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scuttling · 3 years

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Trophy Husband

Fandom: Criminal Minds Pairings: Aaron Hotchner/Female Reader Word Count: 2,188 Tags: 18+, NSFW, Dad bod Hotch, Insecure Hotch, Dry humping, Unprotected sex, a lil Daddy kink Summary: Requested by anon: “maybe some dad bod hotch smut? like where he’s newly retired and hasn’t been working out as much and the reader worships his body bc he’s been feeling a little insecure” I love some dad bod Hotch, so happy to fill this request! Link to A03 or read below!

“No, we’re not doing forced overtime again. If you want my team to put out more consults, then we need to hire more profilers.” You walk through your front door and into the kitchen, smiling when you see Aaron standing over the stove, holding a wooden spoon and stirring something that smells amazing. “With all due respect, I’m not concerned about the budget, sir; if my people are as valuable as you stated, then I expect them to be taken care of.”

Aaron looks back at you, wrinkles his nose, and you make a motion with your hands—blah, blah, blah—which makes him chuckle.

“I agree completely, sir. That’s a great idea. If you send down the requisitions tomorrow, I’ll start interviewing on Monday. No, thank you. Good night.” You lock your phone, set your bag on the stool closest to you, and sigh. “Was it this hard to get stuff done when you were the unit chief?”

“No, it’s definitely harder now, but you make it look easy. And sexy,” he says with a smirk, and you walk over to him; he offers a taste of what he’s making—it looks like paella, and your stomach rumbles—and you lean in to take a bite off of the spoon, looking up at him and flicking your tongue over your lips. His eyes get dark.

Even after ten years of marriage, he’s so easy to get going, it’s almost unfair.

“Delicious, daddy, thank you.” You stand up fully, and he turns back to the stove; your arms wrap easily around his waist, cheek pressed to the soft, worn t-shirt that covers his back. “How was your day? Are you still enjoying the life of a trophy husband?” He snorts, muscles tensing enough that you can feel it where you rest.

“Hardly.” He was in such a good mood a moment ago that this feels like a complete 180; profiler or not, you know your husband, and something’s on his mind. You tighten your embrace, and he shrugs you off a little, and that is practically unheard of. You stand, take a step back to look at him.

“What’s wrong? You aren’t getting bored of retirement already, are you? It’s only been six months.” He sighs, shakes his head. You’re sure you look confused.

“No, retirement is fine; it’s great, actually, it’s not that.” Typical Aaron, always making you drag this shit out of him. For being so sweet and kind, he’s still not that great at being open, even though you make every effort to encourage it.

“What is it, sweetheart? Something is obviously bothering you; we should talk about it.” Another deep exhale, and he turns off the burner, moves the pan of food off of the heat, and turns to face you fully.

“I imagine you already know.” You shake your head, shrug, and he gestures to himself, to his body. You feel stupid, like there’s something you’re missing.

“Aaron, love of my life, I don’t have any idea what this means.” You mimic his previous motion, and he rolls his eyes, which you can’t stand, and he’s well aware of that. “You’ve got to give me more than that, or I can’t help.”

“You can’t help, it just… is.” He sighs, and his shoulders deflate. You move closer, to touch him, comfort him, but he takes a step back. “I know I’m not the ‘trophy husband’ you probably expected me to be. I know this isn’t what you signed up for.”

You do your best to put together these cryptic sentences, the hand gesture, and when realization finally dawns on you, you can’t help it: you laugh.

Aaron turns away, and you know that was shitty, feel instantly terrible, so you reach out to put a gentle hand on his arm.

“I’m sorry, I wasn’t laughing at you, it’s just… you don’t think you’re hot anymore?” He turns to face you, looking at you like he’s tired of your shenanigans, which… after this long, he should be plenty used to them, so the look does nothing for you.

“I’ve gotten… soft, I think that’s obvious.” At that, you smirk a little, move your hands to the button on his jeans.

“Oh, I don’t think there’s anything soft about you, Aaron. Why don’t you let me put your cock in my mouth, and we’ll check again.”

“You wanted me to talk, I’m talking.” His tone is a little admonishing, and you kind of deserve it, so you stop being horny for a second and take a deep breath.

“You’re right. Sorry. So… you’re exercising less, because obviously you don’t need to be as fit anymore, since you’re not working. Am I following?” He nods his head. “Okay, and you’re feeling… insecure about the way your body looks now, because of it.”

“Yes. Especially when you, Unit Chief Hotchner, are kicking ass and looking fucking delicious doing it, and then you have to come home to me.”

It’s like a switch is flipped in you, at those words. Oh hell no.

“Hold on here. I don’t have to come home to you, I get to come home to you; every night I do, it’s like a dream come true, and on the nights I don’t get to come home to you, I dream about it. I dream about being in your arms—strong arms, always, even if they’re less defined—and I dream about making love to you and fucking you and everything in between. You: not the Aaron of two months ago or six months ago or five years ago. You.”

He looks your face over—you’re getting fired up and you know it, and it turns him on and you also know that—and then the two of you come together for a deep, desperate kiss. Your hands fist in his hair, his roughly grab your ass, and when you pull back for air he turns you so you’re bent over the counter, searches for the zipper of your skirt.

“No!” He freezes, then steps back, and you stand up, flushed. “I’m sorry, not no—just, not here.” He blows out a breath, and you kiss him softly, sorry you scared him. “It’s just that… I want to lay you back on our bed, completely naked, and I want to put my mouth and my hands on you, everywhere. I want you to see what your body does to me, exactly as it is right now. I get that that might make you feel a little vulnerable, but will you let me?” You press your lips to his again, put your hands gently on his face. “Let me, baby.”

He nods, and you take his hand, take him to your bedroom. He’s visibly nervous, so you move his hands to your body, let him strip you naked first. He always takes pleasure in this, whether he is ripping the buttons off your favorite blouse or softly mouthing at your thighs while he drags your panties down your legs, and tonight is no exception.

“So beautiful, baby,” he murmurs as he finds that zip and drags it down, helping you step out of the skirt. You kick off your heels, and he unbuttons your top—carefully, tonight—then unhooks your bra, pulls you close and kisses your neck and chest so deliciously you almost forget what brought you here.

You lick your lips, shake yourself from the haze of submission you always feel when his mouth is at your throat, and your hands flick open the button of his jeans, tug down the zipper, guide his pants to the floor. He steps out of them, and you kiss his mouth.

Your hands move up, to the hem of his t-shirt, but you do nothing. He smirks, pulls it over his head, because he knows you love that hot guy way of pulling a t-shirt off with one hand, and he happens to be a master of it. You do your best not to drool.

“Mmm. You know exactly what I like, Aaron. There’s nobody in this world who could turn me on like you, who could get me off like you.” He licks his lips, and you get on your knees, running your hands down his body as you go. “Toes to nose, you are exactly who and what I want. Don’t ever forget that.”

You start low, press your lips to the tops of his feet, then his ankles, his calves, his knees. He takes a deep, shuddering breath, but you keep moving up, slowly, until your hands find the waistband of his underwear and you pull them down. His cock springs up—this in particular is never a problem, no matter his age—and you kiss up his thighs and then rise to stand.

“Baby,” he breathes, and you lean up for a kiss, drop your panties. He grabs a fistful of your hair, takes another, rougher kiss, then releases you; you’re panting hard, and your teeth sink into your bottom lip. God, he’s good. How could he ever doubt his sex appeal when he makes you this much of a horny, eager mess with just a kiss?

You guide him back to the bed because he’s too tall for you to reach everywhere standing up; you start at his right wrist, kiss your way to the crook of his elbow, over his biceps, to his shoulder. You trail your lips over his collarbone, his throat, pausing to nibble on his earlobes, to peck him on the tip of his nose.

“I love you so much, Aaron. You are and always will be perfect in my eyes. I barely even notice when you’re being a dick anymore,” you joke, and he laughs; steamy and sexy is really good, but it’s your favorite when he laughs.

You kiss down the other side of his neck, down his arm, but this time you bring his hand up and suck on his middle and ring fingers, taking them so deeply you can flick your tongue over his wedding ring. He groans, you groan, it’s really hot. Your pussy throbs.

“Fuck, baby.” You pull them out of your mouth with an innocent smile, and then straddle his legs, leaning forward to suck and bite kisses all over his stomach and hips, avoiding his cock altogether. “Oh, god, that feels so good,” he breathes, reaching for your hair, and you slide your arms up his chest, squeeze the muscles there that are softer, but still present, while you kiss wetly along his belly.

“Mmm,” you moan while you kiss, because you’re kind of… lined up tight against his thigh, and it feels really good.

You keep kissing, all over, sloppy, eager kisses, rubbing his chest and grinding against his thigh, and it’s a surprise to you both when you come, looking up at him with your mouth open and your nails digging into his skin.

“Holy fuck,” you sigh when you’re done—there’s no sugarcoating this—humping his leg, and he licks his lips, wraps his hands around your arms, and maneuvers you on onto your back, slides his cock easily inside you where you’re wet and warm. “Yes, Aaron.”

“Oh, baby. Fuck, I love you,” he groans, and he laces your fingers with his and tucks his face against your neck. You love when he gets like this, so desperate to come but so soft, so loving, and you squeeze him with your legs, push your body into his thrusts.

“Like that, honey, just like that,” you breathe, mouthing at his shoulder, your free hand clutching at his back. “Come inside me, daddy; pin me with your big body like you always do and come inside me. Love it, want it, need it.”

He moans into your throat, works his hips harder, faster, and you hold him when he comes, smoothing your palm over his skin. He looks down at you, and love shines in his eyes just like always; your heart melts a little. That’s something you’ll never get tired of seeing as long as you live.

He pulls out, replaces his cock with his fingers and brings you to orgasm again, still looking into your eyes, and he catches your last gasping moan with his lips.

You’re both tired after that, not as young as you used to be, and you pull him on top of your body again, a warm, reassuring weight; underneath him is your favorite place to be, always has been, always will be.

“Trophy husband,” you coo in his ear, scraping fingers through his hair. He chuckles softly, brushes his thumb over your lips.

“Badass wife.”

“Mm hmm, and don’t you forget it.” After a couple minutes, your stomach rumbles, and Aaron climbs off of you, returns with the whole pan of paella, two spoons, and a bottle of white wine. “No glasses?” you ask, teasing, sitting up against the pillows, and he shakes his head, wrinkles his nose.

“Nah, I like it better this way. My lips where your lips have been.” He leans in for a soft, slow, sultry kiss, and you sigh when it’s over, lean your head against his shoulder, and smile.

❤️ Taglist: @arsonhotchner @mrsh0tchner @ssahotchie @sleepyreaderreads @mintphoenix

#aaron hotchner #criminal minds #aaron hotchner fanfic #criminal minds fanfic #aaron hotchner x female reader #aaron hotchner x reader #hotch x reader #hotch x female reader #request

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sassooda · 3 years

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Worlds Away JJK AU / Chapter 54 - Pure Devotion 🔞

w/c - 7,991

“You missed…”, Elska pants heavily into a smile, breaking their meeting of the lips, “…the room!”. When Toji unwinds into a soft chuckle and spins them into a 180, she finds herself quietly squealing when he squeezes her rear which was resting in his hold. Her back facing the direction their heading, she watches his features as he retraces the unnecessary steps taken. Right before he stops in front of her door, he glances to her with a licentious grin in response to her obvious attentiveness.

Toji presses her against the door, feeling her legs automatically tighten around his hips. He leans into her slowly while their eyes lock, him only altering his view to see her lips which he needed to be attached to. With a measured and tender motion, he brings their mouths together and groans to the melodious mewls that cascade into his ears. After securing his left arm underneath her again, he fumbles his right hand to find the knob. He grunts with accomplishment when the door creaks open, walking them through it and into her dark room while not being able to forfeit their kiss for his eyes.

Elska reaches behind Toji and pushes the door closed and begins blindly swatting for the light switch until she flips it on. The coolness in the air stings her skin as he leaves a trail of wet kisses down her neck but the heat from his breath causes her to sweat in exhilaration. Clinging to his black locks, she whimpers and pines when he nibbles into the crook of her neck. She’s still concerned with him showing up with a giant blade sticking through his chest but now that he’s healed and on fire, the ability to raise these questions stray. Instead, in a plundering whisper she calls to him, “My beloved…”, and crashes her lips back down into his when he looks back to her.

“Doll, I need you…”, he murmurs against her skin, grazing his nose along her cheek while taking in her natural scent. Toji carps into her ear, savoring the impulsive passion that radiates from her very pores.

“I need you more.”, she moans out, panting thoroughly, “I’ll always need you, Toji.”.

Toji’s brow furrows as the mixture of calamity and peace mingle within him in reaction to her words. He feels resurrected despite the reopened metaphorical wounds caused by Sachiko, though the stitches Elska gives him threaten to wring apart. He pulls away from her only enough to navigate them towards the bed, lowering her down to her feet once beside it.

Elska slides off the long button up, forgetting until that moment that it was Suguru’s. She rolls it neatly with her arms and sets it over on the couch. She looks behind her and feels a wave of warmth travel through her as she perceives Toji caringly watching her. Upon turning to walk back towards him, she pulls of her sports bra and tosses it the side, biting her lip, wishing to entice him with the motion.

When Toji playfully lunges at her to scoop her by the waist and massage her breasts, she yelps into a sweet giggle. She pushes against his chest, him letting her efforts force him to sit on the edge of the bed. His heart is still in agony but as Elska looks down to him with not only physical desire but with the offering of her love, Toji almost feels like everything could really be okay. He looks at her shorts and shoots a sly smile, her raising an eyebrow, “Oh, these?”, before slowly shimmying them down to her ankles and stepping out of them.

Elska could make a complaint about his pants but instead she straddles Toji’s lap, feeling incredibly small in his embrace. She widens her legs and sends a hand down between them, searching for his member. While staring into his glowing eyes, she strokes him through his slacks a few times and voraciously grinds herself against his bulge. She expected him to respond but the ravenous growl he exudes causes her to shudder instantly and melt even further. His hands can soon be felt coordinating in a manner to lift her up enough to tug his pants down to his thighs, freeing his throbbing erection that she can’t help but falter when presented before her. He scoots back a little more on the bed but remains sitting upright while trying to use his legs to kick off the clothing that threatens to confine his movements.

Elska climbs off of him and kneels on her knees to pull the clothing from his feet. He looks to her oddly but as she stands and places her hands on his thighs she tells him, “I can bend for you too, Toji…”. His eyes soften and he reaches up to run his fingers through her hair, causing her to kiss the pad of his hand.

‘Maybe this is okay…maybe this is where I’m supposed to be…’, he’s lost in wonderment to her gesture and the weight of her words. As they stare into each other’s eyes, his heart screams past the surface and before he can realize it, he’s listening to his own voice demand, “Promise me you’ll never leave.”.

Elska could’ve given a quick answer but there’s a deep sadness lurking in his tone. She brushes her nails along his scalp but trains on him with concerned eyes, “My beloved…where’s this coming from?”. It breaks her heart, imagining what he’s going through in regards to his first wife. Elska wants to be the support that helps him conquer anything he wishes.

Toji exhales through his nose and gently hangs his hand off of her wrist, sliding it to her fingers now on the side of his face, “Doll, just promise me…please…”. He’s embarrassed for asking but the strife and torment he’s experiencing forces him to make this superficially simple request.

Elska fights the watering of her eyes and blinks through to see him clearly. She takes her other hand and holds his head before her so his attention can only be of her. She sniffles once but collects herself and is able to sincerely say, “My beloved, you need to know that I couldn’t bear to live without you.”, she leans down to kiss him deeply and almost inaudibly says, “I would never leave you, no matter what...”.

Toji’s emotions billow over and he finds himself pulling her between his legs while resting his head against her chest. He listens to her heartbeat and allows it to soothe all of his anxieties while delicately gliding his hands up and down her body. His brain knows better that to assume his woes over Sachiko will simply disappear after this but his entirety understands that Elska means what she says. He’s completely emotive over her response, impassioned by the significance to not only their created bond but the depths of their profound affection for each other. Once he’s sure that his tears have disappeared, he looks back up to her and swears they fell in love all over again. Without anything else spoken, she smashes her lips into his salaciously, both of them heavily breathing into the other while skin is gripped, felt and tongued.

Elska’s heart feel so incredibly full that she fears it will burst. She’s gathering now that Sachiko is likely the one that stabbed her beloved and although that infuriates her beyond sanity’s recognition, she’s currently more preoccupied with reinforcing Toji, wanting him to fully comprehend how much she treasures him. He tries to pull her onto his lap again but she resists, placing her hands back on his thighs. “I think my beloved needs some special attention…”, she smiles into his lips as she grabs him up and begins pumping her hand, basking in his guttural moans.

Toji’s brow furrows once more but this time in ample loving lust to feeling her soft fingers wrap around and caressing him so vivaciously. She ghosts her lips over his own but kisses the corner of his mouth before backing away. Toji feels like she’s studying him to find what he enjoys the most but little does she know, he’s a fan of everything she administers. While their eyes remain locked, she steps back but bends over to drag her lips across his tip, causing his part in anticipation. He reaches forward to grab her hair as she opens her mouth and takes him in, the sight beautiful as she strains. His length jumps when he meets her throat but she somehow squeezes him down further. A purely pleasurable sigh leaves his lips, he can’t even help it, the raw fervor she awakens within him has become prurient. After a few warm up prods, she begins to bob her head and the lewd noises alone make him hum. She keeps trying to force more of him down her throat but he’s positive he should let her control the movement, until she applies pressure through his hand over her head. Toji’s jaw hangs open a bit as he cautiously moves his hips against the hold she asked for. He sighs wantonly as she begs for him to take control so he decides to give her one good thrust until she gags severely. He instantly regrets it and snaps out of the trance he was falling into but when she brings her head up for air, her expression reads gratification.

After a few light coughs, she wipes her face and rubs his tip sloppily into her lips. His eyes are so intense that she’s positive she’d feel them even if the lights were off. In a heated response to his worried demeanor she says, “My beloved Toji, do you not like being rough with me?”, trying to instigate.

Toji’s eyebrows jump in surprise as he stumbles over words. “I uh…Doll?”, her eyes flash hues and he understands that she’s wanting him to let loose. With a new air of carnality lingering through his veins he comes to terms with that he would actually love to. Toji takes a deep breath while this nearly foreign desire creeps along his thoughts, grabbing her hair and standing them both up. He looks around the room for the perfect place to engage this animalism and lightly grabs her by the throat to lead her into the bathroom, her blatantly relishing over his demeanor. She makes this helpless little face that causes Toji to feel like he’s partially living his original fantasy of claiming her, his face lighting up to their suggested debauchery.

He turns on the light and looks her over with a devious grin which gives her a thrill. She watches him turn on the water in the tub, placing the stopper down so it can fill. Toji then backs her into the sink though but turns her around so that she’s facing the mirror in front of him. He growls into her ear which steals a whimper from her immediately but it doesn’t stop there. His thick fingers massage their way through her folds but his other hand in steadying her gaze so that he can see her face morph. His digits alone give her goosebumps, the sensation of them pushing through her walls while the others grip her chin, charming her body automatically.

He groans rousingly into her ear while smearing her arousal, “Look at this pretty doll, dripping for the big bad wolf…”, biting her lobe as she gasps. Toji retrieves his dampened hand and lifts Elska’s right knee onto the high countertop, making it now possible for him to align himself into her. “You’re just so little…”, he taunts sliding his hardened flesh through her crevices, teasing everything he can see. Her hips twitch as he grazes her openings, him loving how sensitive she is, stirring his shaft along them both to see how she wriggles. He’s not going to try to pick up where they left off as a group but he will certainly play with her since she’s obviously into it. While staring at her flustered face through the mirror, he nudges his tip past her folds and moans when she cries out delightfully. While carefully slipping through, he asks, “Is that what my doll wants?”, knowing very well what the answer is.

Elska arches her back and leans her face into the wall beside them as she’s gradually split. “Yess…Toji yes.”, but they sound more like pleas rather than fulfilment. His right hand grips her hip and steadies her as he thrusts a little deeper, her eyes closing before they roll back into her head while she gasps mercilessly. “My beloved…please…”, she begs, “…fuck me.”.

Toji begins deeply stroking into her, them both enduring her stretching zealously. He fondles her breasts with his left hand while pulling her with his right, wanting to submerge completely within. Her cries of pleasure sway him in their nuance, compelling him to press his entire length through her. She pants heavily before him and reaches back to grip into his hair, and moans his name while throwing her hips back greedily. He chuckles deeply and removes himself from her entirely, watching the questions appear hazily through her needing face. He whispers into her ear while rubbing his slickened girth over both of her holes, “Oh I’m going to take you doll…”, he presses against her second entrance just to see how she reacts. “…I just want to work you up a bit more.”, he playfully seethes while she gives him the indication to proceed. When he looks down, he’s reiterated by the fact that he’s too big but can’t help but love how she’d be willing if he was wanting to anyway. Her thighs begin to shake so he thinks this probably isn’t the most comfortable position and guides her leg back down from the sink.

Elska shakes her lower half in front of him, tantalized by his length brushing against her skin. She sees through the mirror that he’s widening his stance to be lower and smiles to his calloused hand wrapping around her throat. She mouths through the mirror, “Please…”, trying to stand on the tips of her toes, to assist him in the angle and cries out his name when finds his way back in. His pace has increased along with verbal acknowledgment of his bliss. She hears him fumbling through words such as “love you”, “perfect”, and even “my cock”, the corrupting tone he relays them to her only adding to his drenched sword. He pulls out again though and yanks towels down from the shelf to layer them onto the floor. She stands and watches him execute this task with complete focus, wondering where he’s going with this.

He gets on his knees and taps his thinly made makeshift cushioning, “Come here, doll…”, he demands with an alluring smile. He hates to admit it but there’s still a piece of him that exists who thoroughly loves the idea of ramming her into a creamy smiling stupor. He would never hurt her though; he doesn’t need to in order to feel like the man she’s brought him to be. Toji eagerly watches her lower to her hands and knees with a gleam in her eye that speaks volumes. He’s biting his lip as she arches her rear in the air and rests her face against the floor to touch herself. “Mmmmm….”, he hungrily moans while posturing himself behind her, teasing his tip in and out of her to see how much he forces her to widen. He sinks his hips until they’re pressed against her thighs and stays like that while enjoying her sloshed warming. He gasps when she puts her hands against the wall to hammer against him and witnesses his slickened member sailing through her. She’s whimpering commands for him take her, a smile plastering his face when she buckles to his assistance. Her body temperature heats up and when the slight scent seeps from her his conduct becomes subservient to her needs.

Elska feels her upper body being lifted back as Toji secures her wrists with one large hand. He holds her in place by her throat and latches his fangs into her neck while he proceeds to jut into her with thunderous haste. She’s left to bounce from his impacts and unravels to his additional aggression, his name resounding off of the bathroom walls, only challenged by the pouring water of the tub until she hears his noises of euphoria, forcing her pheromones to blare through. She whimpers syllables of “beloved”, as he refuses to slow down, the very feeling of his trialing girth ramming her sending her near the edge. His hot breath tickles her neck as his fangs slowly leave her flesh so he can close her wounds but he replaces the daggers with the sharp words, “Cum on your beloved…”, she whines out in a way that tells him she will, “…Yea doll?”, he asks breathlessly while increasing the velocity of his hips, “Show me then…fucking show me…”. She nods her head with a creased brow and takes two of his fingers into her mouth as he turns her head so he could see her suck them.

Toji feels her clenching him and nearly doubles over but retains his position behind her. He can’t get over how much he’s enjoying this whole situation. He typically treats her far more delicately but is comprehending how much he loves the occasional degradation. He’s faintly reminded of Gojo and how the shaman will sometimes speak to her and allows that to tutor him on the spot. He smacks her ass, and follows with, “My pretty little master making me fuck her into the floor…”. Her arousal is coating his genitalia completely by this point and as he listens to her labored sounds, he turns her head more to converge their lips while she spasms around him. “Oh, fuck Elska…”, he whimpers as she moans into his mouth, “That’s it doll…good…good girl…”, he nudges his head into her face while slowing down to take in all of her contractions.

Elska is heaving in air happily as her nerves tingle intensely, still offering herself for him to meet his end as well. She looks back to him and sees that he must be close, judging by the near relief his expression communicates. She rolls over to her back and strokes him with her hand while bearing a widely bright smile, inviting him to continue. She allows her other hand the rub herself, spreading her labia when he runs his fingers along her knee.

Toji quickly inserts himself back in and begins drilling her without a moment’s hesitation. He hears her pleading for his seed which causes him to form her into a mating press, so he can see everything perfectly. Sweat drips down his body but he doesn’t care as all he wants to do his release this spool of chaos into her, wanting to watch himself fill her… doing exactly that. His hips begin to quake, him folding over and allowing his movements to continue until he’s entirely milked dry. He lifts his head to look into her eyes, feeling completely anew as they still call to him with absolute love. He slowly pulls out of her, secretly wishing he never had to, adoring how they’ve evolved together.

The sound of the filled tub resounds through their otherwise quiet space, a smile breaking across his lips as he reluctantly gets up to turn off the water. He sighs serenely and closes his eyes as she travels her hands up his chest, knowing that he would find it hard to live without her too. “Doll?”, he asks without turning around, feeling how unsteady her legs are.

“Yes, my delicious beloved?”, she sweetly responds while hugging him from behind. He steps into the tub and holds a hand out for her to join. She takes it and simmers to the way the hot water engulfs her legs, feeling that was definitely a great plan.

“I know weird things have led us to where we are today…”, Toji sits down in the tub and grins as she gets on her knees, facing him. “…but I want you to know that I wouldn’t take a single second of it back…not even the bad parts.”.

Elska loves how Toji’s eyes fixate on her as she cups warm water to splash down her body. She’s purposefully trying to be sexy about it, hoping that she’s actually able to execute such a scene. She moans quietly in a quick last tremor from the beautiful orgasm he just gave her but crawls closer before sincerely telling him, “Toji, as far as I’m concerned, we don’t really have any bad parts!”. He smiles to her and brushes that off but knowing what he was referring to his darker days she continues, “Sometimes I need a big bad wolf…”, winking with a flare of sin.

“Get that pretty little butt over here!”, he chuckles wholeheartedly, just wanting to embrace her. When she finds her position comfortably in his lap, he sighs and admits, “I think I can kinda get why Naoya seems to like doing this so much…”.

Elska curls against his chest and giggles, “At first I thought it was because he wanted to see me naked but we’ve had some of our best interactions in the tub.”. She runs her hand up to Toji’s chin, feeling his stubble that is normally clean shaven. “I wonder where they went to?”, she honestly asks as she’s become curious after thinking about it.

Toji laughs under his breath, “Little Naoya…”. He leans a kiss into the side of Elska’s temple, “Never thought the twerp would ever grow up. Who knows where they went but I swear to God, doll, if they bring more lingerie, I’m going to have to whoop their asses.”. He hears Elska titter but tells her, “We should take a nap after this…before they get back.”. She looks up to him and kisses his jaw in agreeance, a soft smile lingering along his lips, “I just want to lay down with you alone again for once.”.

Elska kneads her thumb across his chest, wanting to massage his muscles, “Then we’ll cuddle my beloved!”, giddily appreciating how sweet and sensitive he’s being. “I guess it has been a long time since it was just us.”.

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“I’m not carrying all of this shit myself, Zenin!”, Gojo huffs while dropping one of the bags. He waits impatiently for Naoya to turn around and kicks the bag towards him. “At least handle your own things douche.”.

Naoya narrows his eyes, his plan of making Satoru slip into the role of a butler failing right before him. With an annoyed scoff he bends over and secures the handle that leads to his belongings and stands back upright. “Quite stalling silver shithead, we’re almost there!”, a wide grin straining his facial muscles as he thinks through all of his designs of a ring.

Still hoisting two other bags, Gojo blows his bangs from his eyes and catches up. “Well maybe if you didn’t pack your entire fucking wardrobe, your highness, I wouldn’t be so weighed down!”.

“HA! The strongest, huh?”, Naoya playfully takes this jab, cackling to the irritated expression Gojo wears, “Some of that is for our princess too!”. Satoru mutters something under his breath but the Zenin ignores it completely as they enter the shop. Naoya speed walks to the displays of different stones immediately with lifted eyebrows and yells to Gojo who’s setting down the bags, “I HAVE THE BEST IDEA.”

Gojo still doesn’t want her to marry Naoya but he worries that something is going to have to give as she will eventually need to align herself with a clan. ‘Why haven’t I asked her?’. Satoru has never been a fan of marriage but that all changed when he became involved with Elska. He fleetingly ponders on what domestic life would be like but includes Naoya and Toji into the made-up scenarios. ‘It would be so much easier if she really could be married to us all…’, surprising himself as that should not be what he wants but he’s become accustomed to the two being in their lives. Naoya calls his name which snaps him out of it, “Ok, what is it then?”.

Naoya snatches Gojo’s arm and brings him to the glass display. “Ok so I’m thinking we can make the center piece a heart but it can be made up of colors that represent us!”. He waits impatiently for Satoru’s shared excitement and decides he should further explain. “An emerald for Toji…”, he directs Gojo’s gaze by pointing at them, “An aquamarine stone for you…”, he continues, “…and a sapphire for me!”.

Gojo nods his head as he vaguely imagines what Naoya’s putting together but adds, “Why not this champagne diamond for you though?”, he asks. When the Zenin shoots him a confused look Gojo proceeds, “Not to be weird, but it’s the color of your eyes…like me and Toji’s colors.”.

Naoya rubs his chin, “Hmm…but I really wanted the Zenin blue in there…”, debating on the suggestion. He feels a sting on the back of his neck and rubs it while frowning to Gojo who just slapped him, “WHY?!”.

Gojo nears Naoya and quietly reminds him, “This isn’t an engagement ring, fucker. She would rather have the color of your eyes over the color of your clan anyways.”, grinning when he sees the moment Naoya understands.

“UGH! You’re right!”, Naoya rings the bell at the counter, overly ready to begin the customization. While staring at the back, waiting for an employee to appear he feels Gojo throw an arm over him and shuffle them both a few feet over.

Gojo now points to an amethyst that riles his very core. He shakes Naoya in his one arm hold and asks, “What if we surround the heart in that?!”. When their eyes meet, Gojo adds, “It’s like her violet violence…the thing that ultimately has brought us all together!”.

Naoya wheezes with excitement, “That’s somehow brilliant! Even coming from you!”, he snickers as Gojo releases him and playfully scrunches his face. As the person in charge smiles towards them and apologizes for their wait, Naoya says, “I can’t wait to show Toji!”, excited by the approval he’s going to receive from his cousin. He instantly is firing off his ideas for the ring to the employee who’s quickly searching for something to write with.

Gojo is still thinking about how he’s yet to be turned. A part of him still feels insecure about her bonding with everyone when she still expresses hesitancy with him. He also knows that she loves him as much as he loves her though, his recent experiences with her settling him into warmth. ‘My love…’. This is when his aura darkens though. His mind becomes occupied with the uneasiness Choso’s awakening brings him, knowing that it’s just a matter of time before the once innocent curse is plowing into his love. He growls to himself, “Fucking Choso…”, while snapping the hair tie that’s around his wrist. He sighs exceedingly to the black elastic tool while wondering if Getou has tried anything smooth on her, gritting his teeth when an image of the Titer coaxing her into bed disrupts his good mood. ‘My love, don’t fall for it…’, he monologues, becoming increasingly restless again over being absent while she’s at the compound. He watches the salesman flash a quick sketch to Naoya, after compiling the ideas together to which Naoya shakes his head and says, “No…that’s too plain!”. Gojo would rather end Choso and Getou right now, knowing that would at least preserve his Elska from being tempted but as he silently observes Naoya collaborate with the given drawing he knows that Choso would be severely missed. ‘And Itadori would never look at me the same…’, he thinks, becoming depressed by the stress levels these complications are bringing him to.

“Oh my God, that’s it!”, Naoya exclaims before calling Gojo over, “What do you think?!”, but tilts his head to the side upon seeing the silver shaman lost in thought. “GOJO!”, he calls out sharply, finally gaining his attention, and waves him over, “It’s pretty right!?”. He can feel the darkening of Satoru’s energy and knows that they should wrap this up so he’s relieved to find the genuine appreciation in Gojo’s eyes as he looks over the sketch. “It’s befitting for a princess!”, Naoya encourages, himself loving the roughly drawn prototype.

Satoru think’s it’s a charming design and nods his endorsement, “She might pass out, this is pretty flashy!”, knowing she doesn’t really even wear jewelry. He didn’t mean to hit Naoya with uncertainty so he reassures the Zenin, “She’s going to fucking love it, don’t worry!”. Gojo looks up to the salesman and asks when they can expect it to be completed by.

“Well…this is going to take a few weeks. I have to cut the stones and-…”, but the man with the tag that says ‘Herald’ is cut off.

“Make it days and I’ll pay 30% more and upfront.”, Naoya slams the cash down on the counter, showing the banded 100s and his determination. He smirks when Herald’s eyes light up and he redirects his previous statement to “Yes sir, I will begin immediately.”.

Gojo laughs to the haughty tilt in Naoya’s chin, no longer reaching for own his wallet although wanting to contribute in some way. “If you pay for the whole thing then it’s not really from all of us!”, he whines but can tell Naoya isn’t about to budge.

“She doesn’t have to know, it’s the thought behind it that counts.”, Naoya understands where Gojo is coming from but isn’t willing to share this financial situation. He suggests, “You can be responsible for the wine we’ll toast to when she opens it!”, genuinely wanting to include Satoru in some form.

Snickering wildly Gojo states while walking over to the bags, “Toji’s going to feel like shit if we don’t give him a responsibility too.”.

After writing down the rest of his contact information, Naoya thanks the man and heads back towards Gojo with a sigh, “Toji protected her so that we could do this, his part was essential.”, and leads them back through the door to be outside. He pulls out his phone to find a liquor store nearby, having been put in the mood for a drink, “Should we grab something for tonight?”.

Gojo throws the bags behind his head and looks to the clouding sky, “I’m down to drink.”, he states, ready to return to his love. “Tell me where and I’ll take us!”. A thought crosses his mind over the ring situation and in a moment of sheer genius, drops the bags and forms a wicked grin.

Naoya finds a liquor store that he’s familiar with since distance really isn’t an issue. His phone is sent flying out of his hands though as Gojo dashes past him and back into the shop. “What are you-…”, he goes to ask but instead watches from outside as Satoru takes out his wallet and explains something to Herald.

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Suguru’s curiosity is getting the best of him as he nervously sets the bowl of water down on the floor of his project room. He’s wishing with a true heart that what he sees will not be Toji railing her, becoming hesitant as he knows that judging by how Fushiguro was clinging to her in the hall, there’s a possibility it will be just that. “I have to know…”, he mumbles upon making his decision final. Getou needs to lay his eyes on her, they’d been through a lot before their time was cut short by Toji’s being injured. He engages the seeing technique and opens his eyes slowly and with caution. What he sees is the two of them spooning in his bed, earning a displeasure grunt from Suguru’s lips. He quickly gets over his jealousy and reiterates to himself, “That could’ve been worse though...”. He stares into the water to see the still frames, focusing his ears further to sample in some live sounds, discovering Toji’s exhausted snores.

Suguru leans back and begins tapping his fingers absentmindedly into the floor while weighing over the pros and cons of risking entering her dreams. ‘I would certainly be able to spend more time with her but what if she figures me out?’, his lips thinning into a frown as he contemplates the use of deniability over even being capable. “Genghis would have my back…”, he chews on his cheek, sifting through the numerous values of justification he has for at least trying this route. “This might be the only way she’ll be able to feel me out without the judgement of the others…”, he all but convinced himself that he has to. He waves away her image and stiffly walks towards the large table where his metal petals and stems reside. He clears away some additional space before scooting on the surface and lying down, shifting his eyes as he accepts that he’s really about to do this. He takes a deep breath while quelling his racing thoughts, focusing on the distant brain and energy waves of hers that are emitting a few floors above him and syncs to them.

Suguru feels the gust of icy wind which prompts him to open his eyes. He’s in a forest with mind-blowingly tall trees that literally seem to scrape the sky. The foliage of the landscape is rich and vibrant, as well as seemingly never-ending. “Does this exist or is this something she’s made?”, he wonders into the air quietly, intrigued by her dream’s scenery. He decides to walk through the wilderness, sensing her directionality and following it. He enjoys the beaming sun as he trudges through shrubs and over large roots, appreciating the way the rays peek through the efficient canopy. He spots a single bush that produces unbruised blue roses and admires how their chromatic illusion somehow seems to leave the rest of this lushness of color rather stark. There’s something else that catches his eye though, something glimmering in the leaves. Suguru squints his eyes dumbfoundedly upon comprehending that a single metal rose also hangs in the thorny bush. ‘Is that…mine?’, he wonders in shock, gently smiling and blushing to the notion that he survives within her mind naturally. While honing into their beauty, he hears a soft gasp that he recognizes, “Elska?”. With quickened footing, Suguru nears a giant tree that he peeks around once gathering that her interesting noises are leading him to something lascivious.

Elska doesn’t fight the blindfold that’s been placed over her eyes at all. He sees her sprawled out on her back in between two solid white blankets that protect her from natures smallest insects as well from losing her modesty. Suguru witnesses her fingers clenching the cloth on the left side, by her head while sensual broken whimpers are extracted to what he thinks is her own ministrations as he notices her other arm disappearing between her bent legs, draped under the covering of the top sheet. She bucks her hips which causes the blanket that’s over her, to slide down some, partially exposing her breasts. “Well, this is better than I expected…”, he mumbles as a rush of desire races through him, excitement forming while he lurks. He refrains from touching himself yet but still stares intensely as she sweetly moans and squirms. “Little one…you’re making this difficult…”, he groans out while trying to gain a full view of her unfurling. Right as he thinks to step from around the tree, finally getting the courage to do so, he sees something that forces him to freeze. “What the fuck?!”.

In a panic, Suguru realigns himself behind the needed natural bark barrier as he perceives Choso slowly kissing up her stomach, chest, then neck and finally her lips. Getou’s at a loss for words as the being rests himself between her legs, groping her breast with his left hand and panting as he rolls his hips against her. She throws her arms around his neck, shakily whimpering while pulling the hybrid’s body down closer to her as she breathlessly tells him how good he feels. A rage flares through Suguru, a damning one where he’s left feeling like his last resort was deemed worthless as Choso’s proof of also syncing with her rots his eyes and mind. He races out from behind the tree and rushes towards them with the intention of attacking Choso but he’s quickly subdued into place as the being eerily seems to control the environment. “ARGH!”, Suguru gripes as he tries to rip away from the speedy vines that secure his limbs, failing.

Elska remains lying down until Choso stands and guides her to her feet all while maliciously eying Getou. Choso situates her in front of him, gently lowering her hands that were reaching for the blindfold. “Don’t take it off yet…”, he tells her softly and she listens. Choso’s face morphs into a hateful expression as he comprehends that Suguru indeed tried to get to her through her dreams but lovingly caresses her bare body in a manner that yells his kindness is only for her. He kisses down the left side of Elska’s cheek, eventually meeting her neck, moaning when he pulls her by the waist against his throbbing flesh. He’s still glaring at Getou but is simultaneously rubbing himself along Elska, then both losing their breath as he unhurriedly prods.

Suguru is forced to watch Choso’s sensuality towards her, not recognizing the man before him at all as he territorially stakes Elska. “What…happened to you?”, Getou concerningly questions the being, trying to tug away from the green ropes that bind him. He follows Choso’s hands as they travel her naked body, the right one eventually landing on her waist while the left one wraps around her jaw. He whispers lowly into her ear, “We wanted this, didn’t we?”, and furrows his brow when she quietly whines in agreeance.

“SHE DOESN’T KNOW IT’S YOU!”, Suguru heatedly shouts to the manipulative display. “ELSKA! TAKE OFF THE BLINDFOLD!”, he screams wildly, the adrenaline starting to flow through his veins. Choso doesn’t even seem remotely worried however which pisses Getou off even more, the sheer arrogance radiating from the being’s expression birthing his grudge to new heights. Suguru watches Choso lay her back down onto the white blanket and he’s forced to wonder why she doesn’t seem to be alarmed by his warnings, or even be aware of them. The manner in which Choso dives back down to her, fiending over her skin strikes Getou in similarities to worship or pure devotion. He’s so confused by the personality switch as he can’t recall a single time where Choso showed interests in women, not even one remote occurrence. To see him suddenly consumed by her existence and the lengths he went to in order to experience this, Suguru’s stomach tightens as he fears what problems will arise in the future because of it. “Choso…”, he exasperates, “…you have to stop this!”.

Choso drags his lips down to her collarbone but grievously huffs before planting butterfly kisses. He turns his head to scowl at Suguru again but then adoringly whispers to her, “Wait for me right here...”. He calmly stands, looming over her with utter affection but calls for his wings, having become well acquainted with them while exploring the realms as he waits to awaken in the physical dimension.

Suguru’s eyes widen when Choso hurdles towards him, fangs and feathers out. He bracing himself for pain but Choso never strikes, he just hovers inches away from his face while growling deeply.

“Do not disturb us anymore, this is my domain now.”, the being seethes viciously, black energy swirling around his body. When Elska stirs behind him though he eliminates all of his bloodlust, kneels down beside her to take her hands and whispers with a saccharine tone, “You have to keep it on...”. He jerks his head back towards Getou, “You’re interfering.”, clenching his jaw in inappropriate anger as he gathers that Suguru being synced with her too is disrupting her focus. She can sense him, even when under Choso’s grand scheme of a spell. The being dotes over her visually, beginning to near the ground again just to touch her.

“ELSKA!”, Getou calls out to her, feeling the vines immobilizing him beginning to dehydrate and weaken. She sits up to her elbows now in a more alert fashion, not the whimsical state she’s been under. “TAKE OFF THE BLINDFOLD!”.

Choso releases an otherworldly screech that echoes chaotically through the forest, shaking everything with violent vibrations. His frustrations boil over as he perceives Elska’s state change, “Please don’t…”, he defeatedly begs. She pushes the blindfold up but Choso embraces her desperately and clings to her lap, curling up into her legs as the pure energized dissatisfaction he exudes gradually calms for her sake, wings disappearing as well. “No…you weren’t supposed to do that Elska…”, he lowers into a depressed state, knowing she isn’t aware of everything they’ve done.

The vines finally become compromised, snapping and freeing Suguru from his suffering. He runs over to Elska, winding up on his knees and cupping her face. She just blinks at him in confusion and looks around which only seems to add to her bewilderment. He looks down at Choso with exacting eyes as the being coldly waits for her inevitable reaction, however he’s still parked over her lower half. Bringing his gaze back to Elska, Suguru asks, “Do you know what’s going on right now?”, searching with fear of her freaking out.

Elska glances down and sees a naked Choso huddling her and then perceives that she herself is bare as well. It somehow seems familiar though, which she can’t currently explain. She takes a quick breath while bringing unfastened eyes back to Suguru who’s also so close to her that it sends her an arousing chill, “This must be…Am I dreaming?”. When Getou’s face shows traces of distress, she giggles with guilt, “I didn’t say a nightmare!”. Lips can be felt gently pressing against her thighs and she serenely looks at Choso as his intense eyes lock onto her own. His invasive eyes break her inquisitiveness, her body accepting his touch, ‘Why am I going along with this?’. She sinks back down onto her back and gasps when he opens her legs and targets her sensitive areas, panting out, “Must be a dream…Choso shouldn’t know how…to do this…”, her voice tailoring a higher pitch as his tongue decodes her anatomy.

Suguru hasn’t moved yet, perplexed by how this panning out, ‘Does she…not care if this happens here?’, wildly racing through questions until her hand wraps around his bicep. He gulps when she tugs on him, blatantly bracing herself against the sensations Choso is gifting her with. He hears Choso’s muffled voice utter to her, “But we’ve been practicing…”, which alarms Suguru as he wonders how exactly. He’s again distracted from his thoughts as Elska’s fingers lace into his bun, forcing him downward against her lips. He’s in disbelief, lagging on his response to her tongue but ultimately not refusing it even when the pretty moans he’s stealing are caused by another.

Choso pushes up on his hands that pry her thighs open, snarling venomously while perceiving the Titer kissing her. “I will nullify you right now…”, he threatens.

Elska sits back up and rebuttals, “No you will not Choso.”. She tilts her head to the side after seeing how much he hated that so unravels her legs from him and lays on her side. “What the fuck is my subconscious trying to tell me with this?”. She stares at Suguru’s lips through fluttering lashes, being reminded how attractive he’s become.

Getou bellows out a deep laughter as he finally determines that she doesn’t suspect either of them for invading her but rather thinks herself to be the source culprit. He slinks down to lay on his side too, facing her and being about a foot away. He notices Choso is quick to nestle himself behind her, resting his head into his right hand that’s propped by his elbow, tracing his fingertips of the other along her skin. Annoyed by this he asks, “You don’t find it strange that he’s behaving this way?”, pointing to the being behind her.

Choso narrows his glowing eyes while leaning forward to place soft kisses along her shoulder, being able to sense that she won’t reject him. “He doesn’t belong here Elska.”, he harshly states but changes his tone to whisper to her, “Only you and me…”, becoming deeply involved in her presence again, wanting to feel her more. Choso leisurely guides his hand over her stomach and bites the junction where clavicle and shoulder meet, gripping the meat of her deeply.

Elska whimpers but folds her eyebrows weakly to Suguru, trying to hide her reaction to Choso’s sly ministrations. The Titer seems to hone into her expression, his lips gradually parting as he observes her. She thinks that her perception of the inexperienced hybrid has somehow created this overly passionate version of him but can’t pinpoint as to why Suguru doesn’t seem any different. As she views him through her heavily lidded eyes and comprehends she’s engaging in what her lovers would consider forbidden behavior, something tells her that it’s ok. Elska flips her body over so that she’s now facing Choso who frowns in hurt but his face soon morphs with a flare of resolution as he places his mouth against hers and moans, “Master…”.

Suguru doesn’t want to misunderstand but she’s nudging her rear into him, causing him to bite his lip as he faces the reality that he’s taking advantage of her ignorance. She whimpers his name though and for that being the first time he’s ever heard those syllables leave her wantonly, he fights his pants open. As soon as he’s free, he rubs his member into her flooded folds, gasping wildly to finally experiencing her willingness. He wants to send his girth into her and is immediately overcome with lust as it rests against her supple cheeks. He glances back over at Choso, not wanting to share this experience but also loving his jealousy.

Choso gently brushes the hair from her face and quietly tells her as she whimpers to Suguru’s hands spreading her, “I will soon show you how little he matters…”, shoving his tongue back down her throat, cupping her face obsessively. He’s ready to be the base of her attention again but is aware that Getou is enjoying himself wholly. He whispers to her, “I’m going to fix this…”, kissing her deeply before sitting to his knees and harnesses energy from his tattoo.

Suguru uses Choso’s moving to rest more into Elska, still pleasurably grinding against her but now mounting over top of her from behind. He disregards Choso and hopes he plans to leave while drinking in the vision of Elska happily asking for his length. He grabs himself up and starts guiding his tip down the slit of her folds, “Elska…God you’re so-…”.

Getou stops, staggering in his position. He sees blood splatter across her back, “Wha-…”, and chokes on copious amounts of irony fluid, becoming lightheaded. Pain shoots through his entirety, his head bobbling downward which shows him the fist sticking out of his chest again.

“GOD…DAMNIT… CHOSO!”.

Suguru shoots upward on the table and crashes into the hard floor, heaving while clutching his torso, still stinging from the imagined pain. His hair has become a mess, metal pedals litter his surrounding area but the worst thing happening is Suguru understanding that Choso successfully ejected him.

Next Chapter >>

Chapter List

Tagging: @angelofthorr @syynnaaah @itstackytime @animemenrbettr

26 notes · View notes

beelsnack · 4 years

Note

Hiya! I saw ur post about u being stressed at work so please take ur time with this request! There's no rush! Ur wellbeing is more important 💖 But when you get the time how about some headcanons for an MC who is very cute and naive but got teased for being so at RAD so they try to dress "cool" and pretend to be all badass but their tough persona just makes the demon brothers uwu even more cuz they think it's adorable how hard they're trying

Ah, thank you for being patient, Nonnie! I hope this was worth the wait!

I realized a bit too late that I may have misinterpreted your request a little, but I hope it turned out alright anyway. ^^

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Lucifer: “Careful, my dear, your face may get stuck like that.”

When the human turned around to greet him, they had their normal cheerful grin on their face. However, Lucifer watched as their expression turned surprised, then frustrated before they managed to school it back into the hilariously deep frown they had been forcing all day.

“Would you mind telling me why you’re making that ridiculous face?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” They fell into step beside him. Even though they had pretty much figured out the layout of RAD, Lucifer insisted on walking with them to the Student Council Chambers. At first, it was just to make sure they didn’t accidentally end up in the torture chambers in the lower levels, but now he genuinely enjoyed the few moments they had alone together. Hearing them chatter on about their day lifted his mood exponentially.

“Don’t think I haven’t noticed.” Lucifer inclined his head. “Force that scowl for much longer and you might pull a facial muscle.”

They wavered for a second before sighing. “Did it really look that bad?”

“It was quite an unnatural look for you.” he replied, a hint of laughter in his voice. “Would you mind telling me just what you were trying to do?”

“...Some demons in my class told me I smiled too much.” they admitted. “So I was trying to...not?”

Lucifer paused, regarding them with a raised eyebrow. “What in the Three Realms does ‘smiling too much’ mean?”

“I’m...not sure honestly,” they shrugged.

“My dear,” he stopped in front of them, placing his hands on their shoulders. “I don’t particularly care what those other demons think or want, but I will not have you depriving me of your beautiful smile.”

Mammon: That was his jacket.

It was way too big on them, making them look even smaller than they already did. It was also very clearly not part of the RAD uniform - not that any of the brothers wore their uniforms correctly, but the human was usually pretty up to code with theirs.

He caught up to them in a few steps and grabbed onto the collar of their - his - jacket. “Hey, human! Just what do you think you’re doing?”

They squeaked in surprise, and for a moment Mammon was caught off guard by how unbearably adorable it was. When they turned around, they were grinning sheepishly at him.

“H-hi Mammon.”

Oof. Honestly, he did not anticipate how seeing them wearing his clothes was going to affect him. The sleeves came down to their knuckles, and they had curled their fingers around the cuffs almost instinctively, It was too cute, he felt like his heart was trying to smash through his ribcage.

“You - you got a whole lotta nerve, stealing from the Great Mammon.” he released their collar, they both continued walking, although he had completely forgotten that his class was in the complete opposite direction.

“You left it in my room, though.”

“Doesn’t explain why you’re wearin’ it!”

“I’m sorry.” they sighed, beginning to shrug the jacket off of their shoulders. “Some demons were picking on me, so I thought they would leave me alone if I dressed a bit tougher. It didn’t work anyway, so I’ll give it back now.”

They were just about to yank their arms out of the sleeves when Mammon shook his head.

“Keep it, if it makes you feel better.” he definitely wasn’t blushing, nope, not even a little bit. “I’ve got others, so just accept the Great Mammon’s generosity.”

Leviathan: “Please tell me you didn’t pay a stupid amount of cash for those.”

The human frowned up at Levi, putting a hand over their new headphones almost protectively. “I paid a perfectly reasonable amount!”

“I wouldn’t pay anything for those,” he frowned. “The manufacturers would have to pay me, actually.”

“Alright, alright, I get it!” they huffed. “I just bought them so people would stop talking about me when they think I’m listening.”

Levi tilted his head. “Huh?”

The human sighed, playing idly with the cord of the headphones. “Some demons in my Curses class like to freak me out by saying how yummy I look when they catch my eye. I kind of hoped that they would stop if they weren’t getting a rise out of me.”

A white-hot surge of protectiveness crashed over him as the human curled in on themself. He might have been a giant otaku, but he would be damned if he let anything happen to his best friend. Well, more damned than he already was, anyway.

“You should have just said something,” he shoved his hands in his pockets. “I have an old pair you can have. They still work fine, but they released a limited-edition Ruri-chan version and obviously I have to rep my waifu so I’ve been using those - “

Satan: “Can I ask you something?”

The two of them were on their way to the RAD’s library. Satan honestly didn’t need to study, but the human definitely did, and using an academic excuse meant that Lucifer was more likely to leave the two of them alone.

“Of course,” Satan held the door open for them. Without even bothering to look, he began walking over to the table that had basically become their territory. Even if there were other demons there, they would probably scamper off.

“How do you get people to be afraid of you?”

Satan paused, raising an eyebrow in an expression that definitely did not make him look strikingly like Lucifer. “Me specifically?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, being the Avatar of Wrath gives me a leg up.”

The human scowled. “Damn it.”

“Why would you want people to be afraid of you?” Satan asked as they sat down. Up until this point, the human’s modus operandi was being so sweet that nobody ever wanted to hurt them, so the threatening angle was a complete 180.

“Some demons in class were making comments about me being dessert.” they mumbled, taking out their textbooks before slinging their bag over the back of the chair. “I honestly couldn’t tell if they were talking about my personality or my flesh, so…”

“Okay, first of all,” Satan leaned forward on his elbows. “We kill them.”

“Satan, no.”

Asmodeus: “Oh, darling, what have you done to yourself?”

They really needed to get a “Do Not Disturb” sign or something. Not that it would stop anything, but still.

Asmo at least had the decency to shut the door behind him, but that was as far as it went. He was openly staring at them, doing his best impression of the Scream painting.

“The makeup tutorial made this look so much easier.” they sighed, leaning back in their chair.

“They always do,” Asmo came over behind them, placing his hands on their shoulders as he leaned down to look at their laptop screen. “Never trust the ones on Sinterest.”

Their final product looked nothing like the model on the screen. The wings of their eyeliner were crooked, and one eye was longer than the other. The contouring made them look like a clown, and somehow they had gotten black eyeshadow on their nose.

“That’s quite the change of pace for you, darling.” Asmo commented, “It’s a look, but why the sudden switch?”

The human remained silent, their bottom lip quivering in a way that made Asmo want to gathering them up in a blanket. Eventually, they sighed again.

“All the succubi look so cool, and I always look...” they paused. “Human.”

“Darling, I don’t know how to break this to you - “

“I know, I know.” they grumbled. “I just wanted to look badass for once!”

The puppy-dog pout they had going on wasn’t doing anything for that particular look, but Asmo decided to keep that comment to himself. Instead, he spun them around, hands still on their shoulders. “Now, now, don’t make that face. Let’s see if we can’t fix this up a little, hm?”

Beelzebub: “What are you doing?”

He hadn’t meant to scare them, but they jumped like he had jumped from the ceiling. The yelp they let out made him feel guilty. Maybe Mammon was right when he said that Beel was disturbingly sneaky for someone his size.

Usually the gym was empty when he came for his morning workout, so seeing the human seated on the workout bench was a definite surprise. Not a bad one though.

“Beel!” the set the weight down. “Um…g-good morning…?”

“Morning,” he replied, making his way over to where they were situated. “You’re not usually one to workout, much less this early in the morning.”

“I, uh…” they stammered. “I wanted to get a little stronger, is all.”

“Not that I’m going to stop you,” he set his gym bag down next to the weight rack. “But why?”

They grumbled under their breath, but eventually sighed. “Some demons at RAD told me I looked chewy.”

“I mean, you kind of do.”

“Hey!”

“All humans look chewy, though.” he shrugged. “It’s not a bad thing. But you want to build up some muscle, right?”

They pouted, and Beel really wanted to reach out and pat them on the head. Instead, he sat next to them on the bench and handed them the weight they had been using.

“Okay, so you want to hold it like this…”

Belphegor: “You had a funny dream last night.”

They had learned from experience that telling Belphie to stop invading their privacy by watching their dreams did exactly fuck all, so they just huffed in annoyance as he flopped against their shoulder. “It wasn’t funny.”

“Amusing, then.”

“For you, maybe.”

They felt him smirk against their shoulder. “You really think a leather jacket and sunglasses will make demons think you’re tough?”

“More than skipping around with flowers in my hair would.”

“I think you would look cute with flowers in your hair. Let’s take some black roses from Diavolo’s garden.”

“Aren’t those poisonous?”

Belphie shifted, nuzzling into their neck as the professor walked in. “It’ll help with the tough image.”

“For about 4 hours until I start foaming at the mouth.” they folded their arms, jostling Belphie from their shoulder.

The demon laughed, pillowing his head in his arms as he leaned forward onto the desk. “I like how you are now. If someone starts giving you trouble, I’ll kill them for you.”

“No cannibalism, please.”

“That’s more Beel’s territory.”

#shall we date obey me #obey me #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me leviathan #obey me levi #obey me satan #obey me asmodeus #obey me asmo #obey me beelzebub #obey me beel #obey me belphegor #obey me belphie

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fuckyeahstu · 4 years

Text

Tiago lemos, crooked 180 to switch fs hellflip!

#skateboarding #skate #skateboard #skater #skateboardingisnotacrime #skateverydamnday #gif #gobigorgohome #sk8 #skatelife #skategif #skatestyle #skate tricks #skateordie #tiago lemos

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florenceandthemachine · 4 years

Text

broken Tumblr asks part ??: in which I think I figured out that adding a read more into the asks are what breaks them.

anonymous asked:

the team makes Buck cry. send tweet.

hi anon I really am sorry if you were hoping for some hurt / comfort bc uh. this is just the hurt. xoxox

also my love, thanks, and eternal devotion to @buckleydiazs for giving it a quick beta 💖

Buck was on cloud fucking nine.

For a year—an entire year—he had been stuck in the doctors office, twice a month, while they ran test after test after his… multiple accidents. Blood tests, lung tests, flexibility tests, he had been poked like a pincushion and stretched like a rubber band, he had been through physical therapy, occupational therapy, and just regular therapy (hell, he was still in regular therapy), and now finally, finally, he was finished.

“So, you don’t show any signs of abnormal clotting and your risk for a second pulmonary embolism is low. As far as your ankle goes, but you’ve regained full mobility, and as much as I wish I could take all the credit for that, I know you’ve been working your ass off in therapy. Congratulations, Mr. Buckley.”

He was cleared. Fully out of the woods. Clean bill of health.

Finally, finally, after a year of hell, he could put everything—his crushed leg, his bleeding lungs, his stupid lawsuit—behind him. Finally, he could breathe easy, easier than he had in a year, and the only thing he wanted to do in the entire world was share the news with his family.

Normally, Maddie would have been first, but he always felt bad about tying up a dispatcher when he called her at work. Her shift ended in an hour or so, though—like his normally would have, if he didn’t have his schedule switched during doctor days.

Well, if he can’t tell his sister, he can still tell his family.

“Hey, Chim!”

Buck is all smiles as locks his Jeep, his medical release in hand, jogging easily to catch up to Chim’s retreating backside. Buck grinned as Chim turned around, raising his brow. “Hey, do you and Hen have a second? I wanted to show you both my—“

“Oooh, sorry, no can do Buckeroo. Hen’s taking her MCAT’s in two days, I have every second of her free time booked solid with studying.”

Buck faltered a little bit as they walked, raising his brow. While he really was proud of Chim for doing a full 180 so quickly—going from feeling betrayed to supporting a friend was no easy feat, and Buck knew that as well as anyone, but he also knew that a full day of studying wouldn’t do any good.

“Come on, Chim, I’m sure she can take a break to—“

“Noooo, Buck.”

“Chim.”

“Buck, seriously. She’s been working too hard for this, and I’m not having you break up her flow. This is important to her, you get that right?”

Of course Buck got it, but…

“I’m not going to let anyone ruin this for her.”

….ruin it? He just wanted to share some good news.

He understood that Hen had to study, and that her upcoming MCATS were really important to her, but this was important to Buck; and for Chim to jump straight to that degree made his heart sink a little bit with each beat, his head traitorously whispering to him ‘what if Chim is right?’. Hen had been one of his biggest supporters as he got off of blood thinners, as he started back into his various therapies, and he had thought he returned the favor, helping her study in his free time whenever he could, and helping her take her mind off of things when she needed to as well—maybe his distractions were more harm than good, but he knew Hen well enough to know that if no one pulled her away from her work, she just wouldn’t eat, sleep, go home, any of it. Was it really that bad that Buck wanted a minute?

He felt his smile start to slip so he hitched it back up, nodding his head. “Yeah, sure, I… okay, just hit me up when you’re all done, I guess?” He said, hoping his voice sounded more confident than he felt. It must have worked, because Chim clapped both of his arms and turned away, leaving Buck standing there for a moment before he shook himself out of it.

It was fine. Hen wanted to study, that was important. Buck tried to pump himself back up as he took the stairs to the loft two at a time, reveling in the simple act of fully rolling his ankle. He tilted his head as he heard Bobby’s voice spill out of his office, turning on his heel to his next target. Besides, Bobby sounded frustrated—some good news would do him good, or so Buck thought.

“…no, I don’t—no, we can’t just take—wait, what? No, I will not hold!”

Buck almost laughed as he knocked on the Cap’s open door, smiling when Bobby waved him inside.

“Look, forgive me if I’m not entirely sympathetic, but when we’re down an engine, and you can’t tell us when repairs will be done—well then you’d better transfer me to someone who can!”

“Everything alright, Cap?” Buck couldn’t help but smile as Bobby strangled his phone, sighing in defeat when the plastic wouldn’t yield.

“You know, Marty was a crook in the end, but damn, he was a good mechanic. What’s up, Buck?”

Buck winced at the reminder of the nearly would-be heist, humming thoughtfully as he waved his full release forms. “Well, this shouldn’t take long. I got back from the doctors today, and—“

Bobby’s groan cut him off, hanging his head in his free hand. “No, Buck, no. I can’t have you sick right now, and nothing good ever follows ‘doctor’.”

Buck laughed, but Bobby kept going, the stress of the day and being down an engine clearly getting to him as he continued on. “And the last time I heard “doctor” from you, it was followed by lawsuit, which—yes, I’m still holding, hello?”

Lawsuit?

What the fuck?

Buck reeled back like he had been slapped, the smile frozen on his face even with Bobby’s clear dismissal. He was glad that he didn’t have to say anything else, at the very least, because his throat felt hot and tight and it was all he could do to stay steady as he pivoted on his heel, walking out of the office.

He hated the fact that that was the first thing Bobby brought up, but he hated even more how much that dark cloud was still lingering over his head. If Bobby would be so candid when Buck was barely two words in to saying something, who’s to say what choice words he had about Buck when he was gone?

The lawsuit was the worst part of his life, the biggest mistake he had made, and he couldn’t wrap his head around it being thrown in his face when he was ready to walk in and share what was the best news he had ever received. Is that… all he would have here, all he would have been able to look forward to?

He started back down the stairs, his legs acting independently of the rest of his body, a dull tingling spreading through his chest as he finally sat down. He didn’t know if there was a happy medium between cold and numb (‘shock’, his mind provided, ‘you’re in shock’), but whatever it was, he was deep into it.

God, he had honestly thought that was all behind him. How fucking stupid was he to think that he was going to be able to come back from a mistake that huge, even a year later?

“Buck?”

He could feel himself starting to panic—loathe as he was to admit it—but as per usual, Eddie was a step ahead of the game without even knowing it. Even now, just hearing Eddie take a few steps closer to him started to ease his heartbeat, and he swallowed a few times as he nodded, fighting off the headrush as he was able to breathe again.

“Hey, Buck, you good?”

“Hey, Eddie, uh…hey!” Buck stood up and wiped his hands on his pants, paperwork forgotten next to him as he tried to smile. If anything, he knew—he knew to his very core, he knew, he… he prayed Eddie would be able to share this little victory with him. “Eds, you have a second to talk?“

Buck almost swallowed his tongue as the alarm sounded through the station, his jaw clicking shut as footsteps started to come down the stairs.

“Hey, we’ll talk later, yeah?” Eddie called, already heading to his locker. It was all Buck could do to hold it together, nodding his head as he waved them off, letting out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding when the ladder pulled out of the station.

Eddie may have had a good start on his day, but Buck did not.

He had woken up, kissed Christopher goodbye as Carla brought him to school, and less than ten minutes later, he had a brown envelope in hand, with a curt “You’ve been served”.

Shannon’s will was being contested. The will that Eddie didn’t even know she had. By her father, who Eddie had only seen twice in several years of marriage.

The will was simple enough—a few grand left to Christopher’s college fund, a small pair of earrings to her sister, and that was it. There was nothing to contest, in Eddie’s mind, but contested it was.

He looked over the paperwork twice, and it made less sense the second time around—as much as he hated to admit it, the worst part of it all was knowing that Eddie was going to be alone at work again, because Buck had another day off scheduled in the books.

So yeah, he may have been a little grumpy as he threw a few weights around in the work room for the start of his shift.

As much as he didn’t want to admit it, Eddie was spiraling; he couldn’t understand how someone could be so bitter, so selfish, to try and stop a few thousand dollars from going into a college fund for their grandchild. His mood only soured as his shift went on, there were no distractions, no calls, nothing to help him pull his head out of his ass, and no one he could talk to. Chim had almost bitten his head off when he said hello to Hen that morning, Bobby was dealing with yet another broken down, tax funded nightmare, and Buck—

And Buck was here.

“Buck?”

Eddie did an honest to god double take as he saw Buck sitting on the bench, like he had been summoned from the depths of Eddie’s mind, even though he looked like he was in a state of shock.

“Hey, Buck, you good?”

He couldn’t lie, it made his heart skip a beat when Buck smiled at him—even if he could tell that Buck’s heart wasn’t in it.

Before he could say anything more, the alarm sounded through the house, and Eddie was about a step away from fully losing his mind. “Hey, we’ll talk later, yeah?” He said, trying to give a small smile as he started to double back to his locker.

The call, to put it mildly, had not gone well—any fire call where the main focus wasn’t the fire was bound to be troublesome. A ten year old had started a fire in a laundry room, which should have been simple enough, except it was the same laundry room that he and his brother had apparently been locked up on for months.

Suddenly what started out as a fire call turned into fire, medics, and police, and Eddie felt his hands start to shake as he worked with Hen to revive a ten year old boy. Barely older than Christopher. It wasn’t the first time he had seen abuse face to face, and he knew it wouldn’t be the last, but something about it was working him up more than usual. He was glad his shift was almost over—the only thing he wanted to do was go home, hug his kid, and sleep.

“—ooh, Mads, they’re back, gotta go. Hey, Eddie!”

He knew he was in deep when not even hearing Buck’s voice could brighten his mood—it was all he could do to hitch a half-hearted smile onto his face as he stepped off of the spare rig.

“Good call, right? Maddie said it sounded like everyone should pull through.”

Eddie just felt himself wind up tighter as he shook his head, rolling his jaw to force himself to keep it loose. “No, Buck. It was not a good call. It was a very bad call.” Bad didn’t even begin to cover it. Eddie could still feel his heart in his throat, feel a tiny body in his arms as Hen started compressions.

He was too wrapped in his own world to notice Buck falter, clearly thrown in the conversation. “Well, hey, if you’ve got a second—“

“Come on Buck, give it a break. I just want to get the fuck out of here as soon as I can.”

Pulling his boots off, he tossed them with perhaps a bit more force than needed into his locker, missing the way that Buck’s face shuttered. “You too, huh?”

“‘You too’? The hell is that supposed to mean?”

“Eddie, I just wanted to share some good news, and—“

“Well things aren’t just good or bad, Buck! Just because no one died does not make a good call, and just because things are bad right now doesn’t mean I have to be cheered up. I’m allowed to be pissed off. I’m allowed to have one fucking minute!” Eddie snapped, chucking his jacket against the hamper in the corner, jaw clenched so hard he would have been afraid of cracking a tooth if he was in his right state of mind.

“So please, tell me what is so god damned important that I can’t see my kid until you tell me.”

The moment the words left his lips, he knew it was a mistake. The only person that loved Chris as much as Eddie was Buck, and he knew that, saw that more clearly than ever as his white hot anger dulled into something more manageable. He swallowed as he turned around, and… fuck, Buck wasn’t even looking at him.

“…Buck, I—“

“Clean bill of health.”

Buck couldn’t bring himself to look up up as he tossed the stack of papers onto the bench, doing his absolute best to keep himself composed as he spoke, his jaw tight and brow furled.

He had been so proud of himself for avoiding a panic attack while they were on the call. He had never gotten them before this past year, but between the earthquake, tsunami, Maddie’s kidnapping, and bomb, he had become fast friends with the crushing weight. But he had done well—he kept himself above water, so to speak, and when he called Maddie he was proud to say that his voice was almost steady, and prouder still when she congratulated him for his job well done in therapy, demanding he come over and celebrate tonight.

Well, even if he couldn’t count on his family friends team, he could always count on Maddie. It was a small joy in the world, but right now, it felt like it was all he had.

“Officially back to 100% mobility in my crushed ankle, officially out of the woods for another clot. Did you know it would take me a year to be clear of another embolism, because I refused blood thinners? Well, I figured you might, since you’re been running calls without me, every other week for a year, while I sit in a hospital room.”

Buck finally brought himself up to meet his teammates eye as Eddie’s frustration started to give way to confusion, and that, that hurt more than anything else today. Had anyone even realized why his schedule changed every other week? Did anyone care? “And alright, like you said, it might not be that important to you all but—“

“Buck, you—“

“But it’s really fucking important to me! All I wanted to do was share the good news with the people who are supposed to be family, my team, and instead all I got was blown off, snapped at—Eddie, I mentioned the word doctor in front of Bobby and his first concern was if he had another lawsuit on his hands.”

Buck was mildly aware that he was shaking—he had never really handled stress like this well—but the bigger concern was the tightening in his throat, that sinking pressure he felt right beneath his lungs. He could handle a lot of things, but that didn’t mean he could handle crying in front of Eddie quite yet.

“It’s been a year, Eddie, and I thought things were getting better, so what gives? What did I do, what have I done to deserve being treated like this? I’m serious, please, tell me, so I can fix it!”

Buck’s voice was reaching a fevered pitch as he gestured around the locker room, feeling himself splinter as he begged, literally begged, to know what he had done—why his work had meant nothing. Would he be mortified later? Probably, but everyone had a breaking point, and Buck was realizing (belatedly) that he was past his.

“All I wanted to do today was share a victory with my team, at least share it with you, you’re supposed to be my best friend, and I—I don’t get why—“

If Buck could clearly see Eddie’s face, he might have laughed at the pale, slack jawed, panicked expression before him. As it was, though, his eyes were starting to burn, and even as he reached to rub them, his body finally gave up, tears rolling down his cheeks.

“Why is everyone being so fucking mean?”

Buck didn’t bother with another platitude as he pushed past Eddie, rubbing tear tracks off of his cheeks. He felt his face heat up as he stormed out of the firehouse, fumbling for his keys, and heaven help any member of the 118 who stood in his way.

Buck was crying.

The team had made Buck cry.

Fuck, Eddie had made Buck cry.

He just stood in the locker room as the sound of Buck’s Jeep faded into the distance, feeling his heartbeat throughout his entire body. All Buck wanted to do was share some positivity with the team, and Eddie had… eviscerated him. He bent down to pick up some of the papers Buck had left behind, his heart falling even further (as if that was possible) as he read over the paperwork.

Fuck.

“Hey, Eddie, is Buck in here? Chim said he wanted to talk to—woah, what’s wrong?”

The sweat on Eddie’s skin had cooled (hell, how long had he been standing there?) and guilt sunk heavier into his stomach as Hen walked into the locker room, with Chim trailing behind her. Eddie’s eyes were still glued to the release in his hand, barely noticing as Chim spoke, staring down at his phone.

“Uhhh… why is Maddie telling me to camp out with one of you tonight?” he asked the room as a whole, sharing a confused glance with Hen before they both locked eyes on Eddie, who… well, who probably looked as bad as he felt.

Which, considering Eddie felt like he was about to cry himself, was saying a lot.

“We fucked up. I fucked up. I think—I think we broke Buck.”

And he had no idea how to fix it.

#911 #evan buckley #edmundo diaz #buddie #(maybe if you squint)#hurtfic #buck needs a hug #fic #911fic #911 on fox #flospeaks

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tortillastar · 3 years

Text

Ribs

She drags the shoe across the linoleum tendu à la second. The offending stockinged leg stares back from the mirror. The creased turnout - just shy of 180 - the lemon-peel crease at the crook of her knee, the tumor bulge of her kneecap, and the limp left toes, hung out to dry like Sunday laundry. Slight, like a pimple dotting one’s brow, yet enough to give it the look of a crooked branch.

She shifts her gaze to the leg and gazes detachedly as the flesh constricts, pulling and stretching into the same strange crests and valleys traced by shadow. A heaviness presses upon her knee, a directive to point is lost in translation, and only then did she realize her feet were numb.

A few streaks of light claw the studio floor, slicing her leg like a loaf of brioche. She nudges her phone with the frayed corner of her pointe shoe. 8:10. Two hours she’d been in the empty studio tucked at the end of the hall, only the hawk-eyes and bitter laugh of the mirror for company.

For the past month, she’d taken to running the exam combinations in some pretense of preparing for the winter final. In ballet, no amount of midnight cramming would shuffle the pecking order. Anna would top the list, Svetlana and Maria eating at her heels a few miles removed. She would powder the bottom, placidly hanging on the brink of expulsion as only one who’d lived bare-necked beneath the guillotine for five years and four months could.

She hadn’t gotten past the first set of pas de bourrées, engaged in a staring contest with the knee she’d hammer straight, the bones she’d melt and remold, the feet she’d shape into the neck of a goose.

She peers at the face in the mirror, fixed with a melted and molded smile, like a wax mask worn in the sun. The janitor would be making his rounds soon. He was a stubby hunchback who reeked of greasy bacon and cottage cheese and picked his teeth with the rusted keys on his belt-sized keyring - one she preferred not to cross.

She wobbles over to her bags and collapses by them, a boney addition to the hobo pile. Practiced hands dig out the knot and unravel the ribbons. They leave red tracks crisscrossing her calves - she’d tied them too tight. Her nails absent-mindedly trace the straw-like veins, some purple, some blue along her feet, peeling off millimeter by millimeter each patch and piece of toe-tape. They pull at her skin and reveal the scabs, the welts, the splotches of red. She slips out the studio, leaving a foot-width slit as the teachers did, a silent dusting of her tracks.

The two-minute trek back to the dorms was enough to stain her exposed cheeks crimson and numb the fingertips poking out of holes in her winter gloves. The knob gives too easily.

No Anna, but the heap of dress and stockings, shed like a lizard's skin at the foot of the bed, confirmed her lurking presence.

Stealing food again.

At this, the girl allows herself a haughty flick of the lead eyebrows smeared to the crown of her forehead. The fading desk lamp huffs out a sickly-yellow glow on the knots of hair, specks of dust, bits of paper, and the torn sole of an unwashed stocking poking forth from beneath the bed. They invaded the edges of her vision, rubbing a crude line around the corners.

The girl picks up a corner of the lilac leotard, the sheer purple skirt would clumsily about the waist and noted with a bitter cornrow twist of the lip the xs tag, the letters faded and cracked, but the jeer no quieter. Hers was two sizes bigger - two sizes too big. A fist-sized patch of sweat bloomed at the chest. She smells in its sticky sweetness, browned toast, and poached eggs. Hands bring the damp clothing closer to her hankering nose. She stumbles at the rusty stutter of the doorknob and flings the dress back atop the pile with a flinch.

Anna slips in, lithe as a cat. She flips the lock shut with a blind hand, balancing in the other a plate piled with the usual - tattered cheese squares and soggy folded between slices of flaking bread heels.

“Back already?” The words are puffy and thick. Two folded sandwiches balloon from her cherry-petal lips; a scrap of ham flags the corner of her mouth. The lilt fills in the rest - given up already?

The girl hums, letting the implication roll off her like a raindrop caught on an umbrella.

Anna flops on her bed, sidestepping the strewn clothes and bunched skirts on impossibly high relevé. A few sandwiches flop open, but no creak of the headboards. A few sticky stabs of the remote control and a projection flickers to life on the far wall, bathing her form in a hazy-blue hue. It flecks her hair, mud brown and unbrushed, but pretty in that careless way only those who didn’t care their appearance seemed capable of. A white collarbone peaks out the collar of her nightshirt, paper-strip legs from the mouth of flared pajama pants. A flat chest and masculine frame suspended her at that blissful age where the body seemed an insatiable black hole, vanishing the food she ate without a trace. The girl stares at the way her kneecaps vanished into the line of her leg, and the natural doming of her foot, even unpointed, and subconsciously shoved her numb toes and bruised legs further beneath her bed.

She was the same once - wolfing down oil-crisp fries and cheese-dripping burgers at the KFC beneath her ballet class, shoving a bag of chips to the tail of the conveyor belt, being chased around the house by her grandmother, begging her to down the last gulp of soup.

It had come about gradually, imperceptibly, like the callouses about her big toe. A few arched eyebrows, a few frowns, and a simple “Katia switch with Sofya” relegated her to the spot by the exit door. The ones who occupied it never stayed long - dismissed, or crushed under the pressure of digging themselves out.

Her fork lingered over the beefsteak, wound an uneasy pirouette, and stabbed into the neighboring mound of greens. That had been easy. The academy canteen didn’t serve much red meat in the first place. Fish was harder, especially the cuts of smoked salmon she slapped on everything from burnt toast to insipid spinach leaves. Eggs went because she forgot to grab one breakfast. Then milk, because the skim milk pitcher had run dry one morning, and if she wasn’t drinking milk anymore why keep up with the yogurt.

She forced down finger-sized carrots, bitter brussels sprouts, and broccoli florets that sunk into her teeth. First with leftover dribbles of salad dressing, then fruit, then nothing at all. She gazed at the squares of beef steak wedged in others’ mouths, trying to taste the greasy, crumbly juices in her raw cucumber slices.

She took to keeping food and water on her person at all times - an orange bulging like a tumor in her clutch, a thermos tucked in the rooster pouch of a holey jumper. It was to avoid starvation, the dull cramp in her stomach that tugged down the corners of her lips and inevitably followed by overeating. She never ate the food but kept bringing it along anyway - on the two-minute walk from her dorm to the academy, the few hundred-step walk from cafeteria to class.

Partly, she derived some warped pride from the fact that she could eat, but would not. Partly, she came to enjoy voicing with a breathy, bogged-down sigh, “I’m too full, anyone want this?” when she spotted a teacher turning the corner, and answering calls of “I’m starving, anyone got a snack?” with granola bars, and too-large apples shoved in her classmates’ faces, smiling an evasive smirk when they accepted.

She scanned barcodes and tallied up the calories, grinning in triumph when she dragged herself through the day at under a thousand - net, of course, she was careful.

“Want one?” She realizes she’d been staring, and by the arch of Anna’s single crow-bar brow, for too long. Without shame, the girl raises her eyes to meet Anna’s pitch-black orbs, poised before an eye-roll she would probably share with her bed lamp.

“No thank you.” Creaks the automatic reply. “I don’t eat bread.” She adds to strengthen her conviction, though nobody would spare a glance at her plate at lunch to check if she’d kept her word.

“Your loss.”

A buoyant, techno tune draws her gaze to the projection. For the night, Anna had passed up the flabby American rom-coms she inhaled under the pretext of learning English. Instead, flappy, armless sleeves, squirming tuber dresses, and pendulum purses paraded down coffee-stained roads, easily avoiding the few puddling gulps dotting the curbs. Towering lampposts, shop signs, wobbly curbstones, each leaf bleached grey. A flap of bat’s wings and the occasional lilting bird whine completes a pretend eeriness ruined by the too-matte paint, the too-smooth roads, the too-new metal benches.

The camera whirled about, favoring a bottom-to-top shot that lent full view to jutting, crooked knees, and bowed legs. The girl frowns at their pastry-thin shoulders, chicken-wing spatula, and pigeon-toed walk. She sees in bed-sheet expressions not aristocratic coolness, but contemptible misery - a silent plea on weighted lips.

“You can become a model if you’re dismissed.” Her smacking lips pork chop the words, her mouth brimmed like her suitcase, its zippered mouth perpetually open in half-hearted surprise. She tears open the final sandwich, nails pressing crescent-moons into the holey bread pockets. The girl lifts a corner of her lip in a wan smile.

The words pick at hardened scabs, no more than a tickle. She’d been suspended on the chopping block from the moment she was accepted, and the sense of urgency had long since worn thin. The studio hours after class was fulfilled out of habit, not any imminent fear of dismissal.

The girl thought it was Anna’s brand of helping - disaster prevention through repeated exposure. They walked the no-man’s-land between friend and stranger on a scaffolding of convenience and pity.

“They have it easy. Just starve themselves, look miserable, parade around clothes slapped with some expensive brand name. And people shower them with praise.” She sucks the tips of her fingers with a pop.

“We have to starve ourselves and look happy doing it.” She stands up with the empty plate. A few dark specks had already seized on the leftover crumbs.

“You’re showering first.” A phrase stranded between question and demand.

The door croaks shut, and her wobbly “Yeah” sinks in the empty room. The bed groans as she stands. She wants to peel off the bark and tear the baseboards but glares dully woodgrains for a few beats before grabbing her shower duffel from the doorway.

The shared bathroom is conspicuously empty. The others had showered after class, she assumed. She twists off her jumper and lets the cold prick at her bare arms, observing each pimpling goosebump. Slowly, she peels off the lilac leotard and rejoices at the wrinkle of fabric bunched beneath the armpits. Cold fingers trace along the ribs, revealed one by one, pressing a chill to each angled, protruding bone. In the mirror - lustrous despite the grimy tiles and cracked sinks, copper wire lips bend into a smile.

#ballet #writing #short story #fiction

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letsperaltiago · 4 years

Text

don't blame me, love made me crazy

Written upon request for #58 from the 101 fluffy prompts-list:

"We’ve become the clingy newlyweds you always complained about. "

Read on ao3

Every like and reblog is appreciated <3

Also, tried to just... slowly approach smut and idk I’m so scared!! Send help or inspo! 😅🤧

“What was that all about?” Amy complained to her husband as she closed their front door behind them and kicked off her shoes prior to neatly lining them up by the door. Behind her trailed Jake who automatically copied his wife’s actions looking at her with an equal amount of wonder as he didn’t hold the answer for her question. “We didn’t do anything out of the ordinary?” she threw him another question meanwhile her jacket was removed as well, hung on its designated crook to reveal the flowy, burgundy, flower-patterned dress she’d been wearing for the evening at their friend’s house.

“I don’t know, Ames,” he tried to calm her down, which was always easiest if he didn’t make a big deal out of it – when he was calm he had a better chance of rubbing off on her. But alas it had been very clear from the moment the subject had been brought up at the dinner table that Amy was not going to let go of it until resolved: a stubbornness, a will to succeed that Jake deeply admired and loved but also, at times and in some certain contexts, had his apprehensions about.

“Are we that horrible to be around as a couple?” from where Jake had his back turned on the living room as he took off his leather jacket, he could hear Amy slump down onto the couch loudly flaunting her disappointment in what they’d been told tonight.

It, of course, had occurred to them both that they were married. Very much so: everything from all the meticulous planning of the big day to it being completely butchered by a bomb threat to then still getting married in front of the precinct? Oh yes, they were definitely so very married. And they both adored this new take on their love to the moon, probably even further, and back. But at tonight’s monthly Nine-Nine family-dinner, the first since their wedding in May, they’d suddenly been made aware of the fact that the newly attained degree of their relationship had reached a whole new, very specific kind of vibe: They were told that it made their “already borderline sickly affectionate affinity even more intolerable” (quote Rosa) and made them “professionally and personally challenging to be around when together” (Holt’s addition to the matter at hand).

“I’m sure they didn’t mean it like that,” he slumped down, joining Amy on their couch before instinctively slinging an arm around her shoulders both as to comfort her but also by sheer selfishness, because not touching Amy Santiago at all times was a crime. She, just as him not being able to resist her spouse’s touch, leaned into it placing her head in his shoulder. “You know Holt and Rosa. They have their ways of handling emotional subjects, but they never truly mean to hurt or upset anyone.”

“Maybe…” she huffed but her husband’s attempt at convincing and comforting her didn’t seem to be quite enough. She needed the thrill and satisfaction of a solve, which meant she needed to treat the matter at hand like an open case – an investigation. She abruptly sat up straight automatically causing Jake’s arm to slide off of her “… but I’m pretty sure we didn’t go overboard with anything?” Amy turned her head to look behind her expecting an answer, but her still leaned back, somewhat disturbingly unaffected husband, looked at her with raised eyebrows and discreetly amused eyes. You’d think he’d worry more than he appeared to do, Amy couldn’t help but think…

“Honey, I know you have this need to control everything, which 99% of the time is both admirable and adorable, but right now you’re just riling yourself up about something that isn’t that deep. They all love us and in the end they just want us to be happy. Even if we get a bit lovey-dovey at times,” he confirmed his little explanation with a warm smile.

“I don’t give a hoot, Jake!” Amy exclaimed totally disregarding Jake’s actually pretty reasonable words. “We’re going to run through every second of that dinner and pinpoint every couple-y interaction we’ve had!” She got up and ran towards her little library/office-room.

“We?” Jake questioned mid-yawn, trying to follow her with his eyes until she disappeared into the other room, left behind surprised by his wife’s sudden initiative. A initiative which he appeared to be have been dragged into.

“Yes,” Amy yelled from the other room. “We’re going to write down every single couple-y thing we did at dinner tonight, from the second we walked into Terry’s place to the time we left, and prove that we aren’t that bad!”

Mostly just wanting to give into the tiredness and desire to just go to bed and cuddlee with his wife, but also knowing he wanted to stick to Amy’s side for this, hopefully keeping her tendency spiraling a bay, Jake tiredly rubbed his eyes trying to push aside the incoming feeling of exhaustion. And as if on cue, the second he lied down stretching out on the soft material of their couch, Amy marched back into the living room with notebook and pen in hand. When she sat down on the floor abreast Jake’s head, between the couch and the coffee table placing her appliance on the surface before her, Jake then noticed how she’d pulled her before lose, casual waves into a high pony tail – she nor the magnitude of Amy’s mission was to be messed with.

“Okay, so…”

From his admittedly relaxed and not as intensely engaged position Jake could, by an inch over her shoulder, catch a glimpse of the now open notebook where Amy’s elegant handwriting was preparing a neat list to be filled, appropriately titled List of reasons why we’ve been “too much”. Jake chuckled to himself allowing his eyes to rest just a bit, sneak closed, as he of course would stay awake with Amy but physically couldn’t fight his body’s tiredness entirely. Being there physically would surely be good enough.

“Okay, so we arrived at Terry’s house, separately, very important to note…” she scribbled down before continuing, “…since you worked a bit later, thus came directly from work with Charles so we couldn’t have possibly done anything there…” Amy started scribbling down until Jake chimed, or rather muttered, in himself.

“But since I’d missed you for those few hours after you left work, I walked directly over to you and kissed you in front of everyone before saying-“

“Hi, beautiful wife…” Amy finished his sentence quoting the moment from earlier by memory with a defeated voice upon realizing this wouldn’t be a moment in her favor. She quietly wrote it down not feeling like further commenting. “Okay, but that isn’t uncommon for us… or just any couple in general!”

“I know, babe,” Jake yawned.

“So no reason for them to be upset about that… Anyways, then we stood in the kitchen while Terry and Charles finished cooking dinner, had a glass of wine… Pretty innocent if you ask me-“

“Until we touched glasses and toasted to our 23 days as husband and wife before sharing another kiss,” Jake added sheepishly earning himself another discontent grunt prompting the sound of scribbling.

“Whatever… Let’s move on…”

And thus they did indeed manage to run through every moment, every second, every turning point of the night while Amy dutifully and neatly as always took notes and, internally, realized that she hadn’t really been aware of a lot of the amorous moments between her and Jake - they sort of just happened, naturally, like a consistent love-pattern. Taking up multiple pages of the notebook, the list clearly reflected this, but Amy still seemed somewhat in denial. Or at least right up until she added the final period to wind-up her final bullet point: J jokingly grabbed A’s butt while yelling “Wifey-butt!” when walking to the car after dinner.

“Oh my god…” Amy complained as her body hopelessly slumped back against the couch where Jake was still resting while also being very much dedicated to his wife’s project dismay, since he was the one who 9 times out of 10 would remind her of forgotten moments, stolen kisses and loving gazes she’d forgotten about.

“I can’t believe it,” she twisted her torso as to look at her husband behind her genuinely expecting a horrified expression matching hers alas instead being met by tired, adoring eyes and a grin that was impossible to hide when his wife’s despair upon realization was this cute.

“Why are you smiling?” she frowned mostly frustrated by the situation but also confused by her husband’s lack of shared sentiment.

“We’ve become the clingy newlyweds you always complained about,” he mumbled the side of his face pressed against one of their throw pillows. “It’s cute. That’s all.”

Amy immediately felt defensive about the accusation, mostly because she knew he was right but that wasn’t exactly the expected outcome when she’d set up this little private investigation of her. “I have not complained about-“

“Oh, you’re so cute when you try to disguise the truth, babe,” he kept grinning. If there was one thing Jake loved it was teasing. Something he loved even more? Teasing Amy Santiago. And something he loved even more? Teasing Amy Santiago when she was in a miffy mood.

“I’m serious! When have I ever complained about a bit of PDA ever? People can do whatever they want,” she had now fully switched, made a 180 turn, in her seat on the floor and looked directly at her husband with a challenging demeanor. Jake was not about to let an opportunity of this greatness like this slip away that easily: he was definitely going to get the most out of it.

“I know it’s hard to face the truth,” he said nonchalantly, definitely playing her, meanwhile he switched to lie on his back as he let out an exaggerated yawn and laced his fingers together behind his head as extra support – and also to look that more pleased with himself and the situation. “But the Jake Peralta boyfriend gone husband-experience can do these sort of… crazy things to a woman. It’s totally cool, honey, if you’ve just been unconsciously swept away by the rush of having me as your husband. It’s out of your control and that’s okay.”

As well as Jake knew he could push her buttons Amy knew just as well, if not even better, that there were many ways to knock Jake off his cocky perch. This, suddenly, was much more important than what anyone thought of them, or her trying to solve the matter, because them being those clingy newlyweds she always complained about meant she always had her husband wrapped around her little finger. Perhaps, she had to admit, it was hypocritical of her to think like this, when she’d been the one whinnying about random couples’ #twomonthsofmarriage-posts on Instagram (Like, who cares about your two months of marriage, Karen?), and the one to roll her eyes upon overhearing some random woman mention her husband 23 times during a 5-minute conversation at their local coffee shop: she was now that annoying Instagram-couple and coffee shop-woman, all in one… A supreme-annoyingly clingy-wife.

But coming to the realization that, perhaps, she was a hypocrite was her learning from her mistakes, right? That was a good thing.

Either way she didn’t really care because, from where she was still planted on the floor before him, Amy could physically feel her brain have a change of attitude as it shut out any previous doubts and anxieties about what other thought of their marriage, their way of loving each other, and instead replacing it with the sudden brutish need to, first of all, shut Jake up, and second of all, rebel against exterior opinions about them.

She was definitely turning to her annoying newlywed-ways to make her husband shut up.

“I guess,” her before frantic tone was now suddenly completely gone and replaced by a sultry, confident tone matching the new-sprung darkness in her eyes. “But then this…”

Jake’s before tired demeanor was swallowed along with his pride the second his always beautiful, and also incredibly hot wife, pushed herself off the floor and mounted the couch to straddle his hips, more precisely the exact area where he knew she knew there would be no opposing her, with the sleek movements of a lioness sneaking up on its prey. It especially threw him off even further when she repositioned herself, innocently pretending to ‘just get comfortable’, thus applying just the right sultry movement and amount of pressure to this most vulnerable area.

“I guess this…” she made sure the ‘s’ was clearly hissed directly into his ear as she, leaned down over him, slowly bit by bit, started to build him up by allowing her hips another grinding motion thus sending electricity through his entire body, before rounding off her pending taunt, “… is not in my control either then.”

There were no to make it past Jake’s gaping lips, all caught up in tangles in his suddenly very dry throat, although the hitch in his breath in reaction to the movement of her hips couldn’t’ve escaped her in a million years. She had him right where she wanted him.

“Is it?” she taunted again unbending her torso back up to sit up straight.

His hands which had before been resting carefree behind his head escaped its spot finding a new home on her waist, gently tracing up and down its curves like a potter shaping soft clay into artwork.

“Ames,” he whimpered upon the sensation of feeling her hands being placed on top of his to guide them downwards, past the narrowest part of her curvature, and fixed on the fullest part of her hips – where she wanted them to be. For now, that is. By instinct, being very familiar with his favorite kind of handful, Jake’s fingers dug into the fabric-clad flesh not caring whether or not he’d leave marks: her uniform would surely cover it in the morning.

“I’m sorry, I just don’t think I can control it when you’re around me, husband,” she definitely felt his body quiver at his still somewhat new title and, God, how sinful of a meaning that simple word had suddenly gained in the moment. Having fulfilled their duty of guiding him to where she wanted his touch, Amy’s hands made their way off of his before torturously sliding up his torso to play with the first, top button of his dark green flannel – one of her favorites on him… and, of course, off. Meeting her secret expectations his hands reacted to her undressing him by sliding his hands down further behind her to then, instead of her waist, grab the curve of her ass, additionally allowing himself to pull her abdomen into a soft motion against him in the desperate need of the friction she’d already given him a foretaste of. Pride was not a thing he contained much of around Amy Santiago-Peralta: was he going to let her make him unravel at the seams so easily? Absolutely. Would he be down for whatever direction she planned on taking this in? Without a doubt, even if it meant just making out followed by some cuddling, although he was currently rock hard and internally praying that she wouldn’t stop the course of things any time soon.

Her fingers popped the last button of his flannel, and with a simple look, she wordlessly ordered him to sit up straight, which he dutifully did, thus allowing her to push the fabric off of his broad shoulders before proceeding to abandon it on the floor. It might’ve been her favorite flannel on him but she liked it even more on the surface of their carpet. Thinking that she had full control of the situation, Amy was definitely startled at the sensation of Jake’s teeth taking a bite into the sensitive skin of her neck, the extra tender area right beneath where her jaw met the side of her throat and whether it was what he’d set out to do or not, he surely extracted a long, deep sigh from her now, between the fondling and the bites, much more agitated body. Seemed as if Jake Santiago-Peralta was back on track after being knocked off his feet for a moment, and though she did immensely enjoy having the upper hand, there was something about Jake fighting his way back to dominance that undeniably had her body feel some kind of way.

She obviously couldn’t, it being physically impossible, see it for herself but oh how she could feel the way her husband’s teeth and lips were painting colorful love-bruises on her more than usual tan and crisp skin (Thank you very much, 2 week honeymoon in Mexico). Although, before her mind could wander off to create a mental top 5-list of most effective ways to hide said up and coming hickeys, her awareness shifted to the feeling of her husband’s purposive hands grabbing the skirt of her dress, pulling it up to bundle droopily around her waist, and earning him a tiny hitch in her throat to be felt where his teeth were still attached to her.

All the teasing, the control she’d gained in counter to his cockiness, had with the snap of the fingers dissolved into the shameless abandoning of herself, giving in to the fervor he so powerfully incited within her.

“Stop worrying,” he slowly ran his hands up under the bundled material before redirecting his hands back to hold onto the soft pulp of her ass, this time the only barrier being the fabric of her panties, earning him a tiny squirm telling him she slowly began to unravel at the seams – just for him. His lips targeted a new area: hers. “You’re my wife. I’m your husband. No one gets to decide what can and can’t do.”

As if to enhance his point, making sure she wouldn’t forget anytime soon, there was a brief moment where he drew back just a few inches to look directly into her eyes with passion still burning in his. Meanwhile one hand had left her behind and instead purposefully grabbed her jaw, making sure to keep the grip somewhat soft as to not hurt her but still firm enough to make sure she would look back. If he hadn’t had a certain agenda in mind he would’ve let the image before him bring him to his knees: Amy, messy hair, swollen lips, dark eyes, ruffled and barely holding on dress. But he had to stay firm and focused. His hand didn’t let go of her jaw and she dutifully complied deeply turned on by the discourse of the events and this persona Jake had chosen to bring out. Usually she loved having the upper hand during sexy timez, but somehow, seeing how Jake was handling her when her mind was spinning out of control, his sudden craving for dominance came like a blessing in disguise.

His lips crashed with hers, and being distracted like she was by his mesmerising dominant persona, it took her by both storm and surprise thus not being able to hold back a pure, honest moan holding so much pleasure. Only the way his fingers teasingly traced the lace on the edge of her panties could come near taking her attention away from what, in the moment, felt like her life’s hottest kiss.

“Understood?” he breathed into her lips barely able to with the lack of air in his lungs. She nodded grasping desperately at the soft white fabric of his undershirt.

“Good,” he growled, pleased by the newfound wet fabric between his wife’s legs meaning he was certainly doing something right: he had her exactly where he wanted her, both physically and mentally, and he had his now slick fingers as proof.

“Now,” he continuously toyed with the fabric, feeling up her heat before slowly edging the pantie as far down as her bent legs straddling him would allow. “You’re going to rip that list out of your notebook… ” his lips slid away from hers redirecting to nibble on her ear lobe. “Then you’re going to throw it out… ” a kiss to the shell of her ear followed behind, setting up his final act of persuasion. She was so far gone under the influence of his touch that she didn’t even care to disagree with having to throw out 20 minutes dedicated research, ink from her favorite pen and quality paper from one of her best notebooks.

“… and then your husband is going to take you to your bedroom and fuck you so hard you’ll forget the others even said anything at all. I’ll make sure you never complain about being newlyweds ever again.”

#peraltiago #jake x amy #jake peralta #amy santiago #jake and amy #fanfiction #fanfic #peraltiago fanfic #oneshot #b99 fanfiction #b99 #Brooklyn Nine-Nine #brooklyn nine nine

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404fmdminjung · 3 years

Text

creative claims — blueming

summary: written during the course of promotions for loveforclosure. she finds one sense of home in the fans, writes a song to the people that shower her with love. (basically coming off a high of a well-received comeback). warnings: none wc: 1906 (not including lyrics)

in retrospect, time changes a lot of things.

a year prior, and a flop of a song — the signs all pointing straight towards the shackles of gold star’s dungeon. now, they’ve shined her up. polished the record out for the masses, and the pour of public love in the horizon. no longer a flop, the rough and jagged edges of each comment to tear her apart and strip her semblance piece by piece become softened, blurred at the lines. angry voices poured at the expensive of fingers tapping against the keyboard with the anonymous faces now refreshed and shifted towards positive praise, comments statured with hearts and support.

how do you handle the sudden 180 when your heart also falters, and teeters towards the change of pace?

minjung surely doesn’t know. doesn’t know how to cope, so her hands remain on the edges of her notebook, one hand out pulling the pages apart inside a moving van that takes her to the first schedule of promotions.

blue. she jots that down quickly, let’s the dips in the road add character to each crooked line scrawled on the stage. blue used to be synonymous with dreary melancholy, strapped down to the midnight dreariness of a city that never sleeps. she painted herself blue once, downed by the ridicule of modern day public execution via the comments. now, she blooms.

stages after the first two become easier. synonymous with echoes and the small trinkets and packages of gifts given when she hops back into the guise of privacy, into the van. she’s back at stage one, notebook in pocket, phone in hand.

she remembers the first few instances hopping into a kakao chat dedicated to her — even manages to get kicked off a few times before staying on, and hearing the outpour of cheer and love dedicated.

when she gets off, says her goodbyes, she realizes one thing’s changed: her heart blooms, softens with each message sent. enough to stir the grin across her cheeks when her smile hangs steady with eyes that gleam over the page written ‘blue’.

it’s an uncanny feeling, feeling filled more to the tips of the brim with each passing day — a feeling novel, something she still can’t handle whole.

what i said what’s up i really meant i miss you.

all along, the missing shade of blue she’s forgotten on the canvas layered and layer, is love around. memories wiped from a missing skeleton of her pass, and she fails to realize — the love settled around, is the one she’s neglected to see for more than face value till now.

in each and every emoji my subtle feelings keep changing, i wonder if you know

she recollects the past five minutes on her phone in the group chat, the small tidbits of surprise now caked onto a revelation. her monotone speech patterns and quick sent texts, subjugated to a more personalized form as the seconds tick on. busyness, fatigue. it’s all an empty excuse when her heart flutters with a tinge upward, thoughts of fans now filling the crevices of her fragmented heart.

insomnia, lack of sleep. she’s running on two hours bustling from one schedule to the next. but seo minjung has never followed the textbook rules of what to feel and at what time. she’s an outsider looking in, going against the force and the nature of tides pushing one way to another. because where fatigue should rest heavy on her shoulders, now — she’s no longer drowning. instead, stepping higher into the clouds like stargirl. girl with a light heart, and now she’s drunk with a scent of resolution.

i’m making roses blossom with my thumb i think i’m getting drunk with the scent it’s in our own secret garden.

the high doesn’t wind down as schedules persist. instead, each day she’s met with the feelings of a hurricane. ripped from her roots, heart fleshed open when the smile no longer seizes itself faux, but as a token of genuine ties each time she sits down, resorts back to the words compiling on the page.

this song’s for them. the lyrics, each one in a one-on-one head-first conversation. ideation that perhaps, this becomes a fleeting moment. a transient piece where they’re sitting at top of the climax before it all topples over, downward straight to hell. but she’s not a worrier, doesn’t bother looking back.

(for once, she chooses to relish this moment right here).

i feel bloom, i’m sending you one more flower updating you with my all-nighter work the author of this interesting piece of work, that’s me maybe this is the climax of the relationship

the nip of her pen glides freely against the page, her own welcome to her headspace. no beat, no notes in mind. rather, it’s the diary that opens up the beginnings of what’s right in her heart now.

—

there’s an itch under her skin — one rarely ignored. it comes at a pang to her gut, knocks the sleepless night right into her, prompting her to make a beeline towards the makeshift studio in her apartment.

here and there, she tries to think of a tune. a slow pull of languid minors, layering on the heaviness of desolation in navy’s. she doesn’t want that, least not a ballad coming off the tails of another — she scraps that, saves the file and backlogs it for another day. then comes the juxtaposition of jazzy facts, the strong isolation of saxophones and trombones — a drop in a rough beat, painting the song a vibrant cobalt. it’s one worth dancing to, boppy tunes to wreck havoc on a stage. still, it renders itself useless by the time she shoves that rendition straight to the trash can.

no notes in any sort of transition, instead she finds solace on the guitar she hasn’t touched in a near two months. it hangs, lingers on like a presence in the room — she makes a note, guitar. scribbled at the top of her page before ushering herself back to the confines of her bed.

a day off, and the song resurrects itself through the guitar nestled in her arms. she strums herself a chord in a minor, a major — finds the three notes, clamored down to the cacophony of something bright. still, decides it remains a stretch to keep it with too much embellishment. instead, she plucks the notes apart from each other — one by one, f into c. c into e, hitting a baseline at g.

at this point, it drops the seedlings to something promising and light. the shade of periwinkle she’s envisioned all along — it’s light to touch, easy to the ears. breathless in a come-and-dance with me switch. minjung repeats the plucking, one by one, till the solidification of the notes come full circle once the record button presses and her voice hums along to the melody etched in-between.

it starts at an easy lull before she paves way with the full-on start of the chords all at once by the time the chorus hits. two chords, a pause. then the entrance of the next two in repeat — at this point, it’s no longer and algorithm of what makes the numbers on the chart or a fragment of herself embodied into a play. instead, it’s the drive of having fun, enjoying each second put into the process.

(trust the process, nobody ever said it was going to be easy).

it sounds digital by the time she puts the first line of guitar work down. the recordings now becoming repetitive, one after another — a simple base in bare bones, nothing flashy or a change in the tempo. it all charges steadily, following expectations of the song’s natural rhythm.

her mouse clicks around and by now, it’s the addition of the percussion. the simple add-on to where she imagines the first verse tuning in — the deep percussion adds a depth to the periwinkle, the wrinkles of something more saturated, less fluttery.

the essence of the song’s been fluttery heartbeats. the intangible things unspoken from her to the fans, and for now — she makes her mark by saving the file, setting aside for another day with her arms stretched out, enough for the yawn to escape in broad daylight.

no makeup, sitting inside some rugged sweats and a t-shirt. (this feels like the first in a long time where home’s presented a new look).

by the time she resorts back, it’s the end of promotions — free days shifted in between preparations for fuse’s next comeback. her heart’s no where near hands-up, long far with her cold shoulder response becoming synonymous with the lackluster dead-eyed expression for a mind that’s been humming hte melody to the song written in the books.

her own sense of peace, and her piece of privacy. solo work, now trumping and reigning on top of anything else presented to her.

she’s thought about it all day — the backing vocals, the ad-libs. where to start, and where to end. by the time she finds herself situated in front of her screen, her notebook sprawled out and jaded eyes that click around to the record. she starts with the ah-ah-ah’s, the makeshift forced rhymes that fall at the end of each verse. tunes her voice back in for the lulls of simple humming.

yet, by the time she sits down, plays back the puzzle pieces of what’s the marred total composition on her screen, she furrows her brow. bites down on her lip, pen in hand. the end of the pen taps on the surface of her desk, mind still buried inside the missing facet. imagination and creativity doesn’t spur when you want it to — it’s once again the process and the clicks of the mouse transitioning one type, to another.

seo minjung settles on the synth and the slow paced transitioning of warping her voice to an electronic belt. like stereo noise, it thins out where she wants it to be. almost muting it down to a subtle pull, a settled flesh of a song that makes her hear from the next room over. her mouth furls into a grin, a toothy grin saved for instances like these.

because what this song isn’t a piece of her anymore. nor a recollection of heartbreak on repeat.

instead, it’s fruitful, light and airy. like she’s floating on a cloud, far far away with her hands reached far apart, slotted to the love the fans boost her on. whether they’re a mirage of fusions or the few that brand themselves as a heart only filled by hear — she doesn’t care. it’s all an ode to them at this point.

no longer hiding behind her cowardice, wallowing around in the has-beens and the what-ifs of a play by play scenario. this time, this song goes out to a crowd that helped her remain stationed and whole, billowing with the calm sense of comfort.

comfort comes in many ways, home defines itself new each time.

only, this time she doesn’t sway from one new cloud or another pillar of stability. she’s still a nomad, wandering from one welcoming house to the next, filled with the fireplace of warmth and a comfortable meal. whatever food they home, they offer. she accepts — home’s a place where you define it. right now, seo minjung defines home with where the people are, wrapped up in open arms and a belonging.

whether she’s the ballader on stage. the travesty walking on yesterday’s heartbreak or the dancing diva in haphazard movements —they’ve accepted her for what she leaves at face value. the songs weren’t meant to soothe wounds or an album to flesh out the bad — it was an attempt at closure. and what she got in return, is the closure she least expected.

#fmdverification

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crystalpistol · 5 years

Text

(A/N: DISCLAIMER, course language, violence and moderate sexual themes.)

Every time you saw his stupid, ugly horse face you wanted to fucking punch it. His annoying, nasally voice made you want to rip his voice box out. His weird, lanky limbs made you want to trip him. Basically, Patrick couldn’t do a single thing without it getting under your skin.

And he knew it.

You leaned against a wall by the back of the school with Henry, sharing a fag together. You chatted softly, looking around the corner for teachers or students every so often, it was going pretty well - a good smoke break.

Then Patrick had to show up and ruin it with his uninvited entrance. You could fucking sense him from a mile away and for whatever reason, he was always no longer than that. Patrick Hockstetter was the bane of your god damn existence.

He smirked his stupid crooked smirk the moment he rounded the corner and caught the two of you sharing a cigarette. “Hey, Hockstetter. Skippin’ class?” Henry inquired, not bothering to look at his friend. He was busy watching cars pass in the streets.

“Chem is for faggots.” Patrick shrugged and snagged the fag from Henry’s parted lips. The two shared some macho moment before Henry decided to let it slip, his tense shoulders slacking.

“I gotta get back,” Bowers side-eyed you, gauging your reaction. Everyone knew never to leave Patrick and Y/N alone together, that’d be asking for a fucking storm. You contemplated joining him but looked to Patrick again, or more so at your cigarette in his mouth. You’d barely had any time to actually smoke.

“I’ll just chill here ‘til next period.” You decided, making an internal decision to ignore Patrick the moment Henry left, but why mention that? Henry nodded slowly, brows low on his face. “Meet you guys at Vic’s locker after class.”

You and Patrick watched Henry turn the corner and disappear with a scrappy text book in his hand and immediately began regretting your decision the moment Patrick’s eyes turned back to you.

“So,” he began, “you and Bowers, huh?” Oh my god, shut the fuck up. “Fuckin’ what?” You snapped, that 'internal decision’ gone in a flash.

Patrick stepped closer, leaning his elbow against the brick wall, placing your cigarette to his slimy lips again. You reached forward and slapped it clean from his face and stepped on it aggressively. “I don’t remember saying you could smoke my darts.”

Patrick’s face dropped and his hand instantly shot up to wrap around your throat, then your world started to spin. You were on the ground in a second with a cigarette butt to your face, Patrick crushing your body with his.

The creep didn’t even say anything, just inched it closer and closer until he heard a whimper.

“You’re all talk.” He took a handful of your hair and rubbed your face into the concrete. “You’re a fuckin’ pussy.”

You felt glass shards against your face and let out a horrible shriek, “Get offa me, you rodent!”

Patrick made the mistake of pulling your head from the ground to take a look at his handiwork and that was all you needed. You pushed yourself up off the ground - with Patrick still on your back.

He was tall, but he was fuckin’ skinny and you were counting on that. Once standing upright, you felt the doubled weight pulling you backward and you just went with the flow, slamming Patrick into the wall behind you both.

Patrick groaned and his grip in your hair tightened, yanking your head violently. Without thinking, you reached around and grabbed him hard, squeezing with as much force as possible and hoping for the best. It worked. Patrick damn near cried and threw you off of him with a strength you didn’t know he had.

“What the fuck!” He clutched his crotch and moaned, face twisted into a horrible grimace. “You fucking broke my dick!”

You wiped your lip and noted the crimson on the back of your hand. You were bleeding. “Fuck you.”

Patrick panted, head bowed as he cautiously massaged his damaged goods. “Fuck you, Y/N.”

You grabbed your backpack and made a break for it but it didn’t take five seconds for Patrick to start his pursuit. You could hear the hard slam of his boots against concrete. Fuck, fuck - you looked back just in time to see Patrick lunge at you.

The wind was knocked clean out of you the second he tackled you and so, you couldn’t even scream. Another spin of colours and you were on the ground again, but this time, completely pinned. It took a moment for your vision to adjust and when it did, you kind of wished it hadn’t.

Patrick’s hair was a mess and his eyes were wide with rage, his upper lip curled into a snarl but quivered uncontrollably, just like the rest of him. You struggled but it didn’t last, Patrick pressed himself flush against you and you cringed at the smell of his breath.

The fear was starting to really set in and for the first time in ages, Patrick was about to really, really fucking hurt you. He let go of you with his left hand, but only to bring it down on your face.

Your ears began to ring and your head hit the ground again, but Patrick didn’t let up. He punched you and then grabbed the front of your shirt, sitting up and pulling you with him. He straddled you and reeled back, only to quickly change his mind at the last second and punch you in the gut.

You coughed and tensed, pain overwhelming. Patrick didn’t give you any time to recover, but in a sick, twisted way, changed his tactic. His blood-covered fist flattened out and Patrick grinned before the back of his hand struck your cheek.

The sting was it for you and you started to cry. Your fingers wrapped around his arm weakly in a vain attempt to resist the assault, every move felt heavy and burdensome. After a few more slaps, your face felt numb and you began to protest less.

Patrick decided that was the time to switch things up and give the other side of your face a thrashing. By the end of it, you were a bloody, red mess on the ground. Blood stained your face and plain white tee, your jeans were torn at the knees and somehow you were missing a shoe.

Patrick dropped you but didn’t stand up, instead he decided to watch you for a minute. He watched your chest rise and fall with quick, shallow breaths. Your arms were above your head right where he’d left them and then there was your face.

The teen was thrilled, teeth gritting at the sight of you. Your nose was bloody but definitely not broken, your bottom lip was busted open and your face was already starting to bruise. He’d done a fucking number on you.

Then, an idea crept into Patrick’s mind, an idea that would never have been given the spotlight any other day.

You felt Patrick’s hand slide behind your head and you braced for another blow, pain shooting across your face when you flinched weakly. You didn’t really question why Patrick cupped your head rather than grab your hair but when your eyes opened slowly to investigate you knew something was off.

Patrick pulled you in close and pushed his face into your hair, taking a long whiff. He was smelling you.

“Sto-op..” His spindly fingers brushed stray locks away and you shivered at the tickle, and then his hand slipped from the back of your head to your neck and then he did the unfathomable.

“Patrick!” Adrenaline kicked in and your eyes shot wide open, completely aware now. “Stop it!”

Oh my god, oh my god, oh my fucking god. Patrick’s tongue traced the blood that had travelled from your face and down your neck and despite yourself, you moaned.

Patrick hummed, grinding down on you and pressing his teeth against your flesh.

“You stop it.” He finally responded, his free hand taking one of yours and guiding it up the front of his undershirt. “Stop it, Y/N. Please. I’m a virgin.” He mocked, voice trembling.

You were getting whiplash from Patrick’s complete 180, he was fucking mental. He beat the living shit out of you and now he wanted to get with you? This couldn’t be real. It just couldn’t be.

You’d mouthed off countless times to Patrick over the years and always paid the price, but not once had Patrick ever, ever done anything like this. You didn’t even know the psycho was capable of intimacy at all. But was that even what this was?

It was twisted, but when your fingers traced a dip in Patrick’s hip and goosebumps erupted across his pale skin, you appreciated how soft it was. A single finger dipped beneath his belt and the band of his jeans and your entire being heated at the reaction fed to you.

Patrick’s eyes instantly closed and his lips parted, tongue darting in and out of his mouth like a reptile. He dropped your head in pursuit of his buckle, lips on you again. You were beginning to enjoy things so much, you didn’t realise how fast the pace was going until Patrick was tearing his belt off and tossing it aside.

The next few moments are what sobered you up completely. Patrick popped the button of his jeans and exposed himself to you, tall and proud.

Nuh-uh. Nope. No.

You sat up and Patrick smiled, misunderstanding your intention completely, and began to slowly circle his hips. “Even with brain damage, I’m not gonna fuckin’ touch your needle dick, Hockstetter.”

The raven-haired teen laughed and you turned away, briefly catching a glimpse of him again. “I mean, I think you should..”

Every single emotion or sensation that didn’t align with the rage you felt then was eradicated from the front of your mind and you clenched your jaw painfully tight. “Why the fuck would I do that?”

Patrick pulled a face at you, “I’d like you better.”

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