#And I'd pound on the wall; And yell “Stop! Stop! Stop!” | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

malestransforming · 4 months ago

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Papi's Gear

Here's an older story that I have recently edited and cleaned up.

A hockey fan hopes to see his favourite player, Auston Matthews, but ends up getting closer than he could have imagined.

A crowd had already formed in the players tunnel underneath the Scotiabank Arena in downtown Toronto. The crowd buzzed excitedly, waiting for the arrival of the Toronto Maple Leafs hockey team. I was anxiousing hopping from one foot to another, hoping to see my favourite player, Auston Matthews, walk by. Maybe I'd get to give him a fist bump before he jumped on the ice with the rest of the team. I tried to angle my way closer to the front of the crowd, to get a better view of the guys as they walked past. With some polite pushes, I was able to squeeze beside a wall next to the cordoned off section.

A surge of energy swept through the gathered crowd as we caught a glimpse of blue and white coming down the tunnel. The team was on their way to the ice! One by one the players walked by. They looked so handsome and masculine in their royal blue jerseys. I held out my fist for the players to pound with their gloves, hoping to make a connection with someone. Frustratingly, I was too close to a wall, and not easily seen as they walked by, so nobody noticed my fist. I was able to get a good look at each player as they walked by. Their hockey equipment was bulky and broad, making their already impressive bodies seem even bigger. As the players walked by, I caught quick whiffs of their equipment and bodies, and swallowed their scent greedily. I looked for Auston, number 34, but didn’t see him anywhere.

“Oh man. That sucks.” I said to myself.

Auston Matthews was my favourite player and one of the best players in the NHL, so it was weird not seeing him come down the tunnel with the rest of the team. I hadn’t heard anything about him being injured… It was very unusual that he wasn’t in the team line-up tonight. His skill and speed was unmatched by any player in the NHL. I’d give anything to play like him.

I was about to leave the tunnel and head to my seat when another surge of energy fired the crowd.

“Auston!” Someone yelled.

I turned, and sure enough, there he was: number 34. Auston Matthews. He was walking casually towards us but he wasn’t dressed in the Maple Leafs’ uniform. He was wearing a blue Leafs hoodie and black work-out shorts. A Maple Leafs cap was on his head, allowing his long greasy hair to be slicked back. Why wasn’t he dressed to play?

I stretched out my fist for him to bump. He looked massive up close. His thigh and leg muscles were like tree trunks. His shoulders were built and angular with strong muscle. He looked robust, tough and incredible.

“Auston!” I yelled, but deep down I knew he wasn’t going to fist bump me. I tried to get his attention my flashing the number 34 on my jersey.

“Auston!” I yelled again. But he was already walking by me. Ignored.

“Auston! Why aren’t you playing tonight? Is there anything I can do to help?”

Something I said must have clicked with him. He stopped and began to walk back towards me. I saw him scan the crowd, looking for the person that had yelled at him. The look on my face must have betrayed me because he walked towards me as soon as our eyes met. My fist was still stretched out, but instead of bumping it with his own fist, he gripped my entire hand with his own so that the palm of his hand was on my fist and knuckles. It felt warm and slightly sweaty.

“I can’t find my equipment! Can you help me look for it? He said.

I nodded. Anything for Auston Matthews! I turned and left the crowd. I didn’t know where to start looking, but I knew I had to start somewhere.

As I left the tunnel and the crowd behind, I felt a sudden sharp pain in my stomach and a warm, itchy sensation all over my skin. I tried to ignore it, but was quickly overcome by discomfort and ducked into the nearest bathroom. The room was empty, with clean white floors and large mirrors on the wall. My entire body was hot and uncomfortable. I was wearing an old and stained Maple Leafs jersey, and tore it, tossing it to the ground. My other clothes followed almost; my skin was so hot and uncomfortable that I needed to remove anything that was touching it.

I stood in the bathroom, naked, and breathing heavily. The heat and pain was dying down, and instead my skin was tingling. A wave of calm and euphoria went through my legs and arms.

Small blue dots began forming on my shoulders. They were small at first, but deepened into dimples evenly spaced on my skin. They quickly spread across, replacing my own natural pores and hair follicles and stopped just before my biceps. The skin on top of my shoulders and neck turned completely blue, and a white collar appeared from of my neck. A silver and black NHL shield popped into existence just above the white lace under my collar bone. The blue colour continued down my arms, and my skin stretched and reformed into a blue mesh-like material. A pair of white numbers formed at both of my biceps: 34. My skin seemed to shift and separate from my torso, it made me look bigger. Was I growing a jersey?

The blue mesh continued down my arms, stopping at my wrist. Two white stripes formed just above and below my elbows, and wrapped around my arms. Another white stripe formed at my waist, wrapping all around my stomach and back. I saw my nipples stretch, flatten and disappear into blue fabric. All of my chest hair fell out. The skin on my chest also stretched and wove into blue meshy fabric: a lightweight Areolite fabric made by adidas. A length of white lace snaked its way in the middle of my chest. I felt an itch along the top of my back and twisted my body to see my behind in the mirror. Letters began forming along the top half of my back on my shoulders: MATTHEWS. Two huge numbers etched their way into my skin: 34. From this angle, I could see how my back had sort of billowed out from the rest of my body with some of the jersey material hanging below my butt.

A final detail appeared in the form of a large white Toronto Maple Leafs logo forming on my front. It looked like I was wearing a jersey; a jersey that was a little too big for me, but I knew I was the jersey.

“Instead of helping Auston to look for his equipment, maybe I can be his equipment.” I thought to myself.

Whatever had started this changed seemed to agree, as more changes continued.

I felt my insides begin to twist and turn. My shoulder blades and collar bone melted and began reforming into shoulder pads. My shoulder caps grew bigger, enough to be able to protect Auston from body checks on the ice. I felt my rip cage crack and disappear, and my abdominal muscles and fat transitioned into velcro straps, protective foams and plastic. More bones cracked and transformed into other materials. It felt amazing to change from an organic being into plastic and artificial materials. The entire top half of my body ballooned and grew bigger; my previous frame was too slender and tight for Auston Matthews, he would need more comprehensive protection. The part of me that was a jersey began to fill out as the rest of my insides grew and shifted in order to fit better.

My elbows popped and disconnected from my arms. My bones fused into elbow pads: a two-piece system to protect Auston’s forearm and bicep. A soft cuff formed from my bicep muscle and arm bone and a hard cap solidified at my elbow and forearm. I used my hand to squish my new elbow: it was hollow but sturdy and protective. Elastic Velco straps formed from the muscle around my bicep and forearm. As my upper body changed fully into Auston’s equipment, I started to feel distinctly separate and different. I knew part of me was now a blue Maple Leafs sweater, another part of me were shoulder pads, and another part of me were elbow pads. I was rapidly becoming hockey equipment, and it felt good.

Glancing in the mirror, it looked like I was wearing Auston’s gear. My hands dangled from the wrists of the jersey. My bare, naked legs were holding up the top part of Auston’s gear, with my fully erect penis poking out from the bottom.

“No,” I said to myself. I didn’t want to wear Auston’s gear: I wanted to be Auston’s gear.

My hands began to enlarge; they were smaller than Auston’s hands and wouldn’t work at their current size if they were going to be his hockey gloves. Bones and muscle shifted and melted into more protective foams and plastic. My hands hollowed into hockey gloves. The tips of my fingers bubbled outwards and became more square-like. My joints became longer, enough to provide good dexterity for Auston’s own fingers. My skin turned blue and white. A large white cuff popped out of my wrist, ready to protect Auston’s wrist from slashes and pucks. The letters CCM appeared and wove out of my skin. The palm of my hands turned a pale white with a slight grippy texture in the middle. The material thinned out and stretched across the gloves. My hands were now hollow, empty hockey gloves.

At this point, I somehow ended up on the ground. I collapsed and fell backwards with a soft thud against the bathroom floor. I must have looked a slight: a human head buried in a Leafs jersey, shoulder pads and gloves. I loved it; it felt like I was returning home.

My erect penis, glistening with pre-cum, suddenly deflated and flattened. It turned grey and hard and shaped into a bulbous domed cup. It completely detached from my crotch and became Auston’s athletic cup. I chuckled as I thought about Auston positioning what used to be my penis over top of his own penis and testicles.

The bottom half changes happened almost simultaneously. My hips and thighs pushed outwards and became bigger and roomier. Everything inside deflated and disappeared, becoming yet more protective padding. I felt my pelvic bones shrink and twist as they turned into protective plastic caps. My butt cheeks dissolved and melted into nylon and foam. I couldn’t wait for Auston’s big hockey butt to slide around mine in his new hockey pants. My skin toughened and turned blue, the same shade as my torso. A single white stripe appeared on the sides of my legs as my pelvic region truly became Auston’s hockey pants. A second lace and adjustment strap popped out of my waist and crotch. Auston would use it to tighten the fit around his own waist. As my waist and pelvic area hollowed and emptied, Auston’s new athletic cup shifted and tumbled out of the pants, lying next to them on the ground.

The skin on my knees and shins turned the same blue as the rest of my body, and two more white stripes wrapped around my calves. My leg skin were hockey socks now. Under the socks, both of my knee caps disconnected from my legs and shifted into hard plastic domes. The rest of my muscle and sinew became high-density foam. Meanwhile, my shin bones cracked and groaned as they formed into rigid and ribbed plastic. My legs were now properly hockey shin guards and hockey pants.

It was clear that I was no longer a man: I was hockey equipment. Lifting my head from the ground ever so slightly, I could still see but I couldn’t move my old body freely. Obviously hockey gear wasn’t supposed to move. I knew my changes weren’t complete, however. And even though I had stopped breathing when my chest turned into Auston's shoulder pads, my sense of smell was still working. I could weirdly feel the scent of sweat and Auston's body odour in the air; it was coming from me! I stunk to high heaven, and it was all Auston's sweat.

Another hardening sensation began on my ankle bone. Despite not being connected to my feet with blood and nerves, I was still able to feel the full transformation take place. The ankle bones flattened into the rest of my foot and smoothed away into black carbon fibre. My entire foot ballooned and thickened. Lace holes appeared on the top of my foot and travelled up to my ankle and filled with a white lace. My toes fused into a strong plastic cap. A V-shaped point dropped out of the bottom of my foot and formed into white plastic. Then a narrow steel blade transitioned out of the plastic holder. My skin turned black with a few silver and red graphics etched around. The letters CCM formed on the sides of both feet. I felt the rest of my bones melt and disappear as my foot hollowed into empty hockey skates.

Almost done. I was so excited.

My scalp burned for a second as all of my hair dissolved and fell out. The skin on my head stretched and hardened into smooth blue plastic. Small holes and slits for ventilation dotted around the side of my skull and forehead. The insides melted and transitioned into more hard, high density foams. My chin separated and became a strap. My eyes and nose squished together and became curved and translucent. They relocated together to the top half of where my head used to be and became a visor attached to Auston’s new helmet. Inside my mouth, my bottom row of teeth and tongue liquified and disappeared. My top row of teeth turned soft and translucent, they flattened and hollowed out into a mouth guard. As the inside of my head was now empty and void, ready for Auston's own head to slip into, the mouth guard just flopped down to the inside of the helmet, ready for Auston to chew on between periods.

Finally, I was hockey equipment. I was Auston Matthews’ hockey equipment. I couldn’t think, feel or move anymore. It felt like a return to normal; like my old life was leading up to this moment, to be part of Auston’s body and to protect him while he played hockey in the NHL for the Toronto Maple Leafs. I was nothing but a pile of hockey equipment.

A door squeaked open and footsteps entered the room.

“There it is!” Auston yelled. “Hey guys! I found my gear.”

He gathered up the gear from the floor and hurried out of the room. Go Leafs, go!

#male tf #male transformation #male tf story #reality change #inanimate tf #inanimate transformation #hockey transformation #male body transformation

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c0la-queen · 8 months ago

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Still | Tord x Reader

Had this one in my files for a bit, so I figured I'd post it for you guys!

Warning: Angst? Kind of? Tord has childhood trauma, he was a child soldier in my timeline, get this poor man some therapy

Words: 1k

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It was too quiet.

Fuck, it was way too quiet.

There was no sound that could drown out the sound of your beating heart, pounding rapidly in your chest as your dreams slipped away from your memories.

Night terrors were the worst.

They always felt so real, so horrifying, so deadly.

You never remembered what they were about. When you inevitably woke up in the morning, the events that plagued your dreams always disappeared in a matter of seconds. Like mist escaping your hands no matter how tightly you grasped.

The only thing left in the end was the fear.

The paranoia.

It was worse when you woke up at night.

In the darkness, there was no banishing your fears. There was no sunlight to chase away the monsters. No sounds of the boys bustling about in the kitchen, starting their days. No sound of Edd cooking breakfast, Tom yelling at Matt to hurry up in the bathroom while Matt blared his upbeat morning music playlist to get him hyped for work, not a care in the world while he did his skincare. It was just… silence.

But you had one saving grace. One hope to calm your frayed nerves.

One person that you knew would be awake.

The hallway didn't ease your paranoia at all. The shadows crawled along the walls, reaching towards you like they were going to swallow you up. Shapes and figures loomed just beyond the light, waiting to lure you in. At least, that's what it felt like.

You shook your head to banish the thoughts of monsters and shadows. There was nothing there, you told yourself. Nothing there.

Your steps hesitated when you reached the door beside yours.

The lights were off.

The lights were never off.

Was he asleep this time? Did he change his mind about the offer he made you? Did he decide to abandon you, leave you to become a victim to the horrors waiting for her in her dreams?

Your breathing wavered as you brought your hand up to the door. Should you knock? Should you wake him up and risk making him grumpy? Or should you abort the mission, head back to your room with your tail between your legs and waste the midnight hours away by doom scrolling on your phone?

Anxiety eventually won out, and you knocked gently on the wood.

For a minute or two, there was nothing. Silence. You hated silence.

But then, there was shuffling. A groan and something hissed in a different language - you recognized it as a swear.

The door opened.

Tord looked like shit.

He was in a t-shirt and boxers despite the autumn chill. His hair was a mess, sticking up in various places. His skin was pale (paler than normal), with dark circles under his eyes. A thin sheen of sweat cloaked his skin. His sharp silver eyes were dulled, clouded over with sleep. A lazy storm churning in the sky in the hours before the rain fell.

This was such a bad idea.

An apology was on the tip of your tongue, starting to turn away from his door, but he stopped you. Put his hand around your wrist and gently tugged you towards him.

Don't be silly. Come inside.

Maybe this wasn't the worst idea.

It was one of those nights. The nights when midnight hits and the house is still but Tord remains unable to sleep. Unlike usual, he isn't alone. His too quiet room is filled with her presence. Her even breathing keeps the thoughts from his head. He could feel her arm pressed against the side of his leg. She was there. Somewhere. He was not alone.

Her whispers broke the silence. He'd never complain. She wanted to know if he was awake. He couldn't push the words out from his mouth. So instead, his hand found her calf next to his torso. His heart pumped faster when he felt the shiver through her body.

Silence. She wasn't sure. He moved his fingers, letting her know he heard her. He was awake. He was alive.

She spoke again. The softness in her voice made his chest ache. Since when could voices be so soft? She couldn't sleep either. Something about the stillness was unnerving. For her, it was anxiety. Paranoia, as she'd say- she always did have a knack for invalidating her own feelings. He wasn't so lucky. His hatred for still nights couldn't be medicated away. It was trained into him. Survival instincts that had been coded into him when he was young. Too young.

He closed his eyes tightly. Almost perfectly he could picture that forest. Frost on the trees, frozen ground underneath. A deadly chill in the air that slowly seeped into every fiber of his bones. The beautiful night sky a deception to the danger in each corner. If he focused, slowed his breathing, he could hear the footsteps of the lynx that had been hunting him for the past 5 hours. How many miles had it been following him for? Why was it toying with him instead of sinking its teeth into his flesh?

He went too far into his memories. Felt the claws tearing through his clothes, ripping into the skin of his back. Felt the pain course into his body, too hot and too cold all at the same time. Heard the gunshot echo through the clearing and felt the dead weight drop on top of him. He could hear his father's words as he was brought to the medics; You let your guard down, Sønn. Jeg er skuffet over deg.

A hand moved on top of his, squeezing his fingers gently. The pressure was enough to bring him back from the forest. Bring him in from the cold. To her. To the warmth of home.

His back throbbed, the claw shaped scars along his spine all too fresh in his mind.

She whispered his name. Small. Tired. Vulnerable. Searching for comfort. Searching for him.

He squeezed back. Letting her know that he was right there.

She was not facing the stillness alone.

And neither was he.

#eddsworld #eddsworld x reader #eddsworld tord #eddsworld tord x reader

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qrosewinter · 11 months ago

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Toxic

Prev - Next

Description :Part 1 - Part 2- part 3..To be continued.

Summery: Where a girl from New Zealand goes to brooklyn to live with her Auntie and Uncle, mets a brooklyn boy with secrets and a voice like honey with pretty hazel green eyes.

Where a brooklyn boy mets a girl from New Zealand with an accent he's never heard before, who he can't seem to forget.

The start of the most unlikely relationship between two people starts to bloom, between a brooklyn boy who's just a little misunderstood.

And a Polynesian girl struggling to find who she is in the concrete jungle of NYC so far from home.

Will this relationship bloom or stay untouched? Maybe we should let fate take the lead for this one.

Fic summary: slow burn, obvious to flirting, a little bit of angst, romance, revenge, anger.

WARNINGS ⚠️: Horrible attempts at slang, Horrible attempts at Spanish, Swearing, Weapons, Gore, Drugs, Alcohol, Mature themes, Spelling mistakes.

Be warned terrible attempt at slang for miles and Spanish, but we do be trying 🥲, this is literally my first time at trying out writing a fic and trying to finsh it too, so feed back would be nice and any ideas you may have ill take into consideration too!

Also I will be leaving little hints on what the chapters are about using small poems or quotes, so be sure to read those. It'll be a little insider on what (Y/N)'s past maybe even about Miles too, and even a little hint on what the chapter could potentially bring in the future 👀

chapter 1: Bumpin' into a stanger.

"Two souls don't find each other by simple accident" -Unknown

"Ion want to hurt you ma" he said to me his forearm against the wall next to my head as he caged me between him and the wall.

But I couldn't make out his face, it was to dark on this street, the nearest street light was to far away to give me even a slightest glimpse his face hidden in the shadows.

The only thing I could make out where his lips. They looked so soft and plump.

"Who said I'd let you?" I couldn't help but fire back as my heart pounded in my chest, and I was sure if he leaned in any closer he'd hear it.

He chuckled softly, the sound like liqud honey, but also slightly deep and so undeniably fucking attractive "you ain't got no idea who I am, do you mamas?"

"What?" I said confused, my head tilted back to look up at him even though I couldn't see his face. my hands felt sweaty and clamy as I rubbed them against my upper thighs against my jeans to wipe it away.

He kissed his teeth as he huffed a little amused "Fuck, Chica" he said smoothly his voice touched by an accent.

Spanish, I think? I wasn't sure, couldn't bring myself to pay attention, now with how he moved just a little closer, now pressed up against me.

And jesus, did that voice have my knees weak and threatening to give out under me.

"qué me estás haciendo" he mumbled leaning in closer to me and my pluse quickened my breath hitching as his lips got closer to mine.

I held my breath as his lips brushed against-

"Y/N GET THE FUCK UP YOUR GONNA BE LATE" a voice yelled, snapping me out of my dream.

My eyes shot open in fright, I shot up in bed but well ended up tangled in my sheets and tumbled out of the bed "Fuck!" I cursed as I hit the ground and I groaned.

"Well what are you waiting for young lady, get up. ka tohe koe i tenei reiti." Came my Auntie Lily's voice from the kitchen as she grumbled to herself.

My Auntie Lily's like me, she's from new Zealand too, but ended up moving to brooklyn after she met my uncle and fell in love with him.

My auntie lily has beautiful long black wavey hair hair that stops mid back, light brown skin, and dark brown eyes. And still even in her mid-thirtys she's still very beautiful.

I heard the sound of shuffling feet filled the apartment of everyone wide awake and getting ready for the Day.

I groaned from where I lay on the floor in a tangle of blankets my cheek squished against the carpet, I lay there for a few minutes before I pushed myself up and untangled myself from the blankets.

"Fuckin' mornings" I grumbled under my breath as I sluggishly made my way to the bathroom I was thankful I had in the bedroom my Auntie let my have.

The room was still plain and empty of decorations seeing as I only just got to America two days ago, and well its only been two days since I've been in new york, so I was still getting used to things here.

I made it into my bathroom and sighed running a hand through my messy hair and looked up in the bathroom mirror and grimaced a little, because well I'd seen better days for sure.

I had dark bags under my eyes, my skin looked a little oily and kinda dry in some places as I rubbed my finger tips over my skin to get a better feel, seeing as I didn't get to do my skincare before I left to get on a plane here to New York, and well fuck the 16 hour flight I had to take here and the stuffy plane filled with assholes.

And well having to get used to an 18 hour time difference was hard too, but slowly and surely I was getting used to it but not as fast as I needed too seeing as I had only been here for about two weeks.

I thought rolling my eyes to myself, then I glanced at my piercings I had and hummed in thought, thinking of the last time I cleaned them.

I had a septum piercing nothing fancy just a sliver one, then snake bites on both sides of my bottom lip and yet again nothing fancy just plain old silver seeing as I could never get the right lip rings for them, either to big, to small or just not comfortable, course I had a tongue piercing but that was just an impulse decision to get it, a plain old sliver bar with red and white stripped balls on each end.

And finally I had both my first and second lobes pierced, for my first lobe it was just a plain old sliver hoop with safety-pins hanging from them, because I remembered reading somewhere that they meant something like being a trusting person always here to listen and help so I thought why not and added them, then for the second lobe was a sliver stud shaped like a small Angel wing with a little white crystal in the center, a gift from auntie Lily for my 18th last year.

And I grimaced as I ran a hand through my hair, it felt greasy and sweaty seeing as I didn't get to wash it for the past few days being tired and trying to adjust to being in such a new place, and well it didn't look any better either and was in some need of some good TLC.

With a slow deep sigh I turned on the shower to warm leaving it to warm up as I walled into my room over to my drawers to get some clothes and underwear.

I pulled out a fair of black cargos, and a black halter crop top I had cause it was right there and I didn't want to go digging for any other shirt feeling to lazily to look for something different.

I pulled out a pair of black ankle socks and threw them on my bed to put on after my shower, then a plain pair of black panties and a bra to match nothing fancy, along with throwing a black oversized varsity jacket I had with red accents on it, onto my bed too.

Before I moved off to the bathroom with my clothes to wash up, and get my day started even though I wanted to crawl into bed and die.

(About 30 minutes later)

I walked out of my bathroom feeling fresh and brand knew after washing up, doing my skincare, and putting some products in my hair and clipping it back in a messyish bun to keep my damp hair out of my face, but still I had a few stray hairs framing my face and curling gently against my cheek.

I slipped my socks on then my old warn black Nikes with white accents, i so happened to buy myself back home after going on a day out with my sisters, I'm our small town, cause why not and I needed some new shoes and by looking at these ones I'd need to get some new shoes later on too.

I quickly swiped on some of my vanilla oil perfume putting some just below my ears, then my collarbones and then finally my wrists before setting it down, slipping on my jacket then my cross body bay I got on sale it was a small black Nike cross body bag with about four different pockets.

the one right on the front of the bag had about three different lip balms in it, the one right on the back and some cash and my credit card in it, and on the inside it had my portable charger and a small charger cord in it for both my phone and well my earbuds, the other little pocket didn't really have much in it on the inside just my apartment keys and some lose change I had.

I didn't forget to slip my phone into my back pocket while putting my JBL earbuds in my bag too after taking the earbuds out of the case.

Bought them myself when they were on sale, cause I had a Job back home, made decent money too, got paid 25 an hour just to clean some rooms on the weekend or even ever school was out, I always put half of what I had away in my savings and the rest I kept for myself to spend on what I wanted or needed.

And as I walked out of my room I swiped on some coconut lip bam cause my lips felt dry, as I started to walk for the door, after shoving it back into the front pocket of my bag.

"I'm off! Bye Auntie!" I called out to my Auntie as I slipped out the door.

"Bye have a good day!" I heard her call out after me as I slipped out the door, putting my ear buds in my ears, and tapping the side of the right one once to press play as the song 'Baby by me by 50 cent and Ne-yo' filled my ears as I walked down the apartment hallway.

down the stairs and then finally the apartment building and down the street to get my schedule from the new school I was starting in a few days, but first I was having a little meeting with the principal so he could show me around first.

~Have a baby, have a baby by me, baby, be a millionaire, have a baby by me, baby be a millionaire, have a baby by me, baby, be a millionaire, be a millionaire, be a, be a millionaire~

I hummed along under my breath as I walked down the street hands in my jacket pockets as I walked, bobbing my head a little to the beat of the music as it played in my ears blocking out the sounds of the city around me.

Taking in the sights around me cause I haven't actually stopped to take the time too really look at everything, all I really knew what this was Brooklyn, a little run down but still in its own way beautiful, graffiti here and there on the sides of buildings, a few old looking stores, people going about there day, and well a few shady people lurking around alleyways, but I knew better then to look at them so I didn't.

But the people here had spirit for sure, I could here the mix of New York/ Brooklyn slang, home cooked meals being made, the sounds of people taking even over the sound of music in my ears, the mix of American and Latin culture being thrown around with Spanish too, a language I didn't quite understand but was still beautiful nonetheless, the beautiful blends of skin tones ranging from dark mahogany skin to light skinned brown with a few pale skin tones and tanned.

~Have a baby by me, baby, be a millionaire, have a baby by me, baby, be a millionaire, have a baby by me, baby, be a millionaire, be a millionaire, be a, be a millionaire~

I stopped at a crossing as I pulled a hand from my pocket to press the button on the pole to the traffic lights before stuffing it back in my pocket, waiting for the red light to turn green.

~I don't play no games (I don't play no games, so when I'm in that thang (when I'm in that thang), come see what I mean (see what I mean), see what I mean, ow (See what I mean)~

Once the light turned green I walked across the crossing with a few others, dodging out of the way of people almost brushing against me cause they weren't looking where they were going and I did not want them touching me.

Personal preference really, I wasn't overly fond of being touched. Never been an overly touchy person either, hug's definitely weren't my thing unless I was close enough to you to be comfortable hugging you. Then again it took me nearly four to five years being comfortable to hug my own friends back home. But like I said it was personal preference.

I kept walking feeling glad I had gone with my Auntie when she had first signed me up for my new school, and that new school was brooklyns Visions Academy I was lucky enough to get into. I know you've got to be well really smart to get in and I wasn't exactly the smartest, but they started up an art program I managed to get a scholarship for to be able to join the school I think so far I was one part of the first ten students to get the art program school.

But most of all I was glad I went with her on that car ride to the school because I was so anxious and paranoid I was gonna forget the way to school, that I had before hand set up the directions on my phone incase I did forget the way there, or maybe I was just overthinking making myself anxious and paranoid.

And I had tried my hardest to memorise the way there and back home too....yeah I'm definitely just overthinking again, a very bad habit of mine I couldn't shake off.

~Said lil' mama put me on (baby put me on), bet I'll have you gone (bet I'll have you gone), come see what I mean ( see what I mean), see what I mean (see what I mean), come see what I mean, come on~

I walked down two more streets before turning a corner and spotting the school up a head with students lingering outside or making there way into the school as I walked up to it.

I took a deep breath in and tried to shake off my social anxiety as I got nearer to the stairs leading up to the school.

"That's a lot of people outside" I muttered to myself, but I cleared my throat and tried to ignore the lingering feeling of anxiety prickly at my skin.

I made it up to the stairs of the school and walking up them and passed people as I walked through the school doors ignoring there stares, and if there where whispers I was glad I couldn't hear them over the music in my ears blocking out all noise, forcing myself to focus on the music then the stares burning themselves into my back as I clenched my fists in the pockets of my jacket.

~first it's her neck, yeah then her back, yeah I'm a freak, I get into all that, girl I perform for ya, like a porno star, 'til you had enough, then I just need a little bit more~

I was lost in thought and the music playing its up beat tune in my ears a much needed distraction from my anxiety as I hummed along lowly under my breath as I looked down at my feet as I shuffled down the schools hallway to the principals office, having memorised the way there the first time I was here.

Weaving through people and trying my damn hardest not to bump into anyone, or get in anyone's way as I slid past a group of people just standing in the hallway talking to each other, a group of girls not really caring they where in the way of others getting to there lockers and trying there hardest to balance books in there arms as they headed to class a little early .

And seeing as I wasn't looking up or paying much attention being to busy daydreaming as I weaved through and around people, I manged to walk into someone, bumping into a hard chest.

'Good job (Y\L), did the one thing you were literally trying not to do'

And I winched in embrassment as I pulled away tugging an earbud from my ear and shoving it in my pocket "Shit I'm so sorry" I apologised to the person infront of me I had just walked into.

~I don't play no games (I don't play no games), so when I'm in that thang (when I'm in that thang), come see what I mean (see what I mean), see what I mean, ow (See what I mean)~

~Said lil' mama put me on (baby put me on), bet I'll have you gone (bet I'll have you gone), come see what I mean ( see what I mean), see what I mean (see what I mean), come see what I mean, come see what i mean~

I glanced up to see who I bumped into, another apology on my tongue, but it died when I got a look at the guy infront of me, but that felt wrong to call him a guy or even a boy, cause he looked like a man and held himself like one too, like someone who had to grow up just a little to fast making him so much more mature for his age then others.

He had dark skin but not to dark skin it was like the perfect mix between milk chocolate and dark chocolate somewhere just in between, he had barely noticeable freckles I could only just see being so close to him dotting his nose bridge and cheeks, his features where soft yet sharp in some places making him look more mature then he should for his age but he still had that soft boyish look under the stoic expression on his face, his lips looked soft and plump if not just a tiny bit chapped.

His hair which looked like he had 4B textured hair in dense coils was braided back, in two braids down the back of his head and only just brushing past his shoulders, a hairstyle that suited him but I could tell by the way his hair was just slightly frizzy and looking like his hair may have grown out just a bit, he was in need of a touch up.

he was taller then me thats for sure, I was 5ft6 and he looked around 6ft something and towered over me so I really had to tilt my head back to look at him, sure I wasn't exactly tall, but it was clear he got his tall genes from maybe his father? Or even his mother, but I wouldn't know, this was literally the first time I'd ever met him.

But what really got my attention was his eyes, they were a Hazel colour with hints of green in them but one eye his left had more green in it then the other did, but it was very subtle unless you where up close to him. His eyes reminded me of a forest the brown of the tree trunks with the green of the leaves or even moss, reminding me a little bit of home.

And for a moment I felt just a little ping of something I couldn't identify, maybe homesickness? Or maybe just missing the vast green of the forests, mountains and trees I was used to seeing. Compared to the concrete jungle that was NYC so vastly different.

He had on the Visions Academy uniform, his tie was hanging loosely from his neck like he just loosened it or just didn't bother to really out it on properly, the sleeves of his white button up rolled up to his elbows his school jacket nowhere in sight probably in his bag or even in his dorm, the dark navy blue trousers that went with the uniform fitting him quite well too.

Expect his shoes were Nike airs purple and white with black accents, that well made him stand out a little. But even then his school uniform didn't hide the fact he was lean, not just hard muscle, not lean enough to show he was always busy physically in the way of going to the gym or even maybe another kind of activity just as physical for him to keep his figure just right, not to much muscle, but not quite just skinny being just bones and all, it was a perfect balance in between the both of them.

"It's aight ma, don't sweat it" he said, his voice was deep but not to deep, and the way his words rolled off his tongue like honey and a hint of an accent I couldn't really place at the moment with music still playing in my ear, and the noise of students walking around us.

He had a hand on my waist having set it there when I had bumped into him, a reflex probably to make sure either he didn't fall over or to make sure I didn't ass over either.

His hand on the bare skin of my waist peeking out just under my crop top, his hands felt rough calloused just enough so it was clear he did hands on physical work but not to rough to the point it felt like the skin on his palms were gonna scratch my skin, it was a strangely pleasant feeling feeling the rough skin on my own.

And for a moment that threw me off, I hadn't ever liked someone's touch before, not even my own mothers. So for the fact I didn't mind his touch, that this feeling wasn't like the usual feeling I got when someone touched me. That it didn't feel like my skin was crawling and making me physically uncomfortable....was strange, so very, very strange to me.

I blinked a little in surprise, 'Ma? Well that's a new one' I thought to myself before I shook it off and cleared my throat stepping back away from him shoving my hands back in my pockets.

"Sorry again, I should have paid more attention" I said to the mystery man in front of me with a small awkwardly apologetic smile.

'Jesus I feel fucking awkward as hell right now, get a grip (Y/N) stop being a little bitch'

"Mm, ain't nothin' ma, just look where you goin' next time" He sounding almost a little amused, but if he was I couldn't tell over the rising anxiousness and awkwardness as he looked down at me as he seemingly shurgged off the situation, his hand fell from my waist dropping back to his side.

"Uh yeah, I'll remember that" I said a little awkwardly cause well I wasn't a people person and clearly didn't get out much to be standing here trying to have a normal conversation.

"Well I better get going, have a good day, and sorry again for bumping into you" I said to him automatically falling into a more polite tone, one that had been drilled into me for years back home by my parents, family and everyone I basically knew.To always been polite unless given a reason not to be polite to them, just like I was told to be respectful, until they didn't have the right to earn such respect for me if they couldn't give it back in return.

AI stepped away with a small smile and a nod to the man I bumped into as I started to walk away.

"See you 'round ma" he called out to me as he watched me leave, as I continued to walk down the hallway to the principals office, taking my earbuds from my pocket and shoving it back in my ear as I walked just a little faster away from him, feeling so goddamned embarrassed and awkward.

(Miles's POV)

Miles watched as the girl who had bumped onto him apologised one last time so politely making him almost, almost crack a genuine smile for the first time in along while, even told him to have a good day before she left and he couldn't help but be amused by that.

And a small smirk tugged at his lips as he watched her walk away, his eyes trailing over her from her hair clearly damp from a shower clipped back messily to the clothes she wore.

Black varsity jacket with red accents on the collar and chuffs of the sleeves, black cargos that hugged her lower body just right, he paused for a moment to look at her ass, as she walked, and yeah those cargo's definitely hugged her just right.

She had an accent too, one he didn't recognise, but it sounded like a mix of two completely different accents that seemed to blend so easily together when she spoke, her voice wasn't like the other girls voices in this school.

Coming out a tad soft and like honey when words fell from her pierced lips and slightly high pitched from embarrassment and being a tad awkward.

But what he noticed the most was how when she spoke her two uniquely blended accents just come out more pronounced with certain words as she spoke, sometimes sounding more like the other the blended together.

But it was clear she wasn't from Brooklyn not with that accent and the way she acted either, but the biggest give away was how jetlagged she still looked, along with her features that looked unique, unique in the way that showed where ever she was from she was a perfect blend of two cultures, and that was enough for him to know she was new to his city.

She was also not bad looking either, she had pretty (E/C) eyes, a pretty little body too softly curved in the right places. He remembered too how soft her skin felt against his rough palm, the tingling feeling it left behind on his palm from were his hand had been on her waist.and unconsciously he clenched and unclenched the hand that had touched her soft skin.

But he also remembered the smell of her perfume once he got a whif of it when she had been just inches from him, it smelt like vanilla and something softer, something sweet kinda like marshmallows. it wasnt strong like most perfumes that stung his nose and over powering his nose with the harsh smell of someone drowning themselves in there perfume. it was soft and subtle, Not over powering the soft scent of coconut sticking to her skin mixing in so well with the vanilla.

Miles turned around and walked off to his Spanish class his backpack slung lazily over his shoulder "Interesting" he muttered to himself under his breath as he kept walking, a barely visible smirk on his lips as he walked shoving his hands in his pockets, as he lazily strolled to class.

END OF CHAPTER ONE

Next chapter

Hope you enjoyed that let me know of there's any spelling mistakes 🙃

Translations: qué me estás haciendo = What are you doing to me?

ka tohe koe i tenei reiti = Your gonna be late at this rate

#earth 42 miles morales x reader #earth 42 miles x you #miles morales x reader #42 miles morales #miles g morales x reader #earth 42 miles fluff #prowler miles #Spotify

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itsnotzka · 8 months ago

Text

Why, hello! Okay, I needed a break from other things, so I decided to finish this thingy. Nobody stopped me, so there you have it, haha ;)

Insomniac neighbors AU (:D) Comedy of sort? Who knows.

Jake/MC, and Richy (mentioned),

warnings: none, I think

little over 3k words.

Read below or on Ao3.

Quiet was the night.

The faint murmurs of the city seeped through the open window, blending seamlessly with the gentle hum of his computer. The soft glow emanating from the screen delicately illuminated the room without overpowering the senses.

Outside, the city was sleeping. He sat alone, relishing in the tranquility around him. With a soft exhale, he allowed his eyelids to drift shut, surrendering to the serene stillness. A perfect way to spend the sleepless night.

His bliss did not last long, though.

The tranquility he had just savored shattered like fragile glass as a series of loud thumps resounded from the apartment above, rudely intruding upon his peace. Rhythmic. Regular. Purposeful. It was as if someone—or something—was relentlessly pounding against the wall.

With a frustrated click of his tongue, he glanced upward, his thoughts already swirling with annoyance. This wasn't the first time, oh no. It was the third consecutive night of such disturbances. Three damn nights in a row, his sanctuary invaded by these unwelcomed noises. And, as the noise persisted, irritation simmered within him, threatening to boil over.

Because the nights, the nights were meant to be his and his alone.

He closed his eyes once more in a futile effort to block out the noise. Yet, the relentless thumping persisted, refusing to be ignored.

Fine. Enough was enough.

With a sudden jolt, he stood up, the chair he had been sitting on spinning and nearly tipping over as he strode purposefully toward the door. He paid little heed to the possibility of disturbing his neighbors' intimate moments. Ready to demand they screw their bed to the wall, or simply screw each other elsewhere, he stepped into the hallway, slamming the door behind him. Without any hesitation, he began climbing the stairs two at a time. Before he could even start second-guessing his decision, he found himself knocking firmly on the door of the apartment directly above his own.

The thumping stopped immediately. For a brief moment, there was silence, then the sound of footsteps approaching.

Just as the door began to creak open, he wasted no time in venting his frustration. "Finally! I don't know if you even realize, but it's the fucking middle of the night and—oh, shit."

A step backward was his immediate reaction upon seeing the woman before him. It wasn't just the anger etched in her eyes, nor the furrowed brows and crossed arms that silenced him. No, it was the startling sight of her—all covered in red stains. From her shirt to her hands, even her face, she resembled a character straight out of a slasher movie. And when she casually wiped her sweaty forehead, leaving behind a conspicuous streak of crimson, his shock only deepened.

"Uh-huh. It's the middle of the night. And?" she sighed, seemingly unfazed by her unsettling appearance. "Do you need something? You're the one standing in my doorway, yelling."

“What the h–hell…” Stupefied, he could only manage a dumbfounded gesture, pointing incredulously at her with both of his hands, his eyes widening.

Her frown deepened at his reaction, but it was only after a moment that she glanced down at herself and her hands, noticing the streaks of red. With an amused scoff and a roll of her eyes, she dismissed his alarm.

"Oh. It's paint, genius. I'm painting," she casually fixed a lone strand of hair that had fallen onto her forehead with her fingers stained red. "If I were a murderer, I'd be more careful. Don’t you think?"

His breath caught in his throat as he registered her words, a wave of relief washing over him.

"Well, I suppose I'd rather confront a murderer, then!" he retorted, his voice regaining its composure. "At least I wouldn't have to deal with the constant banging on the walls at night, it seems. What the hell are you even doing?"

"I already told you, I'm painting," she shot back, her narrowed eyes fixing him with a glare. "And, excuse me, but aren't you that loud guy living in the apartment under me? The one who slams his doors no matter what, and always blocks my bike with his?"

"Am I? Well, maybe because your pretty urban bike with that ridiculously huge basket always takes up two spaces, mine included," he countered. "Learn to park, maniac. It’s not that hard! And keep it down! I’m trying to work!"

The young woman's laughter echoed through the hallway, genuine and hearty. "Unbelievable. And what are you doing at night that my painting bothers you so much, huh?"

"None of your fucking business what I do," he barked, jabbing an accusatory finger in her direction. "It's quiet hours, so either you stop banging on the walls or I'll report you. And then your bike!"

"Damn asshole," she hissed, her grip tightening on the door handle.

"At your service," he replied with a mocking bow, a smirk playing on his lips. "Have a good night, psycho. Red does not suit you, by the way."

Whether or not she heard his parting words remained uncertain, as she promptly slammed the door shut in his face. Fuming with anger, he turned on his heel, ready to storm back to his place. But as he reached the door and patted his pocket, a sinking feeling settled in the pit of his stomach.

"Oh, for fuck's sake, you’ve got to be kidding…" he muttered aloud, his hand coming up empty. He grabbed the doorknob, even though he knew it was a futile gesture without his keys.

Could he be that stupid? Could he really leave his apartment with nothing, not even his damn phone?

Apparently, he could.

With a frustrated grunt, he considered banging his forehead against the door in a fit of vexation but quickly dismissed the idea as both stupid and potentially painful.

And definitely loud.

Left with no other option, he reluctantly decided to seek help from the landlord. He cursed his luck because, of course, the landlord lived right next door to that dreadful neighbor who could easily pass for a murderess in the right lighting. Nevertheless, he really didn't like the idea of spending the rest of the night stranded in the hallway.

This time he climbed the stairs with deliberate steps, determined to handle the situation with a little more finesse. Walking to door number 33, he knocked softly, hoping the guy, by some miracle, wasn’t sleeping yet. Or was already awake. Whatever was closer.

Yet, the silence that greeted him was quite deafening. Undeterred, he knocked once more, this time with slightly more force.

His heart skipped a beat as the door behind him creaked open, and a familiar voice broke the silence. "What happened? Is the landlord too noisy, too?"

He spun on his heels, fingers clenching into tight fists at his sides. "Mind your own business, huh?" he retorted, frustrated.

The young woman chuckled, pausing in her task of wiping away the stubborn red streak of paint from her face with a damp towel. "Richy's out for the night," she informed him, nodding toward the landlord’s apartment. "Whatever you need from him, it'll have to wait until morning."

"Well, isn't that just fucking perfect," he growled, more to himself than to her.

Her laughter bubbled louder at his exasperation, head tilting slightly in amusement. Quickly, she covered her mouth, though, mindful of the late hour and not wanting to disturb the neighbors further.

"Let me guess, genius," she remarked with a hint of amusement, her smile softening. "You locked yourself out. A smarty-pants like you? Aww, that’s so sad…" Her lips pursed in mock sympathy as she tried to wipe her hands of the remnants of red paint.

He snorted in response but remained silent. With determined strides, he made his way towards the stairs, fully prepared to spend the night wandering the city until morning. Passing her by without so much as a glance, he was about to descend when she called out to him.

"Okay, wait a minute," her voice caused him to pause mid-step. "I think I can help you out."

“No, thanks,” he snorted, turning to her, “You just want to gloat at my misfortune.”

Her eyes sparkled with mischief as she shook her head. "Maybe a little," she admitted playfully. "But you're the asshole here. I'm just the good-natured maniac whose pretty bike you keep blocking."

Her bluntness caught him off guard, and he regarded her with a mixture of surprise and skepticism. After a moment of contemplation, he let out a resigned sigh, realizing that he was indeed in a bit of a bind with very limited options.

"Come in, will you?" she urged when he didn’t respond. "I'll go get some tools."

"Tools?" he echoed, but she had already vanished inside, leaving him with no choice but to follow.

After a moment or two, he sighed and cautiously crossed the threshold of her apartment, his eyes scanning the space to locate where she had gone. The layout of the place mirrored his own, a spacious studio with an open living area. However, the differences in décor were quite obvious—unfinished paintings leaned against the walls, an easel stood in one corner with a canvas in progress, and sheets of paper littered various surfaces, each with vibrant splashes of color. The faint smell of fresh paint lingered in the air, and somehow it wasn't unpleasant at all.

On the floor in the further corner of the room, his gaze landed on a toolbox, its lid slightly ajar. Beside it lay a hammer and a small painting, only partially framed.

The culprit of the noise.

"Hey, what did you mean by tools–" he started, his voice trailing off as he took a few steps toward the bedroom, only to freeze in place.

She had already taken off her paint-stained flannel shirt and was in the process of pulling a red t-shirt over a snug tank top, the fabric clinging to her figure a little too perfectly. He felt a pang of unease, suddenly aware of his accidental intrusion into her personal space.

He barely had a moment to process his embarrassment before she turned around with a smile as she noticed him there, her laughter hitting his ears. Then, with a playful shake of her head and a casual run of her fingers through her messy dark hair, she made her way back into the living room.

"So you're not just an asshole, but a voyeur, too?" she teased, her tone surprisingly light given the circumstances. "What a combination!"

"S–sorry," he mumbled, feeling a flush of embarrassment color his cheeks as he looked away. "I didn't mean to. I was just–" He clicked his tongue in frustration, struggling to find the right words. "In my defense, you disappeared, and I just wanted to–"

“Relax, eh? Let's open your door,” she interjected, her laughter cutting through his stumbling explanation as she patted him on the shoulder and moved toward a large toolbox.

"What? H–how?" he stammered stupidly, his gaze following her movements as she crouched next to the box, her fingers deftly rummaging through its peculiar contents.

"Yeah, well… Have you ever taken a closer look at me or my apartment?" she quipped, a wry lift of her eyebrow accentuating her point. "I'm the absolute embodiment of forgetfulness and scatterbrained tendencies, in case you haven't noticed. How many times do you reckon I've accidentally slammed that darn door and found myself locked out? Those locks might seem sturdy, but truth be told, they're quite easy to pick…"

He snorted in disbelief. "Wait, wait, hold on... Are you seriously thinking about picking my lock?"

"Why not?" she shrugged casually, as if it were the most natural suggestion in the world.

He opened his mouth to make a cutting remark, but found himself at a loss for words.

"Yup. You're crazy. I'm leaving," he declared, raising his hands in resignation as he turned towards the door.

“Well. Good luck, then!” she chuckled skeptically, waving to him with a small, thin screwdriver and what looked like a hairpin. “I hope your doormat is comfortable… You should know that Richy is on a date, and I guess it went very well, so I have no idea what time he'll be back. Might as well be late in the afternoon. Or in the evening.”

He paused, a mix of disbelief and fascination flickering across his face as he turned back to look at her. Despite the paint smudges and the aura of chaos surrounding her, there was a peculiar glint in her eyes that felt oddly genuine and dependable. Bold. Daring.

"This can’t be happening…” he muttered, his fingers instinctively finding their way to pinch the bridge of his nose.

She only chuckled further, “If it makes you feel any better, the first time it took me about 3 hours to get inside.”

“So you've… really done this before?" he inquired tentatively.

She burst into laughter, her amusement almost contagious. "Yup. I do this every two weeks or so. My own door, of course! But don't let Richy in on my little secret. I just don’t want to bother him too much..."

He hesitated, uncertain whether to trust someone whose toolbox contained an eclectic mix of brushes, paints, and all variety of tools. As he pondered, his gaze drifted to the paintings adorning the walls behind her.

"Hey… Did you paint those yourself?" he asked, pointing to the colorful canvases, most of which were saturated in shades of red.

"Of course. Why do you ask? Want some proof?" she retorted, crossing her arms over her chest, the screwdriver still held loosely in her hand. “Or are you about to critique my masterpieces?”

"No, I just— I... I've seen similar ones. All over the city. In different places," he explained, his voice trailing off uncertainly.

Her brow furrowed in confusion, her gaze narrowing as she processed his words, rising from her spot on the floor. "You mean that street art?"

He fell silent for a moment, his eyes lingering on her still paint-splattered face. "Are they yours? They are, aren’t they?"

"Planning to report that too?" she shot back, a hint of sarcasm lacing her tone as she held his gaze. "Just like my bike and the alleged noise at night? You know you have no evidence for any of it!"

"No, it's not that," he chuckled, shaking his head. "I'm just curious. I really like those paintings. The ones in the city, I mean. I never would've guessed someone like you could be the artist behind them."

“I didn’t say I was.”

"Come on," he gestured towards the red figure on the canvas, "They're identical to the ones in the city. These simple, faceless cat-like characters doing all sorts of amazing little things. Cleverly hidden in various, unexpected places."

"No, they're most definitely not identical," she huffed, striding up to the painting. "Can't you see something's missing in mine?"

"Yes, those big eyes painted with thick black lines, right? Sometimes other details, too. Very distinctive."

"Distinctive my ass! They're just stupid doodles that someone painted on real things!" she retorted, her frustration evident as she gestured toward the artwork.

"Do you really think so? People seem to like them. Have you seen all those pictures all over the web? They got quite popular, at least in the city. They even got a name, what was it…" He rubbed his stubbled chin, trying to recall.

"Night Watchers," the woman sighed, resigned.

"Right," he grinned with an odd sense of satisfaction, "Night Watchers. I like it."

"Well, I don’t!" she snapped, pointing her sharp screwdriver at him once again. "Those doodles are crude and primitive. And so are those who paint them!"

"Fine, fine!,” he laughed, raising his hands in surrender. “You're strangely defensive here, and we're just talking about graffiti, you know? Are you sure they're not yours?"

"Forget it," she sighed, taking her keys and waving them in front of his nose. "Come on. I’ll get you and your arrogant ass home."

He opened his mouth to protest, but seeing her determination, he realized there was no point. Without hesitation, she strode down the corridor, and he hastened to follow.

As they reached his apartment door, the young woman wasted no time in kneeling down, her movements fluid and assured as she began to work on the lock. He watched her with a mix of fascination and disbelief, the scene unfolding before him like something out of a movie. Here he was, in the dead of night, entrusting a stranger with the task of breaking into his own home. and not just a stranger. It was a surreal moment, one he never could have anticipated.

"My name’s Charlie, by the way," she muttered suddenly, her voice cutting through the silence. Despite her focus on the task at hand, there was a hint of warmth in her tone. "You can tell me yours, or I can keep calling you an asshole. Whatever you prefer."

He snorted in slight disbelief, recalling the last name written on an intercom, “Okay, hold on. You want to tell me your name is Charlie Brown*?”

She turned to him, her expression serious and unfazed, “Charlie Brown. Got a problem with that?”

“No, it's…” he scratched his head, trying to contain his smile to a minimum, “It's just cut– curious. That's all. Fits an artist, I guess.”

“Uh-huh. So?” her gaze focused on the lock once more, “Do you want me to keep calling you an asshole?”

"Tempting," he conceded, leaning against the railing with a wry smile. "But my name is Jake."

“Well then, Jake…” Charlie's fingers danced over the lock, her touch deft and precise. With a soft click, the lock surrendered, and she pushed the door open. "Welcome home." Her grin was triumphant as she got up and gestured for him to enter.

“I'll consider this as compensation for disturbing my peace,” he sighed, stepping past her as he finally made his way back to his place. But then, as he glanced back at her, he nodded slowly. "Thank you, Charlie. You'd make a very good burglar."

“Yeah… No problem,” she rolled her eyes, “Suppose us insomniacs have to stick together. No matter how annoying you are.”

Jake’s shoulders shook with silent mirth, “Yes, well. It was… interesting to finally meet you, Charlie Brown. And you actually do look good in red… when it’s not all over you,” he casually pointed to her t-shirt.

“Screw you, Jake,” her eyes crinkled at the corners as she snorted at him, “See you around.”

He watched her vanish down the hallway, a smile lingering on his lips. Then, with a soft click, he closed the door behind him, careful not to make a sound.

. . ………………… . .

She came to an abrupt stop, her fingers tightening around her phone as she squinted at the grimy wall of the aging city building. Until quite recently, it had served as a canvas for her creativity. The playful red figure mid-jump over the rope – the cable swaying from the electrical box nearby.

Now, however, it was something entirely different.

Thick, bold lines appeared on her little masterpiece. A bike now dominated the scene, but not just any bike. It was a truly whimsical rendition, making the red figure no longer leaping but riding that damn bike with carefree abandon. A large basket adorned the front, and right in it—a brush, and a screwdriver.

And there were those eyes. Those unmistakable, big, doodle-like eyes.

A laugh had to leave her lips, disbelief and amusement fighting with each other, as she read the small writing underneath.

Coffee tonight?

“That damn asshole…”

. . ………………….. . .

*You all probably know this well, but Charlie Brown is a character from the comic Peanuts :)

Thanks for reading! Leave a comment, share, let me know what you think ;) <3

#duskwood #duskwood fanfiction #duskwood jake #duskwood oneshot #jake x mc #MC's got a name because I can't do it otherwise

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ghoulie-67-baby · 1 year ago

Text

I trusted you - Criminal Minds.

Summary: The team was finally let in on the secret that Emily isn’t dead and as her fiancé its more than just a surprise.

Warnings: faked death, angst, crying, attempted violence, language.

Pairing: Emily Prentiss x fiancée!reader.

Word count: 1,236.

There she was. At the door. Standing there as healthy looking as always with rosy cheeks, red lips and black hair that made it all stand out beautifully against her pale skin.

"Oh my god," Garcia's face was streaked with tears as her eyes met Emily's at the door. I stared at each of them as she moved to hug Spencer, staying back from the group as the instinctively moved closer. I stepped backwards a little, my heart pounding in my chest and my stomach turning over, as her voice filled the room.

"I am so sorry, I really am, not a day went by, I didn't wanna..." She started looking directly at Morgan before she walked towards him. I'd made myself so small, so unimportant, that she hadn't realised I was there yet. "...really... I... you didn't deserve that... and I'm so sorry." She pulled him into a hug and he hesitantly wrapped his arms around her, finding it difficult to believe she was really alive as she closed her eyes tight against his shoulder. "It's so good to see you all again, I've missed you all so much." Her face was lit up with a smile as she looked at the members of our team before her eyes finally came to rest on me, where I had buried myself into the back doorway to the room.

The smile dropped instantly and her eyes widened, meeting my own watery gaze, before she stepped in my direction. On shaking legs I took another step back, shoulder blades clipping the door frame, as Emily and the team looked at me with a mix of emotions. Looking around I could see pain, anger, disbelief, shock and confusion at my reaction. I knew they expected me to ball and run into her arms and part of me wanted to so I had to fight to keep my feet grounded where I stood.

"Y/N," She started but I shook my head, bile beginning to rise in my throat. I hummed monotonously as the feeling worsened in an attempt to stave it off. "Please. Let me explain." My eyes flickered frantically around the room as I took deep breaths to try and stop the spinning in my head and anxiety that rattled my body. Penelope stepped my way, around everyone, with a look of concern on her face as she spoke. Her words didn't register as only my humming shook my body. "Y/N." Emily's broken whisper caught my attention and my hardened eyes met her instantly.

"Don't." I choked out. "Just don't." My hands steadied me against the wall as I shook my head, thoughts racing as I stepped closer to the team. "You," I pointed at Hotch as his dark eyes flickered my way. "And you." This time to JJ. "Both knew. You both knew. And you let us think she was dead. You let me think my fiancée was dead." My voice wavered and I gritted my teeth at the weakness in my voice.

"Y/N you have to understand we couldn't say anything for safety reasons." I watched the blonde woman try to reason with me as my anger rose. "We didn't"

"No! Shut up! Shut. Up." My hands shook as I pointed at her, not realising I had raised my voice. "Don't you dare try to justify this. One word, that's all I needed. One word to say you were alive and I could've lived with that. My fiancée, Aaron! My fucking fiancée!" I knew I was yelling but I couldn't help it even as Emily walked my way. "You bastard! You could've told me!" Arms wrapped around my waist as Morgan caught me from lunging at our boss and I scrambled against his grip, legs flailing from the effort I was putting into getting away from him. "Morgan so help me god, let me go! You could have fucking said something! I trusted you Hotch! I trusted both of you an you lied to us like we didn't even matter, like I didn't matter!"

"Y/N enough, come on." I finally stilled in his arms, chest heaving and tears, I hadn't realise I'd been crying, streaming down my face. "Stop and just think. You can't go hitting out at him even if you're angry and upset." My glare came to a stop as Emily stood in my line of vision, her own tears starting to fall.

"You could've told me. Why wouldn't you tell us? I would've kept it a secret, we all would." I slouched against Derek's chest as the anger finally turned to anguish. My fiancé was right here, after the months I thought she was dead, decomposing in a box underground and here she was as beautiful as ever despite the tears.

"Baby I'm so sorry, I really am. You have to see that." Her hands slowly reached out towards me as I squeezed my eyes shut. "Please can I hold you?" With a shaky nod Morgan's arms loosened and I, all but, fell into her waiting arms, melting into the touch as she wrapped them around me. "It's okay, I'm here Y/N." Her muttered soothed me as we sank to the floor of the conference room in a pile of tears and broken apologies. I practically wailed as the smell of her perfume finally engulfed me, a smell that I had missed so much in the past few months , her gentle hands rubbing my back like they used to after a bad day, her hair tickling my skin.

"Emily. I trusted you." Sobs racked my body as I spoke. "I didn't care about your past, I didn't care about Doyle coming after me but you. How could you? Emily, how could you make me think you were dead for months on end? The amount of times I hid myself at David's or someone else's so I didn't have to face our home, face the fact you weren't there even though all I could smell was you, see you, everywhere. The times when I cried until I felt numb, until I wanted the world to swallow me up, to let me join you in that grave. I wanted to die with you Emily." Her body stiffened against mine as I cried into her neck, hand clasped against her back and the other tangled in her hair. "I tried to hard to get back to you."

"Baby I'm so sorry," I took a shuddering breath, pulling away slightly so I could look at her face. "How can I make it up to you? Can I make it up to you?" She was so beautiful, even with tears rolling down her face. As perfect as ever, I took in every inch of her face, watching her lips as she spoke before my eyes met her own.

"Just promise me," I whispered to her, "Swear to me you'll never leave me again Emily." My thumbs brushed over her cheeks as I spoke.

"I swear, with all that I have, I'll never leave you again Y/N." With that a fresh wave of emotion flew through me, taking my breath as I rested my forehead against hers. After a few moments, our lips met and relief flooded through me as she kissed me gently, salt from our tears mingling into it.

"I love you so much Em, so damn much."

"I know baby, I love you more than you could realise."

#criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds x reader #emily prentiss #emily prentiss x reader #x reader #reader insert

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coldfanbou · 2 years ago

Text

TIAM IS Side Stories: Pushing Boundaries

New side story for y'all, and it's a long one.

Everyone raised their glass as you celebrated the last day of filming for the Fancy MV. You all ate food and drank as the night went on, except for Tzuyu and Chaeyoung. You even set up a table to play beer pong, thinking it would be fun to play with the members. It was not. After the first few rounds, they ganged up on you, and you were drinking to excess. You could barely stand by the end due to the copious amount of alcohol. The party would wind down slowly, with each member returning to their bedroom. Feeling a bit horny, you tried to go to Jihyo, Mina, and Dahyun, but they were too tired. Not wanting to sleep yet, you go to Chaeyoung's room, closing the door behind you.

"Oppa?" She says, her eyes slowly opening. You had woken her up when you walked in. "What are you doing?"

"I'm horny," you say while pulling your cock out.

"I don't want to," Chaeyoung responds. Hearing that, you spank Chaeyoung roughly. Pulling down her bottoms, you spank her again, turning her ass red quickly.

"I thought my sleeve always wanted to have sex." You say, gripping her ass, getting ready for another smack.

"Jihyo's going to get mad if we have sex, Oppa. I can't…" Chaeyoung mutters.

"Then a blowjob. That isn't sex, and I need a little something from my favorite cocksleeve." Chaeyoung smiles a little as she hears you call her your favorite.

"Okay, but we have to be-" A loud pounding on the wall stops her.

"I'm trying to sleep! Be quiet!" Chaeyoung is discouraged by the yelling and decides against it. You try to walk away, knowing it’s Jihyo on the other side of the wall. As you step outside Chaeyoung's room, you slip, hitting your head as you fall. Hearing the loud thud gets the attention of the still-drinking Nayeon and Jeongyeon, who were downstairs. They see you stumbling to your room and laugh.

"Come on, let's help him," Nayeon says while she puts your arm around her shoulder. Jeongyeon smiles to herself and helps you to your room. You're fast asleep as soon as they lay you down on your bed. "I don't think we should leave him like that." She pauses for a moment before looking at the small closest. "Jeongyeon…would you mind helping me change him into his pajamas?"

Jeongyeon lets out a huff, "Do we have to?" Her acting is top-notch as she manages to hide the deep-seated desire.

"I just think that he would appreciate it."

"Fine, I'll help, but you owe me." Jeongyeon starts pulling down your pants while Nayeon works on getting your shirt off. After Nayeon puts a shirt on you, but before they can put on your shorts, your cock starts to get hard. They both laugh at the suddenness of your erection before Jeongyeon hatches an idea. "Nayeon, you should touch it."

"What?" Nayeon says with a laugh.

"Touch it. Aren't you his girlfriend?" Jeongyeon says while she sticks her tongue out. She kneels before your cock before motioning Nayeon to do the same.

"I-I will, but you have to too!" Nayeon yells, thinking that Jeongyeon would disagree.

"Okay, deal," Jeongyeon smirks as she sees Nayeon's mouth drop. She thinks that maybe Jeongyeon isn't thinking straight but refuses to back down. Nayeon's hand shakes as she reaches for your cock. As she grips it, she slowly gives it a few strokes. "How about a bet?"

"A bet?"

"I bet you can't make him cum without waking him up."

"I bet I can," Nayeon says, her competitive spirit igniting. Nayeon begins stroking your cock quickly. Her big hands smoothly slide down your shaft as she tries to get you to cum quickly. Jeongyeon giggles, watching her plan work out.

"If you're not careful, he's going to wake up," Jeongyeon says. You moan loudly, startling both women. Nayeon stops her hand job. "You lose!"

"That’s not fair; I didn't know I couldn't let go," Nayeon says in a quiet shout, shoving her friend. "I'd like to see you do better."

"Alright, I will." Jeongyeon confidently wraps her hand around your cock. She vividly remembers the last time she touched it and immediately feels wet. Her soft hand slowly moves up and down your shaft, as she enjoys every second.

"I was doing it quickly, so you have to, too," Nayeon complains.

Jeongyeon's hand picks up the pace. "Like this?" She says with an amused face. Precum starts to come out as Jeongyeon continues, but a sudden thrust stops her in her tracks and forces her hand away.

"I guess you couldn't do it either," Nayeon teases. She sticks her tongue out toward Jeongyeon. The precum on Jeongyeon's hand gets both of the women's attention. Nayeon lifts Jeongyeon's hand and licks it, tasting the salty liquid. Jeongyeon does the same. Both women savor the taste for a moment before looking at each other.

"Want to make him cum?" Jeongyeon asks. Nayeon's in shock at the sudden change in Jeongyeon's demeanor. She stays silent momentarily, rationalizing her actions as being due to the alcohol. "So? Do you want to?"

Nayeon nods her head, "Yeah, I do." Jeongyeon strokes your cock briefly before suggesting something new to Nayeon.

"Let's give him a blowjob." Nayeon nods her head again. Whether it be due to the alcohol or not, she would push her limits. "You can go first." Nayeon doesn't hesitate and pushes the head of your cock past her lips; she swirls her tongue around the head as she bobs her head. She strokes the remaining part of your shaft, even as it gets covered in her drool. Jeongyeon watches her friend do her best to make you cum. She's tempted to finger herself but stops herself. Instead, she places her hand on the back of Nayeon's head and pushes her down, causing her to gag. Nayeon comes back up as soon as Jeongyeon lets go.

"What was that for?" Nayeon says through heavy coughs. Jeongyeon can't contain her laughs and just points at Nayeon's saliva-covered face.

"You should see the look on your face." Naueon continues coughing.

"I'll get my revenge," she thinks to herself. "Fine, it's your turn Jeongyeon."

Jeongyeon grips your cock again. She leans forward, taking a small sniff of it. She gulps before taking the head of your cock in her mouth. Her lips stretch around your cock as she pushes to take more of you in. Her hand wanders down to her shorts, where she rubs her pussy through the thin fabric. Nayeon is too engrossed by the pure enjoyment of Jeongyeon's face to notice. The younger woman shuts her eyes as she tastes your cock for the first time. The slight saltiness from your precum drives her to take more in. Your cock hits the back of Jeongyeon's throat before she can take it all in. Nayeon readies herself to push Jeongyeon's head, disguising her action by moving Jeongyeon's hair out of the way. Just like Jeongyeon had done to her minutes earlier, Nayeon pushed Jeongyeon's head down, causing her to gag. It was Nayeon's turn to point and laugh as she ruined Jeongyeon's moment.

"Now, neither one of us gets his cum." Nayeon says with a laugh.

"What if I jerked him off, and you used your mouth?"

Nayeon's silent for a moment, Jeongyeon's offer was too good for her to reject. "Okay, let's do it." The pair work in tandem to make you cum. Your moans grow louder as Nayeon's tongue runs over the head of your cock. You buck your hips as you cum and fill her mouth with cum. Nayeon's surprised at first but manages to get every last drop. Jeongyeon watches her friend drink from your cock. Nayeon keeps some in her cheek, pulling Jeongyeon into a kiss where she shares your cum. Shocked at first, Jeongyeon quickly gives in once the thick liquid hits her tongue and kisses Nayeon back.

Jeongyeon moans slightly as she finishes her drink, "What if we rode him."

"We can't; I want my first time to be special." Nayeon quickly replies.

"You don't have to let it go inside; just rub it between your lips." Nayeon nods along as she gets what Jeongyeon means.

"Yeah, let's do it." Nayeon strips off her pants and panties, climbs on top of you, and presses her lips against your cock. She moans as she begins to rub against your cock. Jeongyeon covers her friend's mouth.

"Shh, you'll wake him up." Nayeon doesn't stop, continuing to moan as the tip brushes against her entrance. Her hips pick up speed, and Nayeon gropes her breasts with one hand while using the other to keep her balance as she pushes herself closer to her orgasm. She feels your cock begin to throb and hears light moans escape your mouth. Jeongyeon watches the older woman enjoy herself and wants her turn to come already. She whispers into Nayeon's ear, "What would he think of you riding him while he was asleep?" Nayeon's imagination runs wild, causing her cum; you do the same. Your cum covers much of Nayeon's legs; she quickly dismounts you and collects the cum, treasuring her reward.

Jeongyeon, seeing your cock go limp, strokes it a few times until it becomes rock hard. "What a beast; he came twice, but he's already hard again." She smiles to herself before straddling you. Feeling the heat radiating from your cock, Jeongyeon enjoys it as she slowly drags her wet cunt across your shaft. Her low moans turn her on further as she excites herself. For a brief moment, Jeongyeon thinks, "I should just put it in me."

"Look at you enjoying yourself," Nayeon says, teasing her friend. Nayeon's words reminded Jeongyeon that she wasn't alone, so she continued rubbing against your cock until you both came. She covered her mouth, and her body quivered as she did. Your cum shot onto the tops of her thighs, and Jeongyeon made sure not to let it go to waste. The women look at each other for a minute before Nayeon yawns. "We should clean up and go to bed."

"...yeah, I'll clean up here; you clean yourself up first." Nayeon nods and stumbles to the bathroom. The alcohol from the night's drinking was obviously taking its toll on her now. Jeongyeon turned back to you as Nayeon closed the door. She grabs her phone and, opening it, is reminded of the videos and pictures. A light pops up above her head as she has an idea. Positioning the phone just right, she begins recording as she straddles your body again. She rubs her pussy lips along your cock like before. You both moan as Jeongyeon pleasures you both. She closes her eyes and bites her lip as she speeds up. Every time the tip brushes against her entrance, Jeongyeon gasps, feeling the resistance before it eventually slips back between her lips. Jeongyeon throws off her top, freeing her breasts. She plays with her nipples as she continues to ride you. Pulling on it, as she picks up the pace.

"I want you so bad. It wouldn't be wrong if I slipped it in me, would it?" Jeongyeon asks you, knowing you can't respond. She presses the tip of your cock against her pussy, ready to slam herself onto it when you moan.

"Mmm…Jihyo, wait." Hearing you moan someone else's name stops her in her tracks. Jeongyeon resorts to rubbing her lips against you again until you both cum. This time the first spurt of your cum shoots onto Jeongyeon's cunt and the rest onto her stomach, and Jeongyeon decides to leave it there. She kneels before you, swallowing your cock. Jeongyeon uses her tongue to lap up at the head before pulling away and kissing it. She holds your cock, now covered in her nectar. Slapping her cheeks with it, Jeongyeon looks at you once more.

"I want you to ruin me with this. I want you to moan my name as you fuck me. You have no idea how much I've thought about what it would be like for you to throw me onto my bed and fuck me silly." Jeongyeon says as she strokes your cock quickly and caresses your balls. "To stuff me with your cock and then cum inside, filling me up. I want it all; I want it all inside me." She begins lapping at the sides of your shaft before kissing the tip. She takes as much of your shaft as she can before she feels your cock throb in her mouth. She changes from simply cleaning up to making sure she gets a taste from the source. Jeongyeon bobs her head quickly until you start filling her mouth. She holds herself in place, drinking everything you have to give her. The thick salty liquid runs down her throat into her stomach. When she feels you slow down, she lets her mouth fill up. Jeongyeon is careful not to spill a drop as she leaves your cock. She walks toward her phone, still recording her, and, looking right at it, opens her mouth, letting your cum spill onto her body. It runs down her chin onto her breasts before covering her belly and continuing downward. Jeongyeon licks her lips as she looks back at you for a moment.

Satisfied, Jeongyeon grabs her phone and stops recording. A small mirror in the room allows her to look at herself, and Jeongyeon can't help but snap a few pictures. "Jeongyeon! Are you done yet?" She hears Nayeon call from downstairs.

"Almost!" She responds. She quickly puts your clothes on you before walking to the bathroom and staring at herself. Covered in cum, Jeongyeon smiles at the reflection in the mirror. She reaches up, grabbing at her breasts, spreading your cum into her skin before one hand goes down to her pussy. Jeongyeon fingers herself as she washes her body before putting her clothes back on.

The following day the pair talked about last night. Nayeon seemed to not remember much after putting you to bed. Jeongyeon acted as if nothing happened. She was a little shocked at how far she took things, but it turned her on. Jeongyeon stared at her phone, watching the video she had taken without Nayeon being any the wiser.

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jessehart · 8 months ago

Text

WHERE: some house party during halloweekend. WHO: @walshparker & jesse.

"There's someone in the back bedroom asking about you," Jared said, coming up behind Jesse and squeezing his shoulders. He warmed the bench more often than he didn't and he'd been hovering around Jesse more and more lately like earning his favor might get him into the game. It wouldn't. But if he wanted to play bitch, then who was Jesse to stop him?

He turned towards Jared with an arched eyebrow. "Oh yeah?" Jared's lids were so heavy that they were almost entirely closed. Dude was already wasted and the party had hardly even started. Even Jesse was sober. Or. Mostly sober.

"Mmmhm," Jared confirmed, breathing hot liquor breath in Jesse's face as he laughed. Jesse opened his mouth to protest, but it must have been written on his face because the hands on his shoulders sunk in deeper, all but steering him down the hall. "I told her I'd come grab you. But you gotta be quick."

And he had to admit, he was curious. So he allowed himself to be led, slipping through the doorway as his eyes landed on a blonde. A very familiar blonde. And judging by the look on her face when she spotted him, she hadn't, in fact, been asking for him. He was frozen for another moment just staring, wondering when he'd actually seen her last. He'd given her the space she asked for and had no intention of walking that back now. So he uttered a quick apology and turned on his heel to first leave and then to shove his fist into Jared's gut. But the door was slamming closed, the sound of a lock sliding into place seeming to echo off the walls despite the bass that pounded relentlessly through the house like a heartbeat.

His fist banged against the door as he yelled Jared's name alongside a few threats he very much intended to follow through on. When it became clear he wasn't coming back, Jesse kicked the door for good measure and turned back around to face Parker again, feeling so very, very sober and wishing so very, very much he wasn't. "He told me—" Jesse paused, wondering if it was damning to admit he thought someone had been waiting in here for him. But they weren't together, hadn't even spoken in weeks, so. Whatever. "He said there was someone asking about me in here. I'm not trying to, like, corner you or anything."

#c: parker

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hinatastinygiant · 10 months ago

Text

2 | Thoughts from the Explosion Hero

Pairing: Various MHA x Fem!Reader

Dear Departure

The bass that pounds through the corridor is the only thing that guides Bakugou towards the chaos of the common area. With his hands in his pockets, his eyes scan the scene ahead. Never has he seen the area looking like this- neon lights painting the walls and ceiling, and students filling every single crevice of the space. He has to fight the urge to roll his eyes at the sight.

He'd come down because it was the last night he'll have to put up with the others, but the mixture of the crowd and noise was enough to make him feel as if he was drowning in his own skin.

Just a few more hours, and then he's free.

"Hey, Bakubro!" a familiar voice yells out from the kitchen. Bakugou's head snaps up in that direction, his scowl deepening when he notices it's just Kaminari rushing in his direction. "Glad to see you're joining us! It only took three years!"

"Shut up," Bakugou mutters, looking away. He tries to ignore how his cheeks heat up. "What is all this, anyway?"

"It's a graduation party," Kaminari laughs, slapping a hand against his shoulder. "Yaomomo wanted to do something nice for all of us, and well, it's pretty obvious the others agreed."

"Have you, uh, seen Kirishima?" Bakugou asks, scratching the back of his head as he looks around.

"Oh, yeah, he was over by the kitchen. Actually, I told him if I saw you, I'd bring you over. He wanted to talk to you, too," Kaminari shouts as he begins to guide Bakugou through the crowd, causing Bakugou's skin to crawl in distaste at being manhandled.

He's about to protest, but then he reaches the kitchen. "Huh," Kaminari frowns. "I could've sworn he said he would be here. Well, you could always check upstairs, y'know?"

"Whatever," Bakugou grumbles.

"Hey, wait, before you go we should have a drink together," Kaminari smiles softly. "It is our last night and I doubt you'll ever want to hang out with me again since you won't be forced to."

"Yeah, alright," Bakugou agrees rather easily. Kaminari's only partially right about what he'd said. Bakugou wouldn't be opposed to hanging out with Kaminari after graduation so long as he doesn't try to push his luck.

"Awesome! Here, I'll pour us both some shots," Kaminari grins. He begins pulling random bottles off the counter, glancing back at him as he pours something unreadable in a small plastic cup. "So, uh, have you heard back from any agencies yet?"

"A few," Bakugou shrugs. "Nothing official yet, though."

"Damn. You know, I haven't even heard from any," Kaminari snorts as he slides a shot over to Bakugou.

"You will," Bakugou nods just as Kaminari places the drink into his mouth. However, upon hearing Bakugou's words, the drink ends up spilling from his nose.

"Shit, I'm sorry," Kaminari coughs as he searches frantically for a tissue. "There must be something wrong with my ears."

"What are you talking about, dunce face?" Bakugou asks, looking confused as he picks up the drink he'd been given.

"Are you complimenting me?"

"No," Bakugou snaps, narrowing his eyes. "I was just telling you what I thought, you idiot."

Kaminari lets out a snort of laughter. "Man, all that time with Vlag King's daughter." And then he lets out a shiver. "I really have no idea how you had the balls to go out with her knowing who her dad is. I mean, there's so many reasons why you shouldn't have-

Bakugou feels his entire body freeze at his words. "Y/N and I aren't together anymore, you know that so stop bringing it up. Besides, the only reason why I dated her was because I had a feeling her dad wouldn't like me very much."

"Oh? Is that true?" Kaminari asks, raising an eyebrow. "Cause I can remember clear as day when Y/N came skipping up to me and some of the others telling all of us how you said you loved her."

Bakugou rolls his eyes, looking away. "Look, I was young and dumb back then, okay?"

"You're still young," Kaminari grins. "And-"

"Don't even," Bakugou interrupts, his glare returning.

Kaminari simply chuckles as he shakes his head.

"So, uh, about Kirishima," Bakugou then clears his throat, his words barely audible over the loud music. "Do you think he'll be back?"

Kaminari shrugs. "Hard to say. I mean, if you sit here long enough you're bound to spot him, right?"

Bakugou doesn't say anything back as he turns around and glares out into the crowd. A couple people meet his gaze and quickly disappear before he can recognize who they are.

"Hey, why don't you go look for him," Kaminari suggests, nudging him in the arm. "And anyway, I'm going to look for Jirou so I won't be here."

"Jirou?" Bakugou narrows his eyebrows but doesn't look back.

Kaminari takes that as a sign to begin blabbing about how much he's in love with the girl who doesn't share his feelings. Bakugou can't help but feel a bit bad, however, he's much more interested in finding Kirishima before night's end than listening to the boring details of Kaminari's unrequited love.

"Okay," he says simply once Kaminari finally stops to catch his breath.

"So, will you, uh, be alright?" Kaminari asks.

"Are you saying that I'm unable to handle finding one person in a room with a bunch of drunk extras?" Bakugou grumbles, turning slowly in his seat to face Kaminari.

"N-No," Kaminari gulps, "Of course not."

"Good," Bakugou stands, glaring. "Cause I'm going to sit here until I can find him."

"Right. Good luck, bro," Kaminari nods, giving him a thumbs up.

Bakugou simply sighs as Kaminari walks away from the kitchen for the second time within fifteen minutes. Bakugou, meanwhile, sits as still as a statue in the same seat where Kaminari had previously been before running off to the bathroom with a sick stomach.

Unfortunately, it's not Kirishima who he spots first. Instead, it's Y/N as beautiful as ever. She's wearing the most gorgeous smile on her lips as she and Hagakure hold hands and laugh about something.

Bakugou's heart aches a bit, but he can't look away.

He really did love Y/N. Part of him still does. But after the way things ended, he can't bring himself to ever talk to her again. He should have just been honest with her from the moment she asked.

Instead, he chose the coward's way out. And now he's the one sitting alone at a party, watching his stunning ex-girlfriend shake her hips in the same black dress he once took off of her in his dorm.

Bakugou's hand immediately drops to his lap, quickly covering the tightening in his pants before anyone can notice. And because he's so busy looking down at his erection, he doesn't notice Sero sliding into the seat beside him. "Oh, hey," Sero says, flashing him a quick grin. "What're you doing here?"

"Nothing," Bakugou states quickly as he stands up and turns his back to the tape hero. "I'm going to look for someone."

Sero's head tilts curiously. "Really? Who are you looking for?"

"Mind your own business," Bakugou growls, pushing his way through the crowd.

Dear Departure

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pineappleciders · 2 years ago

Note

Y’know how you did a South Park request of Kyle and Kenny finding out you self-harm? Can you do that again, but with Butters and Tweek instead?

A/N: yeah!! i love doing requests like this. this is platonic btw,, tweeks part is a lot longer mostly because theres more dialouge!

TRIGGER WARNING: blood, self-harm, relapse, blades

BUTTERS and TWEEK reacting to reader self-harming

sitting in your bed, you were doing your usual routine.

swipe, stop the bleeding, move on. it was a ritual that brought you comfort. something that was always the same. something you could always return to.

you barely have any time to react as someone twists open the knob of your door and opens it, knocking on their way in.

"hey, Y/N! you gotta come see what- oh jesus!"

his tone switches up and he steps back in shock at the sight of you bleeding.

his first instinct is to look away and walk out, apologizing. but he doesn't, he can't! you're hurt, and you need his help!

he cautiously steps closer to you. "jeez, are you okay Y/N? you're hurt pretty bad.." he looks at the cuts on your arm, automatically assuming it was not intentional.

you cover it up and hide further into your bed. "no, i'm alright. thanks though."

he lingers for a moment, playing with his hands, before shouting "i'll be right back!" and running out.

he comes back with a box of hello-kitty themed band-aids, and sits next to you on the bed. he sees the blade, he sees the bloody towel, but he doesn't say anything.

he gently takes your arm and places the band-aids over your wounds, strategically as to hold them close. "there! ooh, you probably need some ointment, hold on!"

as he gets up to go get it, you stop him. he looks at you quizzically, and he's a little shocked at the tears in your eyes and your sad face.

"h-hey, what's wrong? does it hurt? i bet it does, i can get some-" you sniffle and cut him off. "no, i just wanted to say thank you."

he tilts his head a bit. "well, of course! i'd do anything for my best buddy!" he does his silly little smile.

it fades as his eyes trail downwards. "hey, Y/N?" "hm?" "why did you do that? did you mean to?"

it hits you that butters hasn't had any experience with self-harm and doesn't know what it is.

"we-well... uh... yeah. it's.. it's like a coping mechanism. i dunno how to explain it.."

"coping? cope with what?"

you sigh in exasperation. you wish he didn't ask. "erm.. like my mental state and stress and stuff. it's not good, i know, but it's the only thing that helps." you look away in embarrassment.

he has a little frown on his face. "well i don't want you doing that, Y/N! it's not safe!" he takes one of your hands in his. butters always knew how to be corny.

"i know it's rough, but i'm here for you bud! sometimes.. sometimes i wanna do that too. like when i get yelled at and i just wanna hit myself cuz it's all too much. but.. but we shouldn't! it's dangerous."

"anytime you wanna do that, you tell me and we can color, OK?" butters doesn't treat it like it's a sensitive subject. he's honest, and he's genuine.

you lightly smile. "okay. thanks, butters."

he goofily smiles again. "now lemme go get the ointment!"

you shut the door and slide down the wall of the bathroom. the floor was probably gross, but you could care less right now.

you're having a panic attack again. in a coffee shop.

it happens often when you're ordering food, and you rushed to the bathroom when all of the red flags started showing. you needed to relieve this pressure, and quickly.

taking out your 'cutting bag', you hold the blade in your finger, and start slitting. each cut is wobbly and painful. you're shaking.

you let yourself bleed. usually you stop it as soon as you cut, holding toilet paper or a towel to it, but you just wanted to bleed. you've been so exhausted lately.

a bit passes and you're about to get up to start cleaning up, but a loud knock pounds on the bathroom door.

"h-hey, Y/N! what's taking so long, are you okay?" tweeks voice cracks from the other side of the door, and your heart drops.

"er, yeah i'm okay! just finishing up!" you're still catching your breath, freezing in place as to not make a sound.

"are you sure? you ran in there pretty fast, did the coffee give you diarrhea? ACK!"

you stifle a laugh at the random comment. "heh, uh, no i'm fine. just.. really had to pee."

a moment of silence passes.

you nearly piss your pants when the doorknob moves and unlocks. scrambling to stand and cover yourself, you hold your bag close as he opens the door.

"dude! a little privacy!" you shout, backing up once he shuts the door behind him. you keep forgetting his family owns the place and has the bathroom keys.

"aha! so you weren't peeing! you're holding everyone up, we only have..." he trails off when he looks down, seeing a small splotch of red liquid on the floor.

"is.. is that.. BLOOD?" his voice freaks out, and you put your hand over his mouth to shut him up. "ssshhhhush!!!"

you uncover his mouth, and he takes a deep breath to calm himself.

"why is there blood on the floor."

you awkwardly chuckle. "uh... haha. i'm... on my period??" you grin, trying to crack a joke.

he deadpans and looks at you, expecting a real answer.

you sigh. "okay, um, promise not to tell anyone."

he does a motion mimicking zipping his mouth and throwing the key away, eager to hear what on earth you've been in here so long for.

you were about to tell him, but you backed out last-second. "i, uh, cut my finger." you blurt it out, averting your eyes.

he's vibrating a little, and he twitches.

"you don't want me telling anyone you cut your finger?"

"..yeah."

"...."

"do you need a band-aid?"

"..yeahh." you say that, hoping he'll leave to get one. giving you a chance to escape.

he pulls one out of his pocket, but you aren't really shocked. you're sure he has tons of little mishaps with all the violent movements he makes.

"show me." he unpeels the band-aid and holds it out to you, waiting for your finger to place it on.

you know you're fucked at this point.

"i can put it on myself."

"show me it." he tries to be stern, but you can't take him seriously with his wobbly voice.

you snatch the band-aid from him and turn to the side, playing with your finger. "i don't need help."

he huffs in frustration. "alright, what the hells the matter with you? are you okay? like, actually?" he has a lot of worry in his voice.

you feel tears pricking at your eyes. this is kind of a weird and funny situation, but it didn't start like that. "yeah... i'm fine."

his eyes are full of concern, and his eyes dart around before landing on your arm.

"...can i see your arm?"

"what?"

"i said can i see your arm?"

fuck. you're busted now for sure. how did he know?

you lift up the sleeve of the shirt you didn't cut. "the other one," he says.

and so, you hesitated, but you lift up the other one, revealing your freshly cut wounds that are still seeping blood. he gasps and covers his own mouth, as if to keep himself from screaming.

"ssshh, i know, i know. it's fine." you go to roll your sleeve back down, but he grabs it and holds it up, inspecting your cuts. "jesus christ! give me that band-aid," you give him the one in your hand and he places it over your cut to hold the skin together.

you can't help but notice his attempts at keeping his hands calm and slow, despite the incredible urge to shake like crazy. his fingers are rough and vibrating, but he tries to be calm near your injuries.

he gives up trying to get the band-aids on your skin and rushes out, coming back quickly with a first-aid kit. he unboxes it and treats your wounds with ointment, cleaning them and bandaging them with gauze.

"yeah, it hurts, i know. you'll be okay."

he does it all with an incredible sense of urgency and speed, but he purposefully doesn't speak or start tweeking out for your sake. the last thing he wants to do is stress you out.

he cleans you up and rolls your sleeve back down, and holds his forehead, sighing. you start to feel really terrible for making him deal with you.

tweek suddenly engulfs you in a hug. it's warm, maybe not so comfortable as he's very clearly on edge, but it's warm and nice. you slowly wrap your arms around him, and he lets go.

tweek wants to show more.. affection?? he wants to show that he cares but he doesn't know how.

"listen, uh.. i-i know it's really hard. i've been through stuff like this and.. i just want you to know i'm here for you, dude. like, i care and stuff, and ACK! i don't want to see you hurting!" his voice cracks and speeds up at the end, and he's twitching a lot.

you almost smile at his attempt to make you feel better. it's obvious he cares, even if he can't express it well. it makes you happy knowing he cares.

"yeah, thanks tweek." you wipe your eyes and grab his hand.

"can we just.. pretend this never happened? like please don't tell my parents. or anyone." you ask, cleaning yourself up.

"y-yeah, 'course. but you can talk to me, o-okay?" he grabs toilet paper and wipes the blood off the floor, throwing it in the trash.

you slightly smile. "yeah, i got it. thanks, again."

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alaydabug2 · 7 months ago

Text

@sparklenarniawizard

Broken heart/Broken mind

Chapter Fifteen

(Human AU)

Sophie and Keefe met in the children's hospital when they were little. Because of how long they were confined to the four walls of the hospital, they became very close during their stay.

As the years pass, they wind up being in the same classroom together due to their physical conditions. This makes their bond deepen.

But are they able to handle when life gets tough, throwing problems and complications their way?

Sophie was sitting in the car on the way to the school. She was being dropped off at Keefe's first baseball game.

She said goodbye to her parents and made her way to the field. When she got there, she saw Keefe with the rest of the baseball team. He was standing with Biana's brother.

Fitz pounded on his helmet, then pointed to the plate. Keefe nodded and ran to be on deck.

Sophie stopped by the concession stand to buy some cheese fries and a Dr. Pepper. She picked the set of bleachers under the shade. It was close to ninety-five degrees out. She didn't understand how any of the players were able to handle it. She was already sweating.

As she waited for the game to start, a car swerved into a parking spot. A car that she recognized.

"Ro!" Sophie exclaimed. She waved her over.

Ro hurried over and sat next to her in the stands. "Hey, blondie. I would've been sooner, but work wouldn't let me out early. The game hasn't started yet, right?"

"Nope." She pointed to the field. "Just getting started."

She sighed in relief. "Good. I promised I'd be here. He was so excited to be able to be in the starting lineup. Where is he?"

Sophie grinned. "On deck right now."

She followed Ro's gaze to where Keefe was standing outside the dugout. He was practicing his swing, following the path of the balls the pitcher was practicing throwing.

The game started. Fitz was the first to bat. He hit the ball and made it to second. The crowd went wild. Then it was Keefe's turn. Sophie and Ro cheered as loud as they could.

Sophie knew that he was able to hit well, but she wasn't aware that he could hit it to the outfield! The center fielder missed the ball. That was what let Fitz make it to home base. Keefe followed after him, albeit much slower. Thankfully, how hard he hit it made up for the lost time.

"Holy crap!" Ro yelled. "Did you know he could do that?"

"No, I swear."

She saw him make it to the dug out with the widest smile on his face. The entire team was pounding on his helmet and clapping his back as he made it in. (A/n I do softball, and this is basically what happens when anyone hits a ball or makes a base. It's fun. 😂) Sophie peered over to the other team. They looked scared. As they should be.

When the game was over, she rushed over to him and threw her arms around his neck. He was dirty from having to slide into third base during the fourth inning. They had won sixteen to ten.

"You did so good!" she told him.

"Thanks!" He looked a little red when he asked, "Do you want to come to the after game dinner?"

"Yeah, I'd love to. Lemme text my parents."

She quickly asked her mom if she could go with Keefe to the Mexican restaurant. She said that it was fine.

Ro kept giving Keefe a look. Sophie looked between the two, trying to figure out why. Ro turned to her. A suspicious grin spread across her her face. Ro opened her mouth to speak, but Keefe cut her off.

"Shouldn’t we get going?" he said hastily.

Ro rolled her eyes.

At the restaurant, her and Keefe sat with Biana and Fitz and the end of the table. She got a notification on her phone just as the food was coming out.

She checked it and found out if was Keefe posting on his snap story. At first it was just from the game. Then she saw herself in there. And Fitz. And Biana. They looked like they were being taken from underneath the table.

She nudged Keefe with her elbow. She raised an eyebrow at him when she showed him the pictures. He gave a guilty smile. She just laughed and playfully bumped her shoulder with his.

#keeper of the lost cities #kotlc #kotlc sophie foster #kotlc keefe sencen #sokeefe #fanfic #Broken heart/Broken mind

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uwukillmenowowo · 7 months ago

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𝐅𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐓𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐨 𝐆𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐥 [Tokyo Debunker X F!Reader]

[ 9 | Hera's Snakes] 『🐍』

Key's for the story: Insert - Narrative - And then she stared at her reflection in the mirror [Insert] - Author speaking - [Eyyy there- wazzup readers] "Insert" - Talking - "Hey there!" [But can also be air quotes] 'Insert' - Thinking - 'Dame he's cute...' "Insert" - Whispering - "I- I messed up..." [But can also be an emphasis on a word/phrase, or flashback] (Insert) - Inner mind..? - (Deadass doesn't know how to explain it here) *Insert* - Action - *Sighs with their head down*[INSERT] - Magic - [OFF WITH YOUR HEAD!] or [IGGNAIM!]

𝐏𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫: [ 8 | Stalker] 『👀』

━━━✦❘༻🔮༺❘✦━━━

[Book 0] The Academy of Ghouls

[Chapter 9] The Anomaly Known As Hera's Snakes.

━━━✦❘༻🔮༺❘✦━━━

{Third POV}

~~~~~

Hm? I don't recognize you. Who are you?" Romeo asked, still pointing his rifle at the pair. "So you're Kaito's jealous pursuer." Luca asked, still under the impression that Kaito actually did have a romantic rival. "Excuse me? What part of this mushroom head could I possible be jealous of?" Romeo asked sternly. "Mushroom Head? Is that your nickname, Kaito?" Luca asked innocently.

"Of course not, he's just being an asshole! Come on, get rid of him!" Luca hummed. "Let me confirm something first. This is your jealous pursuer, correct?" "Yes... I mean... Well..." In return to Kaito's bad lie, Romeo tisked. "That's the backstory you gave me? Is your financial situation so dire you can't come up with plausible lies?" Kaito flinched and stepped back. "What does he mean?" Luca asked.

"Do you really think I, Romeo Scorpius Lucci. Could be jealous of an off-brand man like him? *Hmph* This little toadstool is in my debt. I'm merely collecting what I'm rightfully owed." Romeo then took out a piece of paper and smirked. "Care to see the paperwork?" He mocked Kaito. In return, Kaito ran towards Romeo, desperate to grab the paper. "GIMME THAT!!" He exclaimed, only for Romeo to hold it higher than he can reach.

"Kaito, is this true?" Luca asked. Kaito sweat dropped and was about to answer, but then Romeo grabbed onto a pendent that Kaito was wearing. "How many times do I have to tell you? If you can't pay just hand over this pendant instead!!" "How many times have I gotta tell you, this is the one thing you'll never get from me!!" Kaito yelled before Luca decided to step in, "Let him go."

Romeo and Kaito turned to the transfer student. "Who the hell are you? Did you hear what I just said?" Then, Luca held up a large amount of cash. "Will this suffice?" He asked. Romeo smirked and let go of Kaito, in favor of the cash presented. "50 pound notes, hm? Interesting. They'd better not be counterfeit." Romeo took the money smirking and started counting. "one, two, three, four, five... twenty... the real deal." "Are you serious..?" Kaito asked, jaw wide open.

"You're quite a high-end man. He still owes another 2000 pounds of interest though. Sorry, but this won't buy his freedom." Romeo taunted and tilted Luca's chin up with his index finger. "WHAT?! You never said anything about interest!!" Kaito exclaimed. So Luca's gaze hardened and decided to challenge the claim. "All right. In that case... I'd like another look at that document."

Romeo's smirk fell and he tisked and glared at Luca. "There's nothing worse than a man with a brain..."

{Your POV}

~~~~~

"The ticket gate is closed???" I questioned aloud. I stopped short just before the Galaxy Express platform, unsure of how to get through the gate. A translucent wall with glowing letters blocked my path. "Tap Catsmo?" I read and groaned. "If I had to guess, it'd be an online TTC pass like Presto..." "Meow?!" I flinched and looked down, and screamed a little when a cat appeared out of nowhere. "Meow! meow!" The cat exclaimed and ran off. "Ah! Wait!" When I locked eyed with the cat, it meowed loudly and scampered off towards the main building."

"Oh sugar... Can these cats tell the chancellor where I am?!" Judging by what I'd seen them achieve so far, I could only assume they could... "I've already come this far... there's no turning back now!" I took out my wand and took in a deep breath. "White to red, and red to white. [Doodle Suit!]"

The gate turned into golden particles for a few seconds but as soon as I passed through I couldn't progress any further. "W-What?!" I tried to use doodle suit again but it didn't work. Then a shrill alarm sounded from the platform.

I heard footsteps approaching faster so I gasped and canceled doodle suit of the ticket gate and hid my wand. The alarm stopped and I sighed. "What are you doing?" I yelped and turned around to see Romeo there. Along with Kaito and Luca. "Are you all right?! Is the anomaly here?!" "Eeeeek... Oh god, please let it not be..." I held my hands up in surrender. "I'm sorry, I didn't know how to get onto the platform..."

Romeo glared at me and I reminisced the Savanaclaw situation all over again. "I knew it. What are you doing? Why are you wearing Hera's Snakes?" I blinked twice and calm down. "What..? Hera's Snakes?" 'The anomaly?' I couldn't make sense of that sentence, so I just stood there, dumbstruck. "Hera's Snakes..? That's the name of the rogue anomaly!" Luca pointed out and I nodded slowly. "Well, well, well," 'I don't like the smile on Romeo's face...' I thought and sweatdropped. "I didn't think it would come to me. I'll get a good price for this."

All of a sudden Romeo charged at me, rifle in hand. "You can pay back Fuji's interest WITH THIS!" I was about to pull out my wand to use Sleepy kiss but for some reason, the veil started attacking?!? "Eh?!" I cried out and stood still while Romeo dodged.

"GYAAAAAAHHH!!! WHAT THE HELL IS THAT?! ARE THOSE TENTACLES?! GROSS!!" Kaito exclaimed while Romeo pointed his rifle. "Did you... aim for my face?" I flinched and immidietly shook my head. "N-N-no! This veil just attacked on it's own I swe-" "SHUT YOUR MOUTH! I CAN'T STAND EXCUSES! SIH!!" Romeo aimed his rifle and this time I grabbed my wand. But as I was about to cast my spell, Luca interrupted, "[IGGNAIM!]" I gasped because Luca was standing in front of me, arms spread wide.

"What..? The trajectory was accurate, the bullet should have hit... Fine. There's more where that came from!" Another gunshot exploded in my ears but... "What..? Why are my bullets disappearing?!" I furrowed my brows and bit my lip. 'Luca... he's using his special skill." I awed. 'This was nothing like the spells in Twisted Wonderland. The only thing close was Floyd's Bind to the Heart.'

The bullet was clearly heading straight towards us. But the instant before it hit Luca, it vanished, as though swallowed by some invisible force. Luca then turned around and grabbed my shoulders harshly so I winced. "I'll ask you just once. Did you deceive us?" His sharp, crystal-clear gaze bore into me so I answered honestly. "I'm sorry... But I just picked this veil up by coincidence, I swear..."

'I should have been honest with them sooner... I can't keep wearing something this dangerous even if it means they find out who I am...' I thought and grabbed the veil with both hands and pulled. "... H-Huh?!" I started to panic as I pulled harder. "I-I can't get it off!" Luca gasped and back off. No matter how hard I pulled at it, the veil remained stuck fast to my head. "It's stuck... why won't it come off?!" I questioned myself as I pulled even harder.

"All right. Calm down. I believe you." I looked at Luca with wide eyes. "Luca..." "We need to move away from here first. Then we can do something about that veil." Luca reached out his hand to me, and I placed my trembling palm in his unwavering one. "Thank you." I smiled softly.

"Hey! Are you trying to run?! Hand over Hera's Snakes fi-" "LUCAAAAA!!! HEY!! Why are you holding hands with [Y/n]!?!" I bit my lip as Kaito pushed Romeo out of the way and ran over to us. "Don't you dare run off without me!!! I'M!! HER KNIGHT!! IN SHINING ARMOR!!!!" "Kaito?!" I exclaimed, blushing in embarrassment. "Kaito! I want to go somewhere we can regroup and discuss out next move. Could you lead us there?"

"I was going to! Don't order me around! Follow me, [Y/n]!" Kaito proclaimed and started running so we followed.

But while we ran I looked back at Romeo, feeling a bit bad. "Ouch... Hey!! You think you can escape me that easily?!" But then I turned back. Kaito grabbed my other hand, and the three of us ran back the way we'd come.

"Meow! Meow! Meow! Emergency, emergency. A-6622-1,code name "Hera's Snakes", has escaped containment during transportation. It resembles a black veil. It is aggressive, and can change it's size at will. Presumptive class B. If spotted, please alert a staff member or ghoul student immediately."

𝐍𝐞𝐱𝐭 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫: [ 10 | A Ring?] 『💍』

#𝐅𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐓𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐨 𝐆𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐥 #original story #tokyo debunker x reader #twisted wonderland reader

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yuanshenexplorer · 1 year ago

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"Thank You. Signed..."

Pairing : Wriothesley x Neuvillette Warning : Boy x Boy, Angst (at the beginning) This Pov (even if it's more like an one shot) was inspired by « The DJ is crying for help » by AJR ! Even if it don't really fit the lyrics X) Number of words : 1 476 (Not too bad, I'd say) Hope you’ll like it ! ^^

A subdued light filtered through the few gaps left by the blinds on the closed windows of his home, barely illuminating this room of scattered belongings, unmade bed, and where a dark silhouette stood in a fetal position. He had hidden his face between his arms and, behind a cascade of white hair, was holding back tears. The rain was falling hard outside, as if echoing Neuvillette's malaise, reduced to a huddled, shabby-looking form. In front of him, crumpled and sometimes torn leaves were spread out. A malevolent reminder, circling him like a vulture in front of a carcass.

Another day's work over. Again.

A day worthy of hell. A day of incessant mockery, disgusted glances, sickening insults. Why so much hate? Why be so angry with him? He hadn't done them any harm… Or had he… Maybe once he'd made them suffer…

When the truth had hit their discomfited faces, a truth that disgusted many. This way of being, this attraction, perhaps too different from the others, had upset his way of working. Neuvillette couldn't take it anymore. A tear rolled down his pale cheek, and a bolt of lightning tore the sky in response. In a rush, almost madness, he lunged for his table, his only escape. He grabbed his violin, wedged it under his chin and, without waiting any longer, began to play his heart out. He poured streams of emotion onto those strings.

Surely he'll be receiving complaints the next day.

Surely someone will be banging on the walls, yelling at him to stop. But for once, he wanted to let go. No matter the insults, no matter what will happen tomorrow.

Tonight, he was letting himself go.

Only much later did his instrument stop emitting melancholy wails. When the storm outside stopped roaring, and the rain had finished flooding the streets and accumulating his sorrows. He had no strength left. His energy had been drained, by this rain, by the sounds of his violin, now resting in its place.

He lay back on his bed, staring at the ceiling of his room, his ears still ringing with the shrill melodies of his instrument. And so, his face framed by his tangled white locks, his cheeks still red from crying, his eyes itching uncomfortably, he fell asleep, praying for a better day.

The next day was no exception to the rule: he woke abruptly, torn from the comforting world of dreams by a violent pounding on his door.

When he opened the door, his face half asleep, his hair a mess, his elegant figure cowering like a defenseless animal, his imposing form looking shabby.

He had a moment of total incomprehension, why hit his door with such force?

Oh…

His violin…

"Would it be possible not to have to endure your music for a week?"

Of course… He must have expected it.

Neuvillette looked at him neutrally. The face of his apartment neighbor came to him like a blurred face, with distorted contours. His constricted throat refused to let out the slightest sound.

Yet he had to apologize. His mouth opened, but no words came out.

"If this keeps up, I'll have to report you. You're annoying everyone with your racket."

His gray, storm-sky gaze darkened. Was he going to be homeless too? That was condemning him to a slow death without comfort.

As he forced himself, his throat tugging at him to try to get out just simple words, a door opened beside them, accompanied by a disgruntled growl.

"What's all that noise?"

An imposing man with tousled hair stepped out of his apartment, rubbing his eyes as he yawned. His sharp eyes glared at the man with the deafening complaints.

"Isn't there any way we can have a quiet morning? I don't need anyone yelling, people yell enough at my work."

His gaze turned to Neuvillette, who was watching him with a worried expression. He too was about to get angry with him. They'd both gang up on him. It was all over.

Yet his neighbor's icy blue eyes only stared at him for a brief moment. A gleam seemed to ignite them for a moment.

What was he waiting for to get angry too?

Did he want him to feel guilty too?

Yet, contrary to what they'd all hoped, for once, Neuvillette didn't blame himself. He wasn't sorry.

So he maintained the contact between them, without flinching, even though his eyes betrayed his mental weakness.

Suddenly, the man with the jet-black mane let out a simple puff of his nose, which for once didn't sound like mockery.

"Nice music last night. Personal composition?"

The man with the long white hair blinked. He'd imagined every conceivable scenario, but what about this one?

He hadn't expected it at all.

"T…Thanks…?"

His voice came to him like a squeak, as if he were regaining the use of speech after years without speaking.

When he looked more than a little surprised, the man next to him could only smile in amusement. His gaze went cold, however, as he turned his head towards the other man, who remained frozen.

"To what do I owe the honor of these unpleasant cries on a Saturday morning?"

The man said nothing, stammering inaudible words.

"No longer able to say anything?

He sighed, crossing his arms.

-Let the poor guy decompress from his days, he's got a right to have passions, hasn't he?

-Y-Yes, but…

-You're the only one it bothers. I don't get the impression you really thought about our sleeping hours when you had the music cranked up on your speakers."

Surely out of arguments, the man turned away from his two neighbors, and left, uttering a string of expletives. The man with the icy eyes sighed, resting one shoulder against the wall.

"We shouldn't hear too much more about it in a while.

-Thank you...

-That's a lot of thanks for me," the man pointed out, smirking.

Neuvillette froze slightly. It was true that it had been a long time since he had thanked anyone else.

"You'd better believe I'm in a good mood…" surmised the white man.

-Even after being woken up by such an energetic fellow?" the other pointed out, frowning.

-I guess so… Sorry to have woken you up."

The man chuckled.

Neuvillette suddenly felt nostalgic. It was the first time in a long time that a man had laughed with him and not at him. He'd missed that feeling.

"I was already awake a long time ago, unlike you."

The white man blinked in surprise. The dark-haired man straightened up, his eternal smile pasted to his thin lips.

"On that note…

He turned around.

-I hope to hear you play the violin again soon."

And so he left, waving politely. Unconsciously, Neuvillette followed him with his eyes, attracted by that rebellious hair and soothing aura, which had made his troubles disappear, leaving him in a torrent of nostalgia and well-being - a sensation he'd really missed.

He smiled. Sincerely. Before gently closing the door of his apartment, he headed for his bedroom, glancing at his violin, before cleaning himself up and dressing comfortably for the weekend.

As he dried his hair, enjoying the gentle rubbing of the soft bath towel, he was startled by the unusual sound of his doorbell.

His gray eyes narrowed in concern. Usually, disgruntled neighbors didn't bother to use it, preferring to pound on the door with their fists, even if it meant threatening to damage it.

So he was surprised to hear this high-pitched but gentle sound, instead of the usual deafening crash.

He hesitated, unsure of what to do.

Eventually, Neuvillette opened his door, softly, with distrust.

He was astonished, once he'd opened the door wide, to not notice anyone. His foot stumbled over something, and the sound of a bag being crumpled reached him.

He looked down, only to see a white plastic bag and a can of cold tea, where a post-it note had been stuck.

He picked up the package, absently, and picked up the paper on which someone had jotted down a few words in hasty handwriting.

"Every storm needs a clearing. Wriothesley."

Neuvillette remained standing, the can of cold tea in his hand, ignoring the drops wetting his hand, and the cold metal beginning to spread in his palm.

His mind had understood who had dropped off this intriguing gift, and this little message which, to the man with the violin, appeared as words of encouragement.

He returned to his house, grabbed a piece of paper and a pen, and wrote a message of his own.

He went outside, delighted with his message, and stuck it on his ebony-haired neighbor's ringtone, his smile never leaving his lips.

"Thank you. Neuvillette."

A single thought occurred to him as he closed the door of his apartment, his heart light and his soul relaxed.

Decidedly, that was a lot of thanks for one man.

*** Translated with www.DeepL.com/Translator (free version) *** (because I'm not qualified enough to write an entire POV by myself X) Sorry if there are mistakes :')) Just a question, am I the only one who is absolutely obsessed with this ship ? ;-; Have a nice day and thank you for reading this ! ^^

#Wriolette #Wriothesley #Neuvillette #Wriothesley x Neuvillette #Modern Au #fanfiction #POV #Genshin Impact

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emmyrosee · 2 years ago

Note

hi emmy!! first off, i wanna say that i absolutely ADORE your writing and the way you interpret the characters, 11029238/10, top-tier stuff. also, i'd like to offer you a thought, a breadcrumb of an image, if you will. miya osamu in a rivals-to-lovers setting. what do you think? hope you have a great day filled with nice things!!

Oh… oh babe… whAT HAVE YOU DONE-

Also you’re the sweetest and you’re gonna make me cry so hush up before I smooch you 🥺❤️

This could work in so many settings.

But imma roll with a classic one bc I’m uncreative and love a cheesy trope 💅🏼 but if you want me to rewrite it lmk HAHAHA-

Picture it. You’re part of some petty crime gang, and you’re a late entry. He’s been there for years, ever since his brother’s the one who took off with a career in the one thing they were good at. This is his domain now; he knows you probably can’t hold your own and that you don’t deserve to be there, and rather than just expressing those thoughts, or even just dealing with them, Osamu Miya makes it his mission to make you miserable.

Cutting over you during briefings, refusing to do any sort of organization with you, taking credit for things you did on an outing, he’s an absolute worthless piece of company, and the minute you gain control you plan to send him the fuck away.

He’s old, okay, he’s been in the game far too long, and you’re sure to start letting him know that when he starts opening his mouth about your skills. It ears you both an adult version of scolding, but it doesn’t stop you.

“You want respect, you gotta earn it,” he snaps.

“Likewise, grandpa.”

And you don’t know why, but today, he’s been an absolute prick, going out of his way to ensure you are seen as a ridiculous little girl rather than any form of an actual gang member. He’s yelling, barking in your face, grabbing your arm to bring you places instead of just telling you where to go.

“Osamu. You don’t yell at someone like that,” people finally step in.

“I’m not yelling at someone,” he spits. He looks at you in disgust, “I’m yelling at her.”

And listen. You’re not one for violence, it was something that pissed the other members off. But this time, your hand reaches up to smack him hard, hard across the cheek, leaving a bright red mark in its place.

“I do not need your criticism,” you snap. “And this gang certainly does not. Need. You.”

“You don’t know the half of the shit I deal with for you-“

And again, your hands fist his collar and your shove him back into the wall, body on full adrenaline and pulsing with anger, “I don’t need your fucking pity. You are nothing to me.”

You flick him away like cigarette ashes before storming up and out of the clubhouse, slamming the door and letting the cool air of outside try to calm you down.

You could kill him. You could destroy him, and he doesn’t even care; one day, you would. You’re sure of it.

But for now, you let your exhausted legs carry you home and into your bed to try and let the chaos and fury of the day drip away.

That is, until about one am that night.

There’s a furious pounding on the door, quick and loud and it startles you fresh out of sleep, scrambling under the covers. It doesn’t stop, and you quickly grab your blade and scurry to the door, peering just enough into the peephole. “I know you’re right there,” an all too familiar voice (though it sounds nothing like him right now) calls through the door. “I just want to talk.”

“I’m armed.”

“I’m not.”

Your face drops in confusion before you open the door, and the sight before you had your breath getting caught in your throat and face paling.

“Miya…” you croak, eyes glazing up the massive frame in front of you. “What… what are you doing here?”

“I didn’t know where else to go,” he whimpers, the man audibly whimpers up at you, and your heart leaps in your chest when you look at his hands. “I couldn’t go anywhere else.”

They’re bruised, sliced up at the knuckles and torn along the bone, bleeding as he flexes them to keep them from scabbing. When you meet his eyes once again, and his face is no better, scratched and bruising and eye swollen from some form of hit.

He looks rough. Really rough.

“Good God,” you whisper in awe. “What happened?” You don’t think twice before your hand wraps around his thick wrist and gently tugs him into your place, locking the door and guiding him to the bathroom. He plops on your toilet while you gather some first-aid; he doesn’t answer you again, and you feel your nerves starting to pulse.

Silence falls on him, his eyes advert to the floor and far from you. You don’t pry, but you’re so used to him yelling at you that you don’t know how to react to his quiet.

“Hand,” you command, settling between his legs to tend to his wounds. He sighs and passes you his hands, wincing slightly when your finger presses into a wound.

“Gentle,” he mumbles, leaning his head back against the wall.

“Didnt know that word was in your vocabulary.”

“Usually ain’t.”

More silence. He whines occasionally at the stinging of peroxide, but he says nothing and you hate that. You have so many questions, so many thoughts, and he should know by now that you’re not gonna not ask them.

“Miya?” You say quietly. He grunts softly, and you give him a shaky sigh, “why… why are you such an asshole?”

“I’m a criminal who jumps men in the street when they owe us money, you’re gonna have to be a little more specific.”

“That’s not being an asshole,” you counter, wrapping a bandage around his hand. “That’s doing your job. That’s what we do.” He rolls his eyes, but you continue, “you’re an asshole to me, Miya. And… and I don’t even know what I did.”

He stays silent before retracting his hand from yours. His eyes turn towards the ceiling and he takes a sharp swallow, evident by the bobbing of his adam’s apple. You wait patiently, blinking up at him calmly, and he finally meets your gaze with a boyish glimmer past the cold, sharp pools of grey.

“Because… because you don’t belong here.”

“I’ve made my damn place very clear-“

“Shut up,” he says sharply, and while normally you’d smack him and tell him what-for, instead his vulnerability has you silent. “That’s not what I meant. I don’t care if you have your place in out gang; that’s not the fucking point.

“You shouldn’t be there,” he continues, sighing shakily. “I don’t know what brought you to us, or what you did to land yourself here, but anything else would’ve been better. People die out here; you’re too good for this shit, you deserve so much better than anything our bullshit can give you.”

“Don’t act like you know me, or understand the things I do,” you firm, and he peers at you through thick lashes. “And if I deserve so much better, why do you consistently make my life an absolute hell?”

“Because if you start to show dominance, they’re going to turn on you.” His quick answer shows he’s being genuine, and a shiver shoots down your spine. “In case you haven’t noticed, you’re the only woman in the damned gang that isn’t just an Old Lady. The minute you start getting brave, they’re gonna swallow you whole, princess.” His teeth grit, “and I’m not gonna let them do that to you.”

You cross your arms, “I can handle myself.”

“This isn’t about handling,” he snarls, and you see him tense back up like a beast in agitation. “I don’t care if you can handle your own- hell, you probably can. But there’s a reason you and I get stuck together doing petty shit; they’re going out there. You start poking your nose in that, they’re going to snap that pretty little neck of yours.”

“Shoji wouldn’t do that-“

“Not while I’m around.” He leans back against the toilet, looking down on you. “I keep you on my leash because if he so much as looks at you I’m-“

The vein in his forehead pops out at the mere idea of you getting anything other than respect, and at the sight, you’re quick to soothe him by cupping his swollen cheek in your hand.

“Miya,” you whisper, leaning in. “I’m fine. I trust them-“

“You never asked me why I’m busted up,” he cuts, leaning his head into your cool hand. “I’ve been in this gang for six years, I don’t trust these assholes. You can’t get comfortable; it’s why I’m here.”

A warmth fills your lungs and you mewl softly at his words, rising on your haunches to be closer to him. He seems taken aback, but rather than shift back to get distance, he leans down closer in challenge.

“I don’t need you to protect me,” you reiterate, and he huffs hot air through his nose. “But… I do like the idea of you being there to keep them at bay.”

“The shit I do for you and you don’t even realize it,” he scoffs, his eyes glazing your features. “Make you un-fucking-touchable.”

“I already was.” Your hands smooth up his bulky arms, and you relish in the way he shivers. “But now, with you here,” you pant, a loving hand smoothing ip the back of his neck, pulling him close to you. “I’m invincible, Miya. I never doubted for one second that you didn’t have my back.” You giving him a reassuring, albeit playful, smirk, watching a small grin of his own spread over his face. It splits the scab that had already started to form, crimson slowly slipping from the gash and down his chin.

One of your fingertips gently trace the ripped skin, watching his blood spread under your touch, “no one’s gonna ever touch me… not when you’re around, huh?”

“You make it all worth the trouble, doll,” he rasps, his own mammoth of a hand coming up to cradle the back of your head into a kiss. He tastes like blood, like cigarettes and menthol and neon and danger and it has you a putty in his hands. Your nails scratch at the buzz of his undercut, making him shiver and growl into your mouth.

His tongue is sharp, just like his words, his lips are torn up and he kisses you like it’s a challenge he wants to win, like a starved man with a morsel of food; gnashing teeth nip at your lips and grabbing paws keep your energy electric, and damn you’ve never wanted someone more.

Hands scoop under your thighs to pull you up and onto his lap, cradling him to the porcelain of the toilet while he continues to touch. Almost as if he’s memorizing your frame. His lips start to trail down your neck, suckling hard when he finds a spot that makes you keen or gasp.

It was wild.

Much like miya osamu himself.

“Who knew you cared so much about little old me?” You tease, and you feel him smirk against your neck.

“Don’t push your luck… you’re still a little princess bitch who needs to stay in her lane.” He lifts his head from your neck to lean nose-to-nose with you.

“And I can’t wait to knock you down a peg.”

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ethereousdelirious · 8 months ago

Text

FINALLY managed to write something for my special little sensitive crybaby princess OC. I'm trying to get back into the swing of writing.

There are a few context things I'd like to explain, so bear with meeee

(He has the flu in this. There's mentions of nausea at the end, but nothing happens with it)

Some Context (this is optional so just scroll down to the bolded text if you want to skip):

I've written about these characters before, but I've changed the world and plot of the novel they're supposed to be in, so if you remember anything about that world, just flush it.

Since this is essentially fanfiction of a story that doesn't exist yet, here are some things you're supposed to know about the characters: All of them are in their mid-20s. Hewitt and Sterling are close friends and have recently met Gilles, who had to move out of his family home after they all moved back to France without him (long story). Or fantasy France. I haven't decided if this fic takes place in the "real" word, so to speak, or a fantasy/alternate world. I'll use real world terms for now to make it easier. Gilles is Black and originally from France. Hewitt is white and British. Sterling is extremely mixed race and American.

You'll see Hewitt making vampire jokes at Gilles and referring to Sterling as "Adonis," which are both references to inside jokes woth the characters that I'm not gonna bother to explain because it doesn't matter

Sterling uses Celsius measurements when he's trying to be courteous to his European friends and Fahrenheit when he's alone or distracted.

Okay das all I think

Story starts here

Gilles’ belongings sat in a disordered pile on the cobblestones, dwarfed by the narrow three-story house looming behind them. He swallowed, throat stinging. This was it.

Sterling bumped him a little on his way to the front door, murmuring his apology. Gilles scarcely heard. Even that light touch had made him flinch, sent goosebumps all up and down his arm. His heart pounded. This was really it.

God, he didn't know these people. What if they killed him in his sleep?

“Gilles?” Hewitt bumped him with his hip. That, too, hurt more than it should have, made him shudder. “Are you waiting for an invitation?”

Gilles shook himself and forced a smile. These were his friends. New friends, yes. But friends. “It's only polite, you know.”

“Fine, but just know I have garlic hanging on all the walls.” Hewitt grinned and beckoned Gilles to follow him over the threshold. “Come inside! Oh, but grab a box or Adonis will yell at us.”

“Have I ever yelled at you?” Sterling asked, appearing in the doorway. “Gilles, don't listen to him. I'll need you to help me with the furniture anyway, since Heaven knows Hewitt won't be able to.”

Gilles nodded, following Sterling to his dresser. The glossy wood gleamed in the late summer sun, and the beveled edges dug into Gilles’ palms.

“Well,” Hewitt said, “have fun carrying that up two flights of stairs.”

“There's still plenty of work for you to do,” Sterling said, nodding at the various boxes surrounding them. “But being a distraction is not among them. Ready, Gilles?”

“Ah—” Gilles swallowed and his throat stung again. Worse, this time. “Yes.”

His muscles protested the weight of the dresser at once. Every discomfort, which had felt so insignificant not 30 minutes ago, magnified itself as he shuffled across the living room.

That wasn't right.

He and Sterling had carried this out of his house— out of the house with no problems. It wasn't even that heavy. So why were his legs shaking? Why couldn't he breathe? They were still on flat ground.

“Coming up on the stairs,” Gilles said breathlessly, steering Sterling toward them.

Sterling gave him a quizzical look, his dark eyes narrowing. “Are you alright?” he asked. “Need a break?”

“I— N-no, I…” Gilles shook his head and had to stop talking to focus on ascending the stairs. His knees bumped the edges of the dresser and the sharp pain rippled outward along his skin. “I'm fine.” The words burned in his throat.

“Al‐right.” Sterling furrowed his brow and hefted the dresser.

He seemed to be doing a lot better than Gilles was, despite the obvious effort. His breathing, though heavy, remained steady as they bypassed the landing and continued up the stairs, and he was remarkably steady on his feet. He seemed to have the layout of the house memorized, oftentimes turning before Gilles could even give him an instruction.

Not that Gilles was good for much at the moment. Pain pooled in his palms. The dresser might as well have sliced them open, though the only liquid on him was sweat. It ran down his temples, down his back.

“It's here on the left,” Sterling said, though there was no need. The doorway to the right clearly led outside, and the only other option was to go left.

Dutifully, Gilles shuffled into the vacant bedroom, and then the dresser slipped from his hands and thudded onto the carpet. His whole body shook, his thighs tensing and releasing in minute spasms. He clung to the side of the dresser, staring at the silver dots glittering across the beige carpeting.

“Gilles?” Sterling sounded like he was back at the bottom of the stairs. But that couldn't be right. Maybe it was just… his breathing…. He was breathing so hard his chest hurt, and it was loud. “Gilles?”

He went down slowly, eyes open, and the room tilted in a sickening whirl of white and beige, and the ceiling light seared his eyes.

Somebody had a hard grip on his ankles, shoving the leather of his low-cut boots hard into the tendons.

Gilles’ throat hurt.

He stared at the ceiling light and his breath came back to him.

“Gilles? Are you with me?” Sterling asked.

Gilles lifted his head. Sterling… Sterling was holding his feet up by the heels, staring at him with clinical concern.

Heat flooded Gilles’ face. “What are you doing?”

Sterling let go of him and sat back on his heels. “Facilitating blood flow to your brain.” He cocked his head as Gilles sat up, staring at him. “Do you faint often?”

“N-no.” Gilles squeezed his eyes shut for a moment. It hurt to talk. “I've never fainted before.” A wave of chills rolled over his skin and he shivered, wrapping his arms around himself. How embarrassing. He must have looked like such a fool, overexerting himself like that.

Not that it should have been so difficult. What was wrong with him?

“Er, Gilles. You're shaking.”

“I'm sorry,” Gilles croaked, the words burning like acid in his throat.

“What— No, It's 28 degrees and you're shaking.” Sterling leaned forward and hesitated. “May I?”

Gilles blinked at him, tears pricking his eyes. “28 degrees?”

“Oh—” Sterling huffed and planted his hand on Gilles’ forehead. “You're sweating. That's good. How's your head?”

Gilles' breath caught in his throat. He flinched away from Sterling and coughed into his shoulder, all his muscles complaining at the motion.

“Never mind.” Sterling sat back again.

Oh. Gilles shivered and tried to sit up, but couldn't tear his arms away from his chest. “I'm so sorry,” he croaked, clawing at his collar. “I didn't know— I can—” What? There was nothing he could do. He was sick, and all his worldly belongings were sitting in the street. “I, I can— I can still—” He moved to stand up, forcing his arms down despite the painful chills running through him. Another coughing fit nearly knocked him down again, and he clung to his dresser, legs wobbling.

“Gilles, relax.” Sterling stood and, not asking permission this time, caught him under the arm. “Can you manage the stairs?”

“Y-yes…” He would manage the stairs. He'd have to be half-dead before he'd let anyone carry him.

Hewitt's puzzled expression melted into one of alarm. “What happened?” he asked, rushing forward, then darting out of the way like he'd changed his mind.

Gilles couldn't help but wince in anticipation of his humiliating episode repeated.

But Sterling remained silent as he guided Gilles to the couch, only speaking once Gilles was seated. “Gilles’ come down with something,” he said, calm as ever. “The flu, I think.”

“Really?” Hewitt peered at him like a child, blue eyes gleaming like marbles. “But you helped us move all that furniture onto the wagon.”

Gilles shrugged. If he’d been sore then, he hadn't thought much of it. It was a lot of heavy lifting, and he’d already been for a run that morning. But the reminder sent a spike of nausea through him, and a chill that had nothing to do with his fever. “I'm terribly sorry,” he said, squeezing himself in a vain attempt to ward off the cold. “Really, I just need a moment, and then I can—”

“You're crazy,” Hewitt said bluntly.

Sterling nodded like that settled something and leaned over to open the blinds, revealing the street and all Gilles’ boxes. “Hewitt, make sure nobody gets any funny ideas, will you? I've got some phone calls to make.”

“This is a very safe area,” Hewitt said once Sterling had gone. “No one will get any ‘funny ideas.’”

“Oh,” Gilles said faintly. Words and meanings were rapidly becoming two distinct entities. His body ached with the cold and all he could really do was shiver and think about how badly this all hurt.

“I do wish he'd been a bit more bossy, though.” Hewitt sighed and shoved his hands in his pockets. “I never get sick, and Sterling really never gets sick, so I'm not sure what to do. Do you want to lie down?”

Gilles freed a hand and pressed it to his forehead. This was too much. He needed a blanket and he couldn't just borrow one, nor could he bear the idea of asking Hewitt to search through his boxes until he found one. So he'd have to get up. And find one of his pillowcases while he was at it, because he couldn't bring himself to subject his locs to the tweed throw pillows surrounding him on the couch.

Nothing for it.

Gilles got up.

It was the hardest thing he'd ever done.

His knees didn't want to work and his muscles ached.

But he was standing.

“Oh!” Hewitt stepped back to give him some space. “Look, you really don't have to worry—”

“I just need a few things,” Gilles muttered, and made for the door.

Hewitt followed him. “I could get them for you! Unless they're… secrets? I suppose? Do you have a lot of things you don't want me to see?”

The summer sun engulfed Gilles, soothing some of the pain from the chills. Cobblestones burned under his knees as he fumbled with a random box, his hands shaking.

“Why don't you just let me help you?” Hewitt asked. “I promise, I only judge people I don't like.” He stepped forward and opened the box for Gilles, revealing stacks of folded shirts.

“I just…” Gilles fell back on his heels, head hanging. This was a mess. He was embarrassing himself. “You and Sterling have done so m-much for me…” He stifled a few coughs into his elbow, tears burning in his eyes. He'd taken and taken, accepted their kindness with nothing but a few paltry words of gratitude, and now here he was, taking again. It was terribly rude.

“Well, look,” Hewitt said, “you can repay us by not worrying us sick, alright? Just sit back and tell me what you're looking for. And let me know if there's anything you don't want me to touch.”

This, at last, was too much. Gilles nodded, but the tears pooling in his eyes finally spilled over and he couldn't speak except to choke out an apology in French that Hewitt wouldn't have been able to understand anyway.

“Don't cry!” Hewitt's fingertips touched down on Gilles’ back. “I'm sorry! What did I say?”

“I'm sorry,” Gilles said breathlessly, coughing. “I'm not usually so—” He broke off, falling into another fit of coughing.

“Sick,” Hewitt finished for him, moving his hand to rest on the back of Gilles’ neck. “You're burning up.”

Gilles shook his head. “I'm c-cold.”

“Well, have you got anything in here?”

“Um…” Gilles blinked away tears. Did he? “Maybe?”

“Let’s have a look.” Hewitt wasted no time, pawing through Gilles’ shirt with total disregard for how carefully he'd folded them. “There's a lot of green in here.”

Gilles wiped his face. “It's my favorite color.”

“Yes, I can tell.” Hewitt continued digging through the box, until he finally produced the gray sweatshirt Gilles wore running on cold mornings. “How about this?”

Gilles nodded and took it, only remembering to thank Hewitt after it was halfway over his chest. The sunlight was nice on his skin but really couldn't help with the bone-deep chills running through him.

“Anything else?” Hewitt asked, his gaze darting down Gilles’ body in short, jagged lines.

Gilles pulled his locs free of the sweatshirt’s collar and nodded. He was still freezing, but… the cobblestones were warm and the street was quiet and…

Hewitt snapped his fingers. “Don't fall asleep!”

“Sorry…” Gilles ran his hands down his face and tried to rally. “Ah… Something. Silk or satin. A shirt, or one of my pillowcases.” He blinked slowly, his vision blurring a little. “Please.”

“Well, you've got a silk shirt in here, but—”

“S'fine.” Slowly, Gilles reached out for it. Even that small motion took twice as much effort as it should have. How was he going to get back inside? He curled his fingers around the fabric and stared at it.

“I think you need to lie down,” Hewitt said hesitantly. “You don't seem… Can you stand?”

Gilles shook his head.

The world softened to a dreamy blur as Hewitt manhandled Gilles inside. The effort of moving was almost enough to make him feel warm, but… Well, he wouldn't notice either way soon.

The couch was the only thing in the living room, the satin was the only thing on his skin. He lowered himself, aiming the shirt toward one of the throw pillows.

Sound came in little gentle washes of awareness and a bitter chill in his chest.

“Sterling!”

“Yes, good to see you, but please keep it down.”

Thudding and murmurs and footfalls.

“He's still out?”

“I don't think he's feeling well at all. Earlier, I mean—”

“He's shivering.”

Unfamiliar voices. The rush of the sink.

“Last one, I think.”

“Oh, good.”

Gilles awoke in sunset colors, curled on his side under a thick blanket. His dry throat burned and his chest spasmed with sharp, deep coughs.

Water.

He sat up, already breathing heavily, his vision narrow and vivid. The kitchen wasn't all that far, but… It might as well have been miles.

“Don't get up,” said a voice.

Gilles flinched and turned and found Sterling seated in an armchair with a book in his lap.

“Unless you need the bathroom,” Sterling continued.

“N…” Gilles started, but his voice cracked and he started to cough again, eyes streaming. His ribs already ached with the strain and now his head pounded with each forceful exhale.

Sterling got up without a word and sat beside him, holding a glass of water up for Gilles to take.

He seized it and drained it as soon as his body would let him, and fell against the back of the couch with his chest heaving. “I'm sorry,” he panted, staring at the ceiling as his face burned. “Th-thank you, Sterling. Forgive me.”

“You have nothing to apologize for,” Sterling said. “You're our friend and we're happy to help you. Now.” He stood up and set the empty glass on the coffee table, where it must have been resting before. “I'd like to take your temperature, and it would be good if you would eat something.”

Gilles occupied himself getting back under the blanket. It was one of his own, thank god, and he'd managed to work it into a tangle.

“You're still cold?” Sterling asked. He moved as though to press a hand to Gilles’ forehead and stopped abruptly. “Here.” He held out his hands. Gilles passed him the blanket and Sterling shook it out, then tucked Gilles in like a child.

“Thank you,” Gilles mumbled, looking down. His own weakness was terribly embarrassing, but the way Sterling looked after him was so matter-of-fact, so natural. How could he resent it? “Why are you doing this?”

“Just as I said.” Sterling looked at him, his brown eyes nearly black in the low light. “You're my friend.”

“Yes, but…” Gilles shut his mouth. This was all extremely rushed, this… this intimacy. This kindness. “You don't know me.”

“I will,” Sterling said. “Is it bothering you? I can go.”

“No.” Gilles pulled the blanket up, unable to meet Sterling's eyes.

“Good. Maybe I take your temperature now?”

Gilles kept his gaze fixed on Sterling's hands, their pale brown looking ghostly in the light that filtered in through the blinds. This connection, however sudden, was perfectly real. If Sterling meant him harm, he'd had a dozen opportunities to deal it.

“I supposed I haven't been entirely honest,” Sterling said, lifting a glass thermometer to Gilles’ lips. Gilles opened his mouth. “There is a reason I like you so much.” Sterling angled the thermometer in, slid it carefully over Gilles’ teeth. “It's because Hewitt likes you. I don't think you know how rare that is.”

With the thermometer in his mouth, Gilles could only look at Sterling curiously. Hewitt had only ever been friendly to him. Albeit his bit about vampires had been an unusual way to break the ice, but Gilles could take a joke.

Sterling settled back into his armchair, bracing his elbows on his knees. “He was making fun of you that day. He didn't expect you to get the joke, much less continue it.”

Silence stretched out between them for a long moment. Gilles muffled a few coughs behind his closed lips, tensing to keep the thermometer in place without shattering it.

For some reason, Sterling laughed and sat up. “No, of course that wouldn't offend you,” he said warmly. “Hewitt is a wonderful judge of character, but his criteria are a bit unorthodox. I'm glad you aren't offended.”

This was more words than Sterling had ever strung together before. It had to be some kind of record.

Gilles sighed through his nose and slumped against the couch cushions. His body heat had finally caught up to him again, but even the thought of letting the blanket slip was enough to make him tense up. His eyes wandered around the living room, though not much had changed since his arrival that morning. The same floral prints hung on the walls, the same furniture filled out the expanse of flooring that transitioned into the kitchen. Only the minutiae had changed, little things Sterling had brought. A glass of water and a pitcher stood on the coffee table beside a small stack of handkerchiefs. And on the couch, Gilles’ silk shirt had been replaced with a proper pillow in a black satin pillowcase. He smiled a little, tracing the lines of his initials on the corner. GB, in wobbly yellow embroidery floss. Adéle had been so uncharacteristically shy when she’d shown him.

“I hope you don't mind,” Sterling said. “Hewitt mentioned you'd been looking for your pillowcases.”

Gilles shook his head, checked himself, then nodded. That was no good; that didn't mean anything. He smiled instead, wearily.

Sterling got up. “Let's take a look at your temperature.”

“Mm.” Gilles took the thermometer out of his mouth and squinted at it. He'd never gotten the hang of translating numbers to English and his head was far too fuzzy to really apply himself to it. He passed the thermometer over to Sterling rather than speak.

“39.4,” Sterling said. He pressed his tongue beneath his lower lip, brow furrowing. “I suppose that's alright as long as you stay hydrated. And lucid.” He raised an eyebrow. “Are you lucid?”

“Yes,” Gilles said, and couldn't keep himself from adding, “unfortunately.” Speaking hurt his throat, but the pitcher on the table seemed… inert. Unsatisfactory.

For some reason, this made Sterling relax. “I was afraid you might be too stoic for your own good,” he said, and poured Gilles another glass of water. “What do you want to eat? Anything you want, I'll get it.”

Gilles looked at the water on the table. He'd have to get out of the blanket to pick it up, and it would be cold. And it would sit in his stomach, just sit there. Anything would. “I’m… not particularly hungry.” A few coughs forced their way up his throat.

“I know you're not,” Sterling said patiently, pushing the glass closer to Gilles. “You have a fever of 103. But I also know you haven't eaten since this morning. Just tell me what you think you can stomach.”

If Sterling knew what a particular torture this was, he didn't seem to care. Gilles only just resisted the urge to hide his face in his blanket. “I don't know… Coffee.”

“What else?”

“Nothing,” Gilles moaned, giving into his childish desire to not be seen. He tucked his head under the blanket and buried his face in his hands. Every instinct screamed at him to raise his head and apologize like an adult. Sterling was only trying to help, and he did need to eat.

“Can you be convinced?” Sterling asked after a beat.

“What?” Gilles raised his head. Sterling was looking at him with the same patient concern as always, no trace of annoyance in his face or posture.

“Can you be convinced?” Sterling asked. “Or would you like me to leave you alone?”

Gilles just stared at him. Thoughts came fast and shallow. Sterling… leaving? Not hungry. Shaking.

“You did tell me you were lucid,” Sterling reminded him, but with a small smile. Teasing.

“I know… I just— I can't really think.”

“That's the opposite of lucid.”

“I'm sorry.” Gilles closed his eyes. “I'm not trying to be difficult.”

“It's alright.” Sterling was quiet for a moment, shifting in his armchair. “What about hot chocolate?”

Well, it was better than anything Gilles could come up with. He opened his eyes, staring at Sterling's hands where they rested in his lap. “That would be fine.” God, he was like a prince sitting here, forcing Sterling to dote on him.

Of course, Sterling didn't see it that way. He only nodded and got up. “Good.”

—

Hewitt came in around the time that the taste of chocolate started to go sour on Gilles’ tongue. At least the warm liquid had warded off the worst of his chills, but, as he'd feared earlier, his stomach didn't appreciate the intrusion.

He kept hold of the mug, letting it warm his hands, and looked up at the sound of the door opening.

“Did you miss me?” Hewitt asked, flopping down in the armchair beside Sterling.

“Terribly,” Sterling said, but he kept his eyes on Gilles.

“Oh, yes, of course.” Gilles forced a wobbly smile to his lips and shifted, bending forward a little to try to control the nausea building in his belly. “Where were you?”

“Seeing Adonis’ friends home,” Hewitt said airily. “You slept right through their visit, you know.”

Gilles frowned. He had heard voices, hadn't he? The memories came murky and cold, disturbed by the pressure in his stomach.

“They helped move your things upstairs,” Hewitt continued.

Gilles ran his teeth over his bottom lip. “Please thank them for me…” He shifted again. The nausea was building, but slowly. He just couldn't… Couldn't get comfortable; it pushed on him. Hunching over had only helped for so long, but straightening up didn't really help either.

“We made your bed, if you'd like to go to sleep,” Sterling said after a pause.

They'd both been eyeing Gilles with varying degrees of concern and suspicion; their eyes burned on his skin.

Bed… That would be good. If only he could manage the trip up the stairs. His stomach wouldn't like it. Even just sitting up was nearly unbearable.

“Maybe… maybe in a moment.” Gilles shifted yet again and laced his hands over his stomach.

“You're terribly shy, you know,” Hewitt said. “If you tell us what's wrong, we can help. And you needn't be embarrassed. I told you, we never get sick. Looking after you is a bit of a novelty, to be honest.”

“Hewitt,” Sterling hissed.

They kept saying that, that there was no need to be embarrassed. Something in Gilles just couldn't believe it. All his ailments seemed so childlike, something he should have outgrown.

“Or you can keep your secrets,” Hewitt said. “But we didn't find anything particularly scandalous while we were looking for your bedding—”

“Hewitt.”

Gilles would have smiled if his stomach wasn't bothering him so much. The pressure seemed to have reached a peak, but he wasn't getting used to it at all, just stuck with the sensation of a hearthstone lodged firmly in his abdomen. Instinct took him and he doubled over, both arms wrapped around himself. “Sorry; I'm alright,” he said to ward off any words of concern. “I just… need a m-moment.”

“Now what's wrong with you?” Hewitt asked. “Are you dizzy?”

“It's really nothing. I get like this somet—” Gilles cut himself off with a hard swallow— “s-sometimes when I have a fever. My…” He bit his lip and released it. Why couldn't he just be normal? Why was this happening? “My stomach's a bit upset.”

“That can happen,” Sterling said. “Do you need to be sick?”

“I'd rather not.”

“But do you n—”

“No, Sterling.” Gilles grit his teeth and swallowed again, squeezing his eyes shut. “I'm sorry.”

“Sh, it's alright.”

“Do you ever get angry?”

“Oh, he does,” Hewitt chimed in. “Probably won't ever get angry at you, though.”

“Mm…” Who were these people? Gilles’ head spun, thoughts aimless and shallow. He might as well have been falling, picking up speed with every passing second. “I think I need to stay here,” he said. “I… I'll lie down properly in a moment, if— if you could just…” Words failed him then, and a terrible coughing fit jarred his ribs and his stomach, rattled his head.

“Yes,” Sterling said. His clothing raised against the fabric of the armchair as he stood. “We won't go far. Call us when you need us.”

Gilles didn't say a word.

#as usual my italics didnt copy over and im too lazy to fix it so just use your imagination #ethereous writes #ethereous ocs #gilles is my BABY

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