#and it doesn't really matter because clearly I do shit on my own... slowly... painfully... poorly... but I do it | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

kiridarling · 4 years ago

Text

"𝐒𝐈𝐌𝐎𝐍 𝐒𝐀𝐘𝐒."

izuku midoriya | friends older brother!izuku + college student!reader + f!reader + squirting + size kink + more! minors dni! does this count? as dark content?

— 2.4k words

"It's simple: I'll stuff you full with two fingers, but they only do what simon says. Understand?"

“[Y/N?]”

“Uh, hey Izuku!” You smile, grip tightening around the strap to your bag. Izuku fills the doorway, broad shoulders kissing both sides of the frame, and you can’t help but feel minuscule in comparison. “Kota around?”

Izuku shakes his head, peering over his shoulder for a second before returning his attention to you with a click of his tongue. "Uh, no I think he's out with Eri. They should be back soon though...it's been a few hours."

"Shit," you curse under your breath. Your friend's older brother smiles in apology, biceps straining under his white tee.

"You need something?"

"Yeah," you nod, forcing your eyes back onto his, instead of the broad chest presented at eye-level. "Just my precalc book."

Izuku waits a second, thinking, before his palm claps against the doorframe and he's walking deeper into the house. "Come on in, then! I'm sure he won't mind."

You step into the house after him, and it's...weird. Weird being with your Kota's older brother without Kota there, because despite the thousands of times you've been in your best friend's house and as well as you know the greenette, you and Izuku have never been alone.

"Find it?"

You've been rummaging through Kota's room for a solid ten minutes and somehow still empty-handed, moving slowly in fear you'll see something you can't unsee. And hey, with Kota and Eri dating, anything's possible.

"No," you sigh, ready to give up rather than find a strap-on. "It's fine. I can just come to get it tomorrow or something."

"How soon do you need it?" The greenette asks, his forearms leaning against his younger brother's dresser. You take a seat on Kota's comforter instead, silently hoping you'll find your book by accidentally breaking your tailbone against the damn thing; you're a little disappointed when all your ass comes in contact with is a plush mattress.

"Like, tonight," you grieve, knowing that tomorrow morning, your math grade will suffer severely. "'S fine though. There's always another test."

Izuku snorts at that, crossing the room to take a seat next to you. The bed whines under his weight but doesn't collapse, and you feel a little bad to say you're surprised. Voice full of reminiscence, he sighs, "Ah, the college days."

You giggle, "You act like they're lightyears behind you."

"They might as well be," the greenette shrugs, before reaching behind your waist to steal a pillow. "Couldn't tell you a thing I learned."

You shrug trying to remember the last time you’ve felt prepared for a test, “Neither can I.”

Izuku chuckles and nods, though you’re convinced it’s because he has nothing to say. An awkward silence takes possession of the room by the neck, and you shift awkwardly, unsure of what to say that could give you an excuse to leave, or at least redirect his strange yet heavy gaze. As Izuku licks his lips, you notice how close you two actually are, as he's big to the point where your shoulders almost brush, but not quite.

"How um, hows your boyfriend?"

You scoff at that, but you suppose it's been a while since you and the greenette have talked one on one—and the last time you had, you weren't single.

"Oh uh, he's fine, I guess," you brush it off with a shrug and a wave, cringing at the thought of how that ended. "I don't know. We broke up a while ago, so."

"Oh sorry!" Izuku flushes and throws a hand over his mouth, and you giggle.

"You're fine. He was an asshole anyway," you chuck a laugh, but it's not really that funny. Frankly, he's left too many emotional scars to count, along with the ones healing from past exes. "I...don't have a good reputation when it comes to picking boyfriends."

“So, I’ve heard—no offense,” he says sheepishly, though you don't blame him. You've definitely had a few surprise visits caused by a nasty break-up or two, knowing this is the place you'll probably find both of your best friends hiding out. When Izuku speaks again, it’s borderline awkward as his eyes dart around the room, cheeks puffed and lips pursed in apprehension. “Found...anyone new?”

You frown, “Anyone new.”

“Yeah!” Izuku exclaims, and it’s almost encouraging. “Like a new boyfriend.”

“Oh,” you laugh, shaking your head. “Um, no. Like I said, I don’t have much luck with that type of stuff.”

Izuku snorts, rolling his eyes before he’s adjusting himself to lay on the pillow, half of his body upright. “I bet you do. You might not realize it, but you do.”

Now it’s your turn to snort and roll your eyes, leaning back on your hands with a huff. "You're just being nice, Izuku."

"No, seriously!" He props himself higher so you can see he really is serious, evergreen eyes locked and deadset, "Like—okay, and this might be a TMI or something, but how do they, y'know, and then be dicks, y'know?"

"They don't."

"They don't...what?"

"They don't...make me cum," you heave with great depression, despite the seemingly surface-level complaint. With wrists tightening around your ankles, you hate uncomfortably in the silence, and watch Izuku's mouth open and close, before it opens and closes again.

"Like...never?"

"No." You give him a weird look.

"But what about your last boyfriend? I thought he—"

"I don't know what you're looking for, Izuku," you chuckle, shaking your head. The greenette seems more pained than he is shocked, eyes wide with a big fat pout in place of a neutral face. "It's not like I haven't had an orgasm before. Just...not with someone else."

"That's not the same!" Izuku defends, slowly becoming more animated than you've ever seen him. "It's like...more passionate with another person, you know? And that makes everything a whole lot hotter."

"Thanks," you huff, mood souring more than it already has. Izuku's mouth stills once he realizes what he's essentially bragging, guilt clouding his face. As you exhale out of your nose, you can't escape feeling bad for snapping. "Look. I'm perfectly fine with being the only person to be able to make myself cum. It's not that deep."

"You sound like you expect no one to be able to," Izuku snorts with a raised eyebrow, shoulders bumping against yours. "You've just...had bad boyfriend luck. That doesn't mean no one's capable of doing it."

"Well," you click your tongue bitterly, because you've heard all of this before, and you're utterly tired of hearing it. "They've been able to make all their exes orgasm. And it's not like it even matters, relationships aren't abou—"

"I could do it."

"I—" you blink, shaking your head at the pure audacity of his request? Suggestion? Comment? Whatever the fuck. "Excuse me?"

"I—wait, listen," Izuku rushes like you're getting ready to book it the fuck out of there, sitting upright so his body is turned to yours. "You're...it's...I've been told I'm good with my fingers, right?"

And what a way to start a story.

"Izuku, in the nicest way, every guy is like this," you scoff, "He thinks he's all that just because a chick or two said you made her feel really good. I don't need to fake another orgasm."

"You won't have to," Izuku purrs cockily, leaning forwards on his hands and making you wonder where all of this is coming from. "Let's play a game of simon says, yeah?"

"Simon—" your chest collapses with a giggle of pure disbelief, "I'm not that much younger than you, you know."

"I wouldn't be offering if you were," the greenette reasons, eyes growing dark slowly, if any. "Yes or no?"

"What's the catch?" You bargain and Izuku huffs a laugh. You can feel it on your face.

"No catch, Pretty," he hums, and you can feel the vibrations in your fingers. "It's simple: I'll stuff you full with two fingers, but they only do what simon says. Understand?"

You gulp as Izuku lifts a hand—and a very large one, at that—and it's jagged and rough with scars and bulky knuckles. His free hand makes you grab his wrist and you're fingertips barely touch, but you’re pulling his hand south by your own volition.

“Gotta take your pants off first,” he chuckles, and you flush red. That would be helpful, yes.

It doesn't take long before they're off though, flung towards a corner somewhere—and this is when you realize that maybe, you shouldn't do this on Kota's bed.

"Izuku maybe we shoul—"

But before you can say anything else, he's pushing your panties to the side and shoving both fingers into you at once, eyebrows folding as he groans under his breath from the sensation.

"So wet already? Clearly, someone likes this more than they let on."

"I—what the fuck happened to simon says!" You yelp, but his fingers don't move. Izuku just beams like the deceptive asshole he is.

"Game starts now," is all he says, and you're huffing, propping yourself up on your elbows. Izuku's fingers might as well have knocked the wind out of you, lungs struggling to find room to breathe as he curls his fingers to tap directly onto your g-spot with worrying precision.

"Simon says um, move please," you grunt out. Izuku's fingers stay still, and you frown, kicking him in the thigh. "Hey, I sai—"

"You gotta be more specific than that, Pretty,” he says with a grin. You snarl. "Tell me what you want me to do to you."

"I..." you start, but it's fucking embarrassing, and you know Izuku feels you twitch around him when you say: "Can you um, fuck me with your fingers."

He doesn't move.

"Simon says fuck me with your fingers, asshole," you grunt with narrowed eyes, though they widen when he starts to pump his fingers in and out, chuckling when you shiver from the dexterity.

Except, his fingers move painfully slow, and you find yourself gritting your teeth at the speed when he doesn't make an effort to go any faster. You click your tongue—he's really going to make you request everything, isn't he?

"Simon says faster," you growl with a challenge burning in your eyes, and Izuku meets them with equal fire, fingers finally forgetting their torturous pace for a much quicker one. Finally.

"Fuck! Simo—simon says right t-there," your legs spread wider and Izuku makes more room for himself in between. He hums with dark eyes as you whimper and whine his name, writhing in his younger brother's sheets like they belong to him—like you belong to him.

"I wanna touch you all the time, you know," Izuku grunts before cursing at the sight of your wetness around his fingers. "Make you feel good, make you mine. I don't think Kota would approve, though."

"We don—" you wheeze and he places a hand next to your head, towering over you. The angle only gets better, your hands digging into the sheets as Izuku's fingers curl just right. "We don't have to tell him."

Izuku chuckles at that, chest rumbling as he leans in closer to the point where your noses nearly touch. "You dirty fucking girl."

You moan at that, hips bucking into his hand. You're so close and yet you need more, something else to push you over the edge for good. With a whimper behind a bitten lip, you say, "S-Simon says rub my clit."

Izuku's thumb falls upon your clit and you squeal from the amount of initial pressure, thighs jolting from the white-hot waves that pump through your bloodstream as his thumb moves in small, ever-quickening circles that have you gripping for Kota's comforter for dear life.

"Iz—Izuku I'm gonna—g-gonna cum," you pant, and he's ripping his hands away before you can even reach a hint of the edge. You glare at him out of pure and utter betrayal, and he beams.

"Simon didn't say, did he?"

Your mouth flies open before your brain has time to process it all, "Simon says make me cum, p-please, I need to—fuck!"

Izuku's stuffing you full with his fingers in an instant and his thumb returns to its rightful place.

"Yeah? You gonna cum for me, Pretty?" His hands somehow find the energy to speed up to the point where the clap of his palm against your pussy fills the room, slowly being replaced by a lewd squelch as you tighten around him. He chuckles when all you can do is whimper, grappling for his big shoulders as he says, "Oh, yes she is. So fucking close I can feel it."

You let out a broken moan and in a blink you're squirting, body buzzing as you make a big wet mess of Kota's sheets. It doesn't even register how screwed you two are because you're too busy wading waist-deep in the sea of Izuku's eyes, chest heaving in time with his as he gives you a look of pure awe. Not at what you've done, per se, but at you, and that's when you understand it—the passion.

"We should uh, probably clean up," Izuku flushes as he chuckles, cheeks pressing into the crescents of his face, and you find yourself smiling along with him. With a final click, he pulls his fingers out, gesturing to a circular wet spot on his now see-through shirt. "You made quite a mess."

Fuck the passion.

You shove your fists into his chest and Izuku laughs, pushing your hands away with his one dry free hand, wiping the wet one on Kota's sheets.

"Izuku!" You gasp, looking at the new and improved addition to your mess. The greenette shrugs.

"What? We're going to have to clean it anyway," he shrugs before assuming the dry spot to your right and nestling his forearms in the pillow to peck you on the forehead. Then he freezes.

"I uh...am I allowed to do that?"

You roll your eyes, grabbing him by his squirt-soaked shirt to pull him into a kiss. Izuku hums at that, suppressing the urge to smile as his big hands find their way to your waist. He's an annoyingly good kisser

"No, you're not," you say with swollen lips once you pull away. Izuku grins, teeth digging into his bottom lip as his eyes flutter to yours for a moment, before they're staring into your soul again.

"I like you," he boldly states, albeit quietly, like he's talking to your eyes and nothing else. "Like, a lot."

"I—" You start, but you're interrupted by a click of a lock and the sound of the front door opening. Shit.

"Oi! We're home, Izuku!"

#— 𝐈𝐙𝐔𝐊𝐔 #deku smut #izuku smut #midoriya smut #bnha smut #bnha imagines

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boytouya · 4 years ago

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𝙁𝙞𝙧𝙨𝙩 𝙇𝙤𝙫𝙚 / 𝙇𝙖𝙩𝙚 𝙎𝙥𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙜

warning: short mention of t-shots/needles, slight angst

words: 1.1k

request: “Hi Cloud! I hope you’re having a great day :) Could i request Dabi with a black, transman boyfriend who is attempting to subtly ask Dabi to marry him and Dabi catches the hints but just… doesn’t want to be the one proposed to first (if that makes any sense) so he keeps acting oblivious for like months and eventually reader has had enough and just pins him down, slides to his knees and is like, “Dabi, I’m gonna die if you don’t marry me” and Dabi’s just a blushing mess because… why is reader on the floor crying with desperation for him? He didn’t think people could want him, let alone so badly. -🌨”

a/n: this has been sitting in my inbox for so long but i finally got to it! i’m so sorry for the long wait. still experimenting with my writing style... so i’m sorry if it’s wonky. i don’t proofread or have anyone to beta read my fics, so some words may be out of place. i’m sorry!

Dabi never considered himself unlovable, he was just unsure whether he had the potential to be loved. To cherish another being, nurture their soul and protect them from the raw, frostbitten anger of the world till his every last breath; he wondered if he had the ability to do that. So he continuously plays dumb, pretends to never fully understand what you’re asking because, quite frankly, he’s afraid. He’s afraid his love for you will overflow. Afraid the flames separating your bond from the cruelty of the universe will set the bond itself aflame and burn it into ashes and stardust. Then all he’d have left are the pieces of you, the ashes he can’t seem to wash off his skin.

Yet he holds your hand anyway. Admiring the contrast in your skin, pressing his hand into yours for as long as he can-to get as much contact as he can- feeling your thumb run over his knuckles and the tips of your ring finger tracing along his jagged skin. You hold his hand like it’s nothing. You know he could burn you whenever he pleases, if ever. But here you are. The sweat on his palm feels like thick layers upon layers of gasoline. But here you are.

You ask him again and again, with so much subtly it’s almost painfully obvious. Like clockwork, his mouth already on autopilot, Dabi’s lips part and his voice (which suddenly sounds so foreign to his own ears) escapes before he can actually consider it. He’s afraid he’d accept a million times over if he gave himself time to think. Truly, he does love you. His love for you has his heart full until it pops. And you see it every day, you hear it everyday. It explodes in the middle of the night, when even the stars expose their vulnerability, when he holds onto you and expresses his gratitude through whispers, dreams, and sleepless nights.

And maybe he wants to be in control of the situation. He wants to hear you say yes, watch you nod with stars in your eyes when finally feel how the universe revolves around you. How the Sun makes it its mission to land on you. And it does it so beautifully, the way highlights your skin just right, and browns your skin further.

“Dabi,” You begin, slotting your right hand above your boyfriend's shoulder and the other on its opposite. He has nowhere else to look but at you. He leans his head back against the wall, staring through the curtains of loose strands of jet black hair. Straight into your eyes and naturally curled eyelashes, nowhere for the eye to travel besides the expanse of skin, hair, and full lips. Those of which he’d kissed a million times before, and if it weren't for the thigh you had slotted between his own, he’d lean in to kiss you. An exasperated sigh sounds from that very area, making the villain snap his gaze back upward. “I’m begging you. If you don’t marry me right now, I’ll die.”

There’s so much desperation laced in your voice, and although Dabi is doing his best to mask the trembling deep within his bone marrow with a sly grin and lidded eyes, he can’t help but flush over the small amount of healthy skin on his cheeks. Cherry red and pairing with his purple scars beautifully, blending up and outward into small freckles and silver staples. He’s always been so beautiful.

He whistles, relaxing his shoulders so they melt into the wall and his body slumps against the thigh keeping him upright. In all honesty he doesn't know how to respond, opting for the safest sound he can make. Of all people, you want to be with him? He was never anything special. There would always be someone better than him. But you didn’t want someone better, you wanted Dabi.

You wanted to place a ring on his finger, you wanted to wipe the windows of his soul clean and use nothing but your blood sweat and tears to do so. You wanted to love him until separated by death, but you knew, even after that, you’d still be smitten. You wanted his everything. His heart, which had never belonged to anyone else. His lips, which you’d kissed a thousand times. His eyes, the same ones you often found yourself lost in, and mind. You never understood what was going on in that head of his, but it didn’t matter. Even if he was spiraling out of control, he’d always find a way to come back around to you.

His heart pounds against his chest, as if the adrenaline coursing through his veins sent his heart plummeting from a dangerous height into a field of flowers. Flowers bloomed because of you, flowers you planted and loved until they grew strong and stable. Stable enough to keep his heart from breaking on impact. Okay, shit. He really, truly does love you. And clearly you feel the same way toward him. He wanted to wake up and see you by his side, with a sleepy grin and disheveled head covering halfway off your head. He wanted to burn down cities with your hand in his, light up the sky with blue flames that burned ten times brighter around you. Of course, it would be an unconventional marriage with unconventional people and even weirder traditions. But that’s exactly what he wants, he wants to be with you.

He wanted to be with you when you’re sitting hunched over on the toilet, a needle in your hand as he helps you take your first T-shot. He wanted to be with you when you had bad days. He wanted to be with you when you had good ones. He wants to help you wash your hair, he wants to spend hours staring at you while you go about your daily life. You were his boyfriend, the light of his life, the one person he saw himself devoted to. You, you, you….

“Alright, you win,” Dabi says finally, shimmying through the confines of your arms and pulling something out of his back pocket. His lips stay pursed up into it’s finally out and on display. A ring, definitely stolen, with a custom band and large diamonds around its perimeter. The band was clear, but the ashes molded into it looked almost like marble. His lips twist into a sly grin, the dimples of his cheeks deepening as he slowly shifts the ring between three fingers. It’s beautiful, definitely worth more than your yearly salary, and you can tell Dabi asked for it to be made especially for you before stealing it. “I’ll marry you. But only if you marry me first.”

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babieyangyang10 · 5 years ago

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violent ends (chapter 4)

(chapter 4)

series masterlist

genre: hunger games!au

pairing: huang renjun x oc, na jaemin x oc

warnings: mentions of prostitution, language, violent deaths, fighting, angst, fluff, + possible nsfw.

previous | next

"So, each of the districts get their own floors. Since you're from two, you get the second floor." Doyoung explains as we step out of the elevator.

As we walk into the apartment, I stare in awe at the glamorous quarters. There are many giant glass columns and a random display of silver trees and rocks.

"Here is the living room and your rooms are over here. How about you freshen up for dinner?" suggests Doyoung.

In my room, I am met by a bed with a silky, soft comforter. I make my way into the spacious bathroom and hop into the shower. Inside, there was a panel with hundreds of buttons that regulated water temperature, pressure, and even provided massaging sponges.

After finishing, a heater dried my hair and body completely. I pressed another button and a box began sending electrical currents through my scalp, instantly untangling my hair.

Returning the bedroom in comfortable clothes, I see a strange-looking remote on the bed-side table. Intrigued, I begin pressing random buttons. As a result, the window showcasing the lights and building of the Capitol changes into different sceneries.

First, there was a city street filled with cheerful families walking together. After pressing a different button, a dry and deserted desert appeared on the screen.

Switching it once again, a scene showing several mountains peaking through behind a forest of trees. I felt a pulling-feeling in my chest. My throat also feeling slightly choked-up.

During the holidays, every year Taeyong would take me into the mountains of our district. He would pretend to be my knight in shining armor, while I was the princess in distress. He'd never tell anyone, but sometimes it was even the other way around.

It's also where he taught me how to hunt and find my own food. How to determine between what is the good food and what is the not so very good food.

It was the only time I remember us ever truly being kids. Not soldiers, just a thirteen and seven year old exploring the big, exciting world together.

Then everything went to shit after Taeyong went to the games. That year, the Gamemakers had chosen a forest for the terrain. However, it was filled with dangerous wild dogs, wolves, and spiders. The spiders had enhanced speed and were extremely venomous. However, the wild dogs were capable of changing their form and copying the voices of the tributes.

Because of this, the entire Career pack was slaughtered alive. Taeyong was the only one who managed to escape. Wounded and without supplies, a twelve year old boy from District 11 named Dong Sicheng had found and formed a alliance with him. Sicheng had shared all of his supplies and even nursed him back to health.

On the last day, they were approached by the last remaining tribute. Taeyong, spotted him and fired an arrow straight into his heart. As he turned around to check on Sicheng, he was met with the boy clutching a harpoon, longed deep in his chest.

Dong Sicheng slowly died in Taeyong's arms.

After the cannon went off, the Captitol announced over the speakers that Lee Taeyong of District 2 was the winner of the 64th Hunger Games.

No longer did he take me to the mountains. Honestly, we never did anything together. Since then, the closest I ever got to be to him was the one time when the rest of my family stood by him during his stop in District 2 during his press tour.

I've always wondered how he felt. Wondered if he blames himself for what happened. However, I never wanted to intrude. It's not like I ever got the opportunity to ask him, anyways.

However, since I'm going in the games soon. I hope to eventually work up the courage to sit down and have a real talk with him. The real Taeyong, not the victor or mentor he acts like in front of everyone else.

I opened the door to see Doyoung, Renjun, and Taeyong sitting at the dining room table.

Once I sat down in the acid-green chair, Taeyong began talking, "The plan for tomorrow is the same for the both of you. You go to group training. Spend time practicing something your weakest at. Swing a mace. Throw a spear. Tie a decent knot. It doesn't really matter, just save showing off for the private session with the Gamemakers. Are we clear?"

Renjun and I both nod our heads at him.

"Well, have the two of you gotten to know any of the other tributes yet?" pries an interested Doyoung.

"I haven't. Although, Athena seems to be checking out the competition, already." Renjun answers, nonchalantly.

"Wonderful!" Doyoung innocently chimed, "It's never too early to start considering possible alliances. Are you going to ask anyone to join the two of you?"

"Oh, we're not-" Renjun and I said at the same time. We're laughing as if he's said the funniest joke in the world.

"We've always maintained our own completely different strategies. Renjun prefers to be the predator. There's no doubt in my mind that if he does want to work with others, it'll end up being an alliance with the other Careers. " Renjun just silently nods in agreement.

"And what about you?" asked Doyoung.

"Let's just say I prefer not to walk around with a huge target on my head. I want to team up with someone well-liked, so we can get resources through sponsors." I explained.

"Like Na Jaemin?" sneers Renjun.

"You know people have been calling him the Prince of Panem. He's made quite the impression, already." Doyoung chimes, "And he's not the only one. People have been raving about you, Athena. They've even started calling you, the Golden Girl."

"That's good." Taeyong quietly adds to the conversion, "If you keep this up you'll get lots of sponsors."

Doyoung suddenly blurts, "In fact, most people think Jaemin and you would make a good couple."

At this remark, Taeyong drops his knife loudly on the table, while Renjun chokes on his drink. My mouth begins opening and closing like a fish, struggling to come up with a reply.

"We're done for tonight. You two should go to bed now." Taeyong orders, not hiding his agitation.

Quickly, we all return to our rooms. I crash on my bed and stare up at ceiling.

Jaemin and I as a couple?

Where did they even dream up that possibility from? I mean, we only had one barely two-minute conversation. People really do amaze me sometimes.

My thoughts are broken by a barely-there knock at my door. I groan and force myself off the bed.

I roll my eyes, before opening the door and saying, "Renjun, would you kindly please fuck off?"

However, the person standing there was definitely not Renjun. I tilt my chin up to see no other than Lee Taeyong, towering over me.

"Oh, sorry." I frown, embarrassed.

"Can I come in?" He politely asks me.

I step to the side and allow him inside. Once he's fully in, I closed the door behind him.

"Finally decided to talk to me, huh?"

He just stays silent, just letting me say whatever I please.

"You know, I thought you'd at least be happy for me. I mean, you of all people should know that this is the best thing that could ever happen to me." The emotions I've been holding in for the past 10 years are finally coming to the surface.

Taeyong looks at me with pity, "Athena, there are some things you don't know. Things that the school or our parents never taught us."

"What are you even talking about?" I pressure.

"After the games, you couldn't see me for a reason." He took a heavy breath, "Sometimes, if a victor is considered desirable, the president gives them as a reward or allows people to buy them for money. It’s not just me either, the same thing happened to Finnick Odair a year later."

"What do you mean, 'buy'?" I swallow.

"For sex."

It’s quiet.

"I was given no choice. He said that he would kill both of our parents and even you if I didn't obey." His eyes begin tearing up, "Athena, you don't know how much I wanted to come see you and teach you things."

"Taeyong." I whimper.

I felt sick to my stomach. How could they do that to him? He was just a thirteen year old kid. Even worse, how could I let myself hate and be jealous of him, when all along he was the reason I was still even living?

"I know I'm a horrible brother, but please listen to me when I say the Capitol uses everyone, including you. You have been taught that this, the games, are normal and something to be proud of. You haven't even seen how horrible it is for the lower districts. They can barely make it through one day without starving. They have basically nothing, while the Capitol is feeding off them."

Anger rises up in me. I look around at all the expensive things in the room. Think about the large amount of fancy food I've consumed while in the Capitol. I'm furious, because I've been lied to and tricked. Furious for Taeyong and all the others the Capitol has taken advantage of.

I jump into my brothers arms and completely break down. "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean what I said Taeyong. It was stupid. I'm stupid."

"It's okay. You didn’t know." He shushes, while holding me.

“Listen to me. If you-“ he corrects himself, “When you win this thing, I’m not going to let him do anything to you, okay?”

“Taeyong, can I tell you something? I’ve just never got the chance to.” I ask.

He nods.

“What happened to Sicheng wasn’t your fault. You understand that, right?”

He painfully looks down at the floor, before slowly nodding.

“I’m serious, Taeyong. It’s not your fault.”

By the time he looks up, I am able to clearly see him. Underneath the years of pain, hidden away was a vulnerable boy. The tears come falling down his cheeks.

We spend the rest of the night talking about our past, telling stories. Both laughing and crying together.

My brother and I.

#nct au #nct smut #nct imagines #nct #nct dream #nct dream smut #jaemin #jeno #renjun #haechan #taeyong #doyoung

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starrysebastians · 5 years ago

Text

Of blood, sweat and mishaps

Summary : you’ve had a long journey in order to fight your way back home, and home sometimes holds surprises. Destroyer!Chris x reader, description of violence and sex. (i’ve never written smut before i have literally no idea what i’m doing don’t mind me)

This was written for @baezen’s the other guys writing challenge, with the prompt : i really wish you told me your mother was in town ; thank you for giving love to these other guys, I hope this will do!!

It’s already dark outside when you leave the building, duffel bag hastily swung over your shoulders without you even registering its weight on your bruised body — you’ve been carrying this thing for over a month and you’ve become immune to it. Rather, your shoulders already constantly hurt and it doesn’t matter anymore because you just want to go home and spend an entire hour in a hot bath to wash away all the sweat and blood and dirt of the last few weeks.

"Hey!" You stop in your tracks, a tilt of your head being the only sign that you have actually heard and acknowledged the voice of your colleague rushing behind you, the precinct doors slamming behind the both of you. "Are you sure you don’t need a lift?"

Sam catches up with you, a little out of breath, probably because he took the stairs and tried to beat you to the door. You smile, shaking your head. He’s looking you up and down and you know he wants to say you clearly are in no state to drive, or even to be standing upright. And driving you to your appartement isn’t a problem because it’s on his way to his own.

"It’s okay. I think I’m gonna crash at Chris’, it’s closer anyway." You shift from one foot to another, transferring the weight of your body and your weapons on the leg that hurts the least. Sam’s face morphs into understanding, a knowing smile stretching on his lips. You want to roll your eyes, but you can’t help but chuckle.

"Right." He nods, taking a step back, then lifts up his chin. "Take the week off, you deserve it."

"Wasn’t planning on asking for permission, but I’m glad to know my break was approved."

He snorts, probably because you both know it’s true that you never ask for permission and you’re one of those agents who are literally their own boss, to their partners and bosses’ despair. It usually works out, and you’re one of their best. You’re about to cross the street when Sam’s voice echoes again in the busy street, slightly muffled by the sound of cars, honks, suitcases rolling on the ground, hitting holes and bumps on the pavement, the same ones that make people trip on their own feet.

"He was worried about you." You’re not facing your literal partner in crime anymore, and you don’t turn around to show him your little smile, but he probably knows anyway.

Green lights turn to red and you breathe in before crossing the street, taking in the sky and the stars starting to appear and twinkle around a full moon, clouds almost perfectly still on this day — it was sunny, apparently, but you spent the first half of the day fighting your way home, the other half writing a report and delivering long-awaiting data and compromising documents to the Bureau. Then you had to spend another hour promising everyone you were alright and not injured to the point where you had to go to a hospital, and now you could finally go home.

And in that case home isn't necessarily your cosy apartment, the one you had just finished re-painting and decorating before you left for your mission, but as cheesy at it sounds, home might have become a person.

It takes you less than fifteen minutes to reach his apartment complex, but at least seven to cross the stairs when you realize the elevator still hasn't been fixed, painfully dragging your battered body up the wooden steps, a hand pressed to your ribs and stomach, and finally, another three minutes to dig out your spare key from that little pocket in your duffel bag, hand shaking as you miss the keyhole a few times before getting it right.

You don’t bother knocking or making your presence officially known because even though you've been gone for a month no one else has that key and he probably heard that your mission was over anyway. The slam of the door echoes behind you and you audibly groan, voicing your pain and exhaustion for the first time today.

"Honey I’m home," you call out sarcastically, letting your duffel bag hit the floor with a loud thump, slowly shrugging your leather jacket off — it falls from the coat hanger as you turn around but you don’t bother picking it up. Your body wouldn’t let you. "Remember when I said I was going on a small mission that would only take a few days? Well I was wrong."

Something drops on the kitchen table. A knife, a fork, a spoon — whatever, but something drops and clings and you hear him cough. A chair scrapping against the floor. You enter the bathroom. You smirk at your reflection in the mirror, splashing your face with water and watching droplets of blood trail down your cheeks and neck, hitting your already stained shirt.

"Turns out, it was the same group of freaking mad scientists we thought we dismantled last time. You know, that time Sam got shot?" You turn the faucet off. "So I had to stay undercover the whole month." Hands all dried up, hair tied into a messy bun. A band-aid covering the cut on your forehead. Cream on your nose and bloody lip. "So. Yeah. That wasn’t planned."

You exit the bathroom, passing the entrance again, carefully avoiding tripping on your discarded combat boots lying on the wooden floor. They're full of mud and there is probably a lot of blood that you can't see. It’s usually very neat and clean here, all sorts of shoes lined up and in their place, a spotless wooden floor that contrasts with the white walls, and Chris would probably scold you if you didn't have a valid excuse right now.

You sigh, feet following the noise. "And my cover got blown yesterday. It was honestly one of the hardest missions I have ever been on." You shiver, pausing for a second as you close your eyes and try to shake flashbacks and images off your mind. You clear your throat, plastering a smile on your face even though Chris can't see you yet.

"Anyway — " There’s a small table right at the entrance of the living room, where you drop your gun and badge with a deafening bang.

There’s a small shit that’s being muttered over and over again but that you don’t really register, still not looking up. " — now that I killed them all I’m allowed to discuss secret details — remember their boss, Helmer? That was a nasty fight, ugh. I had to shoot him at point-blank range and I think I’ve still got pieces of his stupid brain in my hair." You shudder. "Ugh." You massage the back of your neck, rolling your head from left to right, cracking your bloody knuckles, while taking in the smell of his cooking with closed eyes.

You follow the smell, smiling softy as you enter the kitchen.

"Hey!" Chris rushes out of the room at the same time you step in, eyes wide as he takes in your form, his hands gently grabbing your forearms, caging you. Gently, tenderly, as his fingers run on your skin, but with a grip that feels urgent.

"Hey," you reply more softly, your voice still raspy. You blink, head titled to the side, grabbing onto him as well. Your hands find his toned stomach, relishing the warmth you have missed as you sigh contently. You refrain from resting your forehead on his chest, remembering the blood still splattered on your face and burning your skin, and the smell that has been invading your senses ever since you escaped literal hell.

So you gently cup his face with your hand, thumb brushing against his skin before stepping aside in order to enter the kitchen. Chris' arms reach out to you, in an attempt to keep you from entering the room, but you slip out of his embrace.

"Wait — "

"Oh — "

Your breath gets stuck in your threat, everything going still around you. You can’t even gasp or express your surprise, because every single bone and cell in your body has gone completely rigid. You stand here by the door, Chris' arms still outstretched in vain behind you, a new set of eyes staring back at you.

"You're… — " You gulp. No. “I didn't know you had company.”

Not like this. It can't go like this. This gaze is unblinking, confused, curious, disgusted as it seems to scrutinize your outfit — ripped combat pants looking huge compared to your small feet and their dirty socks stained with mud and dust. Crumpled white shirt — more red than white. There's a wound on your stomach that won't stop bleeding. Arms painted red, blue and black with scratches and bumps and dirt smeared across your skin. Swollen lips parted and face sporting what probably looks like the stupidest facial expression ever.

Your hand find the back of your neck, angrily scratching your already chafed skin as you feel the discomfort settle into your chest, until you hear Chris clear his throat behind you, hand gently peeling your fingers off your skin, then sliding down to rest on the small of your back. You wince and it doesn't go unnoticed.

"Y/N," Chris sports a smile that looks very painful, mentally and physically. "Mom. Mom, Y/N. My colleague." A side glance. “And girlfriend.”

There’s a small beat of silence where you think you’re going to pass out. She manages to look so composed despite her eyes literally screaming terror and horror and get this woman out of my son’s appartement ; and you, the FBI agent, look like a deer caught in headlights, a stuttering mess, shoulders dropped in despair. Maybe she would do a better job at being an undercover agent.

"I - shouldn’t shake your hand. Or, touch you...at all. I think you can guess why. See why. Clearly see why," your voice wavers. "But, um. It’s very nice to meet you. Ma’am. I should probably take a shower." You turn around, avoiding Chris' gaze, but only taking a few steps before stopping and turning back to him, resignation painted on your features.

You sigh, and try to whisper as you add : "I didn’t want to go to the hospital but I kinda need you to stitch me up right now." His blue eyes go to your stomach and his hand to his forehead, rubbing it tiredly.

"Yeah," he nods before twisting his body to face his mother, still quietly sitting at the dinner table. "Mom, I need to take care of her. We'll be here in half an hour, okay?"

You don't wait for her answer before heading straight to the bathroom, sitting on the toilet seat with your eyes closed and lips in a thin line. You hear his feet on the bathroom tiles, the sound of his dress shirt ruffling as he crouches down in front of you, palms spreading warmth on your aching thighs.

"Hey," he mutters again, soft eyes looking up through his lashes as you open your own. The beginning of a smile and a small greeting is quickly turned into a wince as his fingers gently lift the hem of your top, to fabric sticking to your skin. "Sorry."

You stay silent, sighing and hissing and biting your lower lip as your eyes stay glued to the ceiling. Chris works in silence, like he always does, and like you always do when the roles are reversed. What is there to talk about? You both know it hurts, you both know the other is sorry that they're hurting you, and it's part of the job. But the silence isn't really about your wounds right now, and you're too mortified to even glance at his face. His bottom lip is probably stuck between his teeth, eyebrows set into a focused frown, hands steady as yours still tremble from this encounter.

"All done." Hands gently pressing a bandage to your wound then sliding back to your thighs, a sigh escaping his lips.

You meet his gaze and there's this small pause where you gaze into someone's eyes and both of you are serious but you don't know if it's truly serious or if you should laugh. You raise your eyebrows, slowly, gradually, until a smirk makes its way on your fellow agent's lips.

"You do have bits of…red stuff…in your hair."

You chortle, throwing your head back, tension in the shoulders easing.

You put your hands on his shoulders as your legs spread to let him get closer to you, between your knees, and as you look down to him and his locks you feel a sense of comfort wash over you - it's been a month, and you’ve missed his hair and the smell of his shampoo.

"You could have warned me," you say. Fingers trail along his neck, beard tickling your palm and fingers. Traces of his last undercover mission are almost gone - shaven head and this sort of big goatee. It wasn’t your favorite look on him ; and now he’s gone back to this softer version of himself.

"Yeah, well, that’s kinda hard when you disappear undercover for a month, right?"

He does have a point. He holds your gaze for a moment, a slight crease between his brows, and you exhale softly, watching as he looks down to your bare stomach, bloody shirt discarded on the cold floor.

"I'm sorry. You know how it works."

"Yeah, I do."

A small pause, where you both get closer, fingers tangling in his hair, tugging, scratching.

"Maybe you can make it up to me."

"I have bits of brain in my hair." Chris' lips find the sensitive spot behind your ear, along your neck, your collarbones. Protests dying away and replaced by whimpers, already desperate for more. It has been a long month.

"Good thing we're in the bathroom, right?"

Hot breath on your skin, face nuzzling between your breasts, down your stomach, carefully avoiding your bandage as your back arches. It doesn't take long for you to find yourself pressed against a tile wall, legs wrapped around his bare body, limbs quivering - pleasure, the exhaustion of the day and the last month.

The sound of water hitting your bodies before crashing on the floor is enough to conceal your frantic heartbeats, strangled whimpers and mutters, feverish pleas. A fuck escapes your lips in the form of a low moan, Chris’ lips crashing into yours in an attempt to hold in the sound. A hungry kiss, sweet, loving, yearning.

"I've missed you - so - much." It comes out as three little gasps, matching each thrust into your body, each time your back hits the wall, each time you feel like you're finally complete. The pull in your chest, heart - it's so fierce. It almost hurts, how much you've missed him.

"Every day - " A muffled moan, fingers digging into the skin of his tense back. "I was just trying - to come back to you."

Skin prickling and tingling as droplets of water follow the curve of your tangled bodies, chills running down your spines, he buries his face into the crook of your neck as the last thrust takes all the strength that was left in your body. And as you're left quivering and panting and heaving, in this daze, there's this shared gaze that holds a thousand moments - everything it took to get here. Dodging, hitting, ducking, kicking, shooting, stabbing. Blood splattered on your face, the taste of iron in your mouth, the smell of death forever rooted in your senses. The lethal instinct that overtakes your whole body and mind when you have to fight your way home.

A throaty laugh resonates in the bathroom, traces of blood on the floor soon wiped clean, sewing kit back to the white closet right above that plant you insisted on buying specifically for his bathroom, ruined shirt thrown into a corner as if the laundry basket wasn't right next to him - you don't comment on that, relishing the feeling of a warm towel on your skin with your eyes closed and head thrown back. Different moans this time, as you get dressed painfully.

It takes a few minutes for someone to talk again, steam still fogging up the room, warmth embracing you. The mirrors are misty, and so is your mind. You roll your head from right to left, make your neck crack, stretch as far as your body lets you.

"Well," Chris drawls out lazily, visibly fighting a smirk. "I have to go back. I suppose you want to stay in my room and avoid further humiliation?"

You huff, dragging a hand across your face. "Scared I'm gonna start another extremely graphic depiction of my mission? I bet she wants to hear more about bits of scattered brain."

You wince as your hear yourself - it's gross.

"I really wish you had told me your mother was in town."

#togwc #destroyer #destroyer!chris x reader #destroyer!chris x you

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setoangel01-fanfiction · 7 years ago

Text

Revival

Set Me Free - Chapter 16 (Previous Chapters)

Rated: T

Fandom: Sing 2016

Pairing: Johnny x Ash (Jash)

Chapter Summary: A sudden change of heart from Buster Moon has incredible ripple effects for all involved.

Fanfiction.net

A03

The name on her phone 'Moon' suddenly popped up on screen and it made Ash physically flinch and almost drop the device out of pure shock. The annoying ringtone blaring and vibrating in her paw didn't have any intention of stopping and it was only succeeding in making this situation harder to deal with for she had such little time to comprehend it all…

…For indeed - Buster Moon was calling her…

Whatever the reason, she wasn't sure.

At first, Ash thought perhaps it was a strange dream. That she'd simply fallen asleep laying on the couch and this was all some twisted nightmare caused by lack of sleep and too much junk food. It would sure as hell make more sense than if this was reality - because none of this made much sense for why the hell would Moon be calling her now of all times?

It was a dream.

It had to be.

Yet the vibration of her phone echoing up through her paw and arm didn't feel dream-like whatsoever. The noisy ringtone Lance had chosen for her so awful she still berated herself for not changing it yet; it even managed to hurt her ears and the pain registering told her indeed…this may just be reality.

Pushing aside any last hesitation and to sate her own curiosity (and against her better judgment), she answered the call with a swipe of her thumb.

"Yeah?" she asked dryly into the receiver; ready for whatever prank or similar awaited her on the other line. Perhaps Moon had to pawn off his phone for money and neither Moon nor the shop bothered to clean the phone out. The animal who eventually bought it was probably just calling everyone in the contacts for shits and giggles…

"...Ash? Ash, is that you? I-I'm pretty sure I got the right number." the voice on the other line rang out and a chill went through her body when indeed - it was the one and only Buster Moon.

"What do you want, Moon?" she muttered out; more so to cover the shock in her voice than anything.

"Oh, Ash! So glad I got a hold of you - I - I-I first just want to apologize for my behavior last time I saw you. I was being completely selfish and not really thinking when I turned you all away last week. I shouldn't have done that…"

"Yeah. No kidding…" Ash didn't even bother hiding the venom in her tone. His blatant disregard for their effort to cheer him up and still believe in him even after he almost got them all killed was really rather, for lack of a better term, fucked up.

Moon went silent for a moment, a soft sigh she easily picked up before he decided to respond, "…I know - I…I'm so sorry; you have to believe me, Ash. I wasn't in my right mind, I was depressed and not thinking clearly to see how I hurt you all and…

I'm sorry. I really am."

"So what? Did you just call to apologize because it's kinda late for that." Ash was physically trembling; the blatant anger in her voice stemming through even in the back of her mind told her to stop, to not speak in such a way but it was all the hurt speaking now…

"I know that. Sorry doesn't really help now, b-but, I wanted to invite you to come perform with the others back at the theater! W-We're going to perform like we were supposed to! Uh, yeah, sure, t-t-there's no money in it, but maybe we'll get some recognition and who knows what'll happen after that?" Buster's stuttering voice was rather strange to listen to; normally one so confident and self-assured and it was weird to hear it squelched.

The more shocking thing though was the content of his words…

…Performing?

NOW?

"What if there was a producer who heard us? Even a local television newscast streaming the whole show throughout the town? It would bring so much more attention to the Moon Theater a-and maybe with their help, we could raise money and do benefit concerts to eventually raise enough and re-build! Anything can happen if we work together!" it appeared his confidence was slowly gaining by her silence.

Ash was frozen on the other line as Buster continued in his ramblings and the excitement leeching out in waves. A persistent bitterness rose in her chest at all of this for she had desperately wanted to put this all behind her - Lance, Moon Theater, all of those associated - Everything. Didn't Moon get that she wanted to move on with her life?!

Now, here was Moon trying to convince her to come back?! And for what!? A maybe? A billion in one possibility that an animal who actually mattered listened to their impromptu concert and just handed them a shitton of money to rebuild an old theater?! Newsflash: They lived in reality, not a freakin' fairytale land! There was no one who would fund their little venture! That dream was dead a long time ago and they all would have to accept it…especially Buster.

Buster's voice that she supposed she'd drowned out was now audible as her thoughts scattered away with a resolute answer she would give him.

"...I know it may not sound like much, but I can hear the passion when you sing. Your new song you wrote!" Ash couldn't help but flinch when he said it; her mind awash with thing she didn't care to think about right now. "Ash, I know you want to sing it and being exposed on the news or something may spark a -"

"What's the fucking point, Moon?" Ash interrupted, the fire in her voice not held back whatsoever. She felt as if she may be the only one out of the whole group who had any grasp of brutal reality.

"...pardon?" he asked, his voice sounding more like his depressed tone back at Eddie's pool house.

"There's no money, no prize, and no theater left. There's nothing, Moon. Unlike you, I need to move on…alright? It's over!"

"...Ash, of course there's still something! W-What about your dreams? Your singing? There's such passion when you're performing onstage! I know there's still a part of you that wants to do this! I believe in you! I -"

Ash hung up the phone with a firm press of her thumb on the red icon.

Heart pounding desperately in her chest at her abrupt decision to do so and all of a sudden, it all overwhelmed her. Eyes flooding with tears and emotions she cared not to deal with right now.

Just what the hell?!

Looking back down at her phone, she saw Moon was trying to call her back but she rejected his call with a swipe of her finger. It drifted back to her contacts - the few she didn't delete from her phone or block the numbers completely. 'Dad' was one that was staring back at her - how easy it would be to call him now and ask for tuition money - to go to college and ditch the dream forever.

Moon's words flitting about in her mind and how insane it all sounded…yet before she could talk herself out of it, she found her finger drifting downward in her contacts and without any hesitation, she called someone else.

"Ash?" the British-accented voice asked on the other line.

"Hey…" Ash muttered. "Uh…what's up?" she still continued to fail miserably at small talk.

"I just got off the phone with Mr. Moon!" Johnny admitted way too happily for her taste and Ash's stomach clenched, "Yeah, I-I tried to call ya but your line was busy."

"...Wait - Moon called you too!?"

"Yeah!"

"...so he's actually serious about this?" she muttered under her breath in complete disbelief. Was she the only sane one left?

"Uh…Yes. I'm pretty sure."

"...Are you shitting me?" Ash grumbled when Johnny basically had to repeat himself for the third time.

"I'm not!" Johnny laughed; his voice was pure unadulterated sunshine and rainbows and as nice as it sounded from the muted chuckle he had last time they spoke, it still kinda irritated her.

"So, wait, did you actually agree to his insane scheme?"

"I don't think it's a scheme, Ash. I think he's serious. He just wants to have a concert and invited us to perform. It sounded genuine to me So I'm gonna go… Didn't you hear him out?"

"Not really - I hung up on him!"

Johnny grew silent on the other end…and wait, was he fucking snickering?!

"...you hung up on him?" he asked in an obviously bemused tone and she could practically see the lopsided smile he wore on the other end as well as the chuckle lacing his voice.

"YES!" Ash replied, not even bothering to hide her slight annoyance. "I didn't believe him - thought he was just rubbing salt in the wound. I mean, like why the hell would he do this now? It doesn't…"

"I believe him."

"Of course you do." she couldn't help but sigh a moment later; Johnny's endless reserves of optimism would never empty, would they?

"Mr. Moon wouldn't lie about this - I could hear it in his voice."

Ash's mouth opened, ready to argue about how strange all of this was but the words wouldn't come. Silence filling the dead air around her and the nonexistent space between her ear and phone where Johnny was strangely quiet. A soft breath left her mouth; head swimming and body felt numb as the words finally came out.

"…But why now? What damn good is this now?! The theater is gone - what are we going to gain by doing any of this?"

"That our dream of singing may come true - even if it's just for a night."

Ash rolled her eyes that time; he sounded so painfully optimistic and cheesy she couldn't help it.

"But where?! There's nothing but a pile of rubble and I doubt Moon acquired another venue this quick considering the sad-sack of a state he was last time we saw him!"

"I-It is at the Moon Theater! We're going to build…or rather re-build a stage of sorts to have a concert! Ya know, just for fun."

"...for fun?" Ash wasn't convinced.

"Mr. Moon says he wants to relive the glory days - make it about the music rather than the venue and -"

"By putting on a show in a bunch of rubble?!" Ash interrupted.

Johnny grew silent for a moment. "…uh, yeah?"

"Please tell me you told him how ridiculous he sounds?!"

"Ash…c'mon, what have we gotta lose?"

"The rest of our sanity, our dignity - our lives! The Moon Theater is just a pile of unsteady rubble! How the hell is that safe to perform on by any stretch of the imagination?!"

"I'm sure we'll make it work out. Now what do you say?" Johnny said and Ash could practically see the shrug of his shoulders from his voice alone.

Ash grew silent on the other line.

This didn't sound right whatsoever and it felt like she would be taking a giant step backwards if she agreed to this absurd lunacy. The more logical side telling her to finish the call, hang up and dial her father like she should. Attend college, graduate, than finally pursue a real career going rather than chasing fruitless dreams and hoping for it not to completely blow up in her face.

Life didn't work out perfect for her - it never did - so why the hell would it go right for her now of all times?

"...Ash?" Johnny's voice filled her ears again and she audibly sighed.

"I'm sorry," the words felt positively foreign on her tongue, "I can't keep living in the past, Johnny. It's time to move forward and this isn't the way for me to do it."

"...not even for a night?"

Ash's mouth froze, wanting so badly to say 'no' and to even hang up on him like she did to Moon but she found she couldn't even muster up the courage for that.

Using her silence as leeway to try and convince her, Johnny continued.

"Ash, you love to play and sing - I saw the passion in your audition even if that no-good ex-boyfriend of yours tried to steal the spotlight," he chuckled and she hated how her heart prickled in her chest, "It was as if you were the only one on stage. I know you want to do this - you don't have to but…I'd sure like it if ya were there..."

Another sigh escaped her parted lips; heart beating uncomfortable in her chest as she stared over at her new guitar - or rather, refurbished, guitar. The strings and promise of a stage beckoning her to say 'yes', but she couldn't do that either.

"I…I need to move on."

It was now Johnny's turn to be silent. It remained that way for a few tense moments before his voice hit her ears again.

"I understand…b-but, if you change your mind, he wants us to meet there tomorrow morning, bright and early. If I don't see ya - good luck in whatever you decide to pursue." it hurt how genuine he sounded while speaking those words.

"Mm-hmm. Yeah. Alright." was all she replied.

"Well, um…I, I hope you 'ave a good day. Bye, Ash."

"Bye." she muttered before his line went dead; the finality of it all hitting her square in the gut.

Ash started at the screen of her phone for what felt like an eternity. Mind awash with too much to fathom that these last…what, seven minutes at most provided?

It was all just too much.

Moon's and even Johnny's words were torturing her; flitting frantically, more than her scattered mind cared to comprehend now or frankly, ever.

They were really going to do a show?

A failure or flop no one would want to see? A random bunch of animals performing in the remains and rubble of a long-failing theater - not exactly high-class entertainment that would draw any positive attention. Hell, the more she thought about it, it was very likely the rest of the rubble would collapse and crush the rest of them in the process. She supposed it would serve them right for not obeying the brutal weight of reality she grunted internally. The thought was not one she entertained long but a side of her that kept pestering her had far greater implications…

…What if?

That two word question that held more weight than she cared to admit bothered her to no end.

The risk-taker, the rebellious porcupine that pushed against all odds part kept putting these doubts in her mind. What if someone who mattered heard? What if the stage didn't collapse and…the show was good?

"No Ash. Stop! No way! I am not thinking of doing this…" she was suddenly talking to herself; feeling like a mental patient who escaped from the psych ward. Wondering if she should sign herself into a loony bin before she REALLY did something stupid - like actually take him up on his offer? Oh, hell no.

"NO!" she spoke again to herself because yes indeed, she was well aware she was fully out of her mind. Eyes flitting to her phone and seeing her dad's number, hand frozen as she pushed herself to call him but her body wouldn't obey.

"Ugh!" she grunted whilst standing to her feet to pace around, again proclaiming to the empty apartment, "I am NOT going to do this…"

"...I can't believe I'm doing this…" Ash muttered the second she stepped off the bus the next morning; approaching the remains of what used to be the majestic Moon Theater…

#sing #sing 2016 #sing fanfiction #sing 2016 fanfiction #sing johnny #sing ash #johnny #ash #johnny x ash #ash x johnny #sing illumination #fanfiction #set me free

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