a dreamy sigh, your cheeks flushing with a rosy hue as a whirlwind of emotions stirs within you.

the flustered sensation courses through your veins, making your heart race and your thoughts scatter like leaves in the wind as your pussy squelches, drenched and disheveled as the sounds reverberate through the confines of the car, creating an intricate symphony that dances along the wall, yet, matt has transcended the point of concern regarding who might overhear. you resonate so pretty for him when he’s forcing his cock deeper into your slick cunt, his pelvis grinding against your clit while your nails delve profoundly into his back, discovering uncharted territories, and leaving crimson trails in their wake.

“oh yeah? ‘m i your one and only? this pussy all mine?” he emits a guttural groan, fully aware that such a request is beyond propriety, yet the mere contemplation of it propels him towards an inevitable climax. you, in turn, let out a soft, knowing giggle, for you both understand the undeniable truth in his words.

your rhythm falters, your body instinctively gravitating towards his, enveloping him in a way he has never experienced, leaving him utterly consumed by your presence.

he finds himself utterly powerless when you cast that enchanting, starry-eyed glance his way, causing his breath to catch and his composure to unravel.

yet, he is acutely aware of how close you are when that starry-eyed glance is accompanied by the languid roll of your hips and another needy constrict of your cunt around his cock, and, fuck, if you demanded his very soul at that moment, he wouldn’t hesitate to let you entwine it with your own.

for matt harbors a fervent desire to possess you entirely, wishing to render you unattainable for anyone else. he is avaricious, fully aware of his own nature, yet remains utterly indifferent to it. he yearns to claim every fragment of your being, cursing coarsely as he fucks into you eagerly. his hands nearly clenched into fists at your hips, as your moan, so sweet and melodic, resonated for him. “yesyesyes, matt- g-god.“

another groan emanates from his lungs in response to the insistent coaxing of your walls, the reverberation of his tone resonating deep within his chest, and you feel your body nearly succumb with each powerful thrust upward into you.

every thrust into you is propelled by the formidable strength of his physique and the unadulterated fervor of his desire for you, feeling matt ruthlessly slam his cock into your stretched cunt, as he draws you closer.

nuzzling into the crook of your neck, he murmurs half-drunken praises, each word dripping with fervor and cascading down your spine like liquid fire.

he lets out a deeper, more resonant grunt escape his lips this time, reverberating with a newfound intensity.

with another mindless throb of his cock, pulsating with a pure lewd, he lets his slender fingers weave a delicate path between your bodies, finally anchoring themselves with purpose between your thighs.

as he rolls your puffy clit in sticky circles, and if he wasn’t fucking you mindless you’d maybe be able to recognise the familiar signature against the puffy bud.

but he synchronizes the movements with the rhythmic oscillation of his hips, driving upwards into yours with a deliberate cadence, and instead your breath is skipping and he feels your pussy throb around him as he grits his teeth.

“shit, gonna cum f’ me, sweet thing? no holding back on me now.” he hums, his words flowing with a polished ease despite the underlying current of need they carry, until your hips falter and you let your head fall forward, finding solace in the crook of his neck.

“i’m gonna— matt! fuck!” you emit a high-pitched squeal, while matt releases a deep, resonant groan. his hips press into yours, snug and tight, as the first milking compression of your walls ensnares him. he bites his lip, a futile attempt to restrain himself, panting against the dip of your shoulder as he coaxes and fucks you through the mind numbing orgasm only he can give to you.

“that’s it, so good f’ me.. only me, yeah?” he rasps, and the praise cascades down your spine, causing your eyes to roll back. each stuttered bounce of your hips against his interrupts your needy, breathless chants of his name as a ring of gooey liquid forms around the base of his cock every time his hips draw back beneath you.

“take me so well, don’cha? fuck, princess. pussy’s fuckin’ made for me.” your breathing becomes ragged, and Matt feels your body meld seamlessly into his. his jaw tightens as he hisses through clenched teeth, finally releasing his warmth deep within you.

his cock pulsates and congeals as he compresses at your hips, his brows crumbling while he curls over you, and there’s a thin sheen of sweat across his forehead, his hair sticking slightly as he loses himself in the fluttering pull of your body and your cunt.

he finally stills with the slight sting of overstimulation but you still feel warm where you’re chest is pressed tight against his, his fingers grazing along the length of your spine in the intimate silence that stretches after. but then you whimper and pull back to give him a look that makes his usual smirk curl his lips.

“is this seriously why you picked me up, matt?” you hum, your voice lilting into a playful cadence, and he responds with a laugh—a more breathless resonance, as you emulate his tone impeccably. subsequently, he bestows upon you one of his most dashing smiles and places a moist, ticklish kiss upon your cheek, prompting a cascade of giggles from you.

“huh? nuh uh, angel. think we both agreed you were asking for it.” matt drawls back, his words still slightly slurred in the lingering aftermath of pleasure, yet the playful tone that always accompanies his speech remains discernible.

“yeah right.. did you really like the pictures that much?” you pose your question yet again, watching as he sends you an amused wink. he then deftly squeezes your cheeks together between his fingers, pressing a kiss against your lips as they jut out in response.

“hope you took some that’s just for me, yeah?” he teases, wiggling his brows but then you’re laughing and squirming back over to the passenger seat, and as much as he already misses the warm press of your skin against his, he still feels heat bloom in his chest when he catches you smiling anyway.

“i feel gross now, i gotta go home and shower.” you mumble as you pull down your dress and matt follows as he tucks his cock back into his slacks. but he can’t help the way his large palm naturally reaches over to rest against your thigh, squeezing at the skin before he’s leaning across the center console to ghost his lips along your own.

“oh? you thought you were getting off easy? nights still young, sweet thing.”

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violetpixiedust · 6 months

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thinking about spending a day at the beach with your bf jj and the rest of the pogues. ♡

18+. afab reader. no description of appearance. fluff/smut. use of ‘papa’ once, mentions of spanking. shy!kook!reader x dom!jj.

in between searching for the cross, evading the law, and intense fights with the kooks, a beach day was certainly a nice escape from an otherwise hectic lifestyle.

the sand is warm and pale beneath your knees as you sit in your cute little bikini beside jj’s damp body. he’s laid along a ratty old towel, littered with a few holes and fraying at the edges. beads of saltwater meld themselves within his tan skin from his previous surfing exertion, eager to soak up the sunlight with you now that he’s gotten his adrenaline fix. you had been searching for seashells and sea glass with kiara while the boys were out on the water. ending up with a good sized pouch by the time your boyfriend ran up to meet you on the shore, shaking out his soaking dirty blonde locks at you like a dog. squeals and joyful giggles left your lipgloss coated pout, strumming alongside the seagulls.

absentmindedly, you hum when your manicured nails sort through your small treasures, careful not to let them get lost in the never ending sand. it isn’t until you notice your boyfriend’s baritone voice humming alongside you that you burst into giggles. you meet his sea-foam blue eyes from where they peak out above his black sunglasses, frames falling to the bridge of his lightly freckled nose. one of your pearly teeth reach out to bite along your plush bottom lip, shyly taking in the handsome sight of jj laid beside you.

damp swim trunks hang low on his paler hips, golden happy trail leading you up to the toothpick balancing between his freshly licked lips. the pogue grins slyly in amusement, satisfaction at your sudden shyness running through his veins like the sweetest high. “c’mere, princess. up.” you don’t have time to check for the whereabouts of your friends before the large palm of jj’s hand crudely reaches underneath your thigh, skin burning as he leads you to straddle his torso. you briefly hear pope gagging and john b’s amused laughter behind you, but ultimately choose to ignore them when jj’s calloused fingertips reach out to play with the hem of your swimsuit, effectively distracting you. “‘gonna show me those pretty little rocks takin’ up all of your attention now?”

you nod with a soft smile, shyly avoiding jj’s heady gaze for a moment, unknowing to the way his expression softens incredibly at the sweetness emitting from you. floaty and radiant, like his own personal angel. his calloused thumbs rub soothing circles along your hips as he watches you begin to explain each piece of sea glass you chose, head feeling as if it were underwater still with how gorgeous you are. his ringed fingers faintly shake when he thinks about how undeserving he is for someone like you. an angel from figure eight. outer banks pride and joy. who used to send him a shy little wave at the boneyard, eyelashes fluttering when he would wave back, his split lip pulling up into a smirk at the dazed look that overtook you. the girl who now jumped onto the back of his bike in boarder-line scandalous mini skirts, sweet and powdery perfume clouding the pogue’s judgement for a second too long. until your freshly done nails would dig into his waist, melodic voice urging your pogue boyfriend to hurry up and drive. the overprotective housekeeper would attempt to chase after the two of you with a broom in her wrinkled hand, before being buried by the dust billowing beneath the bike’s spinning wheels every single time.

it isn’t until you hold up a few pieces of sea glass to the side of his face with a cheer of excitement that he tunes back in. “mm, what’s the squealing for, cupcake?”

“i found a piece that looks like your eyes. see!” you bend over to get a closer look at the comparison, completely unaware of the way your tits push up together near jj’s face. a shaky breath leaves your boyfriend’s bitten lips, his suddenly rosy cheeks startling you for a moment before you feel the noticeable shift of his hips beneath you. instead of gasping cutely and sitting up like jj expected you to, your moment of realization morphs into a sly expression.

and jj knew that look.

“don’t-“ you riskily pay no mind to your boyfriend’s warning tone, “innocently” slinking back along his body with a soprano sigh. your manicured nails rake over his abdomen on your path backwards, cupped heat just brushing past the now obvious tent in jj’s swim trunks-

instantly, the pogue manhandles you into place. you squeak at the firmness of his ringed grip, heart pumping with adrenaline when his sun kissed hands force your back against his warm chest in record speed. shark tooth necklace digging between your shoulder blades. your bum pushes against jj’s erection with a final maneuver- now out of sight, but still painfully hard against you.

“whoa. chill out, mike tyson-“ john b drunkly remarks with a surprised laugh before sipping on his nearly finished can of pbr, blissfully unaware of the previous situation. meanwhile, sarah smirks knowingly at the two of you from beside her aloof boyfriend, meeting your playful gaze with one of her own.

you’re about to suggest a game with a mischievous wiggle of your hips, clearly not learning your lesson- before jj’s long fingers cup your jaw from behind, gripping you in place. the blonde’s rosy lips press to your ear, his left hand intertwining with your own smaller one, voice low. “y’not going anywhere, duchess. need you to calm down and behave. unless you want me to spank you raw on this beach in front of our friends, hm?”

your breath hitches with surprise at the threat as you watch kiara and pope run back from the ocean dripping saltwater, jj’s words echoing in the now hollow structure of your head. “and if you’re good,” the blonde nods your head up and down for you like a ragdoll for good measure, smirk curling along his chapped lips with faux innocence gleaming from his eyes. he’s more than aware of the pressure building between your pretty legs, your glossy eyes looking up at him for guidance. not to mention the shivers that clatter down your spine at the idea of being put in your place for everyone on the beach to see. all he could do was harden at the thought. “papa’ will let ya show him which one of these rocks he can put on your pretty little finger soon, yeah?”.

the pogue waits for you to nod your own head ‘yes’ like a big girl before placing a kiss on the crown of your head. your shy expression stays hidden against his heart, a giddy smile drawing across your glossy lips as you think about your future with jj.

needless to say, you behaved for the rest of the afternoon.

#this is my first time writing for himmm sorry if it’s a bit ooc #jj maybank #jj maybank fluff #jj maybank prompt #jj maybank smut #jj maybank x reader fluff #jj maybank x reader smut #jj maybank fanfiction #dom!jj maybank #outer banks #outer banks fanfiction #pixie’s works * ੈ✩‧₊˚

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phantomrose96 · 1 year

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Actually I think the human trait that has most propelled the overall advancement of humanity is the fact a subset of us will get life-definingly hyper-fixated on very specific things.

Like transcontinental trading and travel is a crazy cool thing humanity developed, but you know at the backbone of it is some guy from 200 years ago who had a life-long obsession with reducing train wheel friction. Actually I shouldn't say backbone. That guy was the right-most metatarsal bone, and 10,000 other guys with their own hyper-specific fixations over steel formulation or air resistance or high-efficiency rail spike manufacturing make up the whole rest of the organism.

And sure certain advancements occur due to corporate competition and a paycheck at the end of the day, but I think those pale in comparison to the number of advancements that occurred because some guy with an all-consuming passion dedicated their life to spawning the most hyper-specific process for something you've never even thought about.

#chrissy speaks

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incognit0slut · 1 year

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Right Kind of Wrong (14)

She ever thought she would be involved in a murder investigation and encounter her one-night-stand again, the awkward guy who isn’t exactly that good in bed—Or is he? Offended by the sentiment, Spencer is determined to prove her wrong… But as he gets tangled with the beautiful stranger, he realizes there is more to her than what meets the eye.

Part Summary: Spencer and the team face a setback in the investigation. wc: 4.6k

Series Warnings: 18+ explicit content, graphic details of murders, mentions of suicide, mentions of SA

a/n: This one is a beast. I don't usually write multiple scenes in one part but it seems fitting here.

Other parts: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14

SPENCER HATED DRIVING. The feeling of confinement, the cacophony of honking horns, and the ceaseless traffic had always grated on his nerves. Yet his line of work often required him to be the one behind the wheel, and usually, he didn't mind, but now the car's interior seemed to close in on him as if mocking his discomfort.

He wondered whether his detest for driving paled in comparison to the regret consuming him. Or was this anger? Was this anger coursing through his body that had him feeling more uncomfortable than he usually was?

He could feel his knuckles turn white as he clenched the wheel. The anger burned hot within him, directed both outwardly at the situation he had thrust into and inwardly at himself for allowing it to happen. He couldn't understand how he allowed his urge to consume him, leading to actions that inflicted pain upon her.

It was consensual on my part.

If that was true, then why was there regret gnawing him? Why was he still angry at himself? Spencer always prided on self-control, that he could resist any urges and avoid causing any harm. But tonight he had shattered that belief. He had let his defenses crumble and now he had to deal with being the one who painted those bruises on her skin.

The shrill ring of his phone sliced through the heavy silence inside the car, momentarily diverting his thoughts. He glanced at the caller ID on the dashboard's console, seeing a familiar name flash on the screen. With a hesitant sigh, he pressed the answer button.

"Where the hell have you been?" Garcia's voice filled the space, her frustration was palpable even through the speaker.

He gripped the steering wheel a little tighter and cleared his throat before responding, "I got caught up in something."

She let out a sound of frustration. "You can't just disappear like that, Reid, we've been trying to get hold of you."

"I know, I know. I'm sorry," he said, his voice filled with genuine regret. "What's the update?"

"Oliver Walsh is nowhere to be found," a third voice cut in, who Spencer caught on as Hotch's. It seemed they were in the same room. "Morgan and Prentiss are checking his house."

"They found anything yet?"

"There were countless photographs of our witness—candid shots, close-ups, and even pictures taken from a distance."

His chest tightened, his jaw clenched, and his teeth ground together as the anger surged through him. He felt a hot flush rise in his cheeks, his face contorting with the intensity of his emotions. It was as if a fire had ignited within him, each flickering flame fueled by his frustration.

But beneath all that, he could hear the uncertainty in Hotch's voice, the contrast between his usual commanding presence and the hesitant tone in his words.

"What is it?" Spencer asked cautiously.

"The pictures were taken professionally." There was a pause. "There isn't a dark room in his house or any sign that he possesses camera equipment."

There was a momentary silence on the line, broken only by the sound of the road beneath his tires and the occasional distant siren. Spencer took a deep breath. "Do you think he hired someone?"

"Based on his victims, he seems to prefer working alone."

"He could have a hideout," he suggested, his grip on the steering wheel tightened as he navigated through the quiet streets. "Criminals often use secret spaces. It gives them a sense of control over their environment where they feel safe from prying eyes."

Hotch hummed a sound of approval. "Hideout location often has a sentimental value. Garcia, find any places that might be mentioned in his files."

Spencer's ears picked up the distinct clatter of keyboards in the background.

"There's a church where his family used to go to... but it's still open to the public so no... oh, the house he grew up in? No, it was sold a few years ago—wait, I found something." Garcia paused, allowing a brief silence to settle in as the sound of keys clicking continued. "There's an old article mentioning an abandoned warehouse that he and his group of friends used to frequent during their youth, a secluded spot for underage alcohol consumption."

"Where's the location?"

"Give me a minute." Garcia typed away, her fingers dancing across the keyboard, summoning information that surprisingly only took her twenty seconds to retrieve the location. Spencer counted the exact time. "It's not far from here."

Then suddenly, she let out a sudden shriek. "Hotch!" There were footsteps in the background followed by fingers frantically flying across the keyboard. A sound of frustration left her lips not long afterward. "Damn it!"

"What happened?" Spencer asked in an alert. "Did you find something?"

"I-I've been trying to tap his phone, you know, trying to locate him in case he decided to turn it on, and I got a signal before it disappeared again."

Spencer asked, "Can you retrieve the last coordination it located?" At the same time, Hotch cut in with, "Can you trace it back?"

"Hold your horses, boys." With a series of rapid keystrokes, Garcia initiated a deep scan on her laptop. The seconds seemed to stretch as the scanning progress bar advanced before a notification popped up on the screen. The location data had been recovered.

"Oh my god." Her eyes zeroed in on the coordinates, and she quickly cross-referenced them with a map application to get a visual of the area. "It's six miles away from the warehouse."

Hotch wasted no time after receiving the information. "Reid, check the location. I'll coordinate with the tactical unit and dispatch a team of officers to assess the area. JJ and I will meet you there."

"I'm on it."

"I sent you the coordinate," Garcia mentioned, the same time his phone pinged with an alert.

"Don't do anything until we get there," Hotch reminded him. "And Reid?"

He hummed a reply, notifying that he was listening.

"I need you to stay focused."

His eyes flickered over the console. As much as he didn't want to admit it, Hotch's reminder struck a nerve. His words, though well-intentioned, were a stark reminder of the fine line he was walking between his personal struggles and his professional responsibilities. He sat there, and the call quickly cut off before he could even reply.

The noise of the bustling street faded into the background as his thoughts began to spiral, repeating his mentor's words, his expectations of him weighing heavily on his shoulders. Spencer shook his head, trying to ground himself. The case was important, and he couldn't afford to let his personal struggles jeopardize his work.

He slowly took a steadying breath, forcing himself to compartmentalize, a skill he had honed over years of dealing with high-stress situations, and silently drove toward the coordinate Garcia had sent over.

Y/n hated crying. She despised the way her throat tightened, constricting her voice as if it were trying to strangle the tears before they could escape. The way her chest heaved with each silent sob. Her hatred for the involuntary quiver of her lip and the trembling of her hands was as potent as it was irrational.

The irony wasn't lost on her, when her boss was found lifeless on the floor that day, she had stood strong, her eyes dry, absorbing the shock without a single tear. Yet, here she was, broken by the rejection of a man who had once held a fragment of her heart. It was baffling, the way he had become the chink in her armor, the one who could shatter her composure.

But could she even call that rejection? To be rejected there surely had to be some form of confession and she was one hundred percent sure she hadn't conveyed anything that indicated her affection for him... right?

Use me in any way you like.

She groaned into her pillow. To be fair, that wasn't a confession. And to be fair, he did exactly what she asked for—It just happened that it ended the exact opposite of what she expected.

With swollen eyes and a heavy heart, she finally pushed herself out of bed. The room was shrouded in darkness, with only the faint glow of streetlights seeping through her curtains. As she rose from her tangled sheets, she felt the weight of her emotions as her thoughts went haywire.

She couldn't stand being alone at the moment. Her own thoughts seemed too loud, too suffocating. It felt like the walls were closing in, and every moment alone was just another reminder of how lonely she felt now.

That was why she reached for her phone and dialed Sandy's number, that was why she properly got dressed as she waited for her to arrive, and that was why she quickly rushed over to her front door when she heard the constant knocking. But as the door swung open, an unexpected sight froze her in her tracks.

Standing there with Sandy was Eric wearing a bemused expression. Her mind whirled with a mix of emotions–surprise, confusion, and a hint of embarrassment. She hadn't expected her to bring someone else, and now they were all standing at her doorstep, an unusual trio in the midst of an unanticipated gathering.

Sandy, sensing the tension in the air, was quick to speak up. "Oh, um... I brought company?"

"You brought Eric," she replied, her voice wavering slightly as she tried to mask her surprise.

Eric, ever the easygoing coworker, greeted her with a friendly nod and lifted the plastic bag in his hand. "And I brought Chinese. Hope you don't mind me tagging along."

For a moment, she hesitated, struggling to find her footing. It wasn't that she didn't like him, he was one of her good friends at work, which meant something because most of the men she worked with were chauvinistic, sexist pigs. But she did plan on having an emergency Margarita Night with her friend when she made the call. Although she couldn't find herself to send him away—not when he was looking at her expectantly—so she managed a hesitant smile and stepped aside.

"Come on in then." She tugged the door open. "The more the merrier, I guess."

Eric's eyes studied her distraught face as he walked in. "You okay? You look..."

"Bad?"

"I wouldn't say bad."

"I bet you wouldn't say good either."

He frowned as if trying to choose the right words. "You look stressed," he decided to say. "Everything alright?"

She paused, torn between opening up about her feelings and maintaining a sense of privacy. But in the end, she chose honesty, if only to ease the awkwardness of the situation. "Not really. I don't want to talk about it though." She motioned them into her living room. "What were you guys doing together anyway?"

"Eric has been stopping by at everyone's place in search of Oliver," Sandy responded, already making herself comfortable on the couch. "My place was his recent quest."

Y/n turned to Eric. "You still haven't heard from him?"

He shook his head, a mix of concern and frustration etched on his face. "No, not a word. That's why I decided to put in a missing person's report."

"What?" Sandy chimed in. "When?"

"This afternoon." He settled onto a nearby chair and turned his attention towards Y/n. "I met with Dr. Reid. You remember him, right?"

Remember him? They were here because of him in the first place. "Yeah, I remember him." She then shook her head, dismissing her personal feelings for the time being, and refocusing on the conversation. "You think Oliver's gone missing?"

Eric's concern was palpable as he replied, "His phone is off, his family is unreachable, and his house is empty. I'm starting to get worried."

Sandy's brows furrowed with concern as she leaned forward. "That doesn't sound like Oliver. He wouldn't just disappear without a word."

"That's what I've been trying to say."

She glanced between the two and listened as they continued to discuss the possibilities of his whereabouts. But as they did, Y/n couldn't help but feel that something was off, that there was an air of strangeness and suspicion surrounding his sudden vanishing act.

Her thoughts wandered to the peculiar way Oliver had always been interested in her, and her mind couldn't help but draw a parallel to her own situation, where a serial killer seemed to have an odd fascination with her. The pieces of the puzzle seemed to align themselves in her mind, forming a picture that was both unnerving and hard to accept. It sounded almost silly, like a twisted plot from a suspenseful thriller. It was all too surreal to be true.

She quickly shook her head, trying to dispel the disturbing thoughts, clinging to the hope that her mind was simply playing tricks on her. Because Oliver, her good friend Oliver, wouldn't do something as sinister as murder... right?

Spencer arrived an hour later. A single, isolated warehouse stood in stark contrast to the surrounding desolation, tucked away in a remote corner of the district. He parked his car discreetly before stepping out of the vehicle, his footsteps making a soft crunch on the gravel beneath his feet.

His breath hung in the crisp night air as he scanned the area meticulously, the slightest detail not escaping his analytical gaze. The warehouse stood against the backdrop of a vast, starlit sky, its silhouette imposing and enigmatic. Dim light spilled out from the high windows, casting long shadows that danced eerily on the surrounding ground.

Suddenly, the distant rumble of an approaching engine reached his ears. He turned sharply and was greeted by a convoy of vehicles making their way toward the warehouse. As they drew closer, he recognized the familiar silhouette of his unit chief behind the wheel and JJ seated right beside him.

The vehicles came to a stop, and the officers quickly disembarked, their footsteps echoing in the cavernous space. Hotch approached him, his expression grave but determined. "We need to split into teams. Reid, you take point with me. JJ, coordinate with the other officers and enter from the side."

With a nod from him, the officers sprang into action, fanning out to explore the warehouse thoroughly. Spencer and Hotch approached the building cautiously with a flashlight in one of their hands and their weapons in the other.

The front entrance was partially obscured by a tangle of overgrown weeds and graffiti-covered walls. Spencer stepped closer toward it, his footsteps echoing louder in the silence. He hesitated for a moment, taking a deep breath to steady himself. He had faced countless crime scenes and dangerous situations, but there was something about this abandoned warehouse that seemed eerie.

His mind immediately kicked into gear as he followed Hotch into the building. They stealthily moved from one corner to another, examining the objects that had been left behind in this desolate place. Piles of old crates were stacked haphazardly, their contents long removed or forgotten.

They came across a set of stairs that led to an upper level, and without a word, they ascended, their footsteps echoing on the metal steps. Upstairs, the darkness seemed even more suffocating, and the sense of isolation heightened. His flashlight landed on a stack of old files on the floor, their pages yellowed with age. He picked one up and flipped through it, but it appeared to be nothing more than old inventory records.

"There's nothing in here," he whispered. "We should check the other side—"

"Hotch! Reid! Over here!"

JJ's urgent voice alerted them and they both descended the stairs, her voice reverberated through the cavernous space. Spencer stepped into the room down the hall, his flashlight illuminating the scene before him. His steps then faltered, the sight that greeted him sent a shockwave of alarm through his already heightened senses. They had found him. Their suspected Unsub was right where they had predicted.

But he was lying in a pool of blood.

Oliver's unconscious form was a stark contrast against the cold, concrete floor. JJ was already at his side, checking his pulse and issuing urgent commands into her intercom for paramedic assistance. "Stab wounds," she announced to the room. "He's still breathing."

His mind raced as he took in the situation. How had Walsh ended up in this state? Who had inflicted the stab wound? And what had brought him to this remote area?

But his attention was soon drawn to the second startling discovery—the writing on the wall. His flashlight revealed a message scrawled in front of them, seemingly written with blood. He took a step closer, examining the writing carefully. The texture and consistency of the blood suggested it had been written recently.

Proverbs 14:8

Hotch, who entered the room with the rest of the team, observed the scene with a steely resolve. He instructed the officers to secure the area and preserve any potential evidence as paramedics rushed inside. His eyes scanned around him and he noticed Spencer's intense scrutiny of the message on the wall.

Spencer recited the verse as he heard footsteps approaching him from behind. "The wisdom of the prudent is to give thought to their ways, but the folly of fools is deception."

"Any idea what it means?" Hotch asked, his tone reflecting the gravity of the situation.

Spencer furrowed his brow, his mind racing through possible scenarios. "It's a message to us. The verse underscores the idea that wisdom involves careful consideration of one's actions and beliefs..." And then his voice slowly trailed off. "...while deception can lead to foolishness."

The words hung in the air, its implications weighing heavily on his mind. It was a declaration, a challenge, and a warning all at once. His mind raced to make sense of the situation. Who had written this message? Was this a desperate act from Walsh himself, or was there another player in this dangerous game they had been entangled in?

His stomach dropped.

That was it.

"It's a trap."

His mind then processed the surreal scene before him—the injured suspect, the message scrawled in blood—it was increasingly clear that this wasn't a straightforward apprehension; it was a carefully orchestrated plan, and they were mere pawns in a dangerous game. And as the realization began to grip him, his anxiety surged. There was only one thought in his mind.

With trembling fingers, Spencer pulled out his phone and dialed the number he had kept in his phone but never seemed to use. The seconds felt like an eternity as he anxiously waited for her to pick up. His mind raced with a thousand scenarios, each one more alarming than the last. Hotch stepped closer as he noticed the dread in his eyes.

"Reid."

There was only silence on the other end of the line. She wasn't answering. The fear that had gripped him intensified, and a knot of dread formed in his stomach. He tried again. There was still no answer. His hands began to tremble uncontrollably as he clutched his phone, the device suddenly feeling like an anchor pulling him deeper into a sea of fear.

"Reid."

As panic began to surge, he dialed Officer Anderson's number next. His trembling fingers pressed the buttons, and he held the phone to his ear, there was no response—no ringing, no voicemail, just a disheartening silence. His panic intensified. His chest tightened, and each gasping breath felt insufficient, leaving him feeling suffocated and—

"Reid!"

He exchanged a glance with Hotch. "I-I can't reach her," he said, sounding defeated. His palms grew clammy as he tried to regain control while he leaned against a nearby wall, attempting to steady himself.

JJ stood up and approached him. "Reid, take deep breaths," she urged, her voice calm and reassuring.

Spencer tried to steady his breathing, but his lungs felt constricted, and the air refused to fill them properly. He felt lightheaded, disconnected from reality, as waves of panic washed over him. JJ placed a steadying hand on his shoulder.

"Focus on your breathing," she said, her voice calm and reassuring. "In and out."

But the words struggled to penetrate the fog of panic that had enveloped his mind. His thoughts spiraled into a chaotic mess of fear and helplessness. The walls of the warehouse seemed to close in on him, and he gasped for air.

JJ guided him to a nearby crate. He complied, allowing himself to sit down as his trembling hands found the edge of the crate, fingers gripping tightly as he tried to steady himself. She crouched in front of him, her eyes meeting his.

"Spence, look at me. We're going to find her, but I need you to breathe, okay?" His gaze met hers, and he nodded, albeit shakily. He knew that he couldn't let his panic consume him, not when there was a chance of her being in danger, not when there was a possibility of her being taken away—he quickly shook his head.

The warehouse's oppressive atmosphere seemed to recede as he concentrated on his breath. Spencer became acutely aware of the controlled chaos unfolding around him. Hotch's firm and authoritative voice as he started to make calls, the flashlights dancing over the walls, and the low murmur of voices filling the space. He closed his eyes briefly, attempting to center himself.

But as he waited to regain his composure, the minutes felt like hours, and the fear of losing her weighed heavily on his mind.

Please, let her be safe.

"Y/n!" Sandy's voice called from the other room, prompting her to emerge from the bathroom. "Your phone keeps ringing."

"Can you check who it's from?"

Sandy checked the caller ID and responded, "Unknown caller."

She let out a dismissive sigh and started to head back into the room. "It's probably just spam."

But then, Sandy's voice broke the silence again, this time with a question that hung in the air like a heavy cloud. "This might sound crazy, but do you think Oliver has anything to do with Jamison's death?" Her breath hitched at the unexpected question. She turned to face her friend as she continued, "Just think about it, Oliver went missing right after the murder. Don't you think that's a little suspicious?"

Eric's frown deepened, and he interjected, "Don't say that. He could be in danger for all we know."

"I forgot you're protective over him." Sandy turned toward Y/n, who stood in the middle of the room, caught between their exchange. "Did you know Eric and Oliver grew up together?"

Her frown deepened as she processed her words. "You did?" She asked Eric, her tone marked by surprise.

He shrugged, his casual demeanor unchanged. "We weren't exactly friends. We just grew up in the same community."

She continued to express her curiosity. "Why haven't I heard of this?"

"Because it's not important? Like I said, we weren't even friends."

Y/n couldn't help but feel a sense of surprise mixed with a tinge of confusion. "I've known you both for what, two—almost three years now, and neither of you mentioned this?"

Eric dismissed her concern with a simple explanation. "It's not really a secret, though. We just don't talk about it." He then glanced over at Sandy. "I mean, she knows."

"It's really not an interesting topic," her friend agreed. "Why does it matter?"

She found herself grappling with that very question. Why did it matter? Why was this information tugging at her concern more than it probably should? She couldn't quite put her finger on it, but something about this felt unsettling, like a piece of the puzzle that didn't quite fit, and it left her with an unsettling sense of curiosity.

In the end, she decided to let it go, at least for now. She shook her head, dismissing her lingering thoughts. "I... never mind."

She dismissed the topic and left the two to talk as she entered the kitchen, her steps echoing in the quiet space. The room was bathed in the soft glow of the dim overhead light, casting elongated shadows across the countertops.

With a sigh, she made her way to the refrigerator, its white exterior gleaming faintly in the light. As she pulled the door open, a cold gust of air rushed out, ruffling her hair. She bent down and stared into its content. While her unanswered phone calls continued to chime softly in the background, her eyes scanned along the stacks of drink lined across the shelf.

"Do you guys want a refill?" She called out, her voice breaking the silence that had settled in the room.

She waited for a response, only to be met by silence.

"Eric! Sandy! Do you want a refill?"

There was still no answer.

"...Guys?"

It was then she realized the gentle sound of conversation from the other room had stopped, replaced by an eerie quiet that seemed to envelop the entire house. The only sound that persisted was the soft, persistent ringing of her phone in the background. Slowly, she began to stand, her movements deliberate and cautious.

She froze in place, her heart pounding loudly in her chest as she heard a sudden sound of something heavy hitting the floor. It echoed through the room, breaking the eerie silence that had enveloped the house.

But it wasn't the thud itself that startled her, it was the deafening silence that followed, as if the very world had gone mute. The absence of any other sound, the stillness that hung in the air, was unnerving. It felt like the calm before a storm, the hush that precedes a revelation, and every instinct in her body screamed at her to be cautious.

Her breathing became shallow, and she strained her ears, hoping to catch any sound that might offer an explanation. "Sandy?" She took a step forward. "Eric?"

She slowly merged from the kitchen, her cautious steps carried her down the narrow hallway that led to the living room. The silence pressed down on her felt like a heavy weight, broken only by the occasional creak of the floorboards beneath her.

A sense of unease settled over her as she stepped into the living room. At first glance, everything seemed eerily normal. The furniture was in its usual place, the soft glow of the lamps still casted a warm hue across the room. Yet, amidst this apparent calm, her eyes landed on a sight that sent a shock of fear coursing through her veins.

A gasp caught in her throat, because there, on the floor, lay Sandy's unconscious form, her body sprawled in an unnatural position. The room seemed to close in around her as she rushed forward, but before she could even move, she felt a sudden, oppressive presence behind her.

A heavy arm closed around her waist in a tight grip, and another hand pressed firmly against her mouth, muffling any cries of surprise or fear. She struggled, her heart pounding in her chest, as she was pulled backward, away from Sandy's prone figure.

"Hey, hey, don't move." A hushed and urgent voice whispered in her ear. She froze, her heart still pounding, her eyes wide with fear. "Shhh, it's okay. I'm not going to hurt you."

It was in that terrifying moment that she realized a cloth was held over her mouth, and with a gasp, she inadvertently inhaled something that left her world spinning. The room seemed to blur and distort, shadows swirling into a chaotic dance as her body went limp.

The last thing she recalled was the persistent sound of her phone ringing before everything went black.

>> NEXT PART

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its-avalon-08 · 5 months

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hi okay so since we have very little mark webber content im doing everyone a favour so like similar to the fernando one but this time y/n watched mark's flying 2010 crash and even though he's completely fine y/n is MAD (like it happened for the second time). Mark tries joking it off after they get home but she gives him the silent treatment+ doesnt let him kiss/touch her. then when she finally gives in she's angry and cries while mark consoles her?

please don't leave (mw6)

🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️

i had so much fun writing this one thank you so much for this request ! i hope you enjoyed! happy reading <3 do send in more requests! as for pre existing requests- im working on it! lots of love ava

🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️

y/n practically clawed at the armrest as the grainy helicopter footage on the tv flickered. it couldn't be. not again. the unmistakable red of mark's car was wedged against a barrier, smoke billowing skyward. her heart hammered a frantic rhythm against her ribs. "mark..." the word escaped her lips in a strangled whisper.

the newscaster droned on, thankfully confirming mark was unharmed. relief flooded y/n, momentarily pushing the anger aside. but as the adrenaline subsided, the fury simmered back. this was the second time she'd endured this terror in the three years they'd been together.

the apartment door creaked open, and mark limped in, a grimace on his face. even with the obvious pain, his smile was sheepish. "hey there, drama queen. looks like i caused a bit of a stir, eh?"

y/n remained glued to the couch, arms crossed. the silence in the room was thick enough to cut with a knife. mark's smile faltered, replaced by a worried frown. he shuffled closer, a hand reaching out tentatively.

"y/n, come on," he coaxed, "it's alright. just a bit shaken, that's all."

his hand hovered in the air, inches from her shoulder. y/n flinched away, the movement sharp and cold. the hurt flickered in mark's eyes, but he persisted.

the air in the apartment hung heavy with unspoken emotions. mark hovered near y/n, his own leg throbbing from the crash, but the physical pain paled in comparison to the emotional turmoil brewing across the room. he yearned to hold her, to feel her warmth and offer some form of comfort.

"so," mark started, his voice breaking the suffocating silence, "at least this time i didn't manage to take out any cameramen. silver linings, right?"

he forced a smile, hoping to lighten the mood. but as he reached out, y/n visibly stiffened. her back straightened, and her arms, which had been limp at her side, clenched into fists.

mark's smile faltered, replaced by a dawning realization. this wasn't the time for jokes. he saw it in the way her shoulders started to tremble, a silent tremor that spoke volumes.

"y/n," he began, concern lacing his voice.

but before he could continue, a dam broke within her. tears welled up in her eyes, spilling over as she whirled around to face him.

"silver linings?" she choked out, her voice thick with anger and barely contained fear. "mark, how can you even say that? don't you get it? every time you get behind the wheel of that car, my heart stops! i watch those races, glued to the screen, praying that the red and white doesn't end up tangled in a mess of metal, praying that i don't hear your name followed by the words 'critical condition.' this isn't some game, mark! these aren't just crashes, these are near-death experiences!"

her voice hitched, raw emotion pouring out. "and you have the audacity to joke about it? to try and find some humor in the fact that you almost died again? do you even consider what it does to me? the sleepless nights, the constant worry gnawing at my insides? i can't take it anymore, mark! i can't live like this, constantly on the edge, waiting for the other shoe to drop!"

y/n's rant hung in the air, heavy and accusatory. mark stood speechless, his heart sinking with every word. all the flippant remarks he'd planned evaporated. here, laid bare, was the true cost of his passion, the unseen burden he placed on the woman he loved.

shame washed over him. he hadn't truly understood her fear, the depth of her worry. now, seeing it raw and unfiltered, he felt like a monster.

"y/n," he finally managed, his voice hoarse with regret, "i... i'm so sorry. i had no idea. i was trying to be lighthearted, but you're right. it's not a joke. i was a fool. please, forgive me. i promise it won't happen next time."

"it's not enough, mark!" she shot back, tears welling up in her eyes. "what if next time... what if there isn't a next time?"

the room went silent again, the weight of her words hanging heavy in the air. after a long moment, mark sat on the coffee table beside her, a dejected sigh escaping his lips. he didn't try to touch her again, respecting the space she needed.

minutes bled into hours. finally, y/n's tense shoulders slumped slightly. with a shaky breath, she turned towards mark. he met her gaze, his eyes filled with concern.

"i just..." she began, her voice thick with emotion, "i can't lose you, mark. not like this."

large tears streamed down her face as she spoke, her voice cracking. mark was by her side in an instant, pulling her into a tight embrace. he held her as she sobbed, whispering comforting words into her hair.

the fear, the anger, all of it spilled out in that moment. when her cries subsided into hiccups, mark gently wiped away her tears.

y/n's words hung heavy in the air, each one a hammer blow to mark's heart. shame burned in his gut, hotter than any engine fire he'd ever faced. he hadn't just been selfish, he'd been blind. blinded by the adrenaline rush, the roar of the crowd, the thrill of the race. he hadn't seen the terror in her eyes, the worry etched into her every expression.

"y/n," he started, his voice thick with remorse, "i... i don't even know where to begin. you're right. it's not a joke. it's never a joke. every time i climb into that car, a part of me knows the risk. but the truth is, i never stopped to think about what it did to you. i was so focused on myself, on the competition, on the win, that i completely ignored the cost it had on you."

he took a shaky breath, pulling her closer, "those sleepless nights, that constant worry… you shouldn't have to carry that burden alone. you shouldn't have to live in fear because of my passion. it's not fair. it's not fair to you, and frankly, it makes me question my own damn priorities."

mark ran a hand through his hair, frustration lacing his voice. "this racing… it's been my life for so long. it's given me purpose, pushed me to my limits, made me feel alive. but if it comes at the cost of losing you, then what's the point? what good is a trophy if the person i love the most is shattered every time i race?"

he looked at her, his eyes pleading for understanding. "i can't promise you i'll quit. it's in my blood, this need for speed. but i can promise you this: i'll never take it for granted again. i'll never forget the fear in your eyes. every race, every decision, every corner i take, you'll be there, a constant reminder of what truly matters. and if, at any point, you can't handle it anymore, if the fear becomes too much… i'll walk away. no questions asked. because you, y/n, you're my everything."

silence stretched between them, heavy with the weight of his words. but this time, it wasn't a suffocating quiet. it was a space filled with the dawning of a new understanding, a fragile hope for a future where his passion wouldn't overshadow the love of his life.

the silence stretched on, a hesitant dance between hope and uncertainty. then, slowly, tentatively, y/n reached out. her hand brushed against mark's, sending a jolt of electricity through him. he laced his fingers with hers, the warmth a stark contrast to the storm that had just passed.

"i..." she began, her voice barely a whisper. "i don't want you to quit." her eyes, though still glistening with unshed tears, held a new resolve. "but i need you to be safe. to understand how much you mean to me."

mark's heart swelled in his chest. "i do, y/n. more than you know." he pulled her gently towards him, offering a quiet, "can i kiss you now?"

y/n melted into his embrace, lips meeting. he held her tightly, the unspoken promise hanging heavy in the air. they would face this together, fear and passion intertwined. but for now, all that mattered was the quiet comfort of each other's arms.

after a long while, y/n pulled back slightly, a small smile gracing her lips. "just promise me," she said, her voice muffled against his chest.

"anything," he whispered back, nuzzling his nose against hers.

"no more 'silver linings' jokes after a crash," she declared, a playful glint in her eyes.

mark chuckled, a genuine laugh that warmed the room. "deal. but maybe a celebratory ice cream after a win?"

y/n snorted. "we can negotiate."

and with that, they settled back into their embrace, a newfound understanding blossoming between them. the future was uncertain, the track still held dangers, but as long as they had each other, they could face anything. as mark drifted off to sleep, y/n snuggled closer, her soft breaths a lullaby against his ear.

#formula 1 #mark webber #mw6 #mark webber x you #mark webber x reader #mark webber x y/n #sebastian vettel #f1 imagine #red bull racing #formula one #y/n #crash #angst #romance #requests #ava speaks #redbull

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heavens-moonlight · 8 months

Text

𝗕𝗢𝗥𝗗𝗘𝗥𝗟𝗜𝗡𝗘𝗦 | 𝟬𝟭 : 𝗠𝗜𝗦𝗔𝗗𝗩𝗘𝗡𝗧𝗨𝗥𝗘

SYNOPSIS | 02 : THE BUTTERFLY EFFECT

Author’s Note: The following chapter will be where the misery starts but I wanted to build character and friendship dynamics here first. Updates won't be as frequent (because of one word: life) but I have pre-written a lot for this drama already so I'll see this work to the end! Hopefully this is enjoyable so far, and feel free to let me know what you think (or what you want to see in future chapters)! Until next time! ♡

"THE INNOCENT CIVILIANS HAVE LOST, AND THE MAFIA WON!"

Your heavy palpebrae that moments earlier masked your vision in dimness, adorned with a trace of gentle sleepiness, slowly flutters open at the announcement, eyes emerging from the veil of unconsciousness. Finding yourself awakening with an overwhelming and unshakeable wave of trepidation washing over you, your chest tightens in palpable distress. The heaviness pales no less in comparison to the weight of an anvil sinking down atop your sternum, lungs punctured by bowed bones.

You sit there in a state of unease, mind racing with apprehension and discomposure, searching for answers to the troubling sensation coursing through your body. The sense of foreboding grips your heart tightly like an invisible vice, leaving you breathless and unable to shake off the unwanted feeling.

In a haste, you slide open the window beside you, the glass screeching against rubber weatherstrips expanded by scorching summer heat. Through the humidity, a light breeze brushes past, breathing air and life back into you. It's not hard to recognize the way your subconscious whispers insistently that something is amiss, the combination of uncertainty and uneasiness blending together into something you can't decipher.

Your hand comes to rest against your chest, heart pounding strongly and ceaselessly against your ribcage, almost as though wanting to escape from its confines. It sends you reeling, akin to an out of body experience. For some unexplained reason, confusion clouds your thoughts as you struggle to clear the thick shroud of fog encasing your entire being, the mist muddling and settling deep within you. A haunting sense of premonition creeps over as if some elapsed memory shares in its ominous secrets. Yet, try as you might, you could not uncover the source of this inexplicable anxiety. You're left clueless except for the empty feeling both in your mind and soul, like you have forgotten something important.

When your breathing returns to normal and your pulse has settled back into its regular rhythmic beat, you shake your head to clear it of the sudden upsetting thoughts. Only then do you realize you had fallen asleep at one point, head tilted back against the warm and worn peeling leather seats of the bus. The sound of loud conversations and even louder hum of the engine, the smell of smoke, and the bump of the vehicle's wheels on uneven pavement brings with it a gentle sway of movement that returns to you a sense of comfort you can't put into words.

Glancing down at your lap, you notice that you had left the entirety of a horror movie playing on your phone, the end credits having long since rolled endlessly, words drenched in red blinking cursorily across the screen. You rarely experienced nightmares, not even after indulging in disturbing content, and certainly not when it's broad daylight out still. So then, why now?

The sound of a book plopping down to the ground pulls you out of your reverie and you lean forward to pick it up, folding it closed to survey the front cover.

흰나비의 살인.

The White Butterfly's Murder.

You smile to yourself. It was so like Yoon-Seo to read a murder mystery on a school trip, the same exact one you had gifted to her only yesterday for her birthday. A love of thriller was what brought you both to be such good friends in the first place, and it didn't seem those like-minded interests would diverge any time soon.

"Yoon-Seo ah..." Scooting forward in your seat, you lightly tap her on the shoulder and she jolts upright, turning back to look at you, unreasonably startled, a shiver running down her spine. "What's wrong?" Your grin drops slightly at her growing restlessness, face now pale as if she had encountered an apparition. Her eyes shift back and forth, guarded for a microsecond before snapping back into her usual self.

Yoon-Seo takes noticeably deep inhales, drawing the attention of Jung-Won, her seat mate for the ride, who pauses mid-coding to look over, displeased.

"What did you dream of?"

"I'd rather not say."

"Han Seol-Hwa. Lee Yoon-Seo.” Jung-Won clicks her tongue teasingly, pointing a finger from you to Yoon-Seo. “I'm making it a rule that you guys stay away from blood, murders, and deaths this trip, alright?"

You roll your eyes good-naturedly. "Alright, I promise you eomma. No more nagging Yoon-Seo and I."

Jung-Won scowls at you playfully, pushing her glasses up higher on the bridge of her nose and you stick out your tongue in her direction impishly. Yoon-Seo laughs quietly at the exchange as you hand her back her book.

"Thanks, Seol-Hwa."

"Tell me all about it later when we've arrived." Despite muttering it under your breath to avoid being heard by Jung-Won, you fail miserably.

"Seriously?!"

You and Yoon-Seo laugh together as Jung-Won goes on a tangent about how psychologically, scary things are not good for young, impressionable minds, fingers click-clacking away all the while. Fortunately preoccupied, she doesn't notice Yoon-Seo sending you a wink, a hidden promise between you two to indulge in the realm of the supernatural regardless.

A resounding and victorious scream travels all the way from the back of the bus and you turn around to observe the friend group seated there.

"See?! I told you all Yool was the Mafia! Let's play again," Eun-Ha says, arms crossed. "You idiots never listen to me, do you?" She slaps both Yeon-Woo and Eun-Chan on the back of their heads as petty punishment.

"What can I say? You simply can't kill the master." Yool leans back, legs thrown atop the headrest of the seat in front, a proud smile stretched across his face.

As they're about to commence another game, Jin-Ha gets relayed a message through Seung-Bin. "Tell them that Kyung-Jun is sleeping and to shut the hell up."

"YAH!" The random shout is so out of place and entirely uncalled for, but it's effective for the time being. "Kyung-Jun is sleeping," Jin-Ha parrots, obedient. "You guys are always so fucking loud that we can hear you before we can see you!" Met with blank stares all around, he's finally satisfied at the reduction in volume and goes back to looking at something Seung-Bin points out to him on his phone. Unbeknownst to him, the rest switch to eyeing him in disfavor behind his back.

It wasn't hard to see the hierarchy of the bullies' group, although Jin-Ha most likely doesn't notice anything wrong with the skewed power dynamics.

Kyung-Jun unpredictably opens his eyes, turning to glare at Heo Yool specifically, but when he swivels back around again, your eyes meet coincidentally and he simply stares, an unreadable expression on his face. You avert your gaze hastily, not wanting to stir up trouble with the bullies, especially not Kyung-Jun who was quick to anger if someone so much as breathed wrongly in his direction.

Your eyes search the rest of the bus lazily before landing on Jun-Hee, sleeping peacefully unaware, head tilted towards the window. The sunlight bathes him in a soft yellow glow and you can't help but stare as a single ray of light filters through the curtains, slanting lightly across his face. You etch every slope, every contour, and every dip of his countenance behind your eyes so that the image of him doesn't fade.

The comfortable rise and fall of Jun-Hee's chest, synchronized with his steady breathing is so serene that it captivates your heart. In high noon, the gentle curves of his face seem even more soft, accentuated by the calmness enveloping his features. Fondly, you observe him in the morning's bright golden haze, and in the beauty of the falling sunbeams, you wonder if he'd ever see you in the same way.

A rolled-up piece of paper hits you square in the face and you finally drag your gaze away long enough to see who it is. Whipping your head around, you're met with snickers from Hyun-Ho and Dong-Hyun, who don't even try to hide they're the culprits.

You're being obvious. Hyun-Ho mouths the words discernibly. Just sit next to him if you're going to gawk.

You chuck the paper ball back toward him and it smacks him in the mouth, your nose scrunching up in focus mixed with annoyance.

"I think that's the most creative way I've ever seen someone being told to shut up," Dong-Hyun voices approvingly, shooting you two thumbs up.

"Are you my friend or hers?" Hyun-Ho asks childishly, somewhat snubbed.

"To be honest, she can be more frightening than you at times even though she's half your size."

You giggle to yourself as the two start squabbling in their seats across the aisle from Jung-Won and Yoon-Seo.

For the most part, after having transferred to Yooil High, you were fairly well-liked by everyone for your just and nonjudgmental attitude. That, and you pretty much kept to yourself, stayed out of trouble, and knew not to dig your nose in other's business if it didn't concern you. You weren't popular by any means, but not a single person had a true reason to dislike you and you hoped to continue that track record.

By a stroke of bad luck, your parents died a few years ago in a car accident, and you've been living with your cousin Hyun-Ho ever since, adopted by your aunt and uncle-in-law. They have been nothing short of welcoming and loving, and the same goes for Hyun-Ho, who acts no less like your real brother. Sure, he's annoying at times but it's just his overprotective nature and ease of accepting the older sibling role. You got on quite quickly with Yoon-Seo and Jung-Won, and Hyun-Ho made sure you adapted to his own friend group, introducing you to his best friends Jun-Hee and Dong-Hyun. You loved your companions dearly, all incredibly close and inseparable ever since you could remember.

But you couldn't remember when you began to see Jun-Hee as more than that.

Friends.

It's not the first, and it certainly won't be the last time you remind yourself of that fact.

Just friends. Nothing more and nothing less.

Except, you're not the only who was harboring feelings for him. Where you were quiet and discreet about it, So-Mi is loud and unabashed. It's hard to ignore and pretend you don't hear her snapping pictures of Jun-Hee shamelessly and without permission, the shutter ticking in quick succession.

"Isn't this crazy? It's like a photoshoot, right? How does he look like that? Even while sleeping?" So-Mi rattles off questions in awe, more to herself than anyone else.

Woo Ram doesn't miss a beat in his reply. "I'll tell Jun-Hee about your crazy obsession with him."

"Could you, please?" So-Mi widens her eyes, batting her lashes imploringly. "I'll use that as an opportunity to tempt him."

You hear Ji-Soo's laugh ring out brash and clear. "This delusional girl, seriously..." she chides. "You've been saying that since last year. When will you actually find the courage to tell him?"

That's the question you ask yourself also. You don't blame So-Mi. Sometimes, you think it might be better to not have been best friends with him. It only complicates your feelings further, too afraid to ruin years of friendship, but also too filled with wishful thinking on the mere possibility of it growing into anything beyond that.

Sighing, you turn to look out the window, trying your best to tune out their conversation even though it doesn't work. There's not much to hold your attention when the scenery is endless stretches of barren trees and even emptier infrastructure, or lack thereof, rolling by.

The setting sun dyes everything in a blaze of orange, making it appear as if the city was burning, the sky collapsing.

"Seduce him now," Yu-Jun taunts, voice giving way to his utter lack of confidence in So-Mi's coquetting abilities, knowing full well the impossibility that the two would ever end up together.

"Cut it out! It will happen soon...just not here." So-Mi tries to shush her friends as they holler at Jun-Hee teasingly, with all intent to wake him up.

Woo-Ram and Yu-Jun successfully manage to rouse him if the sound of So-Mi's indignant squeals is anything to go by, coupled with the unmistakable clicking of her phone's camera shutter, pressed by accident this time around.

Somewhere in between listening and musing, you had begun to doze off again when you feel the seat shift and sink beside yours. The movement is so light and careful that you don't pay it any notice at first.

"Hey, I thought when you flirt with someone, they're supposed to come to you and not away from you." Ji-Soo's snickers mix in with So-Mi's annoyed remarks aren't as jarring as you thought it'd be after everyone was subjected to the silent rule earlier.

You feel your head droop forward before someone touches the side of your face gently, fingers grazing the curve of your cheek to angle your head into the broad line of their shoulder.

The pads of their fingers trace the underside of your jaw in a featherlight motion, and you lift your face in alarm, curious as to who would do such a thing especially if they weren't necessarily close to you

Eyes trailing upward, your vision refocuses and they widen at the sight of Jun-Hee staring down at you, gaze soft and unwavering as he stares, transfixed, pupils shining. One hand is hanging in midair, held steady to shield your face from the sun.

You open your mouth to say something, anything, but no words come out, a frozen expression of surprise on your visage.

Jun-Hee's lips tilt slightly upward, the motion bunching his cheeks up, almost as if he was trying hard to suppress his laugh.

Pulling yourself together, you sit up properly and lean away from his shoulder. "Sorry."

You don't notice Jun-Hee's smile dropping imperceptibly and the light in his eyes dimming as you're no longer within close proximity. "Why are you apologizing?"

"It's nothing." The response is too dismissive even to your own ears as you can't conjure up an excuse for the sudden pretense, or for your outlandish behavior.

It would be quite a long bus ride, sitting next to each other, both not knowing what to say.

The space between Jun-Hee's eyebrows crease together in confusion, but he doesn't push the matter further.

You clear your throat awkwardly, shifting in your seat to sit on your hands. When did simply talking to him become so hard to do? You've hidden your feelings for years without problem, so why was it so different now? Those feelings changed and grew. "When did you come to sit here? Weren't you just sleeping earlier?"

Jun-Hee knocks his shoulder into yours, a teasing lilt to his voice. "You were watching me?"

"Pft, as if," You deny with lackluster confidence, scoffing. "I was just observing what everyone was doing."

"Right..." He elongates the word. "...And what I was doing was sleeping. That you watched." Jun-Hee looks at you again, a deadpan but knowing look on his face. Flustered, you duck your head only for him to mirror the movement, subtly leaning his own toward yours and trying to catch your eye. It ends up with him chortling as your forehead nearly collides with your knees in the slouched over position you had subjected yourself to.

Knowing full well you were being made fun of without a hint of malice, you twist your body sideways and lean your back against the window, turning to him with a glare. "Is this fun to you?"

As he laughs, you find yourself wanting to follow suit, but stick to the bit of maintaining your mock angry façade, slapping him on the arm. If anything, he continues to chuckle, barely flinching, finding your reaction rather amusing.

"Don't worry. I promise I didn't sneak any pictures." It quickly registers to you that he was clearly teasing So-Mi for earlier. You can't help the scandalized look on your face, cheeks puffing out as you try to hold in your laugh. "I guess you did notice a camera being pressed up to your face, huh?"

"Kind of hard not to with all the noise." He shakes his head in annoyance. "But I am still sleepy." Jun-Hee pulls your arm so that you're pressed against his side again, no semblance of space remaining between the two of you as he lowers himself, sinking further down into the seat, eyes shut and head now leaning against your shoulder.

"Jun-Hee..."

"Let me borrow your shoulder for a little while."

You're about to pull away, thinking he's playing around when his grip tightens on your arm.

"Think of it as returning the favor from earlier. We can call it even."

Making a vague sound of neutrality but not moving, you relax, and Jun-Hee lessens his hold, adjusting his position to be more comfortable. "Are you going to watch this time too?" His hand squeezes your forearm once.

"Dream on," you kid.

"Maybe I will," he answers with certainty. "Until it becomes reality."

"I didn't know you were this affectionate with everyone."

"Not just anyone. Only you," Jun-Hee mumbles, tilting his head further into the crook of your neck. His lips move dangerously close to the juncture of your shoulder, your pulse point centimeters away as he shifts around, finding the most relaxing spot to rest.

"Don't say things you don't mean." You can't bite your tongue fast enough as the words tumble out unprompted. That was supposed to be an inside thought no one else should be privy to but yourself.

"Who says I don't mean it?" You tense up beside him, at a loss for words, but Jun-Hee doesn't point it out, more than not nice enough to ignore it for your sake. "I'm self-proclaimed as your favorite." He bumps his knee against yours. "I know you better than anyone else."

"Do you, though?"

"...Of course, I do."

But you don't know that I'm already halfway in love with you.

"On what basis, mister?"

"Best friend privileges."

"Right..."

You stare down at the top of his head, Jun-Hee unaware of your blatant staring and the way your smile fades at the same time one appears on his face.

"That's acceptable, no?"

"Of course, it is. Best friends. That's what we are..." You trail off.

And I guess that's all we'll ever be.

Hours later, the sky has since darkened and you can see the visible outline of the full moon on high, light not concealed by the stars weakly glimmering to illuminate the night.

Most, if not the entirety, of the students on the bus were asleep, except for you and your two lovable, but mischievous best friends sitting in front of you.

Yoon-Seo and Jung-Won peer over the back of their seats like cute meerkats, only their eyes visible, phones raised suspiciously in your direction.

"You're welcome in advance," Yoon-Seo says cheekily, showing the widest grin you've ever seen on her, eyes crinkling as Jung-Won stifles her laugh behind her hand. At your persistent eye signals, they sink back down into their seats, satisfied after overfilling their camera rolls.

As the bus slows down, indicating that your class was nearing your destination, the road gradually begins to get rougher and bumpier. It's a surprise Jun-Hee still hasn't woken up yet, sleeping soundly away still leaning on you.

Deciding to mess around with him, you slightly pivot your body so it's facing him, leaving enough room for his head to not fall off your shoulder.

"Jun-Hee," you call, tilting your head down in front of his.

"Jun-Hee ah." The bus is rocking him, lolling his head forward along with the movement, his face nearly downturned.

"Wake up, sleepyhead." Your shoulder is no longer acting as support when you turn your face directly below his and peer up, tilting your head like he had done to you miles back, smiling at his obliviousness to the harmless prank, peacefully undisturbed in his slumber.

"Kim Jun—" The bus lurches abruptly, running over a speed bump the driver misses, and your words die in your throat as it jostles Jun-Hee's body forward and consequently his head toward your own, his lips meeting yours. The next slope in the road, and the fleeting press of the accidental kiss fades away, but the butterflies in your stomach refuse to settle.

You're motionless, eyes wide, hands immediately coming up to touch your lips where they're still tingling from the lingering imprint of Jun-Hee's lips against your own, barely registering just how close his face is to yours still, remaining asleep all the same.

"Kids, we're here!"

Your teacher's announcement snaps you out of your thoughts and you hurriedly sit back as Jun-Hee's eyelids sluggishly part, the first thing they focus on is you. He grins drowsily, and you wonder what can truly fix the irreparable damage to your heart.

Get a grip, Han Seol-Hwa.

Forcing a smile that you hope isn't as awkward as it feels onto your face, you decidedly withhold the truth about the incident.

"That was the best sleep I've had in a while," Jun-Hee tells you, leaning closer to be heard over the ruckus of everyone moving around in their seats, wanting to alight the bus the moment it stops.

You scoot back reflexively with your face aflame, still not over what had happened.

Jun-Hee also pulls away, worry mixed with bewilderment evident on his face. "Are you alright?"

"What do you mean?" You cringe internally at how guilty the tone of your voice comes out.

"It's just..." Jun-Hee regards you for a moment, studying your face as you avoid his searching eyes. "You've been acting a little weird since this morning."

"I'm tired is all," you lie through your teeth.

"If I—"

Suddenly So-Mi appears next to the two of you in the aisle, eyeing you up and down judgingly. "Jun-Hee, the teacher said he wants to talk to us."

As Jun-Hee gets up but doesn't reply, you swiftly scoot out of your own seat and attempt to scurry away to where Yoon-Seo and Jung-Won are waiting for you by the wheel, wanting to avoid the dreaded conversation you knew was sure to follow.

So-Mi dismisses your presence completely, standing into the empty space between the rows in an effort to block Jun-Hee off.

His eyes count your steps and before you can move even a feet away, he grabs ahold of you, fingers wrapping securely but tenderly around your wrist. Your pulse quickens beneath your skin, and you wonder if he can feel how rapidly it bounds under his touch.

"Seol-Hwa—"

Jun-Hee appears a bit dejected for some reason you'd rather not dwell upon. You gaze down at his grasp on you before turning to face him.

"Didn't you hear me?" So-Mi interjects, trying to make him focus on her by stepping into his line of vision, but his eyes remain fixed only on you. "Seonsaengnim needs both of us for something."

Your fingers graze Jun-Hee's as you slowly remove his hand, much to his reluctance. To the bitter distaste of So-Mi, he doesn't seem like he'll go along with her any time soon. She directs her glare at you once more, and you sigh quietly, not wanting to be in the middle of this interaction one bit.

"I'll see you later Jun-Hee."

"Wait—" He tries to grab your hand again, but So-Mi is quick to turn his shoulder away, making up filler dialogue.

Given the slip unintentionally, you speed walk toward your friends, and the three of you descend the steps. You feel Jun-Hee's stare burn through the back of your head yet refuse to turn around.

Maybe if you leave everything that happened on the bus and the thoughts along with it, you'll go back to being yourself soon enough.

The teacher is pacing the edge of the curb looking perturbed, voice frustrated as he speaks into the phone, the person on the other end not comprehending a single word.

Before you can tune into what he's saying, Yoon-Seo taps you on the forearm, whispering, "Have we been here? Why do I feel like I have? It's so familiar..."

"All the youth centers look the same," Jung-Won settles, rummaging through her backpack. "Yoon-Seo, Seol-Hwa, I'm heading in first. See you inside."

You wave to her as Yoon-Seo stands beside you, unmoving and gazing up at the third-floor window of the building.

"Yoon-Seo...?" You move your hand back and forth in front of her face, and she finally blinks, her gaze returning to normal.

"What is it?" she responds absentmindedly.

"That's what I should be asking you." You halt at the blank expression on her face staring back at you.

"I thought I saw something..." She points at the window but when you look, squinting against the dark to focus your eyes, all you can see is the white curtains billowing back and forth from the window barely cracked open.

"It's only the wind. Your mind is probably playing tricks on you." Yoon-Seo seems assured by your answer for the time being, nodding. You rap on her head lightly with a loose fist, mock admonishing. "Aigoo, Miss Detective. The books are taking over your imagination."

Yoon-Seo laughs and shoves you playfully. "Don't act like you don't also live and breathe all things horror."

"But I'm not the one seeing things, am I?" Raising your eyebrows at her teasingly, Yoon-Seo simply rolls her eyes and links her arm with yours.

"Come on, let's go. It's cold out here, and I want to see the rest of this place."

The two of you enter the lobby, and the first thing you take note of is the pure white marble statue of a girl, sitting atop a pillar and staring down into nothingness, eyes soulless and devoid of emotion. It’s melancholic in a way, a personified goddess, yet alone and ostensibly powerless.

"Yoon-Seo, don't you think those eyes remind you of anyone?" You fix your gaze on the figurine closely, examining the features etched haphazardly into the rock. Whatever intention the sculptor had, you couldn't find the purpose for the seemingly out of place decor.

Yoon-Seo nudges you. "Now who's the one with the wild imagination?"

"I'm being serious here."

"I don't see any resemblance to anyone we could possibly know. There's no informative plaque on who it may be either."

You shrug. "Maybe it's just me then."

"Aren't you two going to scan?" Jung-Won ushers you and Yoon-Seo toward the flyer:

[ sᴄᴀɴ ᴛʜᴇ ǫʀ ᴄᴏᴅᴇ ᴛᴏ ᴄᴏɴɴᴇᴄᴛ ᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴇ ᴡɪ-ғɪ ᴀɴᴅ ɪɴsᴛᴀʟʟ ᴛʜᴇ ʏᴏᴜᴛʜ ᴄᴇɴᴛᴇʀ ᴀᴘᴘ ᴀᴜᴛᴏᴍᴀᴛɪᴄᴀʟʟʏ ]

"This place has an app? What for?" you question.

"Hmm, I'll just stick to this paper booklet they have instead." Yoon-Seo decides quickly, rifling through the readily available printed maps.

"You'll have to lead me around," you say in all earnestness. "I'm very direction disoriented."

Jung-Won doesn't even try to hide her smile. "We can tell."

"It's not my fault I was born like this." You dramatically fall back onto Yoon-Seo. "Would you two really lead me astray as my best friends?"

Yoon-Seo giggles behind you. "No way. We saw how dazed you were getting off the bus earlier. You need all the help you can get."

Jung-Won snickers, shaking her head while dragging you and Yoon-Seo through the double doors of the gymnasium where the rest were gathered.

Everyone is off scattered into their own respective friend groups, your trio throwing your backpacks haphazardly on the floor before sitting against the wall of bleachers yet to be pulled out.

Jun-Hee and So-Mi enter shortly after with the teacher, engaged in a discussion. You look away before they can notice, and focus on the girls attempting to practice for their performance instead, Woo-Ram filming their efforts. Joo-Young pushes Mi-Na out of her spotlight and steals it openly, not that Woo-Ram minded. If anything, he holds the camera ever-sturdier, a newfound excitement apparent this time around as he zooms into her face. His happiness is short-lived however, as Kyung-Joon turns off the speakers nonchalantly, forcing the girls to start over from the beginning, much to their irritation.

Despite what you decided on earlier, you can't help but throw glances over in Jun-Hee's direction. He's seated at the table reserved for school council members by the entryway, overlooking everyone as So-Mi talks his ear off, undeterred by his indifference.

"Stop staring. You're going to wear away his pretty face," Yoon-Seo jokes from your left.

"I wasn't staring," you reply back half-committally, knowing she's caught you in the act.

"You totally were," Jung-Won joins in, slowly leaning her head on your right shoulder. "Let me borrow your shoulder while I code."

"If she's allowed, I should be too," Yoon-Seo copies, mirroring Jung-Won from your left side.

"Careful, that one's Jun-Hee's. You'll have to wait your turn, Yoon-Seo."

"Oh my god," you groan, embarrassed, hiding your face into your hands as the two laugh beside you, kicking your feet from both sides with theirs. "You two are merciless."

"Are you going to deprive me of the best sleep I'll ever have?" Yoon-Seo snuggles closer, hugging you tightly to her.

"Yah! Lee Yoon-Seo!"

You had the intention of taking Jun-Hee off your mind by hanging out with your friends, only for you to see bits of his personality in Yoon-Seo, their long-time friendship having had them taking on one another's mannerisms.

"I'm using my best friend privileges." Jung-Won pats you on the knee. "Stay still."

As Yoon-Seo and Jung-Won squish into you from both sides, you can't help but giggle at the sheer absurdity of the reenactment and their dedication to coming up with jokes on the fly. You try to fight back the onslaught of laughter, but it's entirely pointless in their presence. Traitorously, your eyes crinkle in mirth, half-crescents resting atop your cheeks as your laugh tinkles in the shared space, making the other two giggle along, shaking with glee where they're pressed against you.

Jung-Won eventually caves and sits up properly when all the hooting you and Yoon-Seo are doing keeps rattling her laptop, messing up her coding. A permanent smile sits on her face though, watching you two bicker.

"Jung-Won, help, I need my inhaler. I can't breathe from laughing so much," Yoon-Seo gasps out, holding her stomach.

"I'm not getting it for you."

"I can't believe you would tease me at the expense of your asthma." You push Yeon-Seo away, sniggering as she goes back to clinging onto your arm and laying her head back on your shoulder.

Jung-Won turns to look at you and Yoon-Seo briefly, her eyes shifting to the side momentarily, a ghost of a smile settling on her lips before she resumes attention to her laptop. "Don't look but Jun-Hee is watching."

Right as she says that, you make to move your head, but Yoon-Seo expects it and holds your chin in place with her hand, pinching your cheeks playfully.

"I said don't look!" Jung-Won chuckles.

It throws Yoon-Seo into another fit of giggles as you try to speak through your puckered lips. She releases her hand quickly after, and you drop your head to lean on the crown of hers, giving up.

You elbow Jung-Won in her side. "Were you messing with me?"

"Why would I?" she says innocently, typing away.

You look at her pointedly. "Yeah, you totally wouldn't."

Jung-Won holds her hands up in a motion of surrender. "I'm not this time, really. Seeing So-Mi angry is my favorite past-time."

"So mean," Yoon-Seo sing-songs.

"And you had no part in this?" You poke Yoon-Seo in the cheek. "Who told you to have an annoyingly cute and kind best friend?"

"You mean you?"

"You know what I mean."

"It's true."

"Guess I'll have a crush on you instead."

Yoon-Seo chortles with laughter. "So, you do admit you like him!"

"I didn't say that!"

"I read between the lines."

“It was one line!”

"This really sucks," Jung-Won says off-handedly, scrolling through the app. "I can make something like this in a day."

"Huh?" Yoon-Seo inquires, lost.

"You really didn't scan the QR code earlier? It was installed automatically. Give me your phone. I'll do it for you."

"No, it's okay. I'll get by. It's a short trip."

"I wouldn't put it past Yoon Seo to carry around the paper map for two whole days," you jest.

"Careful, you can't even navigate well, Seol-Hwa."

Jung-Won snorts at Yoon-Seo's jab.

"You got me there. If you tell me to walk back the way we came from I'd probably end up walking in the opposite direction."

Yoon-Seo shakes her head in fond disbelief.

"I'm not getting any signals in here." Jung-Won holds her phone up high, arm stretching.

While you watch as Jung-Won moves her device around to figure out the cause of the lost signal and no connection to Wi-Fi, Yool rushes past, making a mad run for the storage room. Adjacent to the bleachers where you and your friends were sitting, he flings the door open with purpose and digs through the contents of the room. Various apparatus gets upended from their designated places, the speed and sheer amount of hiking gear, equipment for ball sports, as well as other items meant for the gymnasium flying out from the doorway is nothing short of the effects in a comedic cartoon. Knowing how much of a jokester Yool was, you pay it no mind and turn back to the task at hand.

You pull out your own phone to try and locate even one bar of cell phone service, only to be met with the message that the vicinity was an unserviceable area. "That's weird. We're not in a remote place or anything like that. What happens if the power goes out, then?"

Right as you say that, static from the speakers produces head-splitting screeches, causing everyone to recoil with palms over their ears in annoyance, the lights flashing once before cutting out.

With everyone fearing the worst, a few remain unmoving while screams of the rest bounce off the walls, echoing in the spacious room. You and Yoon-Seo however, have no reaction, more curious than anything else.

"Why did you turn the lights off?" Someone you can't put a name to probes in the dark. "Turn them back on!"

Following in haste after one another, the students make good use of their phone flashlights, aiming it at the court's center, revealing a figure cloaked in white standing as clear as day amidst the obscurity of the room.

While the majority cower in fear, clutching onto their friends, Hyun-Ho imperturbably throws a basketball at the unknown prowler, knocking them over in one go.

"Ouch!"

The white sheet is flung off theatrically, and out crawls a disheveled but cackling Yool.

"Aish, seriously," Hyun-Ho admonishes. "Quit goofing around."

Kicking the blanket to the side away from his feet, Yool raises his hands up in the air dramatically, acting to the end. Not a single person has managed to find the overhead lights in the meantime, the only ones illuminating the outline of his thin frame were the stage bulbs operating on a different circuit.

"While I have your attention, you guys have to listen up," he begins conspiratorially. "I heard a harrowing tale that's been passed down to everyone who steps foot into this building." Yool looks from one classmate to the next, more serious than he's ever been. "They say a female high school student took her own life here." He continues on as gasps and murmurs spring up around you. "There are things you absolutely can't do." He waggles his pointer finger dramatically for emphasis. "Don't look back after glancing in the mirror past midnight, and ignore it even if someone were to grab your ankle while you are asleep. If you don't follow these rules..." Yool pauses for staged effect before walking in broken steps like he’s possessed, arms and legs bent in odd angles, rushing straight toward the dancers still seated on the floor.

"...YOU'LL SEE A GHOST!"

Shrieks pierce the room as someone manages to flip the lights on again with perfect timing, ending Yool's one-man show.

Jung-Won clucks her tongue while you and Yoon-Seo look at one another. You were expecting her to be as nonchalant as you were, all her readings considered, but she's staring straight ahead, spooked.

"Earth to Yoon-Seo?" You touch her hand and she flinches, causing you to jump as well from her unexpected reaction.

"Huh?" She whips her head toward you, still zoned out. "Sorry." A forced smile settles on her face, an infrequent sight to her usual bright demeanor. "Don't worry, it just felt like deja vu for a minute."

"You said something similar earlier. Are you sure you're doing okay?" Your voiced is laced with worry.

"See, this is why I told you two to tone it down with the heebie-jeebies. You're only scaring yourselves." Jung-Won pats your head and then Yoon-Seo's in turn. "We should go to our rooms anyway. They all have too much energy they can't wait to waste away," Jung-Won states, gesturing to everyone milling about.

"Let's go?" You pull Yoon-Seo up, and she nods in return, reassuring you that she was finally present and not off and away in her thoughts.

As the three of you leave, your ears perk up at the last thing you hear Yool say.

"Did you guys really believe it?" His sentence is cut by a boisterous laugh, pleased to no end at the affirmative from his friends. "Eyy, come on now, it was just an innocent and fake joke. None of us are going to die. Not tonight and not for a long time to come."

SYNOPSIS | 02 : THE BUTTERFLY EFFECT

© 𝐀𝐥𝐥 𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐭 𝐠𝐨𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐍𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐇𝐚𝐬 𝐂𝐨𝐦𝐞. 𝐈 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐲𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐝𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐥 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤𝐬 𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐦𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨, 𝐝𝐢𝐚𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐮𝐞, 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐳𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧, 𝐧𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐞, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫-𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐭. 𝐀𝐥𝐬𝐨, 𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐠𝐢𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐳𝐞, 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞, 𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐛𝐮𝐭𝐞, 𝐨𝐫 𝐮𝐩𝐥𝐨𝐚𝐝 𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤 𝐞𝐥𝐬𝐞𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐜𝐥𝐚𝐢𝐦 𝐢𝐭 𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐚 𝐝𝐢𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐞.

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mattnben-bennmatt · 3 months

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Matt & Ben || John & Paul

Here’s a story. Matt Damon told it. But it’s not about Matt Damon. It’s about Bono. But it’s not really about Bono, either; it’s about Paul McCartney. But Damon heard it from Bono. One day, Bono flew into Liverpool. Paul was supposed to pick him up at the airport, and Bono was shocked when Paul picked him up at the airport alone, behind the wheel of his car. “Would you like to go on a little tour?” Paul said. Sure, Bono said, because Bono, you see, is a fan of Paul’s, in the same way that Damon is a fan of Bono’s. “Bono’s obsessed with the Beatles,” Damon said at the table in the lobby of the gated hotel in the little town in Germany. “He’s, like, a student of the Beatles. He’s read every book on the Beatles. He’s seen every bit of film. There’s nothing he doesn’t know. So when Paul stops and says 'That’s where it happened,’ Bono’s like, 'That’s where what happened?’ because he thinks he knows everything. And Paul says, 'That’s where the Beatles started. That’s where John gave me half his chocolate bar.’ And now Bono’s like, 'What chocolate bar? I’ve never heard of any chocolate bar.’ And Paul says, 'John had a chocolate bar, and he shared it with me. And he didn’t give me some of his chocolate bar. He didn’t give me a square of his chocolate bar. He didn’t give me a quarter of his chocolate bar. He gave me half of his chocolate bar. And that’s why the Beatles started right there.’ Isn’t that fantastic? It’s the most important story about the Beatles, and it’s in none of the books! And Paul tells it to Bono. Because he knows how much Bono loves the Beatles.”

— Matt Damon, interviewed by Tom Junod for Esquire (August 2013).

Ben Affleck and I actually had a joint bank account, and the bank account was money that we’d made doing local commercials, and we could only use it on trips to New York to audition […] If one kid had enough for a candy bar, then the candy bar was bought and split in half — that’s just the way it’s been.

— Matt Damon, interviewed by Piers Morgan for CNN (March 2011).

First of all, I think I should say that we pale by comparison to The Beatles. But my understanding of how [Lennon and McCartney] worked was that they would go off and work separately. Matt and I worked together in the same room most of the time, riffing off of one another’s ideas for scenes or certain lines of dialogue.

— Ben Affleck, interviewed for eDrive (February/March 1998).

Q: But you didn’t compose your stuff separately, as other accounts have said? JOHN: No, no, no. I said that, but I was lying. [Laughs.] By the time I said that, we were so sick of this idea of writing and singing together, especially me, that I started this thing about, “We never wrote together, we were never in the same room.” Which wasn’t true. We wrote a lot of stuff together, one-on-one, eyeball to eyeball.

— John Lennon, interviewed by David Sheff for Playboy (September 1980).

[Ben and I] have been bizarrely close for a long time. You know, I was watching Get Back—the Peter Jackson documentary—and at the end of that you see the Beatles playing on the roof in London and it says, “This is the last time that they ever played together, live.” And it made me so sad to think of; because you look at them and they’re so happy! And Ben and I, I called him and said, “Look man, we were talking about doing this and it’s been 25 years or something since Good Will Hunting. What are we doing? We both kind of hit the lottery! Why aren’t we working together more often?” And after my dad passed in 2017—and Ben was very, very close with him—it’s like it changed something in us, I think. You start to see the end game and to feel like, “I want to make every second count.” I don’t want to fritter away time anymore.

— Matt Damon, interviewed by Chris Wallace for CNN (July 2023).

I needed to make this post because way before the Matt & Ben brainrot had the chance to set in, John & Paul had already taken complete hold of my being. And even if this hold has gentled in recent years, they nevertheless rewired my neural circuits. And thus, everything now inevitably leads back to Lennon/McCartney. One day I'll make a (probably very tinhatty) post highlighting specific parallels between Matt & Ben and John & Paul. Today is not that day.

For now, I merely wanted to marvel at how it's not only me who inevitably sees same-sex friendships and creative partnerships through the Lennon/McCartney goggles, but, being Lennon/McCartney arguably one of the most famous same-sex friendships and creative partnerships in history, they influence how other friends who are also creative partners—such as Matt and Ben—see themselves.

For example, the Chocolate Bar story. First of all, I can't believe I only realized yesterday that one of my favorite bits of Beatles lore—a story so special Paul hasn't told it anywhere else—was made public by Matt Damon (which is kind of ironic, given how private and protective he is over his own friendship with Ben). But then, it made me re-evaluate one of Matt's quotes. You see, I thought Matt saying "If one kid had enough for a candy bar, then the candy bar was bought and split in half" about him and Ben was one of those crazy coincidences I could see thanks to my Lennon/McCartney vision. Rather, Matt seems instead to be directly referencing the Chocolate Bar story, even if only a handful of people would understand the reference at the time. By drawing this comparison, a candy bar is no longer just a candy bar. It represents the founding principles of generosity and equity on which a great partnership can be built. Like John and Paul before them, Matt and Ben chose to tie their fates together and share what they had so they could make it.

And as soon as they made it, the world started comparing them to Lennon/McCartney, as we can see by Ben's quote. And it's interesting to think how the generalized perception of Lennon/McCartney at the time might have influenced how they felt about the comparison. Imagine you and your best friend/writing partner just achieved your wildest dreams. But that also means the eyes of the world are now turned on you, and your very real friendship is being used as a marketing ploy and starting to be ravenously consumed by the public. Now imagine that people start comparing you to The Beatles, and the very famous songwriting partnership at its core, Lennon/McCartney: two friends who rocketed to the toppermost-of-the-poppermost, but who broke up very acrimoniously in less than a decade. The Beatle-People will know that they deeply loved each other throughout it all, but that was not the prevailing narrative until a few years ago, when Get Back came out. So no wonder Ben's first instinct was to go "RIP to John and Paul but Matt and I are different."

And then, Get Back comes out and it makes them realize that they both are and are not different. They are not different in the sense that the pressure of fame did affect their relationship. Not to the extent of John and Paul's, whose private troubles were made public. Whatever conflicts Matt and Ben might have had throughout the years, they gracefully kept it private, which allowed their relationship to naturally heal without the press poking at the wounds. However, I do believe the intensity of the public gaze made them shy away from collaborating again. They mention working on numerous projects throughout the years (particularly after their Oscar win with Good Will Hunting), but none of these saw the light of day. And even though they say they were working so much they did not have time to write, it's odd that it took them over two decades to even co-star in another movie again. I think that, much like John and Paul in the 70s, the pressure placed on an eventual reunion was so great—both in terms of living up to their past success and of inviting all that scrutiny again—that Matt and Ben opted to remain private friends, at the sake of their creative partnership. Which makes total sense, because, like John and Paul, there's no partnership without the friendship. But this sacrifice is tragic in its own way, because the creative partnership was a big part of their friendship. Acting, writing, directing—creating—was what drew them together in the first place! It's like asking them to amputate one of the fundamental components of their relationship.

Which is why I find the last quote so incredibly moving. While watching Get Back, Matt was not only reminded of the joy of creating with his best friend—he was confronted with the preciousness of it. Because this is where Matt and Ben are most different from John and Paul: Matt and Ben have been granted the luxury of time. Unlike John and Paul, Matt and Ben could get to their 50s and realize, "What are we doing? We both kind of hit the lottery! Why aren’t we working together more often?" They could realize that they didn't give a fuck about what anyone said or thought anymore. That being together doing something they loved was more important. And so, unlike Paul, Matt got to hear his wife say that writing with Ben was the most she'd seen him laugh in many years. And Ben, unlike John, got to feel that total happiness was seeing his children every day and working with his best friend, and that there's nothing more that he wants in life. In fact, working together on Air made them feel so profoundly accomplished and realized, that both Ben and Matt thought they were about to die, since they'd apparently reached the "mountain top".

And so, it is with great joy that I await what lies in store for Ben and Matt. They have just created their own studio, Artists Equity, and are slated to collaborate in some of its future projects. Nothing will ever replace John and Paul in my heart, and their love story is ongoing in its own way; oh, but how wonderful is it to be able to witness a creative partnership and friendship whose future is still ripe with possibility! And how poetic that the tragedy of John and Paul's story played a part in ensuring that?

#matt damon #ben affleck #john lennon #paul mccartney #the beatles #lennon/mccartney #mclennon #matt & ben #(this is the culmination of a month-long obsession)#(even if I'm speaking all of this into the void I just needed to speak it)#(but please can anyone join me in obsessing over these four)#quote #compilation #analysis #originals

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readyforthegarden · 1 day

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When the Nightingale Sings - Part One

Pairing: Danny Wagner x F!Reader

Synopsis: Medieval AU! In a world where noble alliances dictate futures, you have been betrothed to Prince Emers, a man you barely know and certainly don't love. As you travel towards the royal palace for your impending wedding, your journey is upended, causing you to run straight into a kind, lonesome hunter. With no choice but to trust him, you embark on a journey together towards the nearest village, navigating through the forest and it's perils. As the solace you find in his companionship builds will you choose to honor your duty, or will you abandon everything you've ever know to follow your heart?

WC: 3424

Warnings: mentions of death, blood, brief depictions of murder, angst, anxiety, fight or flight emotions.

A/N: It's here!! I am insanely proud of this story and all the work I've done on it. It wouldn't be anything like it is without the help of some good friends. A big thank you to @earthlysorrows for beta-reading and editing and helping me along the way! And @joshsindigostreak for always hearing me out when I text her saying 'i have an idea 👀' and always playing dialogue off with me. Love you both so much!

You had always disliked riding in carriages, the juddering and shaking motions of them as they traveled down worn paths between villages, towns and cities always making you feel ill. Today was no exception. You were currently on day three of a two week trip across the country, and a soft rain had fallen in the early morning, ensuring muddy tracks and sinking holes along your path. You rested your head against the wall next to your seat, closing your eyes and wishing sleep would take you. Perhaps death would even be better than the pounding in your head.

“I imagine you’ll have much finer carriages after you marry the prince, my lady.” your handmaid smiled, trying to ease your discomfort. “I hear he has one that’s lined with fur.” What a comfort that would be on such a cold journey. The foot warmer between your feet had already begun to grow cold, the embers refusing to be stoked with life again in the late fall air.

“That would be something to see, Marta.” the handmaid’s eyes glittered at your response. She was young, only a few years younger than yourself, and the niece of the maid that had helped take care of you most of your childhood. Though there should have been a stronger boundary between lady and servant, you had found a form of friendship in her, though it was stiff and formal.

“And imagine all the beautiful gowns and jewels, I cannot wait to help you dress for royal banquets.” Marta slipped into a diatribe about how the balls your family had held would pale in comparison to the ones the royal family had, how glittering you would look in the crown jewels. The unease in your stomach grew. Your parents had worked out a strenuous match between you and the sovereign prince of Farrynden. It was an effort you had no part in, nor wanted. Unfortunately, you had no say in the matter, and after exchanging a few letters back and forth, you were summoned to travel across the country and marry the prince.

It was just you, Marta, and two coachmen making the journey. Your family was well-off for the most part, but could not afford for all to travel to the nuptials. Their presence would not have been a comfort anyway. Your father was too proud of the match he had secured for you, and your mother was far too happy to lose you and gain a title in court. You wished for your older brother, though he had been long gone at this point, to try and talk sense into father. He might have listened to protests coming from him.

The carriage jostled roughly, making you place a hand over your mouth and groan, preparing for the back wheels to follow suit, however, the carriage was stopped. Sharing a confused look with Marta, you glanced out the window. You were surrounded by woods, the path cutting through a dense, large forest. The confusion set in further until you heard the horses whining, the coachmen shouting. Moving back from the glass you glanced at Marta, who met your wide eyes with her own.

The door was ripped open by the same large, grimy hands now reaching into the carriage. Your shriek matched Marta’s, both of you pushing away from that side of the carriage as much as you could. You cursed the large foot warmer, it’s bulk making it difficult to move. Marta’s wrist was taken by one of the hands, it pulled her harshly, yanking her screaming figure from the carriage. Another set of hands entered the carriage, grasping at the hem of your dress, your ankles. Kicking you tried to fight them off, but only succeeded in the assailant grasping your ankle and tugging you closer before grabbing your arms.

You fought against the hands that held you steady, twisting and turning your body, stomping your feet in the mud. Marta’s screams were flooding your ears, and as you looked around for help, you could see why.

The two coachmen were dead, blood pooling around their bodies. One was lying face up, his throat slit, blood still pouring from the wound. The other was face down in, a dark stain on his light blue coat, the blood mixing with mud beneath him.

Tears began to run down your face, the inevitability of your own death coming to light. You thrashed further as the man holding you gripped tighter, bringing you towards the front of the carriage.

“Oi, make that one shut up!” the man’s voice was hard and gruff, sending fear shooting down your spine. He spoke to his accomplice, a younger, greasy looking man, his teeth dark as he grinned.

Marta’s screams were silenced as your own sobs echoed out into the forest around you, unable to look away from the blade that dragged across her throat. You saw the light fade from her terrified eyes, the image burning itself into your memory. You would be next. Oh god, you would be next.

With everything you had in you, you braced yourself as the man holding you turned you in his grasp.

“What a pretty little thing you are.” he smirked, his breath blowing across your face, pungent and sickening. “Maybe we should keep you, have some fun.”

“Lookie here,” the younger man caught both of your attention. One of your trunks was opened, and with his soiled blade he lifted up a nightdress. “She could be our little dolly, dress her up and strip her down.” Bile rose in your throat, and the next thing you knew, you had wrenched your head back, and brought it forward, cracking it against your captor.

The man dropped you, startled from the impact and you slipped in the mud as you realized your chance to escape. Gathering up your skirts as shooting pain rippled through your skull, you bolted, dashing for the forest. You could hear both the men behind you, shouting and giving chase as you hastened through the dead leaves and twigs on the ground.

Your lungs were burning with every breath you could take. You cursed the corset you’d been laced up in, knowing you could run faster without its hindrance. Not daring to check behind you, you kept going, not caring if you could hear them or not. Stumbling, you cursed, getting back up, though your legs were screaming at you. Cold tears whipped down your cheeks and from your eyes, the image of the coachmen and Marta flashing every time you thought about stopping.

Time had escaped you. You knew that at some point you felt a soft flurry of early snow, but didn’t know how long you’d been running. The forest was thicker here, and you began to slow down. It was quiet now, and you glanced around. There was no sign or sound of the men following you any longer. You still kept a quick pace, checking for them behind every tree and branch. Watching over your shoulder, you pressed forward, stumbling but continuing to go.

“Stop! Stop!!” you froze, whipping your head around to see a tall man standing a few yards from you, his hands thrust out in front of him, palms up. He didn’t look like the men that had chased you, he was clean, his dark, curly hair shining in the sun that broke through the trees. Fear still shot through your veins and you started to run, but he yelled again. “Stop! If you move you’ll step in a trap!” freezing again, you looked down. Right in your path, hidden under a few scattered leaves, was a metal contraption, meant for hunting large beasts and animals. You would have stepped right into it, maiming whichever foot landed in it.

The man moved towards you, and you moved back. He took in your pale face, the only color your cheeks and nose tinged pink from cold and tears that were sliding down your cheeks. Your wide, scared eyes regarding him like a monster as he regarded you like a feral creature, scared and confused.

With a breath, you bolted, darting off to your right before he could come closer. You would take your chances with any other traps, refusing to be held captive again.

You had lost the sun, the trees looming overhead blocking out any of the sunset. You were staggering around, a painful stitch in your side mixing with hunger pangs. The headache you’d had earlier reappeared, and you slumped against a tree. The cold was creeping in, your sweat coated body chilling faster.

The bark of the tree scratched against your coat, small bits flaking off and catching on the wool. Surely death by cold and hunger was a better fate than what had been in store for you, whether earlier or with the prince.

The shaking shivers that wracked your body wouldn’t cease as the sky grew darker. Nestling into the tree trunk as best you could, you let your eyes fall closed dreaming of the warm fire in your old bedchambers, and the cozy bed one a few feet away from it.

The sound of twigs snapping jolted you from sleep. Your eyes looked around, but instead of a dark forest, you were in a small, homely cottage. The sound of twigs was not that exactly, it was larger pieces of chopped wood, crackling in the hearth. And instead of a tree trunk, you were nestled into a large, warm bed. Furs were laid over you, their warmth making you feel slightly delirious.

Sitting up, you inspected yourself, raising the blankets. Your dress, though dirty, was still intact. The only thing removed had been your shoes, though long, thick wool socks had been put on you in their wake. Glancing around the interior, you saw few items in the small space. A stack of firewood next to the fireplace, a small kettle hanging over the fire. Two wooden chairs and a small table, seemingly handmade from the rough edges of the items. A rack with various pelts draped over it was in the corner, drying.

Finding you were alone in the cottage, you peeled back the furs on top of you, placing your feet on the wooden floors, you moved to get up from the bed, just as the door opened. A large figure lumbered in, the door slamming shut behind them. They were cloaked in a large coat and hat, both made of dark fur. Scrambling back into the bed, you pulled the blankets over you, clutching them to your chest. Your heart rate spiked as the figure turned toward you, his eyes regarding you anxiously.

“You’re awake,” he smiled, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. You backed up, further in the bed when he stepped forward, pausing as he took in your move. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

He watched as your hand shook, clutching the blanket, your eyes darting up and down his tall stature. Sighing softly, he reached up, his movement slow, and took off his hat, allowing his curls to bounce back to life. It was the young man from the forest earlier, that had stopped you from stepping in one of his traps. He put it on the small table, then unfastened his coat, lowering it from his shoulders and draping it over the back of his chair. Glancing at you, he put his hands on his hips.

“My name is Daniel, by the way.” he paused, waiting for you to reply. When you didn’t, he glanced around the cottage. “This is my home. I found you in the woods while checking my traps. You were turning blue, so I brought you here. Have you been hurt?” This pause was met with an almost imperceptible shake of your head. “Good. Can you tell me why you were running in the woods like that?” Silence. Daniel sighed, watching your eyes cast down to the floor.

Turning, Daniel moved away from you and to the fire, grabbing a small bowl from the mantle, and opening the lid on the kettle, stirring the stew inside with a ladle that had been hanging from a hook by the hearth. The smell of cooked meat and herbs met your nose, and your stomach growled loudly. Daniel chuckled under his breath and ladled some into the bowl, his own stomach softly rumbling as the aromas wafted up to him. Grabbing one of his few spoons from an old tin on the mantle he walked back over to you.

He held out the bowl to you, raising his eyebrows, idly twirling the spoon between his fingers on his other hand. You looked from the bowl to him a few times, before shifting on the bed, letting the blankets go and reaching for it. Daniel pulled back slightly, making you gasp softly in surprise.

“I’d rather not have rabbit stew spilled in my bed,” he explained. “Come sit at the table.” you hesitated, but Daniel moved back, setting the bowl down on the small table by the fire, and plopping the spoon gently in. He sat down on the other side, and waited.

Feeling a spectacle, you slowly climbed from out of the covers, your feet on the hardwood floor again. The socks slid against the smooth wood as you stood, and you brushed down your skirts. Every step you took toward the table, and the man sitting there, was timid. You were afraid that he would pounce at any moment, finish the job of the other two bastards before him.

Yet he sat still, his eyes wary but kind as you gripped the back of the chair, pulling it out somewhat before taking a seat. A soft smile tugged at the corner of his lips as you tucked in closer to the table. Eyeing the stew, you spied chunks of lean rabbit, potato and carrot, a beetroot or two also mixed in. Your mouth watered, but what if he did something to it? What if this was all a trick?

Seemingly reading your mind, Daniel shook his head.

“Go on, eat. I wouldn’t poison my own stew.” he rolled his eyes, but the gentle smile was still present. Still, you hesitated. Daniel moved, his chair scraping the wooden floor, making you jump in your seat. You braced yourself, ready to endure another headache if you had to headbutt your way to freedom again.

Daniel only moved to the fire, taking another bowl from the mantle and ladling himself a serving, grabbing a spoon and sitting back down. He kept his eyes on you, dipping the spoon into the stew and bringing up a steaming spoonful. Blowing gently on it, he raised the spoon to his lips before taking the bite. He did this a few more times, you were sure the food was still too hot, evident by the wince he did on the last before he spoke. “See?”

Your hand raised from your lap, grabbing the rustic spoon. It had been worn over the years, no polishing, showing slight grooves where fingers had held it. Yours fit snugly into those grooves, and you stirred the stew a bit, releasing more steam before taking a bite of your own.

It was delicious. You had to hold yourself back from slurping and sloshing down the meal as your tongue was coated with savory warm broth. The meat was soft but a little stringy, but it was a fine supper. Daniel continued his own meal, the two of you eating in silence until he spoke again, half-chewed bite in his mouth.

“Do you have a name?” glancing up, you nodded, and supplied it to him quietly. “Are you from around here?”

“Where is here?” you asked.

“I take that as a no, then.” he sighed. “Here is my home, in Timberhill. Where did you come from?”

“Indigwall.” you answered. Daniel let out a long, low whistle.

“You’re a long ways away from home,” he leaned forward, elbows on the table. “What are you doing all the way out here? And running through my hunting grounds?”

“I-I,” you stammered, trying to think of a lie. Just because this man seemed kind, didn’t mean he wouldn’t hold you ransom for money, from your father or the prince. As you glanced up to his eyes, you realized how soft they were. Amber flecks hiding in splashes of green mixed brown sparkled in the firelight. You could see no malice in his eyes, and suddenly the truth spilled from your lips. “I am betrothed to the prince of Ferryden. I was traveling to the castle for our wedding.” Daniel stared at you, mouth slightly agape as you continued. “This morning, our carriage was stopped, and these two men-“ you choked on a sob as the images of Marta and the coachmen flashed again in your mind. “They killed them, they killed Marta!” Tears spilled down your cheeks, and Daniel stood, going to a small hutch and rifling through it before coming back with a handkerchief. You accepted it, dabbing your eyes and wiping the tears away.

“I am sorry,” Daniel murmured. “I understand why you were so afraid of me earlier. You do not need to speak of it, if you do not wish.” nodding you tried to compose yourself as he sat down across from you again. The silence fell between the two of you again, but this time there were fewer questions, fewer anxieties weighing on it.

Picking up your spoon, your hand trembling after the images, you continued your meal, swallowing down the stew, your appetite still fighting your nerves.

“I thought from your coat and dress, you must have been a lady of some sort.” Danny cleared his throat. “I have a few things I must do before I can take off, but in a day or so, we can start the journey to the next village, see if we can send word to your prince.”

You knew better than to protest. If your own parents didn’t listen to your pleas not to be shipped off, not to marry the prince, a stranger wouldn’t either.

“That’s very kind of you, sir,” you gave him the best smile you could muster, feeling it barely raise the corners of your lips. “But I don’t have money to pay you. All of my things were in that carriage and with…them.” Daniel didn’t need you to elaborate on whether your belongings were stolen by the murdering bandits or left behind with the bodies laid across the path.

“No need for formalities.” Daniel instead chose to break the ice further. “You can call me Danny. My friends call me that.” he had hoped the more casual nickname would help ease the tension of formality.

“Danny, then.” Nodding, you sat back in your chair, a little easier now that your belly was full and you knew the name of the man across from you. “How far are we from the next village?”

“That depends on the method of travel.” he answered. “Tomorrow after I check my traps, I’ll see about finding your carriage, and if the horses are still there, we can ride those and it would only be a few days. Without them, we’ll be on foot, and that could take about a week.” as he finished his sentence, a large yawn stretched your face. “Go on back to bed. You need to rest after all the running you did.”

“No, I can’t take your bed again,” you shook your head.

“I insist.” Danny got up, walking over to an old, worn cloth that was strung in the corner of the large room. With a jump, he climbed up into it, swinging precariously with a smile. “See? I don’t mind sleeping here.”

Rising from your seat, you moved to the bed, and took one of the furs from it. Folding it over your arms you walked over to him, smiling as you raised it up. One of his large hands reached down, grasping the soft material and pulled it into his hammock as he returned your smile.

“Thank you Daniel-Danny,” you corrected. He merely nodded at you, fluffing out the blanket over his long body, settling in. As you crawled back into the bed, you pulled the blankets back over you, finding its warmth and your full belly already lulling you into sleep.

“Goodnight, princess,”

“I am not yet a princess,” you mumbled, slightly offended by the unwanted title.

“Goodnight, all the same.”

“Goodnight, Daniel.”

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#danny wagner #danny gvf #greta van fleet #danny wagner x reader #jake kiszka #josh kiszka #sam kiszka #danny gvf x reader #danny wagner fanfiction #danny wagner fic #greta van fic #greta van fleet fan fiction #gvf #gvf fanfiction #gvf fic #greta van fleet fic

29 notes · View notes

rainbow-nerdss · 3 months

Note

Hi Sorcha!!

👀👀👀👀

🤯🤯🤯🤯🤯🤯🤯🤯🤯🤯🤯🤯🤯🤯🤯🤯🤯

oh my god this is SO MANY

So, the uh... *checks math* 51 sentences of AU-hopping did wrap up one AU and start a new one, so I won't share all of that if you don't mind, but here's the start of AU number two - Colorless!

....sorry about the angst

Buck died. For three minutes and seventeen seconds, Buck was dead. And Eddie didn’t notice, not in the panic and the rain and the fear, he didn’t notice until they got to the hospital, but he noticed when they wheeled Buck through those double doors promising to do their best. The world was grey. Eddie saw color for the first time the day Christopher was born. He didn’t know what to do about it, at the time, but he knew what it meant. He didn’t understand as a kid, when people would talk about colors he’d never seen. He would look at the world, and it was all he’d ever known. He saw beauty in the world, in Shannon’s laugh, in the way the sun reflected off the water and in the delicate translucence of a butterfly’s wing. Until Chris was born, and it all paled in comparison to golden curls, pink baby cheeks, and bright yellow daffodils in a vase in the hospital room. Eddie cried, and he finally understood what it felt to love, truly and unconditionally. He was so blinded by the shades of yellow and pink he’d been gifted by Chris, that he hardly noticed the day he met Buck, when it wasn’t just pink birthmark and a yellow stripe on his uniform, but also striking blue eyes and the green of a blade of grass. He didn’t notice that until later. And he didn’t know who had given him those colors—he met so many people that day, so many people he’d grown to love deeply. He suspected, yes, but he didn’t know for sure. Not until it was gone.

aaaand here's some FWB smut to recover from all of that with:

He eases his first finger in, and Eddie’s mouth goes slack. Buck kisses his cheek, brushes his hair back, works him open with practiced ease. He finds his prostate, stroking it until Eddie makes a choked off sound, jaw clenching, and Buck pulls back before it can send him over the edge. “All good?” Buck asks. “If you don’t hurry up and fuck me, I’m gonna—” Buck shuts him up with a kiss, but he does slide his fingers out and reach for more lube. He pours it into his hand, then slicks up his cock, grunting slightly at the touch. He hasn’t touched himself at all through this, and he’s almost painfully hard now. He gets lost in it for a second, running a hand over himself, eyes falling closed as his thumb grazes over the slit. Eddie moves on the bed, spreading his legs wider, and it brings Buck back to the present. Right. Yeah. This is about to be so much better than touching himself. “You’re gorgeous like that,” Eddie says, before he can move.

Make me write!

#my writing #ask game #writing game

39 notes · View notes

inkykeiji · 2 years

Text

you’ll always be my white rabbit

character: dabi | todoroki touya

genre: smut, carnival AU

notes: aaaah he’s finally here!!! happy belated halloween everyone!! i hope you all enjoy carnival attendant!dabi and, as always, please heed the warnings below! | title credit: bad habits by delaney jane

warnings: 18+ minors do not interact, rough sex, dangerous sex, public sex, minimal prep, dubcon, drugs, reader has long hair, overstimulation, degradation/dumbification, praise, marking, fingering, size difference/size kink, dacryphilia

words: 8.8k

synopsis:

Because despite the fact that you’re in the middle of an empty carnival and on a moving ride, there is something distinctly intimate about the entire encounter, found in the way his hands hold you close, palms curled protectively around your waist, fingertips signing his name, staking his claim, in blossoms of blues and purples into your flesh as they grip you tightly; in the way his forehead stays pressed flush to yours irregardless of the vicious motions of the boat, kisses messy and inept as teeth clack and click and chip against each other, wild giggles and half-baked sobs sucked from one throat into another; in the way his eyes glitter with the lights of the midway, sapphire amplified by fuchsia and crimson, neons that bleed into his irises and tint them violet and periwinkle.

The sky is still a deep blue when you arrive, twined with wispy strands of candy floss clouds, suspended in the atmosphere and wavering subtly with the gentle breeze.

The wind carries the scent of buttersalt popcorn and hard candy on its back, weaving its way through the small carnival—all the game stalls and the rusting rides and the grumbling food trucks—and you breathe in deeply, letting the smell settle in your lungs.

“Hey, let’s go!” Your best friend threads her arm through your own and begins leading you towards the small ticket booth, jutting up from a grassy knoll like a crooked golden tooth.

It’s nearly night by the time the two of you end up in line for the ferris wheel—by far the longest line for any ride here—the last halo of weak coral light bleeding into violet-tinged onyx.

You can’t quite understand why the queue for this particular ride is as busy as it is, gazing up at the rickety structure with a scrunched nose. It isn’t all that impressive; a measly sixty-seven feet tall, with white spokes and silver booths dangling precariously between them, paint chipping and dirty, hinges tarnished with flakes of rust.

“God,” your friend grimaces, front teeth nibbling at the thin skin of her bottom lip, eyes glued to the ride attendant. “I hope he doesn’t do that to us.”

Curiously, you follow her glare, finding a man with inky tufts and low-slung charcoal jeans at the base of the ride, one hand wrapped around the safety bar of the current cart docked at the loading platform, the other clamping inconspicuously over the back of the seat before he flips the whole thing backwards, swift and sudden, the surprised squeals and shrieks of his patrons eliciting a loud, harsh, sadistic laugh from deep in his chest, notes of his amusement floating above the crowd.

“You should consider it a compliment if he does,” a girl behind you says. “He does it to all the pretty girls.”

The notion makes you snort a little—some compliment, scaring the Goddamn life out of your customers entirely without their permission—but it does nothing to soothe the wrinkles of worry written into your best friend’s forehead.

The moon has emerged when you make it to the front of the line, pale rays competing with the colourful glow of the midway, irregular clusters of stars embroidering the velvet night rendered dull in comparison to the twinkling neon lightbulbs encrusting the rides.

It is only when you’re on the platform, sitting down in the tottering seat, that you realize exactly why the line for this particular ride is the longest.

Smirking down at you with lidded sapphire eyes glinting in the flashing cabochon lights, he is breathtakingly gorgeous.

Scars—pink and puckered, edges shimmering silver in the moon beams—cover his arms, climbing their way up his biceps, under his blue uniform shirt, and back out over his collarbone. They inch up his neck and over his cheeks, curved edges etching an everlasting smile across his face. They look soft, the puckered skin glowing in the light of the night, casting a sort of ethereal halo around his form.

“Ladies,” he greets with a noncommittal nod as he secures the lap bar across the bench and over your thighs.

“Please don’t flip us,” your friend blurts, eyes wide and desperate, hands gripping the safety bar so tightly her skin is stretched taut and tight over her knuckles.

“‘Course not,” he says with startling reassurance, though you can see the suppressed mischief playing with the corners of his lips, head bowed while rough hands tug halfheartedly at the frayed seatbelt across your hips.

“Oh, thank you, becau—”

A sharp scream cuts her off as the whole chair abruptly tilts backwards, entire carnival flipped upside down for a split second before it’s right side up again, the man snickering to himself at your friend’s overreaction.

She’s saying something, voice shrill with terror, but you can’t seem to hear her, hands frantically smoothing back down your wind-blown skirt, ears tuned into the frequency of the man’s dark, smooth voice.

He’s only a few inches from your face now, palms still latched tightly onto your seat, blue eyes bright with mirth.

“Pretty panties,” he smirks at you, eyes raking over your body before he tilts his head forward to whisper in your ear. “But they’d look a helluva lot prettier in my back pocket.”

And then you’re off, ride lurching forward as your tottering little chair climbs the spokes of the wheel, higher and higher and higher until you reach the very top, then descending backwards, lower and lower and lower just to repeat the whole cycle again.

You can’t pull your gaze from the ride attendant as your cart passes him by the first time, leaning nonchalantly against the operating booth as his tongue pokes absentmindedly at his cheek, that permanent lopsided smirk welded to his face, his unblinking stare steadily holding your own until it can’t anymore, until the ride carries you away again.

Your friend is still babbling on, but it all sounds muffled to your ears, nothing more than an indistinct jumble of complaints until she’s nudging your elbow, snapping you from your stupor.

“Huh?”

“I said, why is he looking at you like that?” her voice is full of disgust, face screwed up with something sour as she glowers at the ride attendant, who doesn’t bother to toss her a glance.

“I don’t know.”

“Well, what did he say to you?”

“What?”

“The guy! He whispered something in your ear before the ride started, didn’t he? What did he say?”

Heat seeps into your cheeks, slow and simmering, and you look down at your shoes, toes pointed inward, nearly overlapping.

“Nothing important,” you murmur, his smooth voice cascading through your mind like thick melted chocolate.

She doesn’t look like she believes you, but she doesn’t push any further either, receiving your answer with an indifferent shrug before returning back to prattling on about safety measures and respect and how the carnival will definitely hear about this incident.

You’re sure the carnival already knows about this guy’s behaviour, sure they don’t give a fuck if he’s been allowed to continue it, but you stay quiet, nodding along in an apathetic daze.

As the ride slows to a stop, you feel the unmistakable twinge of disappointment throbbing in the pit of your stomach, a vague sense of yearning sinking in your chest. It’s inexplicable, the sudden draw you feel towards this man—it’s magical, it’s magnetic; a moth to a light, an addict to a fix, a craving, voracious as it claws at your lungs—and you frown, lips molding into a pout, brain grasping for something, anything, to say to him, to soak up another ounce of his attention before he’s gone forever.

A calloused hand cuffs your wrist just as you’re about to step off the platform, fingers rough against your smooth skin, and you look back in surprise, a sweet little gasp hitching in your throat, unmistakable excitement glowing behind your ribs.

The man with the inky hair and the azure eyes says nothing as he stuffs a wad of worn tickets in your palm, gifting you a quick wink when you glance up at him in question, smirk grown into a grin.

Then he’s shuffling you forward, down the steps and off the platform as he welcomes the next round of guests onto the ride, the chain of tickets searing against your skin.

You’re unraveling them the moment you’re out of your best friend’s sight, breath bated and spine pressed against the back of the funhouse, eyes swallowing down the contents with starving curiosity.

The words U + ME TONIGHT glare up at you, written across the tickets in bright purple scrawl. Flipping the chain over, you find a time and location—11PM @ F. WHEEL—in the same messy handwriting; rushed, secret, just for you.

You and him, tonight. Eleven PM at the ferris wheel. You’ll be there.

✰ ✰ ✰

Murky golden lamplight filters through the dark autumn leaves, casting grotesque shadows on the candy-stained asphalt, constantly moving, shifting, changing as the wind jostles the branches.

Shivering a little, you tuck your hands beneath your arms, hugging your body tightly.

And you wait.

The carnival is vacant now, gusts whistling down the wide aisles, but the rides are still lit up, stationary and motionless, looming over you like massive metal monsters, laying in wait for their masters’ commands.

It all feels eerie, uncanny, like something is distinctly off, something you can’t quite find a word to describe, even as disquiet settles in your belly.

Chewing on your lip, you stare at the wind-shivered leaves, curling in on themselves as they cling weakly to the branches and bark, desperate for one last moment of life before a gust sends them fluttering to their death.

Maybe this was a bad idea.

You don’t know a thing about this man, you don’t even know his name, yet here you are: desperate, waiting for him all alone, unprotected and unprepared.

All due to a hazy feeling; dreamy and whimsical, exhilarating and terrifying, a curiosity starved for more.

Something tingles at the base of your spine, pinpricks of ice climbing vertebrae by vertebrae, forcing another shiver to ripple through your flesh, your head turning just as a pair of hands grab your waist, a yelp cracking high in your throat.

“You came!” the man is saying as he spins you to face him, large hands still on your hips, all bright smiles and brilliant eyes.

“I did,” you breathe out, words slightly trembling.

“Sorry,” he says, though he doesn’t sound sorry at all, gaze glistening with the thrill of it all. “Didn’t mean to scare ya.”

“Yeah, right. You really expect me to believe that?”

To your surprise, he laughs loudly, head nodding with a shrug of his shoulders. “Ah, what can I say? People look the prettiest when they’re scared.”

That’s an odd statement, you think, dimly aware of a soft chiming at the back of your mind—a warning of sorts, instantly silenced by his voice.

“C’mon!” he’s grabbing your hand, tugging you along behind him. “Lemme show you around.”

“So, uh, what’s your name?” you ask as you stroll, arms linked, towards the heart of the midway.

“Dabi,” he says, glancing at you from the corner of his eye. “I already know yours.”

“Oh, you do, do you?” you snort with a smirk, expecting him to mutter some cliché term—angel or gorgeous or something of that kind—as his head drops, lips at your ear, sugary wisps of your birth name curling around the cartilage.

It sends a jolt of shock shooting through your veins—something electric, something tinged with terror—and you rip yourself away from him, breath coming in fast, uneven spurts out your nose.

He laughs again, echoes of his melody ringing out among the empty fairgrounds.

“Relax, sweetheart,” he says, residual notes of amusement sewn into his tone. “I heard your jumpy little friend say it earlier tonight, when she was tryna yank you off my ride. Remember?”

Did she say your name? You can’t recall, the moments after the Ferris Wheel ride nothing more than a whimsical blur, full of keenness, enraptured in his aura.

Skepticism shines in your narrowed eyes, body still leaning away from him. “Really?”

“How else would I know?” he gives you a halfhearted shrug, hands shoved in his pockets; easy, effortless, entirely disarming.

How else would he know? This is the only plausible answer, isn’t it?

“Dunno,” you say finally, mimicking his shrug as you begin walking again. “Guess I’m just not used to complete strangers knowing my name, that’s all.”

“Understandable,” he says through grinding molars, hinges of his strong jaw flexing with the motions.

Reaching into his back pocket, he pulls out a lollipop, swiftly tearing the whole wrapper from the treat in a singular gesture before shoving it in his mouth, candy clacking against his teeth.

Old fashioned carnival tunes crank through lofi speakers as you roam the fair, harmonies stuffed full of the pop and hiss of static bathing the grounds.

Dabi shows you around the place as if you didn’t spend a good chunk of your night here already, eyes sparkling with a special type of excitement, full of adoration and pride as he rambles on, words gaining speed the deeper into the midway you wander.

But you let him drag you through it all again anyway, nodding and cooing and giggling at the appropriate times, because it’s kinda cute, kinda sweet, how much he clearly loves this place with all of its worn booths and decrepit rides, speeches peppered with little known facts and personal anecdotes.

You’re in the heart of the carnival when you see it, little gasp of surprise cutting Dabi off mid-story—something about that one time he and his friend walked on the walls of the Gravitron while it was moving—feet slowing to a stop in front of a bright yellow stall, inadvertently pulling on Dabi’s hand.

On the highest shelf of the Ring Toss game sits a massive Tiffany blue stuffed lion, with fluffy navy fur and big glassy eyes and pointy felt teeth, grinning down at you.

“What?” Dabi asks, eyes following your gaze with mild interest. “You want one?

You look over at him, hand squeezing his. “Can you win me one?”

“Nah,” he waves a hand, dismissive. “Kei stopped teachin’ us how to beat the games ‘cause we were showin’ all the tricks to too many people and it was hurtin’ his business or whatever. But—”

He leans close, nose nearly bumping yours as his voice drops to a rasp, breath infused with sugar and notes of artificial cherry, so sweet you swear you can taste the sting of sugar on your tongue.

“—I can steal you one.”

His eyes glitter, a cheeky smile melded to his face, not waiting for your answer as he jumps over the booth’s counter with all the ease and grace of a cat, the buckles on his boots and the metal in his pocket jingling as his feet hit the floor.

He’s cradling the lion to his chest in fifteen seconds flat, having scaled the prize wall to yank it free from its hook, dislodging a few of the smaller stuffed animals in the process, boots smearing strokes of mud across the faces of fluffy pink bunnies.

“He’s gonna kill me for that,” Dabi says as he lands, as if it isn’t a big deal, voice void of the slightest hint of concern. “Anyway,” he turns toward you, offering the lion. “Here you are.”

“Thank yo—” you begin to say, reaching for the animal only to have Dabi swipe it away from your grasp, fast and sharp, a taunting little smirk on his face.

“Ah! But it’s gonna cost ya,” he smirks, eyes darkening as they search your face. “What? You thought I’d just give this away for free?” he snickers at your stupidity, and its mean, coated in a hard layer of condescension, humiliation pricking your eyes.

Behind him, a ride creaks under the weight of the wind, swaying menacingly with those harsh gusts.

“Wh-What’s the price?”

“A kiss, of course.”

A rush of relief floods your veins, breath held stagnant in your lungs exhaled in an airy little melody, his smile spreading at the sound.

“Gosh,” you giggle. “Could you be anymore cliché?”

“Hey,” he warns, suddenly serious. “I got no problem with upping the price, if that’s what your askin’ for.”

Desperate desire flares pathetically in your chest, clawing at your ribs, bubbling up your throat. “That’s alright,” you squeak quickly, swallowing past the urge. “A kiss will do just fine for now.”

“Suit yourself,” he’s saying as he crushes his lips to your own, a rough palm settling on your neck, holding you in place as a strong tongue pushes the shrunken lollipop into your mouth.

He tastes heady as his tongue drags across your own, depositing flavours of spicy nicotine and smoky hickory and sweet cherry. You suck on them, savour them, savour him, drawing his bottom lip into your mouth and catching it between your teeth, tongue laving over it in repetitive strokes.

It’s all so good, saliva thick and sticky and burning as you swallow it down, infused with little fizzing sparks that race down your throat to collect deep in the pit of your tummy, setting a small flickering flame ablaze. Dainty fingers tangle in the collar of his shirt and tug, vying for more, but then he’s pulling away with a teasing little chuckle, eyes sparking as his fingers curl around your wrist once again, giving a soft squeeze before he leads you away.

“My friend Jin runs this one,” he says as you reach the southwest corner of the carnival, tapping on the fence surrounding The Scrambler, head nodding at the ride in indication. “It was my favourite as a kid. I wanted to work it, but they stuck me with the good old Ferris Wheel instead.”

“Aw, but the Ferris Wheel’s a classic!”

“Sure,” he dismisses, rabid mind already latched onto something new, unfocused eyes fixing their blurry gaze on you again. “Did you have a favourite ride as a kid?”

“Of course,” you nod, a faint fondness tainting your smile. “The Carousel. That was always the ride I made my dad take me to first.”

“We got one of those,” he says as he pushes away from the barrier with enough force to leave it teetering. “Wanna see?”

The carousel is tiny, adorned with blue and gold lights and a mirror-panelled center, ivory horses, turned yellow and grey from years of use, skewered on poles of twisted gold. Dabi hops onto the platform and hoists you up, placing you on the nearest horse, sidesaddle.

He doesn’t take a horse for himself, opting instead to lean against one of the saddles, elbows perched on the curved edges as he stares at you. The giggle that bubbles up your throat at his penetrating gaze is girlish and uncontrollable, an automatic reaction to having all of his attention directed at you.

Something gnaws at the pit of your stomach, a sort of yearning that burrows deep in your flesh, starved for more of him.

“So. Where are you from?” you ask after a moment of silence, your feet dangling from your horse, swinging absentmindedly, toe colliding with the gilded pole.

“Take a guess,” he teases, the glint of a challenge in his eyes.

“Uh,” you hum to yourself, thinking for a moment, squinting a little as you do so. “Japan?”

“Ding-ding-ding!” he hollers. “What gave it away, huh? My name? My accent?”

“Your accent,” you respond. “It’s—I really like it.”

“Oh? Is that so?” His eyebrows lift in genuine surprise.

“Mhmm,” you nod quickly. “But—Wow. I mean, Japan? You sure are a long way from home.”

“I am.”

“What brings you overseas?” you ask, looking down at your stuffed lion as your fingers twist in its mane, nervous the question may be too invasive, too personal.

“Ran away to join the carnival.” he says simply with a single shoulder shrug.

“Sure you did,” you roll your eyes, but a smirk toys with the corners of your lips. “Hey, look, if it’s too personal—”

“You think I’m kidding, huh?” he taps out a cigarette, placing it between his teeth.

“Well, I mean—That’s such a famous trope, I didn’t think—”

“I’m telling ya the truth, y’know,” he speaks around the cigarette, filter sticking to his lips, dirty hands coming cup the flame of a silver Zippo. “Ran away when I was thirteen years old.”

“My gosh. Thirteen? That’s so young.”

Dabi hums, puffing out a cloud of thick, tangy smoke.

“Why?” You ask before you can stop the word from slithering off your tongue, curiosity swelling in your voice, clawing at your irises.

“That’s another story for another time,” he says lightly, though his eyes swirl with something dark and heavy, a secret that weights his soul, a collection of shattered memories that he drags with him everywhere, inescapable no matter how far or fast he runs. “Doesn’t really matter anymore, anyway. The point is, I’ve been here ever since.”

“Here? With the carnival, you mean?”

“Yep!” He pops the ‘p’ enthusiastically, eyes suddenly brilliant and shining with adoration again, any traces of melancholia instantly eradicated. “They took me in, y’know? They weren’t worried, they didn’t ask any questions—knew it was none o’their business, anyway—they just accepted me as I was: a homeless little foreign kid, looking for somewhere he could perfectly snap into place.”

“And that space ended up being Shigaraki Amusements.”

“Yeah. I mean, it’s more of a home than I’ve ever known—a real home, a true home.” A wistful mist settles in his gaze, hazy and dreamy and full of love. “Us carnival people, we may look like a bunch’a mismatched puzzle pieces, but, in actuality, we fit together so snugly we might as well be airtight. No gaps, no empty spaces, no janky bits that don’t quite lock together…”

“That’s…” Beautiful, special, real. “That’s really magnificent,” you flounder, struggling to piece you feelings into words.

“We all have different stories, different reasons, and yet…” he trails off, reflecting. “Guess all that trauma and bullshit we each seem to lug around does help at least a lil, though,” he winks. “Hey,” he says suddenly, eyes focusing on something over your shoulder, glazed with want. “You wanna go take some pictures?”

He doesn’t wait for an answer, yanking you from your horse with such force that your stuffed lion tumbles to the ground, a whine of protest sounding in your throat.

“Wait!” you cry, but Dabi doesn’t stop, deaf with determination as he all but drags you along behind him.

✰ ✰ ✰

It’s cramped in the little yellow photobooth, the seat so small that your legs tangle with Dabi’s—ankles twisted, knees hooked, thighs overlapping—as you wedge yourself in front of the flickering screen.

The pixels dances with static, the interface so basic it must’ve come from the 80s, colourful buttons prompting you with a bunch of selections, a disgruntled little sound falling from your lips as Dabi begins squirming, hands pawing at his pockets for what you’d assume to be money.

The surprise must show on your face when he pulls free a small baggie of white powder—the glinting edge of a razor blade peeking out from beneath the pile—because he laughs, shaking his head a little as he pours out a tiny mountain of snow white cocaine on the ledge in front of the screen.

“You want some?” he asks as he taps out three fat lines, already bent over his work, glancing at you through thick lashes and strands of ink.

“Oh, I—No. Thanks, though.”

“A good girl, huh?” he snorts the first line, fast and sharp, head thrown back and eyes squeezing shut for a millisecond before they snap open again, blazing stare turned on you. “I like that.”

A good girl?

Eyebrows pushing together, you look down at your hands in your lap, a little pout on your lips.

Is it really that obvious?

The question brands your tongue, sucked to cinders as you observe him, mesmerized.

He takes it like a fucking pro, inhaling the last two lines in such quick succession it almost looks as though he snorted them both at once.

Licking the tip of his finger, he drags it across the surface, gathering the excess before sticking it in his mouth. Scarred cheeks hollow as he sucks it clean, pulling it free from his lips in one slow motion, knuckles gleaming with spit.

“What?”

“Nothing, you’re just—you’re so cool.”

He flashes you another one of those dazzling smiles, all sharp teeth and red lips, stained cherry from the dye.

“Glad you think so, princess,” he says before he claps his hands together, the sound echoing in the tiny booth, startling you slightly. “Alright! You wanna take some photos or what?”

Yes, your head is nodding, eyes wide and eager. Yes, you do.

“Let’s do two rounds,” Dabi says as he struggles to pull a worn leather wallet from one of his pockets. “So we each get to keep one full strip,” he explains before you can ask why, reading the question shimmering in your gaze.

You suppose that’s fair.

Dabi insists that you go first, allowing you to dictate the content of each shot, instructions called out rapid fire, sticky with giggles and heavy with grunts as you both hastily attempt to rearrange yourself for each shot, failing miserably every time.

“It’s still cute,” you say as you hold the strip between your fingers, a line of four photos displaying ridiculous faces, blurry from movement and cut off by the borders.

“Of course it is,” Dabi rolls his eyes. “I mean, it’s you. Anything you do is gonna be cute, no matter how silly.”

Heat seeps into your cheeks at his words, his compliment somehow both sharp and sweet, little pinpricks buzzing across your skin. His voice is raw with honesty, entirely unaffected by his own candidness, the comment so blunt it’s almost offensive in tone, as if you’re stupid, as if you should know this already.

“But it’s my turn now, and there’s only one type of picture I want on my strip,” he continues, lips curling up into something sinister, a glint of wickedness in those gorgeous, gluttonous pupils.

You aren’t spared a moment to inquire as his thumb punches the START button, because then he’s surging forward, large hands enveloping your face, calloused fingertips hooking behind the hinges of your jaw as he drags you toward him.

A yelp rattles from your mouth into his as sharp teeth clack together, the edge of his incisors catching on your top lip and splitting it open. But he doesn’t let up, undeterred by your noise of pain, undeterred by the coppery taste of your blood saturating his tongue, and he sucks the wound into the heat of his mouth, eliciting another one of those beautiful little squeals from deep in your throat.

The first flash goes off just as your fingers knot in the inky tufts curling at the base of his skull, twining the strands around your knuckles before yanking harshly.

He laughs at the pain, a loud, warm sound that spills down your throat, liquid fire that ignites a blaze in your stomach, simmering low and dull.

The second flash goes off just as he shoves his tongue against your own, a domineering presence that overtakes your mouth as it laves over your smaller, weaker tongue, slick muscle pressed flat to slick muscle as they grind together.

Stringy spit, so interspersed it belongs to neither of you now, belongs to both of you now, clings to teeth and lips and chins, slippery as they slide together. Drool oozes from the corners of your mouths, so much that it’s obscene, dollops of it drizzling down your face to collect along your jaw, sticky and sweet.

The third flash goes off just as razor teeth slice into your collarbone, your features crinkling in pain-tinged ecstasy, a gasp of his name cracking in your throat, fading into little ghosts on your tongue.

You can feel his fingers creeping under your skirt, taking the hem with them as they climb up, up, up to reveal dainty pink lace, clinging to supple skin and soiled with arousal.

“These are in my way,” he growls into your skin, the only warning you’re given before he’s tearing through the frail material, ripping it from your body in one swift motion.

The fourth and final flash goes off just as two slim fingers plunge into you, the sudden intrusion forcing an airy whimper from your lips, nails sinking into the muscle of his shoulder, piercing his skin through his t-shirt.

“Fuck, baby,” he breathes, clouds of sugary air wafting across your damp skin, his forehead pressed tightly to your shoulder. “You’re already so fuckin’ wet for me.”

A peculiar type of awe infuses his tone, and he peers up at you, cavernous pupils outlined by the thinnest ring of blue, shimmering in the dull yellow light. His digits curl without warning, almost vicious in their unexpected movement, two knuckles pressed tight against that plush spot buried deep inside you.

One gentle nudge has you whining out a distorted version of his name, full of fractures, edges of the broken letters catching in your throat.

And he smiles.

It’s nothing but a sharp curve upward of his mouth, teeth sealed behind his stretched lips, and something dark, something dangerous, glimmers in his eyes.

One hard shove has you crying out loudly, eyes snapped shut so tightly your entire face crinkles with the force, words barely discernible on your tongue now, nothing more than a mash of vague sounds that might’ve, once upon a time, been his name.

And he laughs, the melodic sound heavy and harsh in the air around you, notes of amusement threaded through diluted malice.

“So easy,” you hear him murmur to himself, voice rumbling in his chest. “So fucking expressive.”

He gives a few experimental pumps, knuckles rolling over that swelling spot with each plunge into you, unblinking eyes fixated on your face.

“You are a good girl, aren’t you?” he coos, nuzzling his face into you. “Because good girls get nice and wet when they’re supposed to. Christ,” his eyes drift to the apex of your thighs, a little lethargic in their movement, his arm turning a bit to reveal the slick collecting in his hand, staining the lines of his palm as crystalline dewdrops stream down his wrist. “You’re making such a fucking mess, baby.”

A mechanical hiss sounds suddenly, inhibiting you from replying, the machine spitting out Dabi’s photo strip a moment later.

With his fingers still buried in you, his free hand snatches the strip from the tray, eyes scanning it quickly.

“Fuck,” he nearly moans, shoving the strip toward you. “Look at yourself.”

Slowly, your gaze skims over each tiny photo, taking a moment to digest each one. It’s incredible; you’ve never seen yourself more beautiful. Pure primal ecstasy encrusts your features, face warped with pleasure and cheeks shining with sweat, each picture exuding passion, sensuality, authenticity.

“You look gorgeous, but oh, the real thing is so much better,” the hand between your thigh twists, knuckles grinding circles into your g-spot, and you mewl, eyes snapped shut, hips rolling into his palm.

It’s so good, and if he keeps this up you’re going to cum right here, right now, despite the fact that your aching clit hasn’t been paid a shred of attention, only granted a few teasing grazes of the heel of his hand.

Trembles skitter up your thighs, pleasure dousing the fire he had lit deep in the pit of your tummy, flames flaring, furling into a tightly concentrated coil, each stroke of his fingers twisting the blaze into a knot of sunshine.

Except then he’s ripping you from ecstasy’s grasp, untangling his body from yours and sliding out of the booth.

Lids fluttering, you stare at him dumbly, chest heaving and eyebrows drawn, slumped against the booth wall. A gentle breeze caresses your skin, chills erupting in its wake and you shiver, winding shaky arms around your torso.

With a tut of his tongue and a roll of his eyes, Dabi reaches into the booth, hand latching onto your elbow and yanking you out from the tiny booth, calling out an enthusiastic C’mon! as he throws you a breathtaking grin.

Still uncalibrated from the sudden whiplash of his actions, you stumble along with him, breath exhaled in short, uneven pants. Pretty pink lace, soaked and mangled, hangs haphazardly from his back pocket, bouncing against charcoal denim with each of his steps.

“Where are we going?” you rasp out, the toe of your shoe catching on the concrete in his haste.

“You’ll see,” he hums out in a little sigh, eyes bright with mischief, giving your hand an enthusiastic little tug.

He winds through the fairgrounds effortlessly—past the food trucks, between the game stalls, looped around the Starship 3000—finally coming to a stop at the base of a mediocre pirate ship raised on a faded blue platform, decorated with pieces of warped plywood painted with crashing whitecaps.

It’s one of those pendulum rides that swings to-and-fro, gaining speed with each whoosh past the axle until it reaches a maximum—crests, climaxes—before it gradually slows to a stop again. Dabi leads you up the steps, metal groaning beneath your feet, rubber soles whining against the pebbled surface.

“What are we…?”

A loud laugh catches in the thick atmosphere, heavy and suffocating and entirely different from the laughs that have come before it—lighthearted laughs that had rung with innocent amusement. The maliciousness infused in the melody slices through your cheeks, haunting whispers that caress your skin with icy fingers, that promise to know something you don’t.

“Sit down in the middle row,” he instructs as an answer to your question, jutting his chin at the stationary ride as he climbs behind the control booth.

Without moving, your eyes dart between Dabi and the ride, questions leaving your mouth slow and cautious, heart beginning to race. “What? Why?”

“Why not?” he shoots back, though that easygoing, liquified grin is still present on his lips, dopey with manufactured ecstasy.

Despite his seemingly carefree nature, chills crawl over your arms, blood turned frigid with inexplicable dread.

Something isn’t right.

“Oh, come on,” he goads at the incredulity molding your features, beginning to solidify, tight and tense. “You really think I’d do something to put you in danger?”

The question shimmers in the air, cushioned by silence, your tongue turned sluggish in your mouth, saliva collecting in pools at the back of your throat.

“Nah, princess,” he continues, though his voice quivers a little, struggling against the force of restrained irritation. His smile twitches, stretched abnormally large across his cheeks, so wide it looks as though it’s been carved into his face. “I would never.”

And although his tone is still perfectly playful and pleasant, something buried deep within his words glints, something hard and sharp that warns you best do what he says, something that assures you this isn’t a request, it’s an order.

“You can trust me, pinky promise. I just wanna show you a good time, okay?” he pauses, allowing his question to marinate into a soothing salve, softening your features, sincerity restoring some trust. “Now, sit down.”

Your body reacts immediately, automatically, prey instinctively responding to predator, and you slide into the middle booth, a sinful flicker of pride fluttering in your stomach as he purrs out that you’re such a good girl for him.

Dirtied fingers, nails uneven and framed with grime, crawl across the control panel, expertly flicking switches as they go, each one another razor ripping through the air before his palm slams down on a glowing green button, a tired beep responding in affirmation.

The ride creaks to life, rusted metal screeching as the motors whir and the boat begins to rock, slow and steady, back and forth, speed increasing incrementally with each repetition.

Dabi hops over the operating rail with ease, big black boots landing heavily against the platform, the entire floor trembling beneath his weight.

Then he’s bounding towards you, a twisted smile that’s all teeth plastered across his face, and launching himself onto the moving boat with practiced ease, slim body slinking almost gracefully into the middle row, slotted right up against yours.

“Jesus Christ,” you laugh, equal parts terrified and impressed, breath tangling in your throat. “You’re a total madman!”

He joins in on your laughter; loud, shrieking, inhuman, amplified by the roar of the wind, notes elevated with the gusts, carrying far across the midway. Large hands curl around your waist as he continues to snicker, yanking you into his lap with sudden strength, your thighs padding his hips.

The unexpected movement has a startled scream clawing at your chest, panicked eyes finding his instantly as he presses you close to his body, maniacal laughter still spilling from his lips, spoiled syrup encasing you in its sticky embrace.

“Dabi!” you squeal, voice high with terror. “Dabi!”

“Relax, I got you!” his fingers flex on your hips, accentuating his point. “Hold onto me!” he instructs, words twined with the whipping wind. Your body obeys, dainty fingers knotting in the jersey material of his shirt, skin stretched tight and taut across trembling knuckles.

And then he’s kissing you again, warm bubbles of glee spilling into your mouth, popping on your tongue before they buzz down your throat, sugary sweet and full of acid.

It burns, but they keep coming, and you keep swallowing them down, willingly, greedily, drowning in him from the inside out.

It’s already so much, throat raw as he keeps rushing down it, senses overwhelmed, senses overridden by it all—the rapidly accelerating sway of the boat, the calloused fingers bunching your skirt around your waist, the hard lump buried in rough denim, hot and throbbing as it grinds against your bare cunt—yet your soul’s starved for more, desperate and woozy and please, please, please!

Your fingers are already sore and stiff from being clenched so tightly, the muscles in your thighs already aching from tensing around his hips, a futile attempt to keep yourself from slipping off the ride, his bones digging into your plush flesh.

“This ride is set to last for five minutes and thirty seconds,” he breathes into your mouth as the boat climbs higher, forehead resting against your own. “Think you can be a perfect little girl for me and cum on my cock before it ends?”

“Uh-huh,” you’re nodding, motions vigorous, eyes glazed with desire as they search his face, vivid, voracious.

“Yeah?” he breathes, the tip of his nose nudging yours, gaze glittering as it sears into your soul. His eyes search your own for a moment, almost as if he’s confirming something unseen, unbeknownst to you, before he nods once, stare darting downward. “Then get my cock out.”

Delicate fingers wander to the heavy chrome buckle and pick viciously at the leather laced through it, clawing at the brass button of his jeans before shoving the waistband down just enough to free his cock while his hands keep a firm, secure grip on your waist, safe.

You don’t get to admire it, not even for a second—nothing more than a glimpse of a pretty pink tip and a glistening glaze of pre-cum—Dabi lifting your hips with one hand as the other wraps around the base of his shaft, holding it steady and lining it up with your cute little hole.

A hiss catches on your teeth as he shoves his cock into you, harsh and fast and sudden, features twisting in pain and fingers flexing tightly, nails piercing through the thin fabric outfitting his shoulders and gorging on his flesh.

“That’s it,” he soothes, though his voice is rough around the edges. “Be a good little whore for me, take my cock.”

It feels as though he’s ripping you in half as he bottoms out, cockhead pressed snug against your cervix, cunt struggling to accommodate his girth as delicate flesh tears itself open for him, keen and eager and oh-so-desperate.

“Shh, shh, baby,” he hums over your pathetic little whimpers, the term of endearment drenched in condescension, a mocking pout molded to his lips. “Aw, you’re doing good so far, c’mon, give me the ride of a lifetime, yeah? Make this a ride to remember.”

Fierce determination ignites behind your sternum, head nodding as you blink bleary tears from your gaze, desperate with the desire to please him, to prove yourself to him, to be the best he’s ever had.

The pace is merciless right from the start, imposed by the rapidly declining time limit, hips relentless in their pursuit as they rock hard and fast against his own.

He meets you with just as enthusiasm, grunts vibrating in his chest with each rut up into you, large hands gripping your flesh as he forces you to bounce on his lap, flame-hardened fingers kneading your ass, blunt nails marring soft flesh with purple-tinged indents.

For a moment, you’re lost in the sensationalized pain, time slowing as the seconds dribble on by, slow and thick like saccharine syrup, bouts of pain shooting through your gut with each slam against your cervix, pleasure chasing it high and fast with each drag of his cockhead against that spot, pussy fluttering desperately around his massive cock, repeatedly gorged with it.

But then the boat falls again, whooshing past the axel to swing high on the other side, gaining speed, gaining height, and a scream shatters in your throat, hips slowing to a sensual, stuttering grind.

Dabi laughs at your startled reaction, nuzzling your cheek with his own just before the boat falls backwards.

“Time’s ticking, baby,” he shouts over the bellowing threads of the wind, eyebrows lifting in enticement, strings of ink flying up from his face as the boat swooshes again.

And, truthfully, you want nothing more than to make him proud, to make this the best ride of his fucking life, want it so bad you can feel your own slick leaking all over your inner thighs and down your ass.

But it’s fucking terrifying, blocks of lead dropping in your stomach as the boat swings again, splashing acid up your throat, toxic and mixed with desperate desire.

Tears of fright, of frustration, shield your eyes, thick and gleaming as you hiccup on your words, smashed to shards in your throat. Your whole body trembles in his arms as thorns of ice claw up your spine, knuckles cracking as you readjust your grip on his shoulders.

Dabi’s hips are still moving, calloused fingers digging deep bruises into your skin as he forces you to keep riding him—galaxies in the shape of his fingerprints, full of swirling violets and dark navys that will take weeks to fade, blood vessels bursting under his grasp, signing his name into your body in the prettiest mini masterpieces.

“Look at you, huh? Acting as if you’re so scared,” he’s spitting, flecks of saliva smattering across your cheeks, sick little freckles that cool and dry with the next whoosh of the boat, his features curled in a sneer. “Acting as if you aren’t fucking loving this, you little bitch.”

A palm stings your flesh, stark and sudden, prickly warmth spreading through your ass at the impact. It forces a strangled squeal from your throat, and your eyes shut tightly, body cowering into his, a reflexive response.

“But that’s alright, sweetheart, you don’t have to tell me,” he continues, sharp glints of malice in his eyes, slashing through the artificial euphoria swirling in sapphire. “No, your precious lil pussy does that all on it’s own, ‘cause a whore’s cunt will always give away her true feelings.”

Embarrassment floods your cheeks, burning hot as it unfurls under your skin, hiccuping out pitiful little cries.

“Yeah, that’s right, princess. I can fucking feel the way that sweet cunt flutters and gushes all over my cock every time I do this,” he grunts as his hips push up with vigorous determination, hands keeping you still and pinned to his body, cockhead grinding into your favourite spot, holding the motion with the boat as it freezes in the air, suspended for only a moment before it’s dropping again, whirring past the axel to swing up, high and fast, on the other side.

You’re crying harder now, sobs that rip through your lungs and crack your ribs, fear burning in your throat, each ragged gasp of air another mouthful of nails scraping past the gummy walls of your throat.

But, oh God, it’s so fucking good, pain and terror only working to compound the pleasure, elevating your senses and you can’t stop: can’t stop weeping, can’t stop chasing it, can’t stop wanting so much more.

“Yeah,” he breathes, almost whining it out, head nodding with the timbre of the word. “Fucking cry harder for me, more, more. God, fuck,” his voice breaks on the curse, eyes rolling in his skull. “Little fucking crybaby, you look so fu-fucking pretty with those tears on your cheeks.” His tongue flattens against your face, dragging from your jaw to your bottom lashes, mopping up salt water and leaving behind a thick gleaming trail of saliva. “And all for me, huh? All because of me.”

He sounds almost proud of himself, chest heaving against your own as gluttonous pupils gobble down your expressions, gaze searching your face with such vigorous obsession it almost feels as though he’s attempting to swallow you whole, down those big black holes ringed with blue that devour everything they touch, and you’re suffocating, you’re suffocating.

“What if I let go of you, right now?” he questions with airy enthusiasm, sadism gleaming in those voracious eyes, the question a slap of reality, bringing you back. His fingers loosen a little, tapping with teasing, with warning, against your hips. “Do you think you’d fall to your death?”

He looks almost morbidly fascinated by the question, a sick haze misting his eyes, wondrous and full of awe.

“Wouldn’t that be something, huh?” he continues in that same faraway lilt, dreamy and floating on grotesque fantasies. “To die right after I stuff you full of my cum? You’d die happier than ever before, I bet…Should we give it a try?”

“No, Dabi!” you’re screaming, the protest high with panic and heavy with spit, clutching him so hard your nails break through his skin, stuffing themselves full of flesh and tissue, blood staining the lines of your nailbeds.

“Oh?” he blinks, pulling back a little, genuinely surprised. “Did I startle you, baby? Are you scared?”

“Please, please, please,” you’re sobbing as you smush your face into his neck, whole body clinging to his. “Please, don’t let me go! I’ll do anything, just—Don’t!”

“Alright, alright,” he’s saying, voice suddenly soft with pacification, like he’s soothing a child. “I won’t let you go. But if you don’t make me cum by the time this ride is over, I’m gonna make you do it all over again.”

Your ribs shiver beneath the erratic beating of your heart, your head nodding in jerky little movements as sticky affirmations spill from your lips.

Your hips begin moving again, uneven little bucks that are guided by his hands, hushed praises spilling from his lips, nearly drowned by the wind.

“That’s it, baby, yeah, just like that,” he encourages you, a hint of patronization garnishing his words. “Look at you, huh? Being such a brave little girl for me, fucking yourself on my cock.”

The metal safety bar, purposefully left up so he could fit you onto his lap with relative ease, grinds against the notches of your spine with every roll of your hips, uncontrollable whimpers streaming from your lips.

Strands of your hair whip around your cheeks with each rush of the boat, Dabi’s face so close that your locks embrace him, too, twirling around his neck and tangling in tufts of ink.

Your combined thrusts gain speed in tandem with the boat itself, each rock forward forcing you to accelerate, desperate to keep up with the ride’s pace, desperate to cum as its speed crests.

Your stomach swoops as the boat plunges downward again, gasp exhaled into Dabi’s mouth, his slick tongue curling greedily around the sound. Howling gusts mimic your cries, high and broken, taunting in the way they coil around your forms.

“You look so fucking gorgeous like this,” he breathes, stare shimmering with a sort of twisted admiration, looking at you in a way unlike anyone else ever has, with those azure flames licking at his monstrous pupils, a stare that makes you feel as if you’re drowning and floating all at once.

But he’s right, you do look gorgeous, the carnival lights glittering in the tears caught in your clumped lashes, rendered endless versions of themselves; gleaming trails of salt staining your smooth cheeks, hair crusted to your skin; chin and lips shining with translucent pink, slicked with spit and oozing blood, victims of his teeth.

Another hiccup stutters in your chest, whole body trembling in his arms, but you push yourself to keep fucking, to keep tugging those gorgeous sounds from deep within his chest, soft whiny moans and guttural grunts puffed out into your mouth, melting on your tongue.

Even flying through the wind, with the background rendered nothing more than an indistinct blur of dribbling colours, he is still so breathtakingly gorgeous, eyes bright with manufactured euphoria, pupils gaping and voracious for you, for your pleasure, devouring every single change in expression—the quirk of your bow, the crinkle of your forehead, the pucker of your chin—as his hair clings to his face, spikes of ink dripping with sweat, lips slicked sheen with your spit and licked ruby-red raw.

Sparks of adrenaline sprout in your veins with every rock of your hips, surging through your blood and leaving your body hypersensitive; overwhelmed by the harsh embrace of the wind, by his teeth on your flesh, scraping his essence into your skin and sealing it with his slow, sticky laves of his tongue, by each drag of his cock against that spot, starbursts of fire exploding in your tissues, tiny supernovae that disperse star stuff to collect in your gut, melting into one massive roiling ball of fire that wreathes tighter and tighter and tighter until it finally bursts, cunt clenching almost violently around his cock, his name a shattered scream on your tongue.

“Ah, f-fuck,” he gasps, hands guiding you to keep riding him. “You’re being so fuckin’ good for me. Yeah, yeah, that’s it, cum all over my cock like the good girl that you are.”

It’s so much, too much, and you can feel it gushing from your cunt, smearing across your inner thighs and dribbling down to soak the waistband of his jeans.

He doesn’t seem to mind, though, praises still falling from his lips, grip brutal as he forces your hips to keep moving, hard and fast, ass rubbed raw from the coarse denim clothing his thighs.

“C’mon, c’mon,” he’s nearly growling now, teeth clenched, jaw flexing, eyes blazing. “Fuckin’ take it.”

So you do, eager to be his good girl, quivers shooting through your body with each catch of your swollen clit on his slick pubic bone, sore cunt fucked raw and pulsing weakly, wrecked voice grating your throat.

Only three more drags of your hips and he’s cumming with a vicious snarl, pelvis jerking as his cock throbs, stuffing you full of thick, burning cream.

But he doesn’t stop, even as the boat begins to slow, still rutting against you pathetically, forcing tremors of pain-tinged pleasure through his veins as he chases residual flares.

And despite how unbelievably painful it is, you let him.

You let him, because he’s the best drug you’ve ever taken, the highest high you’ll ever reach, the most beautiful collection of art you’ve ever witnessed—a living, breathing painting; a walking, talking symphony; a constantly morphing storybook full of tall tales and folk myths, each glimmering with shards of truth—and he’ll be gone just as quickly as he appeared.

Because he’s like wisps of thick smoke curling through the night; soft, potent, entirely ungraspable, slipping through the cracks between your fingers, settling into the lines of your hands. He’s a shooting star flaring through the void sky, brilliant, beautiful, burnt out in an instant, never to occur again. He’s a singular spark from a sparkler, caught in your palm, singeing your skin with a blistering heat for a mere moment before it disappears, forever.

He’s gone by the next morning, the whole carnival and your stuffed lion gone with him, the only indication that he even existed at all stuffed securely in the pocket of your jacket; a strip of four pictures, colourless and grainy, full of ink and ivory.

#dabi x reader #dabi smut #todoroki touya x reader #todoroki touya smut #bnha smut #mha smut #tw:dubcon #tw drugs #tw dacryphilia #WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO YEAH #pls enjoy!!!

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