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the-cult-of-russo · 2 years

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Poetic Tragedy (Part 1)

Pairing: Reader X Billy Russo

Warnings: Cursing, angst, sadness, substance abuse, mental health issues. This one’s a little dark and not really in a violent way (okay, it does have the typical canon violence lmao). Just more the themes explored, I guess?

A/N: So I legit have like three other Billy multi-chapter stories I’ve come up with since being back and I get like one chapter done and another idea hits me. This one came to me when writing another and I hope you guys like it. I'll be honest, I usually like waiting until my multi-chapter fics are completed before posting them. I have a habit of starting them and then I get stuck or whatever and they get abandoned. But I'm onto my third chapter of this and I figured I'd post it and see what people think.

Name for this one is from a song of the same name by The Used.

The cup is not half empty as pessimists say

As far as he's sees, nothing's left in the cup

A whole cup full of nothing for him to indulge

Since the voice of ambition has long since been shut up

A singer, a writer, he's not dreaming now of going nowhere

He gave heed to nothing, and all that he was....

Is just a tragedy

So he voyages in circles

Succeeds getting nowhere

And submits to the substance

That first got him there

Then in violent, frustration, he cries out to God or just no one

Is there a point to this madness and all that he was....

Is just a tragedy

—------------------------

“The vigilante duo, The Punisher and Jigsaw, once again took down a crime syndicate last night with the help of their soldiers. We don’t have details right now but the CIA and FBI have said they're looking into it,” the newsreader said gravely and you rolled your eyes, leg bobbing up and down as you waited impatiently on the sofa. Josh came back out from his room then. He’d been on the phone when you got here and told you to wait. He chucked his phone on the dirty coffee table before he licked his lower lip and tilted his head at you. He was skinny, scarily so and his blonde hair looked dull and hung over his eyes.

“It’s gone up, sweet cheeks,” he smirked. It made your skin crawl and you glowered at him.

“What do you mean it’s gone up? It went up last week. Do you think I have money coming out of my ass?” you asked in a snappy tone, your hand sweeping across you and drawing attention to the dirty jeans and the holey, far too large for your frail frame, dark gray sweater. He let out a condescending snort and shrugged his shoulders.

“That's not my problem, Y/N. You’re not my problem. It's gonna be $100,” he smirked. You stood up, hands clenched to fists as they shook. You felt the desperation clawing at you as you grabbed the only money you had out of your pocket, waving it at him.

“I have $50! 50, That we agreed on! It’s all I have!” you yelled, your voice tinged with panic.

“Well it's not $50 anymore, princess,” he grinned darkly. You growled, gritting your teeth so hard they felt like they might shatter.

“Or…. you could give me the 50 and make up for the rest in another way?” he smirked leeringly at you and you recoiled, feeling sick. You’d only ever stooped that low once before and you’d never do it again. It made shame fill every pore of your body to think about.

“Go fuck yourself!” you snarled, stomping to the front door.

“Come back with the money or your pussy or don't come back at all, Y/N!” he called out after you and you slammed his door forcefully.

That slimy piece of shit. You hated him. Hated that you had to rely on him and hated that he could easily screw you over and there wasn't a damn thing you could do about it. You had about a day before things were about to get really fucking bad for you. You knew the only option was to steal the money you needed. Stealing wasn't exactly new to you, it was how you made most of your money these days. But with the amount so high, you didn't think you’d have enough left over for food too. And with no food in your stomach for 4 days, it made you feel depressed. You knew what you’d pick, what you’d always pick. You heaved a sigh and brought your arms around yourself to stave off the cold. Your sweater wasn't thick and all you had under it was a ratty old black tank top. The same clothes you’d worn for the past 3 years after a local church wanted to help those in need. You didn't believe in god, didn't think he'd bestow the life forced on you if he was real. Still, you were grateful for the good Samaritans that helped in the name of Jesus. Your boots had holes in them and were a size too small. You’d found those in the dumpster a few years back too. You glanced to the sky and you knew it would be dark soon. That's when you’d strike. It was best like that. Less people around to try and intervene.

By the time darkness blanketed the sky, you were on the prowl. You hadn't come across anyone suitable yet. No one alone and an easy target. You might be desperate but you weren't stupid. A flick to the nose would have you on the floor so you had to be careful. There had been plenty of people, although not half as many as in the daytime. Mostly groups of drunk people having a good time on a Friday night. You scratched your face with a sigh, a hopelessness consuming you as you worried you wouldn't find anyone. But then luck seemed to hit you across the face. A woman was crossing the street, coming over to your side. She was chattering on her cell phone, looking like her head was in the clouds. You eyed her up, noticing her Louboutin heels as they clicked against the sidewalk. You might be broke as shit but it didn't mean you didn't know designer when you saw it. Your eyes lit up gleefully. Maybe you'd be able to get your food too after all.

You steeled yourself as you walked, the girl walking your way as she yammered on to whoever the poor victim on the phone was. Her purse was dangling precariously off her forearm as she strutted down the sidewalk like it was a runway. You rolled your eyes internally. Didn't she know how dangerous New York was at night? She was lucky you were the one to meet her and no one else. As you walked past her, your hand darted out with the reflex only an experienced thief would have as you snatched her purse.

"Hey!" She squealed at you, but you didn't stick around as you took off running. You knew with those heels, she wouldn't be chasing you. You ran until you got to the alley a block away. Your alley. You finally looked at your goods then. A Gucci purse, figures. You knew it would fetch a pretty penny if you could sell it. Issue was that no self-respecting business would allow you to step foot in their store. Holding no value to you, you opened it, snatching the money from the pocket inside before you tossed the purse to the damp and dirty ground. Your face split into a grin as you counted it. $500. That would be enough for what you needed plus food for days. Maybe even for your next few trips to Josh's. It sent a wave of relief right through you. You'd never managed this much before. It was getting harder and harder to steal here in the city. Maybe since crime rates went up and vigilantes became a thing all over the news.

You were basking in your accomplishment, too distracted to hear anyone behind you at the mouth of the alley you'd just come from.

"Didn't your parents ever teach you manners?" A voice rang out, making you whirl around to come face to face with two men. Your eyes darted from one to the other in quick succession. One was shorter than the other, his face unobscured but his chest emblazoned with a skull. The other was wearing a black hoodie, the hood pulled up and a weird white mask with painted cracks on it. He looked like he should be in a horror movie. But you knew looking at them who they were and once your shock wore off, you scoffed and shook your head. The Punisher and fucking Jigsaw. Of course.

"You've gotta be fucking kidding me," you huffed, jaw clenched. No, god really didn't exist.

"Stealin's wrong, sweetheart. Hand the money over," The Punisher smirked, holding out his hand. Your hand tightened around the money as you gaped at him.

"Don't you have real crime to be dealing with? You know, like rape and murder?" You asked dryly.

"Stealin’ is a crime," Jigsaw muttered, tilting his head at you. He was far more unsettling than his counterpart, only his dark eyes visible from his mask. He was standing tall and imposing, legs slightly apart and his shoulder squared.

"I'm not giving you the money," you growled, squinting at them both.

"Yeah, you are," The Punisher smirked.

"Or what?" You asked defiantly, raising a brow. Jigsaw reached around him, grabbing a handgun from his waistband before cocking it.

You let out an incredulous laugh as you shook your head for what felt like the millionth time.

"Are you serious?" You asked, looking half amused and half stunned.

"As a heart attack," The Punisher answered.

"Did you see who I stole this off? Bitch looked like she has a penthouse with a maid. Fucking Louboutin shoes and a Gucci purse. Meanwhile, I'm over here living in a goddamn alley," you swept your arm behind you where a meager blanket lay near the wall on top of a large piece of cardboard.

"I haven't eaten in four days, but no, I'm sure Miss Penthouse will really miss a few hundred dollars," you seethed. The pair looked at each other, Jigsaw rolling his shoulder a little. The Punisher gave you an uncomfortable look as he stepped forward, making you tense as he held his hand out. You scoffed a mirthless laugh, roughly slapping the money into his hands.

"And I thought you guys were supposed to be the good guys," you sneered.

"We are," The Punisher muttered tensely. You snorted at his words.

"Sure, keep telling yourself that. You go out there trying to rid New York of crime but you don't ever question why stuff like this happens? You really think petty crime is the same shit as murder? You tar all of us with the same brush when some of us do this out of necessity. To survive. But yeah, we're all just criminals. I'll remember that when I'm lay there freezing and starving," you bit out, anger swirling around inside of you before you stomped over to your blanket.

"Now get the fuck out of my alley!" You bellowed, glaring at them. They exchanged another uncomfortable glance with each other before Jigsaw made a move to grab the Gucci purse from the ground. With that, they left.

You sat heavily on the cardboard, pulling the blanket around you although it did little to ease the cold. It was turning winter and you dreaded it. Those were always the hardest months here. You couldn't believe those two assholes. Now you had no money for food, no money for… You felt a lump in your throat as the panic clawed at you again. It wasn't like you did it because you liked it. Not anymore. But now you needed it to function and you hated it. You lay down as tears pricked your eyes and you willed yourself to get to sleep. You had no idea what you were supposed to do now. The idea of having to go and pay Josh that way again made you feel sick but you were starting to think you wouldn’t have a choice.

—------------------------

The next morning, you lay wrapped in your blanket, eyes unfocused and gazing at the opposite wall. You’d been awake for hours but you couldn’t bring yourself to get up. It had started. Withdrawals. Your body was aching like a bitch and you felt colder than you knew you were supposed to. Your head was thumping and you were exhausted, yet unable to sleep. You heard your stomach growl loudly on its fifth day with no food but you tried to ignore it. You didn't want to face the world, didn't want to have to sit there and beg for change. It certainly wouldn't help you right now, give you what you needed. And while you knew you also needed food, the thought made your stomach roll. You still had the $50 burning a hole in your pocket, but you weren’t touching that. That was for something else and you needed to make up the rest of the money and fast. You heard the sound of boots in the alley and struggled to sit up. When you glanced over, there was a figure walking down it. It took you a moment to recognise him without the skull over his chest, but there was The Punisher. He was wearing a dark green hoodie with the hood pulled up, some jeans and boots on. He held something in his hand. You groaned inwardly, not in the mood for his bullshit. Your nerves felt raw already and you didn't want to deal with him after last night.

“I thought I told you to fuck off,” you huffed weakly as he stopped a little in front of you. Your face felt clammy and you leaned back against the brick wall as you sat there looking at him.

“You did. But I… I brought you breakfast,” he muttered, looking uncomfortable. He held out a styrofoam tray and cup of some kind of hot drink but you made no move to take it.

“Wow, didn’t realize breakfast and a drink cost $500!” you smiled mockingly at him. He shifted on his feet, eyes darting all over the place before back on you. When you didn't take the food, he sighed and placed them on the floor next to you. Despite your salty words, you picked up the drink, not caring what was in it. The heat on your hands felt relieving and you sipped on it gingerly. Coffee.

“Your little pal Jason not with you?” you quipped hotly after another sip and him just awkwardly watching you. A confused frown graced his face.

“What?” he asked, squinting at you.

“Jason… Friday the 13th?” you asked, raising a brow with a blank look on your face.

“Look… About last night,” he started, completely ignoring your question.

“Unless you got my $500 in your pocket, I don't care,” you smirked darkly. He raised his eyes heavenward for a moment with a sigh.

“I know shit ain’t black and white, alright? I’m not stupid. But you can’t go around takin’ shit that ain’t yours,” he huffed. You laughed but it wasn't a pleasant sound as you blinked up at him. You felt like shit and you had no patience.

“Listen…” you trailed off, not knowing what to call him. You didn't know his name and calling him The Punisher to his face felt weird.

“Frank,” he supplied. You squinted at him for a moment.

“What?” you asked slowly.

“My name is Frank,” he offered easily, his eyes boring into you. You didn't know what to do with the information. You weren't sure if his name was common knowledge or not or if he’d just willingly given you something that could hurt him. But you didn't really care.

“Listen, Frank. Spare me the lecture on mortality, okay? You're standing there with enough money to buy a random stranger breakfast and a coffee, with your nice warm clean clothes and wherever you are, I bet you have a roof over your head. You have no idea what it’s like living this life, the shit I’ve had to do to just survive. So you don't get to stand there and act like I’m some hardened criminal. Because tell me, Frank, who’s the murderer here?” you asked darkly, raising a brow at him. He swallowed thickly, shifting on his feet as he looked away for a moment. You were glad. He had no right coming here and trying to make you feel bad for doing what you needed to just to live. You lost the guilt you used to carry with you for stealing long ago.

He was silent for a long moment and you slurped your coffee. You knew you should eat the food but your stomach churned and you knew soon you’d be throwing up and you hated it. After a while of him seemingly not knowing what to say, he looked you over again.

“You feelin’ alright? Look a little… ill,” he muttered.

“Oh my god. Can you spare me the little sad puppy routine? Stop acting like you care. Thanks for the coffee and everything, but please just go away,” you sighed, closing your eyes for a brief moment. You heard him move and your eyes snapped open to find him digging something out of his jeans pocket. He pulled out a piece of paper before crouching next to you. You instinctively tensed and squinted at him as he held out the piece of paper. There was an address scrawled onto it along with a phone number. You didn't make a move to take it.

“We got a place, alright? You need a warm bed or… or food or whatever. You can just… come to us. Whatever you need,” he murmured, that stupid pitying look on his face. Your jaw ticked as he placed the paper on your lap when you didn't take it from him. You wondered if he was stupid. Wondered if this was their secret lair, the base of their operation that he’d just handed to you. You didn't know much about the pair of vigilantes, it wasn't like you owned a TV to watch the news, but you’d caught snippets whenever you were at Josh’s. You knew it wasn't just the two of them, though they were the leaders. But they had a whole group and the news called them soldiers. You could easily hand this to the police and you both knew it. You wouldn't though. As much as they were assholes to you the night before, you knew they did good on the street. Made it safer. The streets were very unsafe for anyone homeless, especially a girl like you. Especially in your condition. You’d wasted away out here and your little problem hadn't helped that issue any. There was nothing to you anymore and you knew just how cruel these streets could be. The statistics of homeless people murdered each year were sickening, the number of them going missing even worse. Because homeless people weren't viewed with the same lens everyone else was. They weren't seen as people. People thought they could do what they wanted to someone on the street because they had no one to care for them, no people to miss them when they were gone. Not even the police cared. People were conflicted when it came to the vigilantes. Most people thought they were a good thing, getting rid of crime and doing what the police couldn't or wouldn't do. But the NYPD weren't happy with having their toes stepped on, being made to look bad. And they’d called in the CIA and FBI to help catch the crusaders. It could be dangerous. Make other people feel bold enough to turn vigilante themselves and wind up hurting someone innocent or hurting themselves. It got messy when people thought they could take justice into their own hands. You glared at the paper for a moment, not knowing what to say. You didn't want his pity. You needed the money he’d taken from you but you knew you weren't getting it back.

“My number’s on there… if you ever need anything, need help… give it a call,” he sighed when you didn't speak.

“With what? My invisible cell phone?” you snorted derisively. You couldn't help it. He’d annoyed you and now he was trying to help you. No doubt felt he needed to save you or fix you. You were beyond fixing. He gave you a look for a minute before he rummaged in his pocket again, placing 50 cents with the paper on your lap.

“Use a payphone if you need to. I’m just trying to help,” he murmured sadly.

“Well I don't need your help, so go away,” you muttered with a frown. He nodded, not looking happy about it but at least doing what you asked as he stood. He gave you one last lingering look before leaving the alley and you felt yourself relax a small amount. As much as your pain-riddled body would allow you. You picked up the paper, recognising the address as an abandoned industrial estate. You knew it because homeless people would once go there. You knew you should throw the paper out, never planning on using it. But something tugged at the back of your brain and you sighed, slipping it with the 50 cents into your pocket.

A few hours after Frank’s visit, you were lying unmoving, staring at the ceiling as Josh moaned above you. You felt nothing but a hollow emptiness as he rut into you, jostling your body a little. You knew you would end up here out of your desperation. But as your symptoms got worse, you couldn't hold out any longer. You couldn't go through full withdrawals, not again. You’d stupidly tried to get clean two years back. Decided your addiction was costing you far too much and making you ill. But going cold turkey when you're out on the streets is impossible. When you have no one to take care of you, help you through it. No safe space to go through something so traumatic. You hadn't lasted a day until you’d caved. After a large groan, he pulled out of you, taking off the condom and tossing it carelessly into the wastebasket near the bed. He padded off into the bathroom and you sat up, picking up your clothes as you started to dress yourself. You didn't feel upset. Didn't feel shame. No, that would come later. Once you were dressed, he came back in with a sly smirk, holding out the bag to you. As you made a move to grab it, he pulled it away with a wicked smirk.

“What do you say?” he asked with a raised brow, looking smug. You wanted to hit him. Wanted to wipe that smirk right off his face. But you knew what he was like, learned that lesson the hard way and he’d broken your nose for your troubles. You clenched your jaw, right eye twitching.

“Thank you,” you ground out, feeling the prickle of shame start to eat at you. You hated that you’d been reduced to this. All by the shit that was in the bag he was holding. His smirk widened and he let you take the bag. You didn't wait around before you scurried out of his apartment. You’d have enough to last you a week. That's how it usually went.

You rushed to the shit hole that was your ‘home’, your hands trembling with the need to use. You sat on your makeshift bed, opening the bag quickly. You grabbed the piece of paper Frank had given you before carefully tipping some of the powder onto the back of your hand. You rolled up the paper before snorting it hurriedly. You’d never injected it. Back when Josh first approached you and tried to convince you to use it, how it would make you feel better, you’d told him you didn't want to get addicted. He’d promised you that you wouldn't. You couldn't get addicted if you snorted it. He’d lied. The only real difference between snorting and injecting was the fact it took between 5 to 10 minutes for the high to kick in compared to the instant results of injecting. You felt an instant relief that was more mental than the substance, knowing you finally got what your body needed. You moved to lay down, waiting for it to kick it. It never quite hit the same as when you first started using. You still got high and it helped numb you a bit but you never felt the euphoria you once felt. You’d used for too long, your body had gotten used to it. You’d slowly been having to use more and more as time went on to even feel high at all. You slowly started to feel the effects of the heroin take its hold and you closed your eyes with a breath of relief. At least you’d sleep tonight.

#billy russo #billy russo x reader #billy russo fanfic #billy russo imagine

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ssreeder · 1 year

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sreedie. it is time.

NO SOKKA baby people want to be your friend you just DONT LET THEM

pls sokka thinking he can gaslight himself out of being in pain is so in character but so. goddamn Frustrating

sokka is giving anna from frozen with his whole “my firebender’s awake so IM awake” deal

listen I get why sokka is like oh I should cut back on the swearing if I wanna Grow as a person but like,,, as an australian the concept of swearing being Bad is just so foreign to me lmao

I think it’s a really interesting component of the zukka relationship (highlighted by your traumatic drowning scene thx sreedie) that sokka’s instinct is to try to hide in/behind zuko??? like he’s obviously very protective of zuko too, but I think that in a way, even when sokka is on the offensive and is the person defensive zuko from the outside world he’s still using zuko as like, idfk a shield?? of sorts??? to deflect away his fear for himself and all that jazz… does that make any sense whatsoever????? idfk lads

STOP ik it’s a super serious moment but all I could think about when sokka was like “he had to do it for zuko” wAS THE FUCKING let me do it for you tiktok sound T-T

not aang talking like an actual certified therapist at 12 years of age omfg- wish I was that emotionally well adjusted fr

damn sokka really said #codependecy

FUCK PLEASE TELL SOKKA ABOUT YHE FUCKINF VEINS PLEASE SREEDIE IM STRESSED AS ALL HELL

F U C K

Y E S

finally ohmygod

katara: I can feel the toxins in zuko’s blood

iroh externally: oh?

iroh internally: whatthefuckwhatthefuckwhatthefuck

LMFAO zuko calling sokkatara momo while his body is actively trying to kill itself as a JOKE is the most zuko thing ever. the most comedic thing about this boy is his absolutely Disastrous timing (by which I mean it’s impeccable)

PRISON PALS I still love that moniker <3

noooo not zuko worrying about shen when we know damn well shen got kebabed >:(

can katara please tell sokka that zuko wants him by his side. like girl. please.

okay I really do Not want this to happen, nor do I think it actually Will happen bc uhm duh, but it would be like,, so ironic of zuko did just die. like they went through all that and for what LMAO (it’s not funny it’s Not Funny why am I giggling to myself)

FINALLY A MENTION IF THE MIRACULOUS TEETH KEEPING OF ZUKKA NATION

lmao sokka is worrying himself into a early grave bc he cares so much about zuko but he’s also 100% ready to immediately assume that zuko let him down by outing sokka as a liar (I mean he’s right, but still. harsh)

woah woah woah sokka calm your tits man, rasu might be sex on legs but your sister is only 14 and that’s just gross

SEE rasu my reasonable child <3 (he’s also so snarky I actually love him so. much.)

insane how fast sokka switches from “rasu >:(“ to “rasu :D” when he learns that rasu knows zuko lol

YOU CANT TAKE THE NERD OUT OF SOKKA BABYYY (same.)

“sipping the sauce” LMAO

uh yeah rasu I think jee has every right to be worried ngl

sokka is just out here exposing himself bc he’s JEALOUS I cannot anymore with this boy

“prince zuko is a character without trying to be one” yKW I JUST REALISED?? ZUKO HAS MAJOR MR BEAN ENERGY just more homocidal and uh,, traumatised

god thinking about jet’s amputation has me squeamish as FUCK

sokka rearranging his book stack so the sex book is in the middle is so relatable agsjekfpf it’s giving the same energy as getting a massage and hiding your underwear between the rest of your clothes after you get changed into the robe thing

not sokka being endeared by zuko’s love for the art of thievery <3 mood

SHIT FUCK QUON

DICKHEAD

OMG WAIT IS HE GONNA RECOGNISE SOKKA AS RHE BITXH THAT ZUKO KISSED PRIOR TO KIDNAPPING

damn. after all that and sokka just exposed himself. cant even blame it on zuko this time buddy.

you can always count on little sisters to put you back in your place (as the little sister can confirm)

woag.

not the angst train going past us like choo choo motherfuckers.

I am not going to bag katara in any way, shape, or form for pretending to be sokka to get information out of zuko bc I would’ve so done the same thing with like,, zero hesitation. maybe I’m just a lying liar who lies though so idk

anyways: screaming, crying, destroying your living room and smashing all your lightbulbs.

I’m so mad that there’s no zukka reunion BUT !! you did give us a library which I was SUPER not expecting but enthralled by nonetheless so ig I’ll have to forgive you

ANYWAYS hope life has retired from kicking you around bc that’s my job and I’m the only one allowed to make you suffer >:(

also I just reread my last comment and realised I already said I’d smash all your lightbulbs so ig this is just a trend now. have fun living in medieval times forever ex-lover <3

Oh shit that’s so true, Sokka is very Anna and Zuko is very Elsa haha. (Odd how that happened lol)

Soooo I do think Sokka depends on Zuko WAY too much, emotionally physically mentally - but if that’s all he has to keep him waking up in the morning who am I to stop him. (But building up his own physical strength, dealing with his own issues instead of just focusing on zukos trauma, and allowing other people in his life to get close to him and then help him would be GREAT ;))

Sokkatara is now canon I’m obsessed with the nickname leekie beloved your brain is too big.

Rasu was like “oh no this kids crazy” & then Sokka said “tell me about Zuko” and rasu twirls his hair and giggles “SURE” & that’s how friends are formed. Take notes.

Katara & Sokka just need to get into one big “getting along shirt” and call it a day… but I kind of think Sokka would try to claw his way out… so yeah we don’t do that.

Lies are being exposed and Sokka has ZERO ground to keep standing on so he better accept the help or he is really going to drown. Ha.

LEEKI STOP SMASHING MY LIGHTBULBS I GOT TWO FLASHLIGHTS AND I CANT DEAL WITH IT ANYMORE.

Alright ex love I will see you soon!! :) <3

#but not actually #I won’t be SEEING YOU #but I’ll be arounndddddd #I was going to post the next chapter this weekend #then it was Eid #& my beautiful beta was raging #like a badass #& in the meantime I rewrote like #… two POVs #so yeah I kind of went backwards haha #probably next weekend #unless soemthing incredible happens #which I’ll keep ya posted <3 #LOVE YOU LEEKIE!!!#leekie tag #liab #ITF #ask

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cdroloisms · 3 years

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as of yet unnamed ghost!dream au

here’s some of a ghost!dream au that i’ve been working on for the last few days!! it’s been Fun - definitely one of my favorite current aus, along w/ vegas team 2.0 and others. it’s a really ,, bittersweet c!sam + c!dream centric au that’s equal parts fluffy and messed up, and my goal is to (somehow) wrangle this mess into some sort of happy ending

anyway, i hope you all enjoy!! definitely look out for more of this in the future, and a future name change when i get around to thinking of one that Fits lmao

tw: blood, violence, implied torture, abuse, description of dead bodies, unhealthy relationships, emotional distress, unhealthy coping mechanisms, grief, death, dehumanization

Sam woke up to fifty pounds of fur smacking him in the face.

He startled, stumbled to awareness as he struggled to breathe from the newfound weight on his chest. It took a few moments for his vision to clear up enough to see what was right in front of him, but his lips quirked up in a small smile as Fran sat, self-satisfied, with her paws pressed against his collarbones, looking for all the world like she was priding herself in her win.

"Yeah, yeah, laugh it up." He ran a hand through the fur on her head, got a bark in return. The smile dropped, however, when his brain - still foggy with sleep - began to drag itself into awareness, bringing with it a whole slew of unpleasant memories that largely made him want to crawl back under the covers for another week, please.

Fran barked again, headbutted him insistently, and he pushed away the thoughts with a bleary shake of his head. As much as he wanted to avoid his responsibilities, experience had taught him otherwise, and what was he without his duty, now?

He was halfway through the process of putting on his armor when he realized, hands falling from the straps they had been readjusting, lips pulled into a thin line.

Oh.

Right.

Fran barked again, probably noticing his hesitance, making a point of ramming her head into the backs of his legs again when he stood still for a little too long. Sam stared at his hands for a moment, then another, before going to undo the fastenings of his netherite chestplate and hang it back up on the stand.

He wouldn’t be needing those for a while, would he?

“Hey girl.” He kneeled down to scratch Fran by the ears, smiling softly when she closed her eyes in satisfaction. He usually didn’t have any time to spend with her, not with him needing to check on the prisoner in the morning to make sure he would be ready for Quackity’s visits at noon and his afternoons usually filled with his work at Las Nevadas and on his own bank and keeping the prisoner alive-

Sam breathed out a little too harshly, reaching for the Warden’s communicator he kept tucked in his chest pocket. The same words stared at him in the morning light, clear and damning.

Dream was slain by Quackity using [Warden’s Will].

It had been an accident, in the end. He hadn’t been listening well enough, Quackity’s shouts blending with Dream’s ragged screams making up the same painful two-note song that filled most of his days, when the cell - steadily growing in sound for the past hour, as Quackity (inevitably) became more desperate and the prisoner (inevitably) forwent any attempts at holding back his pain - suddenly went silent.

The quiet itself was enough to raise his hackles, have him reaching for a pearl as he clicked open his communicator; the quiet “Sam?” from Quackity only made them rise more.

By the time he reached the other side, his communicator was already buzzing with the notification he’d known would appear, in the end, and Dream was lying still with a sword shoved through his chest.

---

Sam hadn’t really reacted, when he first realized. He set upon the task of cleaning up the aftermath much the same way as he approached everything nowadays, quick, efficient, and methodical. He sent Quackity away to wash off the worst of the blood, not bothering to follow him across the lava; it’s not like there was any prisoner that could take advantage of the loosened security, anymore. With the winged man gone, he resigned himself to the job of dealing with the remains of the prisoner.

In the heat of the lava, the body hadn’t even cooled yet, the blood flowing from it- him- whatever, still warm to the touch. Sam eased off the cracked remains of the mask, heart momentarily seizing at the sight of the face underneath it; gaunt, pale, and stretched in memories of pain that it could no longer feel, it- he looked anything but peaceful. His eyes were still blown open in fright, bright green eyes long-dulled, a smattering of freckles over the bridge of his nose and cheekbones thrown in sharp relief from the paleness of his skin. Even with the scars on every visible inch of skin, he looked- young, like a scared kid, expression tortured even in death, and Sam could feel echoes of horror beating against his skull like a heartbeat. With a slightly shaking hand, he closed Dream’s eyes - the man was dead. It was the least he could do.

He must’ve spent a solid few minutes carefully bandaging each cut and gash, still sluggishly weeping blood - not that it meant anything, with him dead, but it felt - necessary, to at least give him this much dignity after death. He was covered in blood, some of it fresh, most of it not, but after wiping away the worst of it from his skin (his hair and clothes had been a lost cause for a long time), he almost looked- human. It wasn’t a perfect image; he was far, far too still to be anything like the Dream that Sam remembered, and there were more bandages than exposed skin, at this point, skin paper-white against the black of the obsidian floor and the air still thick with the smell of blood, but if he squinted a little he could almost imagine that Dream was only sleeping. That nothing had happened.

Nothing had happened.

Or at least- nobody could know what did happen. Not with Dream’s death meaning that the information of the revival book was lost forever, not when his death would open up a whole can of worms that both he and Quackity would be better off not having to deal with for the rest of time, thank you very much. Keeping it all a secret wouldn’t be that hard, all things considered; he could turn away visitors with the excuse of preventing something like Tommy’s death from happening again, and it’s not like anyone was particularly preoccupied with thinking about the conditions of the prisoner. He and Quackity would have to think of a better excuse in the future, but now wasn’t the time. All he had to do was get Dream’s body out of Pandora and away from people’s prying eyes; everything else could come after.

Picking up Dream took less effort than he expected; even though the man was a dead weight, he hardly seemed to weigh anything in Sam’s arms. Making their way out of the prison was much harder, but with a few well-placed enderpearls and the abuse of quite a few guard mechanisms, they were out under the night sky. It was a clear night: the moon nearly full, the stars bright and twinkling; it was the kind of night that Dream loved, once.

He bit back the thought as soon as it came. Dream was dead and those days were gone. There wasn’t any point of thinking about them, now.

He ended up carrying the man to a patch of forest against the beaches behind the prison, burying him without much fanfare and pulling out a piece of cobble to serve as a shoddy headstone. It was a small and lonely grave in the middle of a woods that no one ever visited, the cobblestone dull and easy to miss. Only Sam would know where it was.

He told himself that he didn’t care as he left, tridenting across the bay towards the community portal so he could finally go home and rest. It didn’t matter; hardly anyone had bothered visiting the man when he was alive. What would change with him dead?

Distantly, thunder rumbled.

---

It was strange, to have nowhere to go, reminded him of the early days when it was just him and Fran exploring and hollowing out the mountain for his base one block of stone at a time. He figured that it was about time that he and Fran went on a proper walk, anyway, and so after a light breakfast they were off - Fran running in front in leaps and bounds, tail a blur as she greeted every tree and rock by the house with the eager overfamiliarity that only a dog could have, Sam staying back and whistling whenever she came a little too close to harassing a fox or chicken or whatever mobs were out in the early morning. Every once in a while, she would run back, shoving her face into his hands as if to check in and say hello, and he would give her a couple assuring pats before she rocketed away again.

He definitely should’ve been doing this more often; a small rock of guilt settled in his gut at the sight of Fran’s clear exhilaration at being outside of the same four walls. Her room was as nice as he could make it - food and water kept in abundance, an assortment of toys scattered all over the floor, her bed covered in a collection of blankets she had claimed for her own - but with everything going on, he really hadn’t had the time to bring her on long walks and play with her as he should have. She looked happier than she’d been in months.

He looked up; Fran was in the process of running back towards him, again, and he opened his arms in anticipation of a flying ball of fur smacking him in the chest once more, when she froze. Paws digging into the grass, her head cocked to the side as her ears swiveled, pointed up and alert at some sound that Sam couldn’t hear. Her muscles tensed, and he stepped closer, hand reaching forward-

“Fran, don’t-”

Fran darted off into the forest, a white streak disappearing in the underbrush, and Sam muffled a yell as he moved to chase her. Her sprint sent fallen leaves flying up into the air, a trail of dust and destruction following her as she dashed deeper into the trees.

“Fran, get back here, what are you doing, stop running!”

Completely ignoring him, Fran continued to run ahead, turning suddenly to the right and sending Sam scrambling in an attempt to follow. Ducking out of sight past a collection of thickets into what appears to be a sunlit grove in the middle of the forest, she gave a sudden, triumphant-sounding bark.

“Fran, you really can’t be running off like this, girl, I don’t even know where we are-”

He froze.

Fran, bright white in the sunlight, was wagging her tail as she panted, tongue lolling out of her mouth, muzzle seemingly split in a wide grin. Her dark eyes looked up at Sam, bright and intelligent, and she barked again when he looked at her as if to ask him if he was proud of her discovery.

Just behind Fran, translucent in the light, stood a figure. They were short - only coming up to Sam’s waist, if that, and wore an oversized light-green hoodie that reached halfway down their hands and khaki shorts. Their hair seemed windswept, blown around by some nonexistent breeze, defying gravity as it floated in a messy halo around their head; they turned towards him, freckled cheeks immediately breaking out in a blinding smile.

“Sam!”

He watched, numbly, as the kid stumbled forward, tripping on nothing as they crashed into him, arms immediately going to wrap around his legs tightly. They looked up, shoulders shaking with small giggles, mouth open to show a gap-toothed grin - one that was far, far too familiar.

“Dream?”

“Hiya Sam! Didja miss me?” Dream giggled again, still looking up at Sam, and he felt something dark and cold, almost like guilt, rising in his throat as he met his gaze.

Dream’s eyes were pitch black.

167 notes · View notes

crescentsteel · 4 years

Text

Keeping a Secret - Part 6

pairing: Tsukishima x f!manager of Sendai Frogs genre: sexual tension/crack/fluff/slow burn wc: 7.1k

Part 5 || Part 7 || masterlist

[a/n]

I’m sorry for the slow update (As you know, I finished my other mini series last week and I was just a ball of exhaustion, until now tbh)

I think we’re halfway along the story now. I think. Lmao.

AO3 link is on the masterlist’s page.

Let me know if you want to be part of the taglist uwu

No one budges - not Tsukishima, not the team, not even you. You scram the insides of your brain, trying your absolute hardest to come up with a panic-stricken solution on how to remedy the carelessness brought by your surge of pride from winning.

You can feel your heart pounding on your chest. Or maybe it's Tsukishima’s against yours. You can’t tell at this point and you don’t bother trying to. You push your cognitive skills to its maximum as you strive to think for a fix for your current predicament.

Luckily, you’re not a university scholar for nothing.

You release Tsukishima and open your arms wide to the next person you lay your eyes on.

“Kyou-kun! Good job,” you manifest the joy on your face as you come up to Kyoutani for the similar hug you just gave Tsukishima.

Like Tsukishima, Kyoutani also stills when you embrace his perspiring body. Kyoutani is not a touchy person, but unlike Tsukishima, you know he’s fond of you. So he doesn’t push you away. Rather, he awkwardly pats you at the back.

“T-thanks,” he says with his low, raspy voice. You beam at him and move on to the next player until you’ve hugged all six on the court.

When you come back to the benches, there’s an organized line of the rest of the Sendai Frogs.

You blink quizzically for a few seconds, wondering why, until you realize that they’re waiting for their turn as well.

“Aww, you guys!” you gush dotingly at how adorable they are. Yet, you can’t indulge them.

“Maybe next time? You need to line up already,” you remind them. They all groan downcastedly, but Coach Mira castigates them immediately.

“What the hell are you all sighing for? You won. Stop dawdling around and fall in line over there, not here!”

The guys snap out of it and do as they’re told. Before Coach Mira joins them, she shoots up an eyebrow at you, probably looking for an explanation for your behavior.

“Sorry, Coach.” You chuckle as you apologize for getting the team a bit sidetracked, but provide no reason why you did so. “Won’t do it again,” you supplement the apology.

She lets it go casually and lines up with the team as well.

Once the match is officially done, you head over to the restroom. You enter one of the cubicles quickly and lock its door, you knock your head on it.

‘What is wrong with you, you dumb bitch!’ you lambaste yourself while staring at tiles with petrified eyes as you replay the scene again.

When you made the deal with Tsukishima, you were confident that there wouldn’t be problems with hiding what you two have. He is one of your athletes first and foremost; that hasn’t slipped out of your mind. Yet for one moment there, you blurred the line that you and Tsukishima had established.

You got cozy with him when you’re not in private--when you’re not supposed to. It was just a hug, but still, it was something when you’ve made the whole Sendai gymnasium your audience.

You’re the one who even assured Tsukishima that no one will know about your set-up. Tough luck, you’re also the first one to mess up.

You bang your head on the cubicle door again. The sound of your frustrated groan echoes through the whole bathroom. After a while, you take a deep breath and unlock the cubicle. You go back out to the halls.

When you turn left to head for the bus, you’re startled at the presence of the blonde that was just in your mind. Tsukishima is there, leaning against the wall next to the door you emerged from.

“Fuck! You scared me,” you exclaim.

“Tell me about it,” he replies with a straight face. Despite the nonchalance, you know there’s meaning behind his short retort.

You scan the area, looking for any other member of the team who might be present. When you see none, you drag Tsukishima outside to a secluded area at the side of the gym. Once there, you check around again just to be sure no one will pass by.

Tsukishima just watches you acting in distress, waiting for whatever it is you’re going to say. Obviously it’s important enough to you that you tugged him all the way here. Once you’re done confirming that the coast is clear, panic sets in your face.

You clutch his jacket and start lamenting. “I’m so stupid, Tsukki! Oh God. They’re gonna find us out. We’re screwed!”

He thought that you were just going to explain and apologize for your slip-up earlier. He was stupefied when you did it. He’d probably be giving you an earful right now had you not resolved your mishap before it became an object of inquiry to the others. Admittedly, he was still planning to scold you a bit. However, seeing you this freaked out about it makes him change his mind..

“I’m so sorry!” you go on as you drive yourself deeper to hysteria.

He can’t understand why you’re having this kind of reaction. You solved the problem. You hugged five huge, sweaty men to make up for it. That was a convincing distraction for testosterone-filled players who just won a match.

“Can you calm down? I do-”

“Maybe we should stop it already,” you suggest strongly, cutting him off as perturbation clearly clouds your judgement.

This throws him off. The idea didn’t cross his mind at all. He was just going to reprehend you to be mindful, not call off the agreement you two made.

He doesn’t mind it anymore - kissing you. Sometimes, they’re more enjoyable than he initially anticipated them to be. Most importantly, they’re harmless. They’re just meaningless kisses born out of what little attraction you two have for each other. No one is getting out of line. You don’t go beyond kissing. You both act like the deal doesn’t exist unless it’s just the two of you in your room.

That’s why he is willing to let your mistake go, apart from the fact that you were successful in covering it up.

But instead of contesting your suggestion, he says, “If you say so.”

Even though he’s accepted that kisses from you are allowable, if you want to back out from it, why the hell should he stop you?

“Right??” you persistently convince him even though he basically said yes already.

“Right,” he presses on as well to satisfy your apparent need for him to agree with you.

His answer effectively calms you down as you let go of his jacket and sigh a breath of relief. You swiftly regain composure and face him with your trademark sassiness. “Awesome,” you say with a reassured smile.

“You go ahead first so Coach won’t ask me to chew your ass for taking too long to get on the bus.”

“And you?”

“I’m the manager. I’m always the last to get on the freaking bus.”

He turns around and walks back to the bus. That’s strange. He thought you love taking advantage of every opportunity there is for you to pick on him. He might be wrong.

He can be sure about one thing though: you really are the manager who looks out for everyone, including him.

Maybe that’s why it bothers you so much. Above all else, you are their manager. So when you acted upon something other than such in the court, you lost your cool.

Oh well.

It’s not as if scrapping the deal off is a loss of any kind. He’s gained some sort of fun from it. That’s that. Nothing more. Nothing less.

Tsukishima knocks for the second time. He wouldn’t have bothered knocking since it’s your scheduled time to meet today, but he also doesn’t want to barge in without your permission. So he knocks again.

Sure enough, it opens this time. Yet, no one’s there to meet him.

“Tsukishima...”

His eyes drop further down to where your voice came from. You’re on your knees, your head faced down on the floor, and your arm reaching on the doorknob where your hand is latched onto.

What is it this time? What kind of antic will you throw his way? He waits for you to do something unearthly again, readying himself for anything you might surprise him with.

But nothing. You just stay where you are while he stands still.

You groan weakly and ask, “Did you not get my text?”

He slouches down and gets on your level, still not discarding the thought that you have a trick up your sleeve, and you’re waiting to spring it on him.

“What text?” He didn’t check his phone on the way here so he doesn’t know.

You lift your chin to face him while he anticipates your big reveal -- your comedic idea of the day -- but it doesn’t come. What greets him are your squinted eyes, almost beet red cheeks, and pale lips.

“Not today,” you struggle to say which comes out raspy and frail.

He instantly reaches for your forehead to confirm his speculation. His eyes widen with worry when his palm touches your skin. Even without a thermometer, he can confidently conclude that you’re sick. Not just sick, you’re burning with fever.

He looks behind you and sees your laptop open with a mug filled with brown streaks of fried liquid he can only assume to be coffee.

“Jesus Christ,” he hisses. You really won’t fucking stop at nothing even if you’re literally sick already.

He peels your hand off from the doorknob. He scoops your legs and waist with ease and stands up.

“H-Hey,” you protest. You’re gravely debilitated so you do not move at all aside from a hand feebly clutching his shirt for support. He kicks the door close and walks over to your bed.

“Do you have a fucking death wish, y/n?”

Even with his harsh tone, he’s extra careful to duck down from your top bunk because he’s too big for the damn thing. If he’s not mindful, he’ll surely bump his bed on the metal frame.

He delicately lies you down on your bed as he manages to sit beside you without hurting himself.

Your eyes are closed and your whole face screams of discomfort. Your mouth opens as you scuffle the words to come out.

“Go home. You’ll get...sick too. Game soon,” you whisper hoarsely.

As usual, you’re still thinking about the team. Is it always everything else before yourself? Don’t you really know how to take a fucking break? It’s an eyesore. Watching you slowly but surely deteriorate yourself is more taxing than handling your childish nonsense.

He’d love to give you an earful of his thoughts about your pressing behavior, but it’s not what you need to hear at the moment. “Who should I call to be here?” he asks instead.

You force your eyelids to open and look at him. “No one. I can take care of…,” you trail off as your eyes begin to flutter close again.

He can’t decide if it’s funny or foolish that you think you can take care of yourself when you can’t even finish your sentence. “Right,” he says, unable to help himself from sounding sarcastic despite your situation. It’s just so stupid how this easily could be avoided if you didn’t push yourself too hard.

He’s in no way responsible for you. He should just walk out like you said. You did this to yourself. There’s no reason for him to stay there.

Yet, he puts down his bag and takes off his jacket.

“Do you have a medicine kit?”

His question is no longer heard. You’re already passed out. He stands up and starts looking around your room for anything that resembles a first aid kit. If you do have one, you didn’t place it where someone can easily see it.

He sighs as he’s left with no choice but to go out and buy the stuff you need. He can’t possibly go through your things. It feels like an invasion of your privacy.

When he comes back from the pharmacy, he’s expecting that you’d ease up even a bit since you finally stopped working. But when he sits beside you again, he can see the same worrisome distraught wrinkling your pretty face.

Alt hough he doesn’t want to disturb you, he has to. He needs to feed you, get you to take medicine, wipe you with cool compress, chang e your clothes, then tuck you back in bed. After that, he still needs to stay to make sure your stubborn ass won’t get back to working once you feel a tiny bit better.

He feels all his facial muscles droop down at the amount of chores he needs to do for you. He really shouldn’t bother. He can just turn a blind eye and go home, leave you alone since you brought this upon yourself.

But there he is, tending to your needs for no substantive reason other than him being a decent person. Well, he’s already taken the first step, so screw it.

He can still work on his own uni requirements while he watches over you anyways.

Although you resisted a bit at first, your own lack of strength makes you give in to his attempt to cater to your sickly needs. The feeding and the medicine was an easy task. You were practically a lifeless doll and just went with whatever he tells you to do.

Now that he’s in your bathroom with a small basin of cool water and a small towel hanging on his shoulder, he contemplates on how to proceed with the next step: a sponge bath. He should just hand you the towel along with a new set of clothes, leave the room, then come back after a few minutes.

Because he is not doing it.

He won’t be undressing you and wiping your naked body. Just no. You should gather whatever energy you have left because you’ll be doing that all on your own.

He dips the towel in the basin and squeezes the excess water out of it. He puts the moist towel in a container and goes back to your bed.

“Hey, sit up for a bit.”

You groan softly, but does as you’re told. He puts the small plastic case with the towel on your bed and helps you get up. “I’ll get you a new set of clothes, then wipe yourself down,” he instructs you.

You let out one short hum of approval, so he goes to your drawers. He pulls the first shirt and bottoms he sees. As long as you have your blanket, it should be fine if you’re not wearing thick clothing.

When he turns around, he finds you holding the wet towel to your shoulder, completely still as you rest against the wall by your bed. You fell asleep with the towel soaking up your shirt.

“Crap,” he curses as he rushes back to you.

He places your fresh clothes to the side and hurriedly removes the towel off of you. He’s about to shake you back to consciousness but aborts his plan as soon as he touches your other shoulder.

You look like you really want to do it yourself as well. Even now, he can see minute movements from your fingers as if you’re still trying to follow his directions earlier.

Goddamn it. It’s really up to him now, isn’t it?

He glances at you one last time, thinking of another way out. If you hadn’t gotten your shirt wet, he would have ditched the sponge bath idea already. Now he’s left with no choice but to proceed with it.

Whatever. It’s just a human body for Christ’s sake. He shouldn’t be as alarmed as he currently is. He’s seen a female human body before. Yours should be no different.

He takes a deep breath and gently tugs up the shirt you’re wearing.

‘They’re just mammary glands,’ he repeats in his head but makes sure his eyes never land anywhere near the blob lump of fat on your chest.

He gets to work, brushing the cool towel starting on the sides of your face, then down to your neck. You must only be half-asleep because you lift your chin up a bit to allow him access to the column of your neck. He keeps his eyes on it as his hand travels down a bit further.

He spreads the coolness of the towel on your chest, but as soon as he feels a particular softness, drags his hands back up. With his hand still on your chest, he feels the pace of your breathing quicken a bit. When shoots his eyes up to your face, you’re already looking at him with dazed eyes and slightly agape mouth.

Beautiful. Too fucking beautiful for his liking.

It’s ridiculous. People are supposed to look like shit when they’re sick, not inviting.

A certain delicate temptation kicks in, urging him to back away a bit to reward himself with a quick sweep of your semi naked figure.

‘No,’ he grounds himself.

He’s not that barbaric. He’s not doing this so he has an excuse to ogle at you.

So why is he doing this?

With the turbulent thoughts reigning in his mind, he unknowingly squeezes the moist towel he’s holding against your skin.

The cool water drenching from his palm distracts him from his pondering. Reflex makes him look at his hand and involuntarily follows the slow trickle of water down the supple mount of flesh he’s been meaning to avoid looking at this whole time.

He realizes he’s been staring, but he’s too enthralled to stop. He lets his eyes wander further down, still watching how the droplet glides to your stomach. It gets absorbed by the fabric as it reaches down the waistband of your shorts.

The absence of the water he’s been trailing with his eyes snaps him out of his trance.

What the fuck is he doing?

He quickly moves on to your arms, patting your skin aggressively and haphazardly so he can finally get this cumbersome chore over with.

When you recover from this, he’s going to barrage you with a litany of fulmination on your self-destructive habits.

He’s supposed to wipe your thighs and legs too, but the idea is already tossed away as his train of thought is antagonizingly twisted today.

As fast as he can, he puts on the shirt he got for you. He was being gentle previously, but his priority at present is to cover up your exposed body away from his sight.

When he successfully clothes you, he gently lays you down again. He pulls the blanket to your shoulders and looks at your overall state.

You look a bit better now so he goes to your study table. He tidies up your stuff and puts them aside for him to set down his own.

Finally, he can get his shit done while he waits for your fever to go down.

He’s halfway through his elective course when he hears you whimper. He ignores it the first two times, but he hears it again louder the third time, he concludes something is wrong.

When he gets to your bed, you’re shivering frantically even with your blanket covering your whole body. He quickly searches for another one and piles it over the one you already have.

It only lessens your trembling but it’s still there. Your pretty face is still ruffled with unease. He touches your arm and finds out that you’re shaking way worse than you look.

In just seconds, he slips inside the blankets and draws you in to provide you the body heat you might need. You desperately cling onto him, pressing your body to share what he silently offered. Your fingers that are clutching the back of his shirt are quivering. You sink your face on his chest with agitation, badly in need for an additional source of warmth.

His displeasure towards your self-negligence dwindles when he feels your trembling body against his. Yes, this might be your fault, but he’s certain you hate this more than he does. Not only are you in pain, but you probably see this as a waste of your valuable time. You brought this upon yourself, but you don’t deserve it.

He encases his arm on your waist and tugs you even closer. He lowers his body a bit and gently nestles your face on his neck so you can feel the direct warmth of his skin on your cheeks.

Within a few minutes, you begin to relax within his embrace. The tremors become less and less until your fingers on his shirt loosen up.

You faintly pull back to look at him. “Sorry, Tsukki,” you mumble groggily with forlorn eyes.

“Shut up,” he utters without any trace of hostility as he cups the back of your head and buries your face on his neck again.

Your grip on him slackens but you don’t let go. You ease into him with your breathing getting even and your heart beating softly against his chest. When your chills completely fade away, he’s left with nothing but the softness of your body within the confines of his touch.

He becomes more aware of your bodies tangled against each other now that you’re completely still. The plumpness of your breasts are pinned on him. Your ample lips are grazing his neck. His pinky and ring fingers are hovering just below your spine, almost touching the curve of your behind.

To make things worse, you begin letting out small moans of succor which he can hear only because you’re too close.

He should be immune to this. He’s already had his fair share of kisses with you and sometimes, it involves a lot of touching. However, it is never as intimate as this. The furthest you two have gone was when he slipped a hand underneath your shirt before your friend barged in.

Before today, he had never seen your bare body. He had never held you to the point that almost your every curve melds with his. He has never thought about what it’d be like to do more than just making out. Only now when you’re not even doing so.

He considers himself a level-headed person driven by logic and rationality, but for crying out loud, your thigh is nudging on his crotch as if challenging his self-control.

As much as he wants to keep himself in check, his own body betrays him when his dick starts to nudge back at your right thigh.

‘Breathe in, breathe out,’ he reminds himself repeatedly to calm himself down.

“Hmmm,” you snuggle even more on his neck, your moist lips tracing his skin before you press it on him as you relax even further.

Fuck.

The shameful tent in his pants is becoming painful on his jeans as his imagination runs wild. How will you sound if it's the other way around, if it's his lips that’s traveling on your neck? How will you react if it’s his palms kneading the supple flesh pressed against his chest right now? Would you blush a deeper shade of red than the one you’re wearing if he slams his…

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

He can’t decide who is more sick: you or him, who’s lusting over you despite your situation. His plan to chastise you for your own inattentiveness for your own health is back in action. He’ll make sure it's ingrained into that irresponsible, beautiful head of yours.

To distract himself from his inane fantasies, he forces himself to recall the scientific names of all the reptile species he’s aware of. And when he’s exhausted his mental list, he moves on to whatever animal species he can think of until he dozes off with you.

You haven’t opened your eyes yet, but as you regain consciousness, you can tell that you had an amazing nap. For the first time, you reap the benefits of a power nap. It feels like you slept for a complete eight hours or even more. You no longer feel sick. You celebrate the after effects of the nap, stretching your legs before you get up.

You look out your window and see that the light is still a dark shade of blue so you still have the whole evening to finish what you need to do.

When you turn your glance to your table, Tsukishima’s seated on the floor with his laptop in front of him.

Why is Tsukishima here? You texted him and called off your meeting today.

Something’s off.

You don’t really remember going to bed. You just remember doing one of your subjects when you heard someone knock.

“Tsukishima,” you call his attention urgently.

He turns to you, but you can’t see his eyes from the light reflecting on his glasses from his screen. “What time is it?”

He looks back to his laptop. “It’s 5 am.”

What?!

You didn’t take a nap. You fucking slept. A more horrid realization comes to you when you remember what happened before you did. You passed out and Tsukishima fixed you up.

Shit! He’s been telling you all the time to stop overworking yourself and he had to be there and clean up the mess you did to yourself.

You panic when he sits beside you. You sit properly, hands on your lap, pressed lips, eyes on the floor as you prepare yourself for a long, tedious arduous lecture from the blonde.

“Hey.”

You slowly turn towards him, anticipating the slew of curses about to unroll from him.

“Y-yes?”

You keep your eyes leveled on his chest, embarrassed of yourself for burdening him with your unwell ass.

Instead of speaking, he inserts a thermometer in your mouth, causing you to shoot your gaze up to him. Neither of you say anything and just hold each other’s stare until the thermometer beeps.

He takes it out of your mouth and checks your temperature.

“You’re okay now,” he announces, then starts getting ready to leave. “Don’t bother coming to training later or else I’ll tell Coach that I caught you extremely sick,” he threatens nonchalantly.

Your mind is running laps on how to process everything all at once, but you decide to deal with the most pressing one.

“Uhhhh..”

He glances at you, silently waiting for what you’re going to say, but you only gape at him as well.

What were you going to say again? Shit, you actually can’t remember what it is.

He disregards your quietness and proceeds to your door. “You should just stay in. One day of missing classes won’t cost you your scholarship,” he says before he closes the door behind him.

“Wait.”

He’s gone. It’s only then you remember you wanted to say thanks.

When you come back to the gym two days after, everyone expresses their worry about you. You assure them that you’re completely fine now. Even with the love and concern you are showered with, your eyes scan for someone who isn’t among the players in front of you.

There he is, dribbling the ball and is about to do a jump serve. Just before he tosses the ball in the air, he looks at your direction.

“Y/n?” Kogane’s voice pulls you back to them.

“What was that?” you ask because you didn’t hear whatever they were saying.

“He was asking if you’re really okay now,” Eiji says.

You nod enthusiastically. “So stop wasting your training time on me and practice instead,” you say with cheerful authority that they’re very pleased to hear again.

Once the crowd disperses, you spring your way to the middle blocker who didn’t welcome you back.

“Hello!” you greet him sprightly.

“What?” he asks with a bored tone.

You step closer to him for the next thing you’re going to say is for his ears only. “I really appreciate what you did the other day.”

Tsukishima sees the earnest, grateful expression on your face, but what grips his attention is how refreshed you look. You look brighter than you usually do.

He was almost sure that you were going to ignore what he said about going absent on both in classes and in here, but you seem to have taken his advice with how well-rested you are.

But most of all, he didn’t expect you’d bring it up during your working hours. Neither of you talks about what happens in private when you’re the ‘Sendai Frogs’ manager,’ not his classmate, or occasional kiss-buddy .

“I don’t,” he responds vacuously to your thankful sentiment. It was a very tough night for him. When he woke up, his erection was still raging through his pants. As undignified as it was, he got himself off in your comfort room just to ease the unbearable sexual tension that was still there in the morning.

As usual, you don’t take offense from his sour remark. You chuckle whole-heartedly and pat him hard on his shoulders. “Of course you don’t,” you say mirthfully before you walk over to Coach Mira.

It was a very tough night you made him endure, but he’s relieved to see you back on your feet.

The team is going to the fourth match of the regular rounds. Three more after this and you get the chance to have a game from the bottom two teams from Division 1.

As you and the team march towards the court, you hear someone call Tsukishima.

“Tsukki!”

You look at whoever it is and stop when you see Kotarou Bokuto, the wing spiker of MSBY Jackals, crazy energy on court, super clean line shot.

He’s waving energetically at Tsukishima while the latter just nods at him. You grab Tsukki by his shirt and stop him from advancing any further.

“You guys go ahead. We’ll be there in a sec,” you tell Kogane who’s the person in front of you. He nods at you then walks off with the rest of the team.

“Why did we stop?” Tsukishima asks with a frown.

“How do you know Bokuto?” you ask.

“I used to train with him during high school,” he says like it’s nothing because to him it really is not a big deal. Bokuto and Kuroo practically coerced him to join their free practices when he already wanted to call it a day. Training with them was a drag - a drag that pushed him to become a better blocker.

Among the four of them who regularly practiced in the third gym, it was him and Bokuto who went professional. Even if the wing spiker is in a higher division, he still sees Bokuto as the same person who told him it only takes one hit to be hooked on the sport. Bokuto just got better at it.

Other than that, he still seems like the silly guy Tsukishima knows him to be.

“Can you introduce me?” you say as you try to hide the zeal in your eyes, but horribly failing to do so.

“Shouldn’t I go warm up?” he counters instead of responding to your question.

“I promise to be very nice to you in the three succeeding training days. Introduce me, please, ” you beseech graciously at him, insistent on meeting the athlete.

“Make it five days,” he tests to see your conviction.

But you easily agree, “Deal!”

Seeing that you won’t let this go easily, he thinks it would be better to just give you what you want.

You both walk over to where Bokuto is. Beside him is another part of the third gym, Kuroo, who’s now the official promoter of the Volleyball Association.

“Hey hey hey, Tsukki!”

“Hey,” the lack of enthusiasm in his response totally contrasts Bokuto’s. “This is-“

“Hi!! I’m Y/n, Tsukishima’s manager,” you cut him off which makes him jolt. Why even bother asking him to introduce when you’re more than capable of doing it yourself?

You grab Bokuto’s hand and shake it vigorously. “It’s such a pleasure to meet you,” you dramatically state, your eyes twinkling with idolatry.

Bokuto, as expected, is exceedingly glad from the adoration. He uses his two hands to shake yours and reciprocate the same energy you gave him.

“I’m such a huge fan. Personally, you’re my favorite player from Division 1. I don’t care what others say. That chest bump. Flawless save!” you drag on, endlessly showering the spiker with compliments which Bokuto is totally eating up.

He’s egging you up even more by constantly nodding, laughing, and agreeing in everything you’re saying.

Meanwhile, Kuroo and Tsukishima are just standing there watching the whole exchange.

“I’m sorry if this is a stretch, but can I hug you?” you ask almost like a tame puppy.

He’s been disregarding the entire conversation, but really? A hug? Have you no shame? Not that he cares but should you be ogling at another athlete when you’re wearing the uniform of Sendai Frogs?

Great. Go worship a big brawny dude from Division 1 minutes before your own team’s game. How thoughtless.

He imagined it would be a civil hug but then you open your arms to Bokuto and envelop him in the warmest hug he’s ever seen you give. His eyes drop to Bokuto’s limbs which are ensnared around your waist as the spiker hauls you closer to his body.

How imprudent. It was a mistake bringing you to Bokuto. You should have known it’s unwise to mix up your personal agenda with your work. You should have known that it was better if you just ignored Bokuto and made him warm up, than make him introduce you to your favorite player.

What is wrong with you?

Kuroo’s attention slips from you to Tsukishima’s change of demeanor. Tsukishima is usually unbothered, but as soon as you embraced Bokuto, Tsukishima’s mood became sour. It is an amusing sight to watch.

He never thought Tsukishima would associate himself with an individual as lively as you. But who could blame him?

He, himself, has just been watching since you fanned the ego of his old buddy. You have not graced him even a glance since you approached them. Your eyes were all set on Bokuto. You’re probably not aware that another presence is also there.

So he’ll make you be aware.

“Ehem,” he clears his throat to grab your attention, which works as you shift your gaze from Bokuto to him. “Hello,” he flashes you the best smile he has, but has no effect whatsoever at you.

The difference in treatment is drastic. While you revere Bokuto with adoration, you regard him like a nuisance. It’s not that palpable, but it’s there. You look at him like he’s an obligation to deal with.

Your smile is rehearsed and so is the cheerful “Hi” that you give him.

“Kuroo Tetsurou,” he introduces as he offers his hand. You take without hesitation, firmly gripping his extended hand for a brisk, professional handshake.

“Y/n, manager of the Sendai Frogs,” you respond in an amicable, yet refined manner. He gets his business card from his pocket and hands it to you.

“So, Miss Manager, how are the Frogs doing?” he asks to strike up a conversation.

You scrutinize his business card for a quick while then pockets it. “I believe as their manager, I, myself, represent the team more than my words can. So what do you say, Mr. Promoter?” The professionalism chips off and reveals a real slice of you - sly and mischievous, as you compose your stature and put a hand on your hip, accentuating your curves.

He crosses his arms as he eyes you from head to toe without any reservation, then back up again.

“I say the Sendai Frogs are looking hot this season,” he says with his own grin that’s just as devious as yours.

“There’s your answer then,” you give him a wink that almost makes his heart flutter.

‘Geez, lady. Take it easy on unsuspecting men,’ he thinks to himself but easily recovers as his grin spreads out.

“Oy, we should be getting back,” Tsukishima says, breaking Kuroo’s trance towards you. You snap out of it as well, agreeing with Tsukishima as you give the blonde a nod.

“It’s so nice to really meet you, Bokuto,” you tell Bokuto before turning around. Even though you’re treating Kuroo as if he doesn’t exist, he can’t help but be intrigued even more by you.

“Bye, y/n,” he says a bit loudly for you to hear since you’re already a few steps away from them.

You’re about to look back but Tsukishima puts a hand on your shoulders and starts talking to you. Kuroo would have disregarded it, but he doesn’t miss the quick glare Tsukishima throws at Kuroo and Bokuto. What’s even more eye-catching is how Tsukishima’s hand travels down a bit on your back.

You don’t take notice of it though. It might because you’re preoccupied or because you genuinely don’t mind. But for Tsukishima to do so, it’s a different story altogether.

“Hey Bokuto, did you see that?” he turns to his friend.

“Uh huh. She’s so pretty!” Bokuto squawks out, obviously not catching what Kuroo did. Kuroo just lets it go since it wouldn’t really do much even if he tries to explain. He looks back at you and agrees with Bokuto instead.

“Yeah, very pretty.”

Even though you’re the one who broke off the deal, you still feel the urge to kiss Tsukishima at times. He does too. You notice the way he glances at you briefly then returns to his work as soon you catch him.

It’s not awkward. There’s none of the tension-filled air, probably because you’re both aware that the impulse is there. You just silently agreed to dismiss it.

It’s all good though. It’s for the best. You don’t want another slip-up like the one from the Jaguars’ match. What’s weird is that even though you’re no longer making out, it feels like nothing has changed.

You still sit beside him. He still lets you lean on him. He still lets out nasty side comments but he’s not as rancorous as they used to be.

“You’re spacing out again,” he points out.

“That’s cause I’m done, Tsukishima,” you counter immediately while still gazing at your window across you. “Anyways, I’m gonna nap,” you announce.

He stops typing and looks at you. That’s weird. He’s always the one strenuously suggesting that you take a break when you’re feeling tired. What gives?

“Are you sick?” A bubble of unwarranted concern rises within him from your sudden inclination to take a nap.

“Oh, no. But I’m going to a party later so I need to recharge a bit.” You head to your bed and start straightening out the crumpled bedsheets.

Party? Are you out of your fucking mind? You could rest instead, make the most out of the night by catching up on sleep. But you’d rather attend a pointless party? Here he thought you were being thoughtful of your own health.

Not to mention, there might be perverts getting their hands all over you again. Obviously you can protect yourself, but wouldn’t you prefer not having one ogling and harassing you?

“Mind enlightening me how a vomit-smelling gathering is of any benefit to you?”

“Mind enlightening why it’s any of your business?” you retort instantly.

“It’s not,” he responds just as swiftly. “I’m just curious because I honestly don’t get it,” he says calmly. If you want to go to the damned party, then by all means. He really doesn’t care what you do with your free time.

“If you’re so worried, Tsukishima, you’re very welcome to come,” you tell him, mockery dripping from your invitation.

“I’d rather not,” he says dryly.

You shrug as you slip under your blanket. “Lock the door when you leave.”

“Unbelievable,” he mutters.

‘Truly unbelievable,’ he tells himself again as the smell of cigarette and alcohol tickles his nostrils while he sits at the bar, mulling over whatever the hell possessed him to come there.

It definitely isn’t because of you.

He’s not looking for you either nor is he worried about you.

It’s worse than he remembers. There are more people than last time and the music is banging on his eardrums.

“Are you getting anything?” the bartender asks him.

Although he absolutely detests alcohol, he feels like punishing himself tonight for lack of better judgment in coming there.

“Your worst drink.”

Even though you slept that afternoon, you still don’t plan on staying out too long for the party. You just wanted to catch up with some uni friends and instead of meeting them all one by one, it would be efficient if you attend this party and meet them all at once.

Although you would prefer if you just slept or watched a documentary, you think it’s necessary for you to be here. You almost don’t have any time to spend with friends. This might be your last chance to do so since it’s almost graduation.

As usual, you avoid drinking since you hate dealing with hangovers. You learned that the hard way when you had to keep up with who’s scoring points in an official match while an invisible hammer pounds your head.

So, despite the endless free shots given to you, you persistently decline. You also did not pay much attention to the dance floor to save your energy.

After a while of talking to everyone you know, you look around to check if you missed anyone. That’s when you catch a glimpse of a familiar blonde slouching by the bar.

‘ No. It’s not possible ,’ you say to yourself but you’re already smiling hard as you saunter to where he is. It’s very unlikely that it’s him but on the rare chance that he is, you’re not going to let it slip by.

He’s facing down his glass which is joined by two empty shot glasses. You lean back with both your elbows on the counter.

“You new here?” you playfully ask. If it’s not who you think it is, you’ll just dance awkwardly to throw him off.

“I actually am,” he says as he encircles the rim of his glass with his index finger. Then he raises his face to turn to you.

When he reveals his face, you confirm that it is indeed Tsukishima, but at the same time, he looks nothing like his usual self.

The tips of his ears up to his neck are burning red while his eyes are dazed like you’ve never seen them before. But that’s not the weirdest thing.

He’s smiling. He’s fucking smiling like a happy idiot.

“Tsukishima?” you ask him for confirmation in any case that it’s just someone who looks extremely like him.

“Hmmm?” he asks with a little bit of a slur that throws you off.

As if you’re not astounded enough by the scene unfolding before you, he grabs you by the waist and lugs you until you’re situated between his thighs.

“Who did you think it was, manager?”

Part 5 || Part 7 || masterlist

taglist (those crossed out can’t be tagged)

@ameliaxo @suikrem @akaashisslave @tsumurai @loving-unicorns106 @flairlust @geektastic84 @anaiss97 @berna-dette @just4readingfics @suteorra @xxekitten69xx @simp4tsukkii @music-is-all-i-need @keshinslittlegirl @raspberrysunshinebby @iminlovewhaikyuu @pdiddy11 @lightyagamami @sailorscout1902 @lovershaikyuu @expectonothinfromme @finnydraws @namelessidentity @hqbeesun @yatoatyourservice @mrkozume @suzuyamitsuki @celestialarchiveshq @yongboxerrr @gomenpudding @kutiekoge @fizzfrick @flamingosis @korean-bbq @ihaterainbowsprinkles @red-lint @backtonormalthings @borpcorp @lonelyheartxn

#tsukishima x reader #tsukishima smut #tsukishima fluff #tsukishima angst #haikyuu x reader

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thosewickedlovelies · 4 years

Text

AND THEY WERE WALLMATES: The Day Off (a post-series part 7)

Pairing: Javier Peña x F!Reader

Rating: E for so Explicit lmao

Summary: Remember when Javi wondered if you heard him masturbate through the wall? 👀

Tags: SMUT; f masturbation; voyeurism?; fingering; oral (f receiving); dom-ish!Javi but he’s soft at the end

Word Count: 3,309

A/N: I’m so sorry that this is not part 6, but uh have some alternative smut? <3

Also known as the masturbation scene I’ve been talking about, this scene takes place post-series because I just can’t get these two out of my head.

Masterlist

It’s a cloudy day in the city and the air is thick, crackling with energy, a slow-building storm borne in on a mischievous breeze. Despite this, you have the windows thrown open to hear the distant rumbles of thunder. The twisting air makes you restless, and you glance at your bed, wishing Javi were here.

You have the day off, but as it’s a weekday, you’re not expecting to see him until well after business hours. A giddy bubble still swells in your chest at the idea that you can indeed now expect to see him, rather than just hope to run into him in the hall.

You and Javier have been “together” for several months now. He is infuriating and fascinating and above all, careful- so while you’re both prone to wandering over to each other’s apartments when you’re bored, you’re also perfectly content to take things as slowly as he prefers.

Your gaze wanders over to the bed again. Biting your lip, you think of how Javi often uses ‘slow’ to mean ‘thorough’. When he has the energy, that man can work on you for hours, taking you apart piece by methodological piece. Nothing escapes his attention- not the slightest tremor of interest in something he hasn’t done to you yet.

Your breathing deepens as you stand there in your bedroom, thoughts steadily spiraling around Javier. You didn’t have any serious plans for the day, you’d just been puttering about doing some cleaning-

You give in.

You set aside what you’d been doing and go to wash your hands. When you return, you strip off your pants and flounce into bed. Warm air wraps around you from the open window. A closer roll of thunder makes you look to the sky, and you feel an electric, taboo shiver wash over you at the idea that you’re about to masturbate in broad daylight, with the window wide open.

But you grin as you nestle into your comforter. And why shouldn’t you? Better to do it now, while everyone nearby is out at work, than force yourself to be quiet at night.

Not that Javier is very helpful in that regard, you reflect wryly. Plus, you’d hardly had need to touch yourself since you’d started sleeping together. But sometimes a little you-time is nice, even if you have a regular partner, so you run your hands up your thighs and belly, intending to take your time…

Unbeknownst to you, Javier isn’t at work either. He’s at home, in fact- rifling through his closet, bedroom window flung open at this rare opportunity to air the place out. Rainy days make him edgy, but with things on standby at the office, they’d sent him home.

He’s just considering taking a smoke break when he hears it: muted and soft, but unmistakably a moan. His head whips toward the wall.

He remains frozen in place, ears straining, until the next thing he hears. “Fuck, Javier.” Slightly louder, and his head turns to the window.

Are you…home right now? Thinking of him while you-? Weather forgotten, Javi silently scrambles closer to the window, heart pounding as hard as if he were out on a bust. Now that he’s listening, he hears more: the faint but utterly recognizable creak of your bed frame, the rustle of sheets. The vocal sighs you make that usually tell him he’s successfully seduced you.

Before Javier evens registers what he’s doing he’s crept into the hall and is retrieving your spare key from where you’d mentioned you keep it. He moves as quietly as he can- which, given his DEA training (and the fact that putting on shoes hadn’t even crossed his mind), is damn near silent. Especially to anyone not anticipating visitors.

The way to your bedroom is one he’s traveled countless times now. Drawn by the alluring sounds you’re making, he has to remind himself that you don’t know he’s coming, that he can’t just barge in.

Finally Javi reaches your half-open door- and the breath leaves his lungs at the sight before him.

He almost doesn’t want to stop you. Legs splayed, hips rocking steadily into your own hand, the other clutching the hem of the t-shirt you still wear. Your head is thrown back against the pillow.

“Javi, please,” you pant dreamily, eyes closed, lost in your fantasy.

Well, he can hardly deny such a request. Javier licks his lips. “Yes, Vecinita?”

Your eyes fly open and you squeak in shock at the sight of him, your body instinctively retreating from the unexpected presence in your doorway. Your thighs snap shut, but not before he’s caught a glimpse of what was between them. The evidence of your activities gleams on your fingers where they yank the t-shirt down.

“Javi!” You swallow hard. Your muscles relax as you recognize him, but you maintain your expression of wary confusion. “What are you doing here?”

His own posture is as casual as they come. Hands in his pockets, he strolls just a few steps further into the room.

“Heard you say my name,” Javier murmurs. He runs his gaze over you, languidly, like he’s got all the time in the world. Which he does, he supposes- it’s the middle of the day, and it would appear that neither of you have anywhere to be.

“Thought you might want some help.” When he looks back at your face, a subtle intrigue has joined the surprise there. Your eyes track him up and down in contemplation as he moves closer.

At last you lapse your protective position, stretching yourself out again and parting your legs slightly. You look at him from under your lashes. “I love having your help, Javier.”

You still use his full name sometimes. He usually prefers his friends call him ‘Javi' (or ‘Penita’ if they must)- it’s the farthest thing from the curt ‘Peña’ he’s forced to be at work- but he finds himself unwilling to say anything every time he gets a tiny jolt at the affectionate way your mouth curls around ‘Javier’.

“Then why…” he stalks up to you on the bed, his movements decidedly predatory. “…did you start without me? Hmm, preciosa?”

The mattress dips beneath his hand as he leans over you, while the other gently cradles your cheek, stroking it with his thumb. You can’t help but turn your cheek into his palm; but Javi loves the way you shift further onto your back as he approaches, your whole body stilling under his commanding presence. He knows it’s not fear- it’s pure instinct, the way you arrange yourself for him, every muscle quivering in anticipation.

“I didn’t think you were home.” An excuse delivered with honest innocence. But your pupils dilate; your chin tips infinitesimally upward, your body’s every message communicating submission.

“Well then.” Javier leans down further so he can press his lips to yours, teasing them open with his tongue. Your limbs loosen, melting into the mattress the longer he draws out the kiss. You’re both breathless by the time he pulls away.

“Don’t let me interrupt,” he whispers. Turning away from you, Javi grabs your desk chair and perches at the foot of the bed, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees.

“…what?” All he’s done is kiss you and you already look consumed, eyes hazy with desire, lips parted expectantly.

Javi feels a prickle of pride at the effect he has on you, the curve of his lips revealing a hint of smugness. “You heard me.” He jerks his chin to the apex of your thighs, where only a tantalizing peek of what he wants is visible. “I want to know what you were thinking about. What you were begging me to do.”

Almost of its own accord, his voice deepens to the gravely rumble it takes on during interrogations.

He’s pleased to see the quickening rise and fall of your chest, the not-quite-trepidation in your wide eyes. He reaches out to rest his his palm on your ankle.

Once you’d gotten over the shock of Javi’s unexpected appearance in your bedroom, you’d been excited. Coyly responding to what you thought had been an offer of assistance.

But then.

Then you’d heard that voice- that husky rasp, like his control was already half-gone. Which was also incorrect, you realize now, as you stare at him seated at the foot of your bed. Waiting. Watching you with those dark, penetrating eyes, half-shrouded by the turbulent light coming through the window behind him.

You shift slightly, aligning your body toward him. Still processing, but by no means saying no.

“You alright, Vecinita? Sounded like you were pretty close before I walked in.” Javier tips his head in a taunting smirk.

Your cheeks flame. You had been close, it’s true, and under his scrutiny now your body burns even hotter. It’s mortifying, electrifying, entirely more than you’ve ever experienced all at once.

You’ve never done this with him before. You’d guided his touch, yes, shown him what you liked, but never blatantly put on a show like he’s suggesting.

But you swear the heat of Javi's caress on your ankle crawls all the way up to your core. Possibly you should be embarrassed that such a tiny touch from him can provoke such a reaction, but all you feel is exhilarated, impossibly aroused by what you’re about to do.

Holding his gaze, you part your legs. Javier’s focus immediately drops. His attention is excruciating, but you slide one hand down and then back up your inner thigh, teasing. Your free hand grips your shirt again as you glide your fingers into your folds.

You think both of you might moan. Your head drops back on the pillow. “Javier,” you gasp, circling your clit.

“Tell me, Vecinita.” It sounds like the chair shifts.

“Fuck, Javi, wish it was your fingers.” You can barely get the words out, despite that he’s heard you say far filthier things under his influence. Already you’re even closer than before Javi’s arrival had stopped you, the muscles of your abdomen almost painfully tense.

If Javi responds to your cries, you don’t hear it. But you don’t need to. Even with your eyes squeezed shut, you’re aware of him, a smoldering presence mere feet away from you. Fueling your own fire, an inferno burning brighter and brighter until-

You keen helplessly as the tension implodes, hips bucking, blissful relief rippling through you. You know that just Javier’s presence makes it better than if you’d still been alone, but your own fingers don’t feel nearly as effective after having his taking care of you for so long.

As you come down, you dare to look at him.

“Feel better, preciosa?” Javi is still smirking at you, but there’s something hollow in it now. His eyes rake over you with barely concealed hunger, his hand on your ankle gripping tightly.

When his gaze lands between your spread legs, you feel it as viscerally as any physical touch. Your floor muscles clench.

Abruptly Javi stands. “Take that off,” he orders, jerking his chin toward where your nipples are peaked beneath your stretched taut t-shirt.

Agitated air currents billow over you at his movement, raising shivery goosebumps on your naked flesh. But the feeling of exposure only lasts until the bed dips at your feet, and then Javier is crawling up your body, still fully clothed. The purposeful intent on his face makes your breath catch. He kisses you hard, but when your hands go to the buttons of his shirt he snarls.

He takes your wrists in one broad hand and pins them above your head. His hips crowd into the space between your thighs, and the weight of him settling against your body makes you whine high in your throat.

“I’m not done with you yet, Vecinita.” Javi's voice is deceptively soft. “Now that I know what you imagine me doing to you…” his hand releases your wrists and slides slowly down your skin, over every curve and contour of you. “…I intend to make it a reality.”

Javier shimmies to the side just far enough to slip his fingers between your legs.

Pleasure erupts at the press of his callused fingers, tearing a moan from your chest.

Javi groans in satisfaction at the slickness he finds, greedily working it from its source up to your clit, following the same path your own fingers had taken mere moments earlier. Sweat prickles your hairline. You shudder as he flaunts his intimate familiarity with your body.

“Vecinita.” Javi’s face is as close to yours as possible for him to still be able to watch your expressions. You look up at his insistent tone- just as he sinks two fingers into you.

The breath punches out of you as your muscles seize.

“My job now,” Javier tells you.

His fingers curl inside you, beckoning like his bedroom eyes. Brown locks fall over his forehead as he unconsciously ruts into you in time with his ministrations. You tilt your hips into his hand, and only Javi’s mouth on yours muffles your moans as he grinds the heel of his palm against your clit. He murmurs, hushed and awestruck, as you fuck yourself against his hand.

“That’s it, preciosa.” Bliss rolls through you, unwavering as a rising tide. You’re helpless against the force of it, tingling and surging up your legs, pressure expanding between your hips-

You come. Devastatingly hard, the weight of Javier’s body the only thing keeping you steady as you lose all sense of self to the blinding pleasure wracking your limbs. He works you through it, wringing every last spasm out of you until your cries fade.

But his movements don’t quite stop. His fingers still achingly slowly, his palm remaining an exquisitely careful pressure on your clit. You can’t seem to catch your breath- you’re so acutely aware of it, like you’re an engine left idling and Javi is keeping his hand on the throttle.

He brushes kisses over your face. His lips place softly on your brow, your nose, your cheek- until lingering at the sensitive skin beneath your ear.

“What else do you think of me doing to you?” The words seem to strike sparks along your bones. You inhale sharply at his implications. “Hmm? I can’t give it to you if you don’t tell me.”

God, what has gotten into him today? Simultaneously demanding and acquiescent, Javier’s voice is an insidious echo in your head. He twists his torso back and forth so his shirt scrapes against your nipples. You almost yelp as your reply bursts out of you.

“Your mouth! Your tongue. On my…” you trail off as he drags said tongue down your neck, doubtless tasting the sweat he’s worked you into.

“On your…?” Javi exhales on the damp streak he leaves, and goosebumps spring up at the cool sensation.

“You know where.” It’s a near-whisper. The place where you’re still stretched around him. Where the slightest shift of his wrist makes you tense.

You feel his smile as Javi plants a last kiss on your collarbone. He makes a sound somewhere between a sigh and growl as he works his way down your body, pausing only to nuzzle and nip at your breasts.

Thunder rumbles outside, closer and louder than it had been. You close your eyes at the sound, letting it wash over you like your partner's leisurely devotions. You can only relax so much, however, as your anticipation grows the further south Javier travels…until the flat of his tongue envelopes your clit.

You can sense his satisfaction at your choked whimper. Immediately he has to hold your hips in place to prevent them lifting off the bed as everything in you tightens again. Torturous slowly, his tongue moves, tracing every ridge and fold of your heat with meticulous care. Your thighs tremble.

“Fuuuuck.” It’s nearly a sob, your breathing ragged.

You swear Javi laughs, a smug wheeze in the back of his throat, and it’s as his tongue probes your entrance that you remember his fingers are still inside you. He spreads them so his tongue can slip into the gap, and the complementary sensations all in one place have stars wheeling behind your eyes. Javi definitely chuckles then, a vibration you can feel against your sex, and then his mouth returns to your clit.

His lips, tongue, and fingers move with a single-minded purpose. There’s no holding back any of the sounds you’re making now, salacious moans spilling out of you, an obscene babble of pleas and praise. Javier breathes encouragement between your thighs. You glance down briefly while his eyes are closed in concentration, wholly focused on his task.

Your head spins. Already familiar tremors pull your muscles taut, Javi’s sweet, relentless attention breaking you down more rapidly than you thought possible. You’re going to come again, you know, long before it’s about to occur. You tell him, beg him not to stop, your release bearing down on you from across an endless distance.

This one shatters you. Your spine bows with the contraction of your muscles, pieces of you scattering far and wide as you splay back against the mattress. You surrender to the ecstasy barreling through you, barely noticing Javi’s wide brown eyes watching with rapt attention.

He brings you down properly this time, gradually, until the aftershocks fade and you’re squirming away from him. You remain sprawled how you are, limp and sated, as Javier crawls back up to you.

His lips touch your cheek. “Preciosa? Vecinita. You okay?” He sounds almost worried.

A breathless laugh huffs out of you. You lazily turn your head toward him, finally opening your eyes.

“I’m fine, Javi. More than.” You smile warmly, gratefully at him.

His eyes crinkle in response. “C’mere,” he says, relieved, gathering you into his arms.

You snuggle up to him willingly, humming in contentment. The thought drifts through your mind that now it would be nice for him to be wearing less clothing. But it doesn’t stop you from drowsing into his warmth as he strokes a soothing hand over you hair and back. After several long minutes, you find the energy to speak.

“So…what was that?”

Javi doesn’t respond for several more moments, pressing his lips to your forehead as he thinks. Or maybe stalls.

“I…don’t know,” he admits, sounding sheepish. “…was it okay?”

“Mmm,” you affirm. You lift your head just enough to plant a kiss between Javi’s rumpled, parted lapels. “Very okay.” You can't help the faint heat in your cheeks, even though it's silly to blush at the admittance given everything you had just let him do.

“Good.” Javier squeezes you tighter. “because I meant it. Your pleasure is my pleasure, Vecinita.”

Surprised, you look up at him. He returns your gaze steadily, his sincerity clearly visible even as he watches carefully for your reaction.

You may be talking about sex, but this is a declaration of sorts, for Javi. Hauling yourself up onto one elbow, you place your other hand on his cheek and press your lips to his. You let your affection surge forth, kissing him deeply and insistently, trying to convey without words how dearly you regard him.

You think he understands. He cradles the back of your neck, clutching you to him as the urgency of the embrace crests.

Both of your grips relax naturally after that. He sighs into your mouth as you release him, but doesn’t let you move from where you’re half laying across him.

“Stay,” Javi murmurs, draping his arms over your back. His eyes drift closed.

Happily, you indulge. You tuck your nose into his neck and breathe him in, already feeling sleep cloud your mind.

Soft as a shush, rain begins to fall.

Fic Taglist: @din-damn-djarin, @thirstworldproblemss, @remembertoreadthese, @knightowl247, @pamguini, @piscespussybabe, @chibi-liz05, @dragons-of-the-usa, @bethanysboooks, @layniapetrovnaaa, @1800-fight-me, @finnisrioting (your tag wouldn't work), @sarahjkl82-blog

#javier peña x reader #javier peña x you #narcos fic #narcos #javier peña #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters

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laufire · 3 years

Text

I was tagged by @wisteria-lodge (ty!)

The Game: List the first lines of your last 20 stories (if you have less than 20, just list them all!). See if there are any patterns. Choose your favourite opening line. Then tag some authors!

I went with the last 20 saved (well, edited) documents in my WIPs folder.

tagging: @elasticella @missbrunettebarbie @bebewrites @bombshellsandbluebells @punishandenslavesuckers @anghraine @toboldlywrite @sienarosso @grapecase and whoever else feels like giving it a go, just drop a mention so I see it ^-^

1. Castiel didn’t come to the decision easily; it shamed him to say that it had been, in no small part, a question of pride. (SPN. pre-s4 canon-divergence AU. The idea was inspired by this anon’s prompt).

2. A man in a trench coat had lurked on the corner of his eye all day; now, he waited for Dean outside his motel’s room. (SPN. This one was also inspired by an anon’s prompt (smh); it’s a Meg and Castiel role reversal AU, so now I have a whole ‘verse in my head with demon!Castiel and angel!Meg and how they’d fit in the story, meet the Winchesters, etc.).

3. Sometimes Bela indulged in the thought that the worst thing about Hell was the tedium, the rutine and repetition of the day to day; but then, the torture started. (SPN. My “Castiel gets Bela out of Hell” AU).

---

5. In the upcoming days, Silver will work hard to forget this truth: when he dared to reveal his true nature to the crew, it wasn’t because he sorely needed to replentish his energy after losing his leg; it was because he’d hoped they would kill him. (Black Sails. Vampire Silver AU).

6. John Murphy’s second life started when he woke up hungry and filthy in a half dug mass grave. (The 100. Vampire Memori AU -part of my Vamp/Blade T100 AU series. Indra is Blade btw xD).

7. The last thing Anna espected was to open her eyes again after Michael’s attack. (SPN. Self-indulgent Anna/Mary AU).

8. “I take it the interrogation didn’t go your way.” Castiel couldn’t stop himself from needling Dean, who glared at him while his hands still shook. (SPN. Endverse!Megstiel story).

---

10. Someone else might have thought they just woke up from a nightmare, but Silver knew his head had just hit against the rocks. (Black Sails. Max & Silver, Russian Doll inspired fusion, set in s1 of the show).

11. After talking with the rattled Ms. Bose, Jo could feel her luck in this hunt was finally changing. (SPN. Bela/Jo, s3 canon-divergence AU. Three guesses as to who is Ms. Bose).

12. Sam had put if off when Lucifer started raising; when he and Dean were on the plane; when Zachariah had them spilling their guts; in the hospital... but finally, he reunited a few seconds of calm to freak. The fuck. Out. (SPN. My Ruby’s Terror Twins series lmao -Ruby screams out she’s pregnant, shocks Sam and Dean enough she can escape with her knife. Then, a few months later...).

13. Ruby opened her eyes, and immediately knew two things: the slash in her stomach was healed, and she’d put her faith in the right deity. (SPN. Ruby Lives AU. Ideally, a rewrite, but that might be too ambitious xD. Of s5, sure).

---

16. What Moira first noticed about Akeri was the book he’d tried to hide beneath his clothes; the carved marks on his cheeks came second. (Black Sails. Maroon Queen x Mr. Scott -who I gave alternate names because I can’t write an entire fic about them and pretend they call each other that lol).

17. Alastair spoke to Dean in a tone that sat in between that of a lover and a proud father. (SPN. Alastair brings Bela for Dean to torture).

18. The letters -all four of them now- never came signed; for that matter, there was nothing specific or damning enough, no misstep hidden within them that he could have used, and so he stopped looking for those. (Black Sails. Rackham x Rogers Foe Yay post finale lol).

19. That very night Silver will curse himself for his naivete, for thinking you can escape from something while you plant roots on a place; but in truth, the day had started so well. (Black Sails. An attempt to explore certain ideas about Silver’s past that’s likely to go nowhere lol).

20. At the ten year mark Silver returned to land and found the wrong woman waiting for him on the beach. (Black Sails. A weird “Silver ends as the captain of the Flying Dutchman” canon-compliant AU).

Patterns: ig the most notable one is that I like to throw the reader in the middle of the action, especially in fic. Often I go back and elaborate on the context, but I like a cold open xD

Favourite: I’m very happy with them all (first lines matter to me), but I’m especially fond of 9 and 14 for Latoya and Eva’s dramatics; 5 with vampire!Silver (ouchie); and 13 for the irony xD

#supernatural #black sails #the 100 #memori #castiel #bela talbot #spnruby #john silver #maroon queen #dean winchester #sam winchester #bela x jo #anna x mary #rackham x rogers #megstiel

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alilbihh · 5 years

Text

hocus pocus — 1

masterlist previous part next part

pairing: maknae line x reader

summary: jungkook wags his tail and his eyes look like truffles. jimin drinks blood out of juice boxes and bendy straws and tries to wink but ends up blinking both his eyes closed. taehyung likes the ocean and all kinds of art and apologizes to rocks. you don’t know if they want to take you out the date way or the assassination way and somehow you think it’s both.

genre: werewolf!jungkook, vampire!jimin, hybrid!taehyung, witch!reader; crack (lmao); humor (??); poly!au (in the future!)

words: 6.3k

a/n: this is entirely self-indulgent. this will benefit no one but me and will have 3 parts. thank u

This kind of patience better earn you a great seat in heaven, you think offhandedly.

"Please help me! The test was only announced today and I don't have much time, I need a potion that gives me photographic memory!" Says a desperate looking girl, hands clasped together as she repeatedly whispers a mantra of pleases under her breath, as if worried she'd push you over the edge if she were to say it any louder.

Little does she know she's, metaphorically speaking, already pushed you. Hard. With no remorse. Probably followed by a series of stabs to the back.

"Please, I would do anything!" She looks frantic. The only time you've seen her unclasp her hands was to pull desperately at her hair. She's pretty, you'll give her that, the kind of pretty that makes people more easily soft and influenced to her desires. But you're no sucker, and you're certainly not soft.

"Anything?" You whisper, leaning forward a bit. She nods, hope pooling in her round, pretty eyes.

"Anything!" You're not really used to people interrupting you during your free time. She at least has the decency to keep her voice down in the library, but you have a feeling the librarian and usually easily irritable students would easily succumb to her puppy dog eyes and let her scream all she wants.

You don't tell her that there is no such thing as a potion for photographic memory. You don't tell her that, even if such a thing were to exist, it would have drastic long-term side effects. As in, death.

"Anything anything..?" You lean forward a bit more, the female eagerly mimicking the action. You stare into her pretty eyes, the honey gold of her skin. "...even study?"

The female deflates, shameful as she twirls at a strand of her hair. This girl is just one of the many reminders on why you should never have been known as the campus witch in the first place.

You also should have just stayed in bed, despite the uncharacteristically calm day you've been having. You should have slept through your subsequent assignments and uncountable morning classes; but Jungkook had pulled the sheets out from over your head that day almost knowingly, reminding you how much you're paying for tuition. Curse that familiar of yours.

(Jungkook's voice also seemed to be the one to coax you into giving the girl a discount on your widely known all-nighter potion; which really just mostly consisted of a monster and some ground coffee beans, but she didn't need to know that. But you're still definitely, definitely not a soft witch.)

Three years ago you started a shop of your own, one typical of a witch like yourself. All herbs and tea leaves and scented candles and crystals, ground sunflower seeds and fruits and, later on, potions; the thing that's gathered the most attention in your community, from both supernatural beings and, as harry potter so delicately put it, muggles alike.

On Sundays, you sit behind the shop's counter on the red cushioned bean bag chairs that Jungkook likes so much, taking in the low hanging vines of your small, dainty little shop, the smell of old parchment and the sound of fluttering pages, the shelves of books barely anyone but yourself reads but are familiar and comforting nevertheless.

On Sundays, people stop by; sometimes for tea, mostly for potions, and one time someone asked for a potion to help him get laid but even so, business is buzzing, Sunday or not.

On Sundays, you tolerate Jungkook's grunts and groans of boredom, the boy taut as violin strings until he starts arm wrestling with the plants and reading books by the corner, his long hair obscuring your view of his features as he bounces all over the place.

In the corner by the bookshelves sits a fish tank you'd gotten over a year ago, courtesy of Jungkook, now barren of fish of any kind. (The male managed to get a goldfish at some point. He named it ironman. It died a week later, now buried in Yoongi's greenhouse, and you coaxed some flowers into sprouting around its grave for his sake. Mostly lavender, reminiscent of your familiar. Lavender helps you sleep. Lavender soothes small hurts.)

Sometimes, if you're lucky, you'll hear little snippets of a singing voice, murmuring when he thinks no one can hear him — and you can almost feel the creaking of the floorboards and bookshelves ceasing, the books shifting about in their spines halting at the mere sound of it — as if even the walls are straining to hear the tiny little sounds of your familiar's voice.

And although Sundays are meant for that, meant for all of that, on one particular Sunday you find yourself out of faerie tears to mix into your concoctions. An odd ingredient it is, but important nevertheless. And you know just the faerie willing to hand over some more.

"Yoongi!" You squeal as you enter the greenhouse, messenger bag over your shoulder, glass vials inside of it clinking together as you walk.

The greenhouse isn't big— not as big as Yoongi would have liked it to be, anyway— but it's tall enough to make room for trees of all sizes. Certain panes have been removed on its walls to allow the branches to carry through towards the sky, as if Yoongi would rather tear the place down than tear off a branch. Vines curl around your feet as you walk, tickling at your legs, and the plants greet you softly as you pass, (except the roses. They don’t like you too much and they tend to gossip quite a bit).

You tip your head up to stare at the hazy sky through the glass. It's humid and will probably rain later, another late summer storm.

You hear a grunt.

Hunched over a flowerbed sits a tuft of black, the endearing sight bringing a smile to your face that remains even as the male in question notices your amusement, frowning as his brows furrow and his nose crinkles.

He stands up as gracefully as his little faerie ass can manage, wiping the accumulated sweat on his forehead away with the back of his hand, a streak of dirt on his cheek and, somehow, on his nose. "Yes?" He mutters, grumpy and all, despite his patience as you move to grab an empty vial from your bag.

You stretch the empty glass expectantly, "I'm in need of some faerie tears, my good man."

The man waddles towards you in typical Yoongi fashion, inspecting the vial for a second before his gaze shifts to you, eyes squinted. "You know I don't cry," He says stubbornly.

"Oh, please. You’re one of the softest boys I know. Didn't you take theater in high school? The tears don't have to stem from real sadness, you heathen."

His cheeks redden at your reminder, grabbing the vial from your hands with a huff. "I just messed with the lighting for a while. Fixed the sound. It's not like I acted, damn you."

"But still! You gotta feel some sort of.. kinship. Come on. I'm not asking for much!"

"You're asking for my bodily fluids. It seems like quite a bit to me."

You hide your smile with your hand as you watch the male grunt and grimace, trying to get the tears out by sheer force. His body is shaking a bit at the strain, and you finally laugh when he lets out the breath he'd been holding with a dramatic, Yoongi flair. "Can't do it?" You ask through laughter.

"Shut up." He shoves the vial onto your chest. "Anything else for you to humiliate me with?"

"Huh. I am in need of some pixie dust, now that you mention it."

"Hobi probably has some of that, he's full of pixie friends." You, personally, aren't a fan of those tiny little rascals. The ones around your hometown were known for trouble, pulling at your ears and pushing objects off tables.

Though you suppose the ones around your current home weren't all bad. You've caught a few helping motivate your plants by your window to sprout, and sometimes you find petals by your windowsill that weren't there before, all layered with pixie dust. Sometimes they simply flutter overhead, tossing pink dust at passersby, and sometimes you hear them sneezing by your ear, drunk on plum blossoms.

They hang around Hoseok almost regularly, and it's not uncommon to find a few napping on his head and shoulder, warbling softly in their sleep. That merman attracts a whole bunch of creatures, so you don't blame them, really.

"Well. Walmart probably has some faerie tears, anyway. Thanks, Yoongs!" You pat at the now frozen male's chest thoughtfully, the man blinking slowly with wide eyes. You take off into a sprint at his bewildered WHAT? from behind you, laughter on your heels.

"Here, noona." Your familiar mutters as he walks into you finishing some paperwork, your form hunched out of view under the shop's counter, red bean bag hardly a chair for such a feat but at least it's comfortable. He places a cup of tea by the coffee table beside you, still steaming, the smell wafting through the tiny expanse of your homey shop.

"Thanks, Guk." You murmur in response without looking up, but you still catch his tail let out a tiny wag at that before he nods and shuffles away, almost like a waddle, and disappears into the closet-sized kitchen, large clothes swallowing his form adorably.

He shuffles back a few minutes later with his own cup, sinking into the bean bag beside you. He stretches the cup towards you after a second of hesitation, "Sorry, but could you heat it up please? Do that thing?"

You chuckle, sitting up straight to drop your papers on the counter before turning back towards the werewolf, "'course." You take the cup, fingers brushing against his, and you see him recoil in his seat as he sinks further into it.

Your fingers cup the mug lightly, and you feel the liquid slowly heat up, becoming darker in color. Your eyes catch his gaze as you hand it back, his eyelashes trembling as he looks down, cheeks dusted a shy pink, taking the drink generously. "Thank you," he mutters.

The moment is interrupted by the gentle chiming of the wind chimes tinkling in welcome as someone opens the door, and you stand up with a groan the second you hear it. Gently placing your cup on the coffee table, your attention shifts to the customer tripping into your shop, the smell of rain and autumn and wonder on his heels.

"Can I help you?" You ask, albeit uselessly as he continues inspecting your array of books without a word, pausing at the poetry section.

Maybe you shouldn't have bought those bean bags. They're low enough to hide you completely from view of anyone if you were to sit and you, being the one to sit by the register, kinda have to do that a lot. You take to standing, taking occasional sips from your tea when you think the boy that stumbled in isn't looking.

The boy suddenly marches towards you. Eyes you for a minute. Blinks profusely. "Morning," he says after a moment, voice soothing and soft, like melting butter and dripping honey. He slides a book onto the counter. Poetry.

"Good afternoon," you answer with a twitch of your lips, "Is this all?"

He clears his throat, his cheeks a bit flushed, "Yes."

You can feel his eyes on you. They flick over you quick and then again slower and then again one more time, dragging like a lip being pulled through teeth. You feel tingly.

With a hum, you mutter the price you know by heart as you stuff the book into a bag. His voice interrupts you. "Do you sell blood here?"

You blink, catch Jungkook freezing from where he's seated. The boy in front of you at least has the decency to look sheepish after a moment, smiling with just a twitch of his lips, and it's then you notice the ever protruding fangs that line the sides of his teeth.

"Uh, nope, sorry."

"Hm." He hums. "How long has this been here? It's, well. Nice. Must be nice to work here."

You scoff out a laugh, "It has its downsides. Pay is shit, mostly. You're mostly just making drinks and making sure no one is doing anything stupid or trying to hide a body in one of the vanishing bookshelves."

"I already disproved that theory, noona!" Comes Jungkook's interjection from somewhere below you, voice laced with an odd sort of pride. "I sat there for an hour and didn't disappear."

"That... okay." Maybe you would scold him in any other setting, seeing as the bookshelf was completely capable of actually making him disappear — but seeing his pretty, honest eyes, his cupid's bow pulled into a smile, well.. who were you to take that away?

It's only then you remember the strange vampire you still have yet to know the name of was here for a reason. Your eyes stray to the book he'd bought, and you notice he seemed to dwell on which to buy for a bit too long. "Do you like poetry?" You mutter as you hand over his purchase.

"Nope." He grins. "I'll be back!" The boy says it like a promise before closing the door behind him, nimble as a cat and grinning like one, too, giving the dream catcher by the entrance a dangle and, in a blink, he's gone.

"That was weird." Jungkook mutters through the rim of his cup, and you agree with a simple nod of the head. “He was pretty, though,” he adds thoughtlessly. You nod again.

You spend your lunch, as you usually do, in a coffee shop close to campus, Jungkook sipping on a milkshake beside you and Yoongi sitting opposite you both, the latter pumping an unreasonable amount of sugar into his coffee.

"So Hobi's in this wack exercising mood these days. He signed us both up for couple's yoga classes."

Your lips twitch upwards at that before you purse your lips, trying to hide your smile. "That's.. wild."

"Yeah. Worst part is that I don't even mind going that much 'cause I know it'll make him happy. Gross, huh?"

"Super gross, dude."

Yoongi picks up his spoon and promptly stabs at the thick layer of sugar in the bottom of his cup, stirring glumly. "Anyway, how's the shop? Anyone walking in asking for condoms again?"

"Well, no, but I was asked if I sell blood bags."

Yoongi raises a brow, probably more surprised that there's a vampire on campus than he is surprised at the question. "Huh. That is weird. Was he cute?"

"Yoongs, you are not asking me if my vampire customer is cute. Tell me you're not." The man promptly starts to sip loudly at his coffee, avoiding eye contact stubbornly. You sigh. "Yes. Yes he was. Damn you." The man grins.

"He really was, though," Jungkook speaks up for the first time since you all sat down — not counting the little hello he'd whispered to Yoongi — and you watch as he sinks down his seat, smiles this shy little thing, cheeks and nose all scrunched up, trying to hide it as he sips aggressively at his oreo milkshake.

You smile knowingly at him and he all but melts, looking out the window, the tips of his ears a pretty pink.

"That so?" Yoongi says, watching you over the rim of his cup, "I was starting to think you two were cave gremlins incapable of feeling. How nice for you."

You scoff out a laugh, "Easy for you to say, you met Hoseok on Grindr."

"And we are positively thriving, thank you for asking."

"Oh!" The tiniest sound, whispered more to himself than anything but you manage to catch it anyway, your familiar's eyes widening prettily as he spots something out the window as his whole face breaks into a smile, cheeks crinkling at the edges, "It's Hobi-hyung!"

"Where?" Yoongi asks but sees him immediately after, the man in question spotting them through the glass and waving frantically, like he thinks you all might not see him.

Hoseok opens the door to the coffee shop cheerily, both the dulcet soft chime above the door and the usual light he carries on his shoulders alerting others of his presence. There are remnants of pixie dust on his shoulders, strapped to his clothes, glued to his hair. He smells of salt water and chlorine and dried flowers and something like pomegranate, just on the edges. The smile that always seems to be perpetually glued to his face brightens as he power walks towards your table by the corner.

"Hey! What're you all doing here?" He asks with a laugh as he slides on the seat beside his boyfriend, and Yoongi allows himself to be hugged by Hoseok, who hugs everyone.

"We're the physical manifestations of Y/n's inner demons." Yoongi says before Jungkook snorts out a laugh endearingly.

"How're classes, Hobi?" You ask, managing to ignore Yoongi only due to several years of training.

Yoongi groans at your question. Pretends to be annoyed. "His yoga classes or his dance classes?" Hoseok laughs at that, a loud and confident thing.

Hoseok laughs a lot. Dances a lot. Smiles a lot. Sometimes helps his dad teach little kids how to swim. Sometimes sea foam sticks to his eyelashes. Knows nothing about flowers but listens patiently when Yoongi talks about them, when Yoongi talks about his greenhouse and his love for jasmines and sweet sweet bubble tea.

You watch as Yoongi listens to Hoseok's ramblings, very much enamored and very much enraptured, eyes filled with love love love, a shy but fiercely sure thing. He's watching with the same soft, scrunched eyes he tends to be looking at everything with these days; at his plants and his friends and his music, like they're something precious, something to be cherished. You watch and it fills you with a not-jealousy, an almost-jealousy, an almost-want.

You want that kind of love, and yet you stray away from it at the first chance you get.

Yoongi leans in close, whispers something in his ear, and it's then that Hoseok snorts the coffee he'd been drinking through his nose, flushed from the tips of his ears down to his collarbones and suddenly they're all laughing, the two sneaking glances at each other. Glances you feel are private, intimate, probably something you weren't meant to see. You look away, feeling as if you're intruding.

Your eyes catch shifting from your peripheral vision, and you turn to see Jungkook moving hesitantly about in his seat, nibbling at the straw of his now empty milkshake. He stops. Purses his lips. Makes eye contact for a second before looking away.

You sigh. "If you clean out the backroom at home tomorrow for twenty minutes, I'll buy you another drink."

Jungkook perks up immediately. "How about if I clean out the backroom for ten minutes?"

"Twenty."

"..Fifteen?"

"Twenty."

"Seventeen."

You consider it. "...Deal."

Jungkook bursts into a celebratory dance as Yoongi tries hard to rein in his smile. You flip the two off before catching Hoseok's eye. WHIPPED, he mouths, enunciating it heavily just to be annoying, so you flip him off, too.

Two years ago, Jungkook entertains a visit to the town's newest herb shop; his expectations low and, despite his pack sending him out to search for medicine, his eyes were mostly searching for amusement.

Witches. A funny lot, all of them. They gather leaves for a living and use brooms as a means of transportation and they sprinkle basil into their soups and they think they know how to — how to herb.

The werewolf approaches the wooden door — printing paper taped to it with 'open' written in sharpie — and in he steps, wind chimes tinkling in welcome. If there was one thing he was expecting, it wasn't this.

The air smelled like wood and scented candles, paint that's just beginning to dry. Shelves lined the walls from top to bottom with potions and tea and crystals and, well, herbs, and in the far back stood a nearly empty bookshelf, only half the books on the shelves and the rest still sitting in a box not quite in plain sight but not exactly hidden, either, as if the owner hadn't quite finished packing them.

If Jungkook holds his breath just right, he can feel his heart beating in sync with something in the air. Something living.

Jungkook approaches the counter, searching left and right. No one in sight. "Hello?" He calls out. Flinches when he feels a thud, followed by a very abrupt, very loud—

"OW."

He leans forward tentatively after a moment of hesitation, glancing beneath the counter and, sure enough, there you are. This small thing curled on the floor, rubbing at your head from when you'd just tried to stand. No pointy hat or a big nose or dozens of moles, no evil laugh threatening to tumble out your lips, hidden just under your tongue.

It was just you. Wide eyed you. Sweet smelling you; sugar cookies, his brain supplies even though he didn't ask it to. Sugar cookies and vanilla and dark woods and something like coriander, just on the edges.

"Why were you sitting on the floor?" He asks you, the first thing he asks you.

You look up at him. Stare for a while. Your eyes don't linger on his ears stretched up in curiosity, black fur tipped with brown, or his tail wagging a bit behind him. He grabs at it to make it stop.

"I don't have any chairs." Is all you say, the lilting tone of home in your words. Jungkook laughs that terrible laugh of his, the one with his grin stretched ear to ear, his nose and eyes crinkled terribly. His laugh makes you laugh. Your laughter is terrible too, he notices.

He gets the medicine, tossing a pouch of coins onto the counter, courtesy of his pack. They have a knack at bringing the most inconvenience possible and living as if it were the nineteenth century.

Jungkook thought that would be it. But his father needed more scented candles and his brother needed more tea and his mother whined, like, once, that they were out of basil. And of course there are other shops that sell scented candles and tea and basil, but yours happened to be on his way every time.

True to his word, the vampire does indeed come back.

Despite barely talking to the boy, you know a bit about him from his interactions with Jungkook and what Jungkook, himself, shares with you. There's a dog with angry and very expressive eyebrows as his lock screen. His lips are naturally pouty and his hands are never quite still. Jungkook once stepped into the kitchen with peppa pig bandaids on his knees and despite knowing fully well that it could be any one of your friends, Yoongi is the least prepared person you know, Hoseok was working at that hour, and Jin only carries hello kitty bandaids from down the street, so you have a pretty clear idea of who's responsible.

And despite all that, you know little to nothing about the man personally.

"Noona, he's.. so nice. He's, like, my weekly reminder that I am, in fact, bisexual." Jungkook speaks as he polishes a crystal, sky blue in color and warm in his palm, and you watch him from between the bookshelves, placing your newly ordered volume of Jim Morrison's books through the available spaces.

"That's nice, Guk-ah." And it is, it really is. He's starting to move on and he's happy and his eyes are shining brighter than the crystal in his hands, tiny constellations hidden behind his eyelids, his eyelashes. "Tell me more?"

And so he does. He explains in a tiny voice, a soft one, occasional giggles and nose crinkles and bunny teeth as he talks about this mysterious boy and it all just feels like. So much.

The shop's lights dim the slightest bit. Jungkook doesn't comment on it.

It goes on until you both hear a loud gurgle from the closet-sized kitchen followed by the scent of smoke, and it's only then you remembered the potion you'd left brewing in the cauldron. You trip only once in panic, and Jungkook's laughter echoes through the walls and it follows you the whole way there.

It's a small little thing. A typical witch cauldron in its finest, smaller than average, sitting over your stove and under the kitchen cupboards. They're all filled to the brim with color-coded tupperwares, its ingredients labeled in sharpie in each respective container; because otherwise you wouldn't be able to distinguish the luck potion from the mashed potatoes, the health potion Jungkook thinks tastes like dirt from the apple sauce.

Somewhere between you opening your window to let the smoke out and your attempts at dwindling the damage, your familiar approaches you from behind and looks over your shoulder curiously, ears moving about in alert. "Can you save it? Is it still good?"

"Yeah, no thanks to you." You say in response, but there's no bite to your tone. He bites your shoulder playfully, a tiny howl slipping from his throat. You chuckle, fully endeared.

You grab a nearby measuring cup. You'd prefer glass vials, but they were all being used at the moment, sitting somewhere in your cabinets. You should probably move them somewhere else. Last time they were left alone too long, one exploded and ruined everything else you'd left in that cabinet.

"Do you know if we got any crystal orders recently?"

Jungkook hums at your question, chin propped on your shoulder, his arms still and unsure at his sides. You should probably nudge him off. Some selfish part of you, the bigger part, doesn't let you.

"Um. I think so. Maybe last week? I think you shoved them in a box somewhere." You probably did. It's starting to become a bad habit of yours.

"Dammit."

Jungkook laughs. "What do they do, anyway? Do they predict the future or something?"

"No, unfortunately. Only specific kinds of witches can do that. Divination is pretty hard so I'm pretty sure, like, only Namjoon is capable." You huff out a laugh, "And they're for curses, mostly."

"Namjoon-hyung can do everything so he's the only exception." He pauses. "Except context clues. He's very bad at context clues."

"And taking care of plants," you add. Just last year you'd given him a succulent because you figured it was the easiest thing to keep alive. It died within a week.

You grab a ladle and scoop up some of the liquid from the cauldron, bringing it to your lips before blowing softly. Probably a bad idea to taste test unknown substances, especially in its early stages, but you decide that it's as good a day as any to challenge death, so you swallow some determinedly. It doesn't burn in your throat, just fuzzes and warms a bit on your tongue, so that's a good sign.

"Are we cursing someone?" Jungkook says with a toothy grin before then resolutely, decidedly, adamantly, rests his hands on your hips, twisting his head so his cheek is on your shoulder instead of his chin. You can feel his breath on your neck, goosebumps prickling at your skin, his touch burning even through your clothes.

"No." You say, feeling small. "Not today. Crystals aren't made for that, Gukkie." You mix the wooden spoon through the concoction absentmindedly as you continue, "Plus, curses need a lot of magic. Usually more than one witch. And don't ask Namjoon because I know he would say yes if you asked."

"I think you can do it yourself." He mumbles, nose pressed to your neck.

"Sweet talk isn't going to make me curse someone." You say but your eyes are wide and lovely, as if you'd give in with just a bit more persuasion. "Who do you have in mind, anyway?"

"No one," he hums for a bit, lips pursed, and they tickle your neck a bit in a not-kiss. An almost-kiss. "Yet."

A hearty laugh bursts from your chest and Jungkook giggles along, giggles, the sound delightful and lovely and the cacti on your windowsill hum, leaning into it. You find yourself doing the same. The kitchen gets a tad bit warmer and the lights get a tad bit brighter.

"Any crystal can curse someone if you throw it hard enough." He grins, bright and unreserved. His eyes look like the chocolate truffles he drools over when commercials for it show on TV.

Some days it hurts more than others. This intimacy you have with Jungkook, how safe he makes you feel. How sometimes is hurts just a bit, just around the edges, where it's easy to hide. How sometimes it hurts too much, when the words are all up in your throat and blocking your airway, no space to let your rib cage expand when you try to draw in a breath.

"Guk- grab me some aloe vera roots, please? Please." You whisper, afraid that if you talked any louder the other words would come tumbling out. Your heart sits so big in your chest it's taking too much effort to hold it in place. Hands claw around it incessantly, some squeezing at it and others making it harder for you to breathe.

Jungkook untangles himself from you just as the lights overhead flicker indecisively. His hands don't linger. They feel like they might linger. They hover over your hips for a second, as if he stopped them from lingering.

He says something that sounds like okay, noona but the words get lost somewhere between his tongue and his teeth and only half of it makes it out. You hear cupboards opening and closing—feel Jungkook lingering in the air you breathe in.

You turn around and the werewolf is moving aside your many tupperwares, reading the label of the ones he finds the strangest. He picks up one with a soft pink color, the liquid bubbling unpleasantly. He places it right back, brows furrowed.

"How do you know how to make all this stuff, anyway?" He exclaims with a huff, closing another cupboard with a thud.

"Pinterest. Yoongi. Years of training, maybe. Or not. I think I stopped paying attention after seventh grade."

He laughs a bit at that, a soft thing. Hands you the tupperware with the root you asked for, which ended up being shoved somewhere in the fridge. You really should reorganize your things.

You take trains sometimes.

Faraway trains, hidden somewhere in the deepest part of the city. Trains taken straight out of Ghibli films, splashes of watercolor and pencil art drawn by hand. You take them when you feel like getting away, like outrunning the heartbreak chasing you down, like you want to go somewhere but have no destination in mind. You get off on stops where you don't know where you are.

The train sometimes takes you to farms, where the horizon is burning against the tips of the wheat, setting the world on fire. Sometimes it takes you to towns you haven't even heard of, where everything is homey and everyone knows each other and the flowers sitting on windowsills to bask in the sun greet you softly.

Everything is nice. Calming. You like when the train goes through tunnels, the dark inviting and comforting, a childlike wonder. The sound of the rail wheel on the track almost lulls you to sleep at times, white noise in your ears, and the few people in the train agree — most already doing exactly that, slumped against the seats.

The train skids to a halt. Nothing compels you to get off, so you don't.

People are leaving, a mother sitting in the seat in front of you urging her daughter awake, the old man sitting a few seats back getting up slowly, with kind eyes and laughter lines. You stay slumped by the window, sunlight warming the side of your face.

Amidst your daydreaming and despite the available seats, a man gets on board, spots you, sits beside you. He watches your side profile for a bit, as if waiting for you to complain or call him out on it. You don't, so he gets comfortable in his seat, closes his eyes. His skin is the color of honey and gold.

He looks absolutely horrible. Well, not outwardly—not outwardly at all. He's wearing slippers with little rabbit ears drooping horribly endearingly, a flannel and basketball shorts, two articles of clothing that don't match at all, as if he grabbed them last minute, but he makes them work. You have a feeling he would look good dressed in cardboard and trash bags.

His ears are a light brown color, and on his head sat a pair of antlers, the tip of one broken off a bit.

But his aura. His aura is absolutely horrible. It's gloomy and so unbelievably dark, hovering over his form and twisting into something ugly.

Maybe this strange man is like you. Maybe he likes to take train rides to the middle of nowhere in early mornings, when the clouds are still blurring over the horizon. You catch him staring at it, the horizon; right when you look up and see him looking not at you, but just past your head up to the skies.

You stare, too. The silence stretches, and a voice—thick and smooth like honey—breaks it. You're comparing him to honey a lot, you notice. His voice and his skin. You'll call him honey boy for now. "Blue."

The sky is awfully blue today, only a few clouds hovering overhead. "It'll rain soon," you reply thoughtlessly.

"How'd you know?" You sense a lilting tone of comfort in his tone of voice. He has a bit of a lisp. His eyes are big and open and honest.

"The leaves are turned on their back, the crickets are chirping, there were some colorful streaks on the sky today." You can tell he's processing the words, taking them to heart, listening gently.

"Oh." Is all he says. The silence stretches again. It doesn't last long. "Are you sad, too?"

Your eyes are wide with surprise when you turn to look at him. A grin splits across his face at your unintentional open admittance, and it's so pretty you can't look away.

The man explains he hasn't gotten more than four hours of sleep for the past two weeks. That he hasn't properly interacted with another human that wasn't his roommate and his mom probably since last Wednesday ("Maybe, that might have been a fever dream," he adds. You laugh). That he's been functioning solely through chocolate, granola bars and vitamin gummies—not coffee, no, he can't stand caffeine—and you laugh until he opens his backpack and pulls out, like, thirteen kitkats.

Describing honey boy is some new word you don't know. Like all the gentle love in his heart has manifested itself, is seeping out through his skin. You wonder how many strangers he's charmed in his life.

Honey boy hums a song absentmindedly from beside you, probably unaware that he's doing it. His voice is a deep timbre that fills the silence in a quiet way. His voice is nice and the train ride is nice and for a second it feels like you've run so far ahead from the heartbreak that it's likely impossible for it to ever catch up.

"Do you like the ocean?" He asks after a bit. The train is getting closer to it, to the ocean, and you can see the line where the blue of the sky blurs into the blue of the ocean. He answers before you get the chance to, "I really like the ocean. I would come here a lot with my grandparents. I like how my dad used to chase me around the sand and my mom would sing to me and my grandma would buy me cotton candy from the vendors that walked by and my grandpa would playfully pull at my antlers. And how the pretty scaled mermaids kept the tide gentle when I was learning to swim and it's, just. A cradley sort of place."

The way he views the world is so gentle. "It'll kick your ass, though," you mutter.

He giggles, really giggles, and it comes out as a ehehe kind of sound. It's cute, your mind supplies even though you didn't ask it to.

"It will, won't it?" He says between laughter. "Sorry, I'm talking too much, aren't I?"

"No!" You say too quickly. Clear your throat at the realization. "No, you're not. I like when you ramble."

Pretty pink on his cheeks. He looks small, somehow. "You sound like someone I know."

"That's good. You should have those kind of people in your life or else you'll go mad."

He laughs. The train skids to a stop the same way it always does, but it feels different. The man goes to stand up, hesitates, sits back down. Looks at you, almost as if to ask for permission. "Will I see you again?"

Your breath hitches in your throat. "I don't know."

"Gram says that people that are meant to find each other, will." He looks determined. One of his ears twitch. "See you soon."

And with that he gets off the train, doesn't look back for even a second, is saving that glimpse for when you see each other again. A part of you doesn't think you will. Another finds itself wishing for it.

#poly!au #poly bts #bts x reader #bts taehyung #taehyung x reader #bts jimin #jimin x reader #bts jungkook #jungkook x reader #maknae line x reader #werewolf bts #werewolf au #werewolf jungkook #vampire bts #vampire au #vampire jimin #hybrid au #hybrid bts #hybrid taehyung

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ahomeganeyatsu · 4 years

Text

Sunrise

NSFW-ish??? Anywaaaays. I have finally done it. This has been a long time coming. lmao

Read on AO3.

Inhyuk wakes up to the sun hitting his face. He groans, turning away from it. There’s a taste in his mouth he couldn’t quite put and a thrumming sting all over his body. The latter was something he was familiar with. You don’t get to be his age without getting into a few fights. What he didn’t quite understand was the underlying current of satisfaction.

That usually happened after the battle itself. Usually, hard fights just had him aching all over the morning after—awakened abilities or not. At least, he wasn’t in a hospital. The soft sheets against his skin told him exactly his state of dress. Or lack thereof. Which, turns into another question of why.

He can’t quite remember what he had been doing before now. He remembers going for drinks with Seongha and Giwook. Chairwoman Yoo had been there too, among them some of the more tolerable instructors in the Academy. His head throbs as he tries to recall what the celebration had been about.

A soft grumble sounded to his left and it took a second before Inhyuk found himself suddenly sitting up. Bad fucking idea, he berated himself as the throbbing turned into a jackhammer splitting his head open. He takes a steadying breath to quell the nausea. Once the pain became bearable, he looked to the source of the sound.

Long hair was the first thing he saw. It wasn’t anything special, really. It’s just hair. It didn’t stop him from sending himself into a panic.

This cannot be happening. Oh god, what in the world did I do. He tries to calm himself but it was increasingly difficult. Jisuk was going to kill him. Well, more like Subin will. Inhyuk wasn’t blind to the crush the teenager held for his boss. And fuck, this was his boss.

I just slept with my boss. I’m dead. So. dead.

Wait. shit. No. Calm down Inhyuk. You can’t jump to conclusions. You’re naked. Probably drank alcohol half your body weight that you can’t remember anything. You need to go about this rationally. You need irrefutable evidence!

He breathes. Practically, wrestling his heart to drop into a normal pace. He looks back at the sleeping figure. Long black hair spilled over his pillows. A flash of something in his memories and he knows they felt silky soft. Knows how they feel wrapped around his fingers.

Heat flushes throughout his body. Not now! He screams at the stir of arousal in his gut.

Dammit, he hasn’t even figured out who the person is! They’re curled into themself, sheets wrapped around their whole body. Only the top of their head and feet poked out. Honestly, Inhyuk shouldn’t have immediately gone to the conclusion that it was Chairwoman Yoo.

(He shouldn’t even have jumped to them sleeping with each other. Maybe we didn’t even get past the foreplay. Maybe we just passed out. Soft hair in his hand, a gasping moan, a frustrated whine, nails clawing onto his back)

Besides, she’s not the only person Inhyuk knows who has long black hair.

The thought of that other person nearly sends him into his grave.

He couldn’t even decide which was worse. Either ended with Inhyuk’s death. Whether figuratively or phyiscally.

There’s an easier way of figuring this out. He’s just prolonging his suffering by thinking about it. He just has to lean over and peak at their face. Maybe he’ll find out it was neither of them in the first place. He could have picked up some other person in that club. Maybe it wasn’t even someone he knew. He wasn’t exactly a stranger to one-night-stands.

Mind made up, Inhyuk carefully leans over the sleeping figure.

“You better not be thinking what I think you’re going to do.”

The voice dashes any hope of who his bed partner is. The figure shifts and the sheets reveal a glaring pair of dark eyes. Inhyuk spies the marks littering that pale elegant neck. I did that, a tiny part of him proudly purrs.

A larger part of him his screaming that he just slept with Kayden.

It’s not even fucking fair that he looks so good like this. Sleep-rumpled, Inhyuk’s marks decorating his skin, and the sun shining gently on him. Their’s a softness to him in this barely-awake state. Even the glare didn’t have the usual murderous fire in them.

“I’m not kissing you until you wash your damned mouth,” Kayden’s grumble interrupts his thoughts.

The words unfurl a scene in his mind’s eye, a bit hazy but his other senses vividly recall. Inhyuk feels a smirk tugging at his lips.

He lets himself fall a little closer. “That’s not what you said last night.”

He surprises himself at how quickly the panic is receding. The more he lets it go, the more the flashes of last night become clearer.

Remembers Kayden’s impatience. His demands and the way he had clung to him. The noises he made as Inhyuk drove himself into him.

Inhyuk drops his head onto that neck, and nips at the largest mark he left there. Kayden groans and strikes him hard with a pillow. It only just makes Inyuk laugh.

“You’re going to be a goodmann menace, aren’t you?” Kayden grouses.

Inhyuk snorts. He knows for a fact now that it hadn’t been him who had done the dragging. “Drunk you would argue about that.”

“Shut up and get off me. I feel disgusting.” He relents as Kayden pushes him off. Inhyuk can’t argue about that remark. Dried cum didn’t exactly feel pleasant on your skin. Seeing the stains on Kayden’s legs, he would be feeling worse.

Kayden looks at him and rolls his eyes. “Get up and show me where the bathroom is.”

Inhyuk obeys. They both forgo covering themselves. Getting shy was a bit too late now. When they reach the bathroom. Kayden pushes him into the shower. “Take responsibility,” he says. “You made this mess, you better clean it up.”

And it’s the most roundabout invitation Inhyuk has ever gotten for some early morning shower sex. Then again, he hadn’t been trying that hard to hide the growing interest from his little buddy.

“I thought you didn’t want to kiss me with my morning breath?” he asks instead.

It’s Kayden’s turn to smirk. His hand reaches for the back of Inhyuk’s neck. His fingers grip his hair and he leans to whisper in his ear. His breath is warm and his lips brush against the sensitive skin there. “Put your mouth to work somewhere else.”

Inhyuk may not remember everything last night but he remembers enough right now to know it had been good. The fact that Kayden’s hasn’t murdered him yet, he’s determined to make up for what he forgot. They may have enjoyed it while they were both drunk. Inhyuk’s going to make it better with both of them sober.

#eleceed fanfic #eleceed drabbles #fanfic #eleceed #goo inhyuk #kayden

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captain-jinguji · 4 years

Note

Hello! I'd like to request Yamato and/or Ranmaru for the NSFW alphabet :3

I will give you Ranmaru in a little bit, but for now, here's Yamato.

HYUUGA YAMATO NSFW ALPHABET

Aftercare: how do they take care of their s/o after the act? Are they really into it?

Let him catch his breath bb lol for a while he'll just lay there beside you, staring at the ceiling. Sex with Yamato is always intense and both of you probably don't want to move afterwards. However, he will get a warm towel to clean you and himself up but anything more than that you're on your own until the next day.

Bondage: what's the furthest they would go in bed?

Despite him being super into the act, he wouldn't stray far from the vanilla path. Might try to test your limits though and he is definitely interested in how many times he can make you cum before your body starts shaking.

Cum: where is their favorite place to cum? Are they messy?

Loves to cum on your face. Is hella messy when it comes to it and almost anywhere externally is totally his thing. The sight before him with his cum decorating your skin is just so hot to him and is sure to get him hard all over.

Dirty secret: what's something they'd never admit to their s/o?

He really wants you to tie him up and blindfold him. Degrate him. Make him your little bitch. Will never admit that though because if that comes out to you or anyone else, he would get teased and made fun of to no end so that's why he will take it to the grave.

Experience: have they done this before? Are they a virgin?

Definitely not a virgin, but he's not a whore either. Has had a few people in his life but they mostly don't last long. He's just too much to handle for some people.

Fantasy: what's their ultimate fantasy?

Sex on the beach in one of those caves by the rocks. The thought of getting caught and the walls echoing your moans is absolutely bliss to him.

Good girl: are they into the reward and punishment system? If so, more on his s/o or him?

Definitely has a praise kink. Tell him how good he is, how good he makes you feel and he's sure to return the favor. Has a thing for dropping his voice a couple octaves and whispering "fuck… you're such a good girl/boy for daddy…" everytime he fucks your face. Did i mention he has a daddy kink?

Hair: what's it like down there?

He's not super concerned about it but doesnt let it grow too long. A good trim but not too short.

Intimacy: how are they? Is it sensual? Rough?

Mostly rough. He puts all his energy and being into making you feel good and sometimes gets carried away. On the rare occasions that he is lazy, he'll slow down but his thrusts are just as powerful.

Jackoff: Do they do it? How often?

Used to do it all the time. Like 4-5 times a week, but once you came along he didn't need to do it as much. Now he'll do it maybe once a week when you're not up for it.

Kink: what's their biggest turn on?

Daddy kink. He'll melt every time your perfect little lips call him that oh so sinful name. It makes him feel powerful and it's sure to get him hard and ready to go every time you say it.

Location: where's their favorite place to do it? Where's a no?

Anywhere that's not the bed lolol he's quite adventures and has christened basically the whole house with you. A no, though, is anywhere around the rest of HEAVENS. As much as he likes risks, he doesn't like being shamed by his bandmates.

Motivation: what gets them going?

It's so easy to turn him on. Call him daddy, slowly run your hand up his thigh, tell him how awesome you think he is. Basically anything that puts him in the spotlight. Make him feel like he's your king and he's all yours.

No: anything they wont do?

He's open to anything but he's not into the extreme toys like nipple clips, wax play, or anything like that. Also no sex in the presence of his bandmates.

Oral: receiver or giver?

More of a receiver. He just loves to see you on your knees in front of him as you work your pretty little mouth around his hard cock. Grabs your hair and fucks your face and he swears there's nothing better on this planet. Doesnt mean that he cant give though because his tongue works magic on your clit and your thighs have bruises from his fingers because your legs end up shaking so much that he has to hold you in place.

Pace: fast or slow?

Fast. And rough. As much as he wants to be sensual and slow sometimes, it's just impossible when you feel so damn good around him.

Quickie: would they do it ?

Definitely. Has done it before. You are so irresistible to him and he's definitely pulled you aside to scold you for it "how do you expect me to keep my cool when you walk around in these shorts with your ass sticking out!?" Definitely loves when you wear shorts and you totally wear them to mess with him.

Risk: are they into getting (potentially) caught?

Oh yes. Likes the thrill. Loves the blushed face of yours afterwards. Of course he'd never let you get caught but likes to have you think that this is the riskiest thing of your life.

Stamina: how long can they last? How many rounds?

One pretty good round. Though hes usually rough and fast, he lasts a while due to his stamina that he build up over the years. Sometimes he's up for round two but usually round one takes everything out of him, and most likely, you too.

Toys: are they into toys?

Not really. He likes to use his hands and mouth. Likes to know that he can get you off like that, without the help of anything else. Makes him feel empowered.

Underlying motive: Do they have one?

Sometimes his underlying motive is to embarrass you, which is why he likes risky spots. Its more of a turn on to him to see you squirm and get a little scared, than the actual act itself.

Volume: how loud are they?

Low grunts and groans are all you're getting out of him. Not much of a moaner, but is sure to make you scream instead. You're his and by god he's gonna make the whole world, well neighborhood, know.

Wish: what do they want you to do to them?

As mentioned before, take control. Make him your little bitch. Force him to obey you for once. It's just, that, you know, he probably won't let you unless you can show him you got it in you ;)

X-ray: how big are they?

Pretty decent size. He's a good 6-7 inches and has a nice circumference. Definitely good enough to satisfy you, I assure you.

Yearning: how badly do they need it?

Has a pretty high sex drive ans is up for it anywhere anytime, just say the words. It's not hard to convince him and if you're down, he's down. Mostly he initiates it, but its so much more of a turn on when you do.

Z-ZZZ: how fast do they fall asleep after

Lmao hes OUT right after. Again, he might clean you and him up a little bit but after that, his cute naked ass is back on the bed with an arm around you and he's out like a firework

#uta no prince sama #uta no prince shining live #utapri starish stillnotsorry #quartet night #starish #utanoprincesama #utapri headcanons #yamato hyuga #heavens

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gasp-iwrotesomething · 4 years

Note

Could you please write a scene where Cal and MC say ‘I love you’ for the first time? Every Friday I’m checking to see if Cal is on the schedule 😂 I miss him so much, but I can’t wait for Season 3!

I do too, anon! It’s unfortunate that he hasn’t been on the schedule yet and I think that’s why I’ve been so eager to do these Cal requests lol (but he is now, I just got back to this request today lmao)! Anyway, your request is cute and I’d love to write it. Thank you for requesting and I hope you enjoy!

I just realized that a bunch of my Cal fics are about them fighting demons 🙃

Summary: Caught in a trap, Cal turns to MC and asks a dire question. It’s brusque in the face of danger and a weirdly complicated question to answer on MC’s part. Will she say what she’s been thinking for a while or will the trap close in too fast for that?

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Cal and MC slunk towards the location in question, their hands entwined. They had been wary of the credibility of the messenger, considering that they had been a random civilian that could’ve easily been one of Alejandro’s puppets. It had been the same with Brody, where he had been deployed to kill Cal and then once he failed, he was murdered and tossed aside like nothing more than a weapon gone dull. But that was all Alejandro saw in Brody--just another pawn to play with until he couldn’t anymore. What about Brody’s family? Did he have any? Are they still wondering where he is? The charging thoughts within MC’s head dissolve as her emotions take hold, twisting and rapping her heart. It was best not to think about it anymore--he was already dead and there was nothing she could do for him now. Ahead, the deserted convenience store loomed over them, casting a tall shadow onto the pavement. No wind whistled and no cars honked--no people whispered and no people even walked except for Cal and MC. It was so strange to see a facet of Vegas empty and devoid of humanity when that was all you saw in the City of Sin. MC didn’t like the implications it gave--the grave threat that bubbled the convenience store in. If something went wrong, if one of them was hurt... no one would know. Well, not right away, at least. She was more afraid of the consequences of entering alone with Cal then she was of Alejandro’s potential allegiance to their summoner--the most she felt for the guy was fierce anger for siccing Brody on Cal. If he had stayed dead that night...

Well, maybe Alejandro should’ve been afraid of the consequences of his success more than his failure.

Cal keeps MC a step behind him for her protection as he pushes the glass door open, the toll of a small bell overhead missing. MC notices that the bell itself is missing, ripped off somewhere in between time’s journey. Maybe that was a good thing--if the person they were meeting didn’t know they were here yet, then that gifted them some extra time and even an upper advantage. With his gun drawn, Cal motions to MC with his free hand to stay close to the entrance. “Stay put,” he demands grimly, “this might be one of Alejandro’s schemes.” Though MC would prefer to not be alone in such an eerie environment, she nods. There was no use putting up a fight--it would just waste time that could be more useful spent exploring the abandoned convenience store. But, luckily, the troupe was lurking not too far away; ready to leap to their defense if anything did happen. That also contributes to her willingness to stay behind. Cal pivots around and stalks carefully throughout the convenience store, his head peeking out over the decrepit shelves. Because of his height, MC could see him traverse through the aisles--and even if the darkness swallowed most of him in shadow, just knowing that he was still there made her feel secure. At her post, MC casts her eyes around the store, noting how all of the fluorescent lights were smashed and the shelves in some form of disarray.

It looked like a tornado had ripped through this place.

Suddenly, there’s a strange scratching noise that drifts down from the ceiling tiles and MC jumps. What the hell is that?! A rat maybe? The scratching is a little rhythmic--stopping then starting again once a second passed. MC shrinks towards the wall behind her as trepidation hollows her stomach. As it repeats again and again, MC recognizes that the sound eerily repeats the same as it had sounded before. Almost like it was a recording, played over and over again. Alarm bells ring in her head. If it keeps repeating, then that means it’s a distraction. Alejandro’s trying to distract us. Immediately her first reaction is to search for Cal but he’s already on his way to her, his features sharp. “Did you-?!” “Yeah, I heard it too,” Cal intercedes as his frame edges close to MC’s, acting almost like a shield, “stay sharp. He’s got something up his sleeve.” That sense of safety, of ongoing security, flares warm in her chest and MC can’t help but cling to his solidity, silently expecting the worst.

Almost as if on cue, demons seem to spill out from the shadows, webbing out in the convenience store, snarling.

Cal takes that as a cue as well, lifting his pistol towards the hulking figures in the dark. A heavy tension falls over the store as the demons creep closer, their eyes shining in the pitch darkness. The cold metal of her own gun still felt a little alien as she cradled it in her hands--still, after weeks of practice, the weapon still felt strange to hold. Through her fear, MC slides on a determined expression--she wasn’t going to let them get the best of her. Besides, Cal’s here; he’d never let anything happen to me. I won’t let anything happen to him either. She had to be strong for him, if not only for herself. Cal reinforces the barrier he established between MC and the demons, blocking her from their reach. A stray breath could spring them into action--something that could end with Cal and MC’s defeat. Cal must’ve alerted the troupe, he had to of--MC could almost sense it. They’d be okay... right? MC couldn’t shake this continuous feeling of danger beyond just the demons’ apparitions. Please be wrong, intuition, please.

Then it was all happening at once; demons racing towards them, Cal’s pistol firing bullet after bullet.

Only then does MC realize she has one too. One after the other in quick succession, the demons fall, unable to dodge Cal’s practiced aim. For MC, however, it’s not so hard. She fires at two that were flanking the fray, their eyes danger as they inspected Cal and MC. One shot dives through the shoulder of one of them--who howls in pain--while the other barely scrapes his arm. Angered, the demons together pounce to attack but are stopped but Cal’s quick hand, quickly shutting their attempts down with just two measly bullets.

MC’s head was spinning with the adrenaline of it all and she felt like every breath was a waste of time that could’ve been used to fight back harder. Even as Cal sprays down a whole group of demons, more come and replenish their numbers--there seemed to be no end. MC and Cal are herded into a corner as they fight against the waves upon waves of demons. Before they even knew it, they were entirely surrounded without the firepower to lessen those barriers. That swelling grasp of panic catches up to MC and she presses herself close against Cal, rallying in his firm and comforting presence. At least she was with him. She noticed that his pistol clicked when he pulled the trigger, indicating that he had run out of bullets. When was the last time that happened? The demons crowding them had picked a good time to start a fight; they were far off their guard. “Damn, where are they?!” Cal whispers fervently under his breath. He’s talking about the troupe. They said they’d jump to help them the moment Cal and MC were in peril, and yet...

There was no sign of their promised rescue.

Maybe... maybe they were ambushed too. That’s probably what’s taking so long. But the suppressing atmosphere and the constant veil of doom cast around them made that belief give nothing but discomfort. Suddenly, Cal whirls around and his hands frantically grip MC’s shoulders. There’s an edge of panic circulating his eyes; a frothing sea under darkening clouds, troubling winds. She was threatened by the tide of unease he relents, her legs threatening to cave under the pressure; on her arms, MC could sense the subtle shake spreading down to his hands. Somehow, though, the same disorienting emotion-heavy blue that sensitizes her steely confidence is the same blue remedy to lure her in; create a bubble, separate the feasible danger from their gravity. MC was so close to him and the warmth he gave reminded her of a night-in spent curled around a fireplace--warm and comfortable. It almost made her feel silly for being afraid. “MC, listen to me,” Cal declares, the hands clasped on her arms shaking her lightly, “I need your trust in me right now. Do you trust me?”

Although the realms of what he was about to say were endless, MC hadn’t expected something like that.

A simple yet passionate request for trust--trust in Cal. Oddly enough, MC could feel her chest illuminate with the glow of his words, a new layer of warmth added for every syllable. Cal needs me. He needs my trust in him. That thought spins mindless circles in her head, swirling faster and faster until they were permanently ingrained in her brain. A smile climbs up her cheeks; she couldn’t help it. Even now, surrounded by literal demons who’d waste no time at all ripping them apart, MC saw all the ways she fell for him. It was so clear.

Absentmindedly, MC softly speaks. “Always. I love you, so I trust you.”

She hadn’t even meant to say ‘I love you’, but once she did, MC could feel this growing concoction of anxiety and anticipation and embarrassment in her belly. It rose as she watched his eyebrows rise, his lips part, his eyes widen. Cal seemed astounded by her admission but that awe wears off quickly. The trick shooter shakes himself out of it, almost like a dream, and the fingers digging into her arm lose some of their force. They still trembled slightly. “You... that’s good,” he stammers a little, “I trust you too... maybe more than I can say right now, unfortunately. Around all these demons.” Within the next moment, the arms latching onto MC lose their grip and instead, one curls around her waist tight while his other hand pillows the back of MC’s head. MC can barely even react before he’s skillfully ducking around the throng of demons, dashing for something MC can’t quite tell at first. Her chin was perched on his shoulder, allowing her to watch all of the anger that passes over the demons’ faces. “Hold on tight, will you? It’s going to be a bumpy ride.” Cal whispers into her ear. There’s a knowing edge to his tone that has MC bracing for the worst. She clings to him, hard, wondering what he was planning.

Her answer is given through thousands of glass shards falling around her, the deafening noise of shattering windows filling her ears as the gunslinger slams out of the display window.

MC whimpers and clutches him a little tighter. Small bits of glass bounce innocently off her body, falling down on the pavement with a tiny tinkling noise. Her ears rang as Cal continued to move, dashing away from the convenience store with an entire mob of demons following him. Everything moved in a blur and she could feel the wind swimming through her hair. A weird calm settles over, suppressing the trepidation that had plagued her thoughts. That plague was washed away by the memory of her admission and the way Cal sort of... dismissed it. The sentence stuck to her like gum, tacky and unavoidably irking. Thousands of thoughts charge her. Why didn’t he reciprocate her admission? Why be cryptic? Why admit he trusts her, then leave her with nothing to hold onto? Hadn’t the idea that they shared a common ground of trust, a specialized bond of trust and companionship, been clearly shown before?

Lastly, how did he feel about it?

Cal’s reply had been quicker than MC had anticipated. But she was reluctant to admit that they had been ambushed by possibly hundreds of demons. Of course Cal had been hasty to respond; their lives were on the line! He had been so shocked at first, then his touch had become gentler, almost like he felt relief or something similar to that feeling... Am I wrong to think that way? MC didn’t think so but the impeding insecurity she felt made her stance sway slightly. Maybe that reaction meant nothing. Maybe he was just snapping out of his shaken state at her words. Maybe... maybe that declaration of trust was his way of shooting her down without putting a more direct meaning in his words. Maybe that was his way of saying that that’s all he felt; trust in her. Nothing more, nothing less. Just an ally to side with when problems awaken. The idea of that complies a certain composition of saddened disappointment and unconditional happiness. Still embraced in his all-encompassing person, MC’s grip lessens an inch. She could feel the fierce rush of his heart, the slight vibration it gave. For a moment, she wonders what made it race like that--besides danger. What exactly was the mechanism that caused him to feel things that made his heart react?

More specifically, what were the things he held dearest? Who did his heart beat for the most?

Around them, MC notices that his speed has slowed and the herd had been reduced to a few fast-runners; the rest were out of sight. Maybe they’d get away in tact and alive, after all. Her questions have turbid answers that all float in her head, wavering bubbles of interest that popped at the slightest hints of tension. Maybe... Cal just wants to say it back on his own terms. Maybe he’s not at that place yet... maybe his statement of trust was his way of reciprocation. Just like before, the suggestive meaning gave a new glimmer of hope to MC. If her intuition was right and Cal just wasn’t prepared to give his true answer yet, then MC could live with his dismissing. If he wasn’t ready, then MC would be willing to wait. She’d always wait--she’d waited weeks, why not wait a few more in his company?

All the while, as Cal helped dismantle her after they had escaped the demons, MC held onto the response to her ‘I love you’.

It bred a whole new sense of rapture in her chest that was a sun of hope and love and delight. Being patient wasn’t such a hard thing to do for the person you loved.

So what was the harm in being patient for the one you treasure above all else?

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Thank you again for your request! I had so much fun writing with this and I hope you love this as much as I loved writing it! Oh and I’m sorry that it took three whole weeks to get to your request, but I hope the length and quality (eh) can make up for it!

If you want to request something, here’s the Prompt List, here are the Guidelines, here’s Who I Write For, and here is where you can Request me.

#cal north

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missblissy · 5 years

Note

Hmm you said requests are still open and I am a sucker for Arthur. I can’t seem to get this one scene out of my head- it was a dream I had once lmao it was me and Arthur and we had been married for years. Grew up in the gang together all that stuff and you danced with Arthur one night the camp got a big score. Idk just anything fluffy and dancing with your cowboy is amazing (I love your writing bless you 💕)

((Thank you so much for requesting this!! It was so fun to write! Everyone deserves a good dance with Arthur

((Listen to the song, Absolutely Smitten by Dodie, that inspired this fic!!))

Silence and peace lingered in the air, floating around camp and down the hill where you sat. Watching. Waiting. Listening. Your hand held tightly onto the barrel of your gun while you stared up into the treetops. The warm orange rays of the evening sun somehow made the forest come to life. The leaves glowed and danced to the soft summer breeze while birds sang out their songs.

Every now and then you’d peer into the woods and down the path that exposed the camp’s hideout. You were standing guard while the vast majority of your gang was gone, working tirelessly to bring home something worthwhile. They left before dawn, it was only hours till nightfall now.

The setting sun was a beautiful distraction though. This camp’s location was stunning and had an amazing view. It helped your mind worry a little less. With every new hour that passed, caused every new worried thought to pop into your head. Firstly, you cared for your gang and the many members that lived amongst you. They were your family and to see any of them hurt or dead would be a terrible loss.

But most importantly, among all of them was one man that was the most precious thing in your life, your husband, Arthur. You had been married for nearly six years now, but not by law or even in the eyes of a God. You had a ring, you had his word, you had a happy life despite what you were and what you weren’t. In your heart, he was your husband and to him, you were his wife. You knew him even longer than you’d been married. You had been there for each other since you were kids when Dutch picked you guys up off the streets.

Arthur was a skilled and mastered criminal who had cheated death more times than anyone could ever count. You had faith in him to get the job done and to do it well. But as the years passed and you got older, you started to worry more and more about your husband and if his luck would finally start to run out.

You used to join them on heists, you use to be a proud outlaw that could look death in the eye and spit at his boots. You still had that in you, but you took to a more quiet life the larger the gang grew and the older you got. You were not the young adult you use to be, just a few months ago you turned another year older and closer to the grave. It was an eyeopening experience you never thought you’d live to see. The first time you complained about your age, Dutch and Hosea barked at you to wait until you’re in your 50s and 60s, then Uncle wouldn’t shut up about being older than dirt.

Still, it made you ponder your life. You had a son, but he died hours after his first breath, and he was the spawn of a one night stand with a gunslinger in your teens. He would have been 19 this year. You had many lovers up until you admitted to yourself how much it was Arthur you needed at the end of the night. It took a long time for the two of you to get on the same page. It was only within the last decade had your relationship changed into what it was.

And it was nice, though it wasn’t everything you wanted. You had started to long for a simple life, children, a home and a real husband. But Arthur refused to marry you in law until he could give you that life you dreamed of.

“Mrs. Morgan!” You were snapped from your thoughts. You looked over your shoulder and saw Pearson waving to you from up the hill, “Could you come up and lend me a hand real quick?!”

You stretched your legs and arms out as you stood up, then threw your repeater around your shoulder, “Sure!” Anything was better than waiting around at this point. You met the large man half way and he seemed out of breath and honestly… he looked liked shit.

“Can you please watch the stew for dinner?” Pearson jabbered out quickly, “I gotta lay down or something- I-”

“Yeah, it’s fine,” You cut him off and waved a hand with a small smile, “Get something from near Strauss’s wagon and lay down.”

“Thank you, ma’am. You’re a saint! I’d be skinned by this whole camp if no one got fed!” He was right but at the same time, you could tell he wasn’t feeling well so you didn’t mind taking over.

You gave him another smile as he waddled off, mumbling about the pain in his stomach. The pot was in the heart of camp, sitting over a smoldering pit of logs as it boiled a heart potato stew inside. You grabbed a barrel and sat down next to the cast iron and would stir it every few minutes while gazing into the flaming. You didn’t even notice the time pass, and the next time you looked up the sky was dark and the moon was out.

Suddenly a low roar and thunder started to quake alive from the forest. You perked up and looked around and around. People started to come out of their hiding places. Marybeth and Tilly tiptoed into the open along with Uncle and Abigal. You got up and abandon the pot of stew and started to make your way through camp.

Seemingly coming out of now where and bursting through the darkness of the forest, Dutch lead a slew of men on their steads with a smile on his face, “We did it!” He shouted, gaining the attention of nearly everyone. “We got ‘em!”

The score! You remembered the train they were robbing and how much money they could make off it. You noticed the large bags on nearly every rear end of every horse that came in. You whispered a little thank you under your breath when you saw Arthur finally ride into camp. Everyone was safe, no one was hurt, and the gang’s wealth just grew twice in size.

When Arthur caught your gaze a smile grew on his face. He hurried to get off his horse and make his way over to you. You both reached your hands out to each like it was a natural reflex, “I’ve been waiting all god damn day to see you,” Arthur’s cheeky little grin warmed your heart as you took his hands in yours. His hands were dry and calloused and covered in dirt.

You smiled up at him while the roar of the gang grew. Everyone was cheering and yelling and throwing the loot around that they scored. Gold bars and stacks of cash got passed around while others broke out bottles of moonshine and rum. You got on your tiptoes and placed a hand on Arthur’s cheek while kissing the other, “It’s good to see you too,” You laughed lightly.

He tried to steal a kiss from you but you were quick to turn your head and avoid his lips. Arthur let out a little growl and his free hand snaked around your side and he tried again, this time he got to kiss you. You loved teasing him while being a little stubborn, but you knew he liked it. He wouldn’t have kissed you as hard as he did if he didn’t like it. When you pulled apart the both of you shared a smile and started walking towards the fire pit at the edge of camp.

“I don’t think we’ve had a hit this big in years,” Arthur said, still holding your hand in his as you walk by his side, “It wasn’t clean, but we made out big,” You could tell, all the fortune was still being passed around amongst the others. You sat down on a log covered with animal pelts while Arthur sat beside you. Hosea and Javier were already sitting by the fire and they both greeted you with smiles and a lift of their bottles.

“We got away with it!” Hosea had such a pleased look on his face, “That’s all that matters, don’t it?” He gave a little shake of his head, “And not a single one of us dead.”

“Can’t say the same for the other guys,” Javier chimed in with a little cheeky grin on his face while everyone shared a laugh.

“Naah,” Arthur drawled slowly, “They’re all dead, I made sure of that,” Another round of laughter at an inside joke you didn’t understand.

They all started to talk about the heist while you toned in and out of the conversation. Your arm was locked with Arthur’s and you leaned onto his shoulder, resting your cheek against his shirt. This was all you wanted, to be beside him. It didn’t matter what you were doing or what was going on around you. So long as Arthur was in arm’s reach you were at peace.

You started daydreaming to the sound of his laughter as it rumbled into the air and mingled with everyone else’s chuckles. You thought about a life far away from here, that seemed so far out of reach. The dream for so long -Dutch’s dream, that is- was to find a place to call home for the whole lot of you. He wanted to escape far enough into the west where no one could find you. To settle some land as farmers, ranchers. He’d joke about settling a town on the coast where California met Mexico.

You were suddenly pulled from your thoughts as Arthur quickly left your side without explanation. You were sure he said something to you but you were so lost in thought you must have not heard him. He vanished into the night behind you along with Hosea and you saw John chase after them mentioning something about the lack of moonshine. You were drawn to follow Arthur with your gaze.

At the same time, you lost Arthur amongst the clutter of the gang and you turned back to the fire as Javier started to play his guitar. It didn’t take long for the soft music to pull others around the fire and singing to fill the air. Karen, Tilly, and Marybeth came almost out of nowhere and started singing and pulling who was ever closest to start dancing with them. They were so much younger than you and full of life. You smiled watching them but never dared to join, you stayed seated on the log feeling shy. Even Dutch was swinging around with Molly.

There was a hand that slipped onto your upper back and rested there, warm and gentle. You looked up and saw Arthur standing behind you, a large brown glass bottle in his other hand. He gave one of his small and half smiles down to you. You felt a wave of happiness and joy beat from your heart when you saw him.

He leaned down and got close to your ear like he was going to whisper a secret to you, “You should dance with me, darlin,” He asked quietly.

You quickly shook your head, “No,” Your voice was small but you felt a smile tug at your lips oddly, “I couldn’t, I’m no good at that. I’ll look like a fool.”

This time Arthur shook his head, “You’ll look beautiful,” Those words made you feel like a schoolgirl confronting her crush. Arthur pressed a kiss into your cheek and the whiskers from his five o’clock shadow tickled the skin along your neck. It caused you to giggle out behind your hand.

It took you a second to make up your mind. You took the bottle from his hand and downed what was left of the rum inside. Something about that made Arthur smile wide and let out a low single chuckle, “Fine,” You said as you tossed the empty bottle to the ground, “But you’ll own me.”

As you got up, he took your hand in his and pulled you away, “That’s fine,” You followed him until he took your other hand and pulled you close, “Anything’s worth being with you for a few minutes,”

What was he doing? You smiled up to him, something about tonight was special and different. Arthur wasn’t much for fun or dancing or really anything. He was a sour old man after all. But here he was with one hand holding yours and another tucked in the middle of your back. Maybe he drank a little too much, or maybe he just loved you more than anything.

But you danced with him for the first time in years. The music was quick but not to fast, the song was funny but it was older than you and you knew every word. And not once did you take your eyes off Arthur. You couldn’t be bothered to look around the camp to see who else was dancing or who might be watching you. Every once and a while you were spun around once or twice and pulled back to him soon enough.

You loved him so much and he made you feel lighter than air. How in the world did you get so lucky to find a man like him? He squeezed your hand and gave a quick tug and pulled you right up against him. He loved whispering secrets to you, he was a very private person, “This isn’t so bad, is it?”

You giggled a few times, “It’s perfect,” You rested your cheek against his, “I love you, you know that?”

The two of you slowed enough to sway back and forth to the tempo of the song that half of the gang was still singing. You looked around a noticed it was only the two of you now. Everyone else was at the fire a few feet away.

“I would hope so,” Arthur’s breath warmed your skin. He brought your hand up to his chest, placing your lock hands together between the two of you while his other hand was at your side holding you close, “Because I love you more than anything in the world.”

“You promise?”

You liked the way his voice sounded as he said, “Forever,” You pulled away slightly so you could look up at him. He stared down at you as you stopped swaying and stretched on your tiptoes to grab at his hat on the top of his head. You used his hat as a wall between you and the gang only a few feet away as you stole a kiss from Arthur.

He gladly let you take it, in fact, he stole a few of his own before he took his hat from your hand and put it on your head, “Come on, darlin” Arthur started to pull you away from the heat of the camp and away from everyone else, “Lets get away from here,” He gave you this look that sparked a wildfire in your heart.

With a grin, you squeezed his hand then yanked it away before flashing a cheeky smile. You broke into a run and dashed away from him, just enough to be out of reach.

At first, he was surprised but it didn’t take long for him to take the bait and chase after you just like you wanted. He let out a playful growl and tried his best to trap you in his arms again. You left the camp and everyone behind as you dashed past tents and in between wagons. You only made it to just outside your tent. Arthur didn’t waste a second snatching you up and he kissed you quickly with both of his hands on either side of your face.

When he pulled away he was slightly out of breath, the corners of his lips rose into a gentle smile as he gave a single shake of his head, “I’m getting too old for this shit,” He wheezed out slightly.

“You barely even ran,” You joked back, “Besides,” You started to pull away from him again but he wouldn’t let you. So instead you got closer and pressed a kiss into that special little spot behind his jaw and under his ear, “You can’t be tired yet,” The way said that in that little tone sent a chill down Arthur’s spine, “We still gotta fuck.” You blurted it out so bluntly and seriously that it made him Arthur laugh harder than you expected him to.

He just shook his head a couple times, he couldn’t get over how much he loved you and how you could say something like that. He kept giggling to himself, “Yes,” He looked at you still with a smile on his face, “Yes we do.”

God, you loved him so much. And you knew he loved you just as much, maybe even more. You grabbed his hand and disappeared into your tent for the night. More than happy to have Arthur all to yourself.

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gendercraft · 6 years

Text

Nothing Interesting

Trigger warnings: Robert tells a Spook™ about a human-eating cryptid, lots of cussing, cigarettes, hangover mention, sex mentions

Word count: 1501

Ship: Smallmarch [RobertxDamien]

A/N: This is my very first time writing these characters so if they’re out of character… rip

Also sorry for the shitty title lmao

Reblogs > Likes

Robert groaned as the sun struck his eyes.

He rolled over and buried his face in his pillow. He was still in his jeans and t shirt, not even taking the time to kick off his shoes when he’d gotten home last night. His head throbbed with a hangover.

He needed a cigarette.

He rolled out of bed and picked his leather jacket off the ground to fish around for his pack and lighter, stumbling to the front door. He’d stopped smoking inside a year ago, when it started getting in the way of sex. Most people didn’t care for the smell.

He threw the door open, and stopped. He blinked.

What the fuck?

Laid on his porch was a bouquet of flowers. The outside two rings were made of yellow flowers, a bunch of violet flowers held tightly in the centre. A ribbon held it all together, a bow tied on the right. There was a card next to it.

Robert stepped over it and pulled out a cigarette. It was too early. He smoked two before shoving the pack back in his jacket pocket, then knelt down and picked up the card. In Damien’s ridiculous calligraphy, it read:

Yellow acacia symbolizes secret love

Agrimony symbolizes thankfulness and gratitude

Betony symbolizes surprise

A ribbon tied to the right symbolizes the bouquet is about the giver

He stared down at it, his face burning. Fucking dork…

He picked up the bouquet and stumbled back inside. He didn’t know what else to do, so he filled a tall glass with tap water and plopped the flowers inside.

He should probably message him now. See if he wanted to hang out.

…

Nah, fuck that.

He went back inside and killed time until the sun set. He was set on spending a few hours bar hopping, but when he passed Damien’s house, he stopped and sighed.

Lucien answered the door. Of course. He scowled up at Robert, acting like Robert couldn’t snap him in half if he wanted to. “What do you want?”

“Your dad around?”

“Maybe.”

This was a mistake.

“Listen-”

“Lucien? Who was-?” Damien appeared behind him, and startled. “Oh- Hi, Robert.” He caught onto the way Robert and Lucien were looking at each other- Lucien smug and amused, Robert one hundred percent done -and sighed. “Lucien, would you mind giving us some privacy? And please refrain from scaring away guests any longer.”

He rolled his eyes, but left, his door shutting a moment later.

“Robert.” Damien’s cheek turned pink. “Lovely to see you again.”

His brain moved slow. “Mhm. You busy right now?”

Damien smiled. “No.”

“Cool. You’re coming to the bar with me.”

He didn’t wait for a response, as usual, but as he started back down the drive, Damien grabbed his hand. “Oh. But I, uh, I don’t drink.”

“Oh.” He wrinkled his nose. “Really?” Shitty choice, Robert.

Damien pulled his hand back, looking uncomfortable. “Yes. I apologize.”

Robert shook his head. “It’s fine, I guess.” He paused. “Wanna do something else tonight?”

Damien looked surprised, but nodded. “I would love to! Let me just get ready. Here, come in.”

“Oh, I don’t know…” He inched back.

“Please.” Damien held out his hand. “It’d be rude of me to leave you waiting in the cold.”

Oh, fuck it.

Robert let Damien pull him into the house. It was warm; not just the air, but the walls as well. He was damn near forced to feel comfortable.

Damien left him waiting in the parlour. He sat on the plush maroon couch, feeling like his mere presence was dirtying it.

Damien came back down in his full Victorian attire, looking beautiful. Looking at him, Robert realized he probably had a vampire kink. “I’ve thought of a couple things we could do tonight, if any of them interest you. We could take a walk in the cemetery-”

“Yes.” Robert stood, grinning. “Let’s do that.”

Damien stared at him in surprise, and giggled. “Brilliant.”

As they walked side by side towards the cemetery, Robert thought back on his previous… Partners. This was unchartered territory. He didn’t know what he had expected, dating a fucking vampire, but he’d never done it this way before. He’d never taken it so slow. They hadn’t even slept together.

Damien seemed unusually relaxed when they entered the graveyard. Hm… Suspicious…

They stayed silent for a while, roaming around the pebble pathways. While Robert read every name and date on the headstones, Damien admired the statues and flowers.

“So, Damien,” Robert stopped, making a show out of taking in their surroundings, “you ever heard of the Pale Crawler?”

He arched an eyebrow. “No.”

“It’s a cryptid.” Robert fought a grin. “A cave dweller. They hang around cemeteries.”

He seemed uneasy, his eyes shifting not too subtly. “There’s multiple?”

“Maybe. You wanna know why they hang around cemeteries?”

“I suppose…”

“For food.”

Damien sat on a concrete bench, his legs crossed and his back straight. Robert moved to stand behind him, talking in his ear.

“It waits for a burial, and then digs up the fresh body, drags it to its cave, and devours it.”

Damien was completely stiff. “So they don’t attack living people, I presume.”

“No, not usually. But, well, if you’re hungry… You’ll eat what you can get. Maple Bay doesn’t get much excitement. I bet the ones around here are starving.”

Damien looked at him, his face passive but his eyes wide. “You think there are Pale Crawlers in Maple Bay?”

“Oh, I know there are.” He finally let his grin break through. “Almost died to one a few years back.”

“What happened?” Damien whispered.

Robert unfocused his eyes, so it looked like he was remembering something while letting him concentrate on fabricating the story. “I was taking a walk, trying to get my mind off a few things.” He pointed ahead, at a path some graves separated them from. “I was right over there, and I heard leaves rustling, so I looked up and saw one. A Pale Crawler.

“It was on all fours, its spine arched in a way no human’s could. It looked like a bony, hairless man, with gray skin. And it was looking right at me.”

“What did you do then?”

“Nothing. I’d never seen anything like it, I was terrified. It must have been starving, because it charged right at me. Knocked me down so hard I broke a headstone, and my shoulder, too. The crawler started dragging me to its cave. I was grabbing at anything I could, destroying the whole cemetery.”

Damien was totally enthralled now. His eyes bore into Robert’s, leaning into him. “How’d you escape?”

“I took one of those statues- The small angel ones, and I hit it over the head as hard as I could.”

“How could you come back here?”

Robert gripped onto Damien’s shoulders. “To uphold a deal.”

“What deal?”

“Well, they’re more intelligent than people think. The statue barely phased it, and when I started begging for my life, it told me I could live if I always brought it food.

Damien’s eyes blew wide. He jumped up, wrapping his arms around himself. “You’re messing with me!”

Robert burst into laughter. “It’s Maple Bay, Damien, things never get that interesting!” He glanced up, and his laughter died out.

Damien was trembling, tears welled up in his eyes. He kept looking at the trees behind him.

Goddamnit.

“I was, uh, I was just joking.” He was extremely uncomfortable, but he rounded the bench to get closer. “I didn’t realize it’d actually… Scare you.”

“I’m not scared,” Damien said, his voice thick.

He raised an eyebrow. “Really?”

“Of course not! It was just a story.”

He nodded slowly. “It was. I made the whole thing up. Well, the Pale Crawler is a cryptid, but I’ve never seen it.”

A few tears slipped down Damien’s face. Robert didn’t know what else to do, and he hated how guilty he felt, so he opened up his arms. Damien stared at him in surprise for an uncomfortable moment, before diving into his arms. Robert wrapped his arms around him, holding him closer. Dear God, he was so small.

“The last bit was pretty dumb,” Damien mumbled after a while.

Robert chuckled. “Yeah, that was a bit of a stretch, huh? Come on, I think it’s time I get you home.”

Damien pulled away reluctantly, and relaxed as Robert draped his arm over his shoulders while they walked.

He really was a prick. A guy he actually liked, and he scared him to tears just because he can’t function like a normal human being.

Robert walked him up to the front door. “You gonna be okay alone?”

Damien smiled. “Of course.”

“I won’t do that next time,” he said awkwardly. Probably. Well, maybe. He could try.

“Next time?”

He fought back a blush. “Sure. Hypothetically.”

Damien leaned forward and kissed his cheek, squeezing his hand softly. “See you next time.” He disappeared inside.

Robert was so fucked.

Tagging some ppl who seemed interested: @caktusjuice @herbalmagickal @immortalimmoral @eddies-spaghetti

#i am SCARED #pls be gentle omg i am Terrified(tm)#ddadds #smallmarch #damien bloodmarch #robert small #max writes

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sickandtideeeee · 6 years

Text

By Bast - Chapter 5 (Erik x Reader)

I know this probably wasn’t worth the wait lmao but I hope you guys enjoy!

Erik N’Jadaka Stevens sat patiently, still enough that if it weren’t for the subtle rise and fall of his chest as he breathed deeply, one could have mistaken him for a wax figure. Quiet and calm he appeared, as he sat on the throne of the cousin he had so cleanly deposed. Yet the storm raging within was undeniable. Erik was, for the first time of his life since he had vowed to take revenge on the family that abandoned him, unsure of his next move.

This uncertainty was obviously unrelated to his plan for world domination – that was clear cut. He had already announced his plan to the Border Tribe general, W’Kabi - they would deliver weapons to all parts of the world where his kin were being mistreated. The best part is he wouldn’t even bother taking time out of his day to talk to rebel leaders. A quick drop-off of high-tech tools of destruction without any guidance or restriction would lead to just the type of anarchy he needed for a paradigm shift. True leaders knew how to seize an opportunity, and he would be the orchestrator of it all. He would let the whole world burn and build it up from the ashes to his liking.

Yet however smoothly his mission had gone according to plan, he couldn’t shake how unsettled he was by that single person - a woman, no less. Never for a moment had he ever been moved by anything of a woman, whether it was a pretty face, a voluptuous body, or a bright, cheerful smile. In fact, he often preferred when his obstacles were women, for he found them terribly easy to manipulate. A little kernel of attention here, a small act of kindness there. Add in a smile, and they would bend over backwards for him.

Somehow, this wildly insignificant woman had impressed on him more than anyone as unremarkable as she was should have the power to. Maybe it was the fact that when she gazed into his eyes that first day in the throne room, he had felt the world stand still for just a split second. Despite having easily pushed her aside to carry out his mission, the moment he was left to his own thoughts in his holding cell, he couldn’t get her out of his mind. When she appeared with one of the Dora guards, he quickly realized why.

She was the woman in the dream he had the night he first heard Bast.

Erik had been tidying up the aftermath of one of his last kills before he had planned to execute Klaue, his key to the Wakandan border. Removal of evidence for him had become so routine that he often let his mind wander from the task at hand while he covered his tracks. What would he eat tonight? Did he remember to unload the dishwasher? He had a girl at home who threatened to leave every time he was out late, a pretty but more importantly, loyal woman named Linda. He smirked at the sheer thought of her leaving – all he had to do was lay some strategic pipe and she’d clean his slate, again and again and again…

Must you continue to thirst for blood like this?

Erik turned abruptly to survey his surroundings, only to stare into unperturbed darkness. The fact that the soft whisper seemed to have originated from inside his head rather than outside would have unnerved anyone, but the average person wasn’t neatly folding a full-grown human body into a bag to be dissolved in a barrel of acid. After a short pause to tune his ears into any new sounds, Erik swung his load over his shoulder and continued on his way home, deciding whatever he had heard had just been a figment of imagination.

He slipped quietly into bed only a few hours later besides the girlfriend he would later shoot dead at a moment’s notice, now asleep and unquestioning of his whereabouts. He had by necessity never been a sound sleeper but that night he was overcome by a slumber as deep as the grave.

When he awoke, he was somewhere otherworldly to the say the least. As a man who rarely dreamt, he wondered if this qualified as a phantom trip. He wasn’t much of a stoner, but you couldn’t always trust what was in the weed these days.

Off in the distance, he saw a figure comfortably laid against a tree, sitting cross-legged on the grass, her head immersed in a book. Odd.

Before he could call out to her for a clue to wherever the hell he was, a pressure started to build in his ears, as though he were suddenly twenty thousand feet in the air. Then one bodiless voice, the same as the one he had heard during his waking hours, appeared to split into two, and both assaulted his ears at once. In one ear, the same voice was harsh, grating, furious; the other, smooth and sweet.

He deserves revenge! He has no obligation for mercy! He carries out my will, I have imbued him with the rage he needs!

He needs love! He needs compassion! He facilitates his own destruction, let him seek the healing he deserves!

He’s powerful and destructive, Bast!

He’s suffering, Sekhmet!

The voices became progressively louder and unintelligible as they argued, until he was brought to his knees, eyes closed, hands clasped over his ears. Soon, he too was screaming in pain as he felt his eardrums tear. Then as he felt a hand gently press on his shoulder, the voices vanished. He looked up to see you smile wide and reassuringly at him. You introduced yourself with your birth name, and he committed it to memory. Y/N.

Let her heal your heart, Bast said to him. He had awoken fazed, but the thought of someone trying to change him laughable. You wouldn’t be the first woman who tried.

When you finally presented yourself to the new king as composed yet stone-faced as only a person who had begun to accept tremendous loss could, Erik realized how pretentious his thoughts were. You couldn’t care less about fixing him, you were too preoccupied with ensuring he didn’t break you.

Okoye escorted you by the arm into the room, her hand gripping just a little too tight. She released you, bowed to the abomination now ruling the country, and left the room. You just barely heard her scoff. Before the throne you stood catatonically, eyes lowered to the King’s sandals.

“I heard you were causing some trouble last night.” N’Jadaka smirked, the need to dispel the uncomfortable silence underlying his voice. You refused to look him in the eye, and responded only with silence.

“Sit the fuck down.” he demanded, the trickster cadence to his voice now gone. He wouldn’t tolerate that same level of disrespect you’d shown before a second time. You considered a small act of resistance, but were despondent enough that you lacked the energy to struggle against his will. Before the throne, you noticed a low table set up with two plates and a pair of utensils for both. You knelt obediently on the large pillow closest to your side of the table, and N’Jadaka approached from the throne and sat cross-legged opposite from you.

The moment your eyes met, you visualized yourself plunging the fork at your right-hand side deep into his neck. Maybe if you were lucky, you would be able to get the internal jugular, and watch him bleed out. Yet, you banished the image and kept your expression neutral and effaced. Servants quickly ran in and out setting food and drink between the two of you, and you felt one too many curious glances as they delivered dishes. The palace would soon be teeming with yet more fodder for Okoye’s misplaced suspicions. A temple maid consorting with the new king?

“Eat.” N’Jadaka commanded. You hesitated. The last thing you wanted to do was share a meal with your father’s murderer, but before you could start another internal monologue, he grabbed you abruptly by the chin across the table, dragging you to him. You let out a small gasp of surprise as the cutlery on the table clattered but did not shatter or drop.

“I’m not about to repeat myself.” He barked, face only inches apart from yours, essentially repeating himself. As he let go of your face, settling back into his seat with his arms crossed, the skin of your cheeks stung, but fear never set in. Rather, your stomach growled audibly, and your mind drifted to the red stain you had stared at all night. You quietly stuffed a fried dough beignet in your mouth and chased it with a spoonful of beans. Soon your treacherous hunger intensified, and you ate appetitively. You were surprised you could eat given your whole life had fallen apart – but such was the power of that supernatural calm.

N’Jadaka watched you carefully as you scarfed down the meal as though you had never seen food before, he himself abstaining from the meal. When you finally reached for the pot of coffee in the center of the table, he cleared his throat.

“You ready to talk now?”

You looked up to him, arm extended and cocked your head to the side incredulously.

“What do you expect me to say?” You replied, flatly. Thanks for feeding me? Thanks for the medical attention? Or the imprisonment, the murder of my father, the overhaul of my country, the list goes on...

The muscles in N’Jadaka’s neck tensed. He hadn’t expected an answer like that, but he couldn’t deny he set himself up for it. He let out a deep breath, and stretched his bulky arms out across the table. You withdrew again, instinctively, but this time he didn’t reach for you. He rolled his shoulders back again and relaxed back into his seat, crossing his arms over his chest. He sighed again deeply.

“You know, you really got a mouth on you. Like damn, do all y’all Wakandan bitches talk like this?” He sounded more annoyed than angry, yet you looked at him warily, and then to the rest of your surroundings. The servants had long since filed out of the room and you realized the two of you were alone. You became both nervous and impatient. Your stomach was full, your heart was empty, you needed out.

“What do you want from me?” You asked, reticently.

In his mind’s eye, Erik recalled how you had suddenly rushed him at Warrior Falls, and as he turned, his short spear had pierced cleanly into you like a knife into butter. He recalled how you clasped your hands around the spear, and staring straight at him, the whites of your eyes had rolled back into your head, lips mouthing words that seemed less like expletives but primordial curses. His body had frozen still as you collapsed once you had exhausted that last burst of strength, disarmed enough that T’Challa had enough time to place him in a headlock. Rather than hearing his cousin telling him to yield, all surrounding sound had faded and all he heard was Bast give him a warning: Either you spare her, or you doom yourself.

He had thought of disposing of your body the same way he did T’Challa, but as he approached you, the words seared themselves repetitively in his head over and over again. Now you sat before him and Erik truly did not have the slightest idea what to do with you. Yet he was too, dare he say it, afraid to get rid of you.

You were patiently waiting on a response, and the very fact that you expected him to answer to you irked N’Jadaka to no end.

“I’ll ask the questions here, not you. Got that shit?” he said, rising from his seat. As if on cue, the servants rushed back into the room to clear the table.

“Get the fuck out. I’ll summon you again when I feel like it.” He said.

Something compelled you to keep pressing on.

“I understand, and I say this loosely, what your problem was with-“ you watched him tense up again, “the former prince, but what exactly was your vendetta against my father?” You asked insistently, rising to your feet, despite the two Dora who had appeared by your side to escort you away from the King.

The look he gave you was one full of contempt.

"You mean Uncle James?”

Uncle what?

N’Jadaka rose to his feet as well, waving his warriors back, and stepped to you again. “You know, that nigga was the last person I was thinking about coming to this place, but the idea of this motherfucker running around having some bitch calling him pops after that shit he pulled.…”

He balled his hands up into fists, but then clasped his hands together, flashing one of his trademark sadistic smiles.

“I don’t want to hear about that nigga again, got it?” He paused to let those words sink in, then continued. “Like for real, if I hear about ‘your father’ again, Imma have you executed. You’ve been getting too many chances from me so far, babygirl.”

This time the mischievous lilt in his voice barely covered the fact that his tone was the most deadly it had been since the first time he spoke to you. He gave you a patronizing pat on the head.

“Now if you calm down and don’t cause any trouble, I’ll find a good use for you.”

And with that, a whole new set of layers were added to your confusion. Little did you know, N’Jadaka was as lost as you were, too.

Tagging: @syndrlla97@iwantsomethingeternal@1killmonger@chasingsunlight @hoopshoney@destinio1 @wakanda-inspired @thadelightfulone @lalasparkles @pessimisfit @youreadthatright @stark-red19, @ruruly20, @bossyboyd03, @autumn242 @heybriheyyy@ thelovelyliterary

[Prologue][Chapter One][Chapter Two][Chapter Three][Chapter Four][Chapter Six][Chapter Seven][Chapter Eight]

#erik x reader #erik x poc!reader #black panther #killmonger x reader

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