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chheolie · 4 months ago

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where kim mingyu unexpectedly encounters his first love in paris.

"bonne après-midi, mademoiselle y/n," the polished voice of the french receptionist sounded from the other side of the hotel room phone line. "the guests you were waiting for have just arrived. may i let them come up to your room?" he continued, now in english, maintaining the formality.

"of course, please!" you responded gently, with a slight smile on your lips.

dressed in a soft velvet robe with matching slippers, your hair loose awaiting an elegant hairstyle, you were getting ready for the evening. soon, the team that would handle your preparation for the event would arrive at your room.

soon, a protective cover was delicately opened, revealing the stunning dress you would wear in a few hours. seated in your glam chair, you watched through the mirror as the preparations began.

distracted, you were scrolling through your social media feed when your manager asked what you would like to eat before the event. "a caprese sandwich and a kale juice, please," you requested, and soon you were savoring your meal, already with your makeup and hairstyle done.

your hair was tied in an elegant ponytail, and the makeup, perfectly matching the black dress, further accentuated your natural beauty. after one last look in the mirror and a few photo snaps, you were finally ready for the party.

it was the usual: camera flashes lighting up the environment as you stepped out of the car, security guiding you through the crowd of fans and paparazzi. the red carpet was covered with a sea of journalists, all trying to catch your attention with questions and interview requests. the sound of cameras clicking incessantly and the animated voices mixed into an almost hypnotic frenzy.

upon entering the event venue, an efficient and well-dressed assistant immediately approached, offering a glass of champagne and informing you about the night's schedule. the soft lighting and ambient music created an elegant atmosphere, while other celebrities and influencers strolled through the corridors, exchanging greetings and calculated smiles.

the runway shows were the highlight of the evening, of course. seated in the front row, alongside other influential figures in the fashion world, you watched as the models walked the runway in stunning outfits. each collection seemed to outdo the previous in creativity and luxury. clapping at the right moments, making eye contact with the designers, and being seen appreciating the pieces were part of the game.

after the shows, it was time to socialize at an exclusive and secret after-party. the loud music, vibrant lights, and the environment filled with international celebrities provided the perfect setting for animated conversations and selfies that might never be posted.

but then, you needed to go to the venue's restroom. distracted, you followed the signs, focused on finding your destination. turning into a narrow corridor, you felt a strong bump. "fu..." you almost cursed loud as the glass was thrown to the ground. you felt the pain from the impact; the man was big and strong.

"i'm so.. y/n?" he said, surprised.

"oh my god, mingyu! you here?" you asked, equally surprised.

"did i hurt you? i'm sorry," he said, struggling with himself not to touch you.

"it's okay," you smiled awkwardly. "sorry again," he said. and you nodded, smiling as you left for the bathroom.

after that encounter, all you could see was mingyu at that party. how did you not see him before?

mingyu was also looking for you with his eyes, his mind transported to that time in the green room, when you still dreamed of debuting as a singer in a big girl group. he caught himself smiling, remembering those moments.

today, music is not your main job. you found yourself in acting and love what you do more than anything. he couldn't help but notice how incredible and fascinating you've become.

he knew you had become a great actress, but everything changed in your sincere friendship when you decided to reveal a secret to him. "well, mingyu... i don't know the best way to tell you this, but i fell in love with you," he remembered every word perfectly, the sound of your voice so vivid in his memory that it seemed like it was said minutes ago.

he took a deep breath, irritated, remembering what came next: he rejected your feelings.

mingyu closed his eyes and shook his head, trying to push away those memories that brought regret and longing.

when he came back to himself, he noticed you were no longer there. so he decided that the party was over for him too.

you arrived at your hotel room, feeling something you could barely define. seeing mingyu after so many years did you good. he used to be the person you sought when you needed a shoulder to cry on, a friend who celebrated your victories and never let you give up. maybe that's why you fell in love, maybe you confused his affection.

already in sweatpants and a clean face, after a relaxing hot bath, you got into the elevator and went up to the rooftop to get some air.

and then you realized that fate wasn't kidding that day. there was mingyu, alone, pacing back and forth, speaking on the phone in a loud and harsh tone. he seemed upset, and you felt a pang in your heart watching this scene.

he hung up the phone, and you could almost hear the heavy sigh. you approached slowly, pretending to have just arrived.

with a forced smile on your face, you disguised the worry you felt.

unlike you, he didn't bother to hide his bad mood. and you didn't think of anything else but what you would have done years ago: you hugged him tightly.

mingyu was surprised. he didn't know what to do but didn't want to think too much either. he just accepted, closed his eyes, and allowed himself to be enveloped in the embrace of someone he missed so much.

you stroked his back, showing that you were there with and for him. he understood the message, responding to the hug's squeeze. "thank you, y/n," he said.

you two let go, and you smiled at him, this time sincerely. "will everything be okay?" you asked.

"yes," he replied. "it's just a work problem."

you nodded, relieved, and he laughed frustratedly.

"i didn't expect to see you again under these circumstances," he said, and you laughed too.

"it happens..." you replied, not knowing what to say.

"sure," he mocked. and you both laughed.

"how have you been?" you asked.

"good," he said, nodding. "and you?"

"the same," you tucked your hair behind your ear. "seeing you earlier made me revisit some years ago," you confessed.

"me too," he replied, sounding sulky

"do you remember that time in the green room, when we were just dreamers?" you began, and he smiled.

"of course i remember. those days were full of hope and craziness," mingyu replied, the nostalgia visible in his eyes.

"i remember how you always cheered me up, no matter how hard the day was," you said, your voice soft and thoughtful.

"you did the same for me, more times than i can count," he admitted, his gaze fixed on the horizon.

"and to think everything changed since then... we changed," you continued, your voice low.

"yes, but some things haven't changed, y/n. the way i'm feeling now being near you, for example," mingyu confessed, turning to face you.

you took a deep breath, feeling the tension in the air.

"mingyu, about that time... i didn't expect you to feel the same. i just wanted to be honest," you said, remembering the confession that changed everything.

"i know. and i regret rejecting your feelings," he said, the sincerity in his eyes touching you deeply. "i was an idiot, afraid of ruining what we had and ended up pushing you away."

"mingyu..." you began, but he interrupted you.

"let me finish. i don't know if it's still possible, but i'd like a second chance. can we start over?" he paused, "i mean. can we see each other again?"

you responded to him with the same tight hug from minutes ago. though you two couldn't see, both of you were smiling.

#seventeen fanfic #seventeen imagines #seventeen x reader #mingyu x reader #mingyu #svt #seventeen #mingyu imagines #mingyu seventeen #mingyu fanfic #mingyu x y/n #mingyu x you #mingyu fluff

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nerdgal27 · 2 months ago

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A Story Behind the Painting

Home

Summary:

Part 4 of (Mikey and Me Part 3), (It Happened Again Part 2), and (Don't Want to Talk Part 1). Struggle after struggle. There comes a time when the inner demon destroys so much, that one doesn't know what else to do. Other than keep the inner demon from loved ones.

Tags: Substance Abuse, Depression, Flashbacks, and Abuse.

Home

Sunshine dapples the deep green forest. Burn the late morning dew glittering jewels in mid air. Coffee mug in hand black liquid slosh onto cold fingers as I wobble down the tiny staircase of the camper pickup truck. An old rust bucket is the last bit of my savings can afford.

Sit on a lazy afternoon in a cozy chair. Stare at the endless view of evergreen pines and misty gray mountains is worth it all. Take in the cool sweet wood scent of green fill sore lungs. Swivel chair further away from an old gravel path. Wind over the lush undergrowth. Where customary rodents cover last night's tracks. Eat the empty nut shells and left over trail mix I left for them. Can’t stomach to eat anything again. What’s the point now?

Shield away by Mother Nature’s warmth and green walls. Her sweet melody chirps and whispers in the silence. The sticky sun glues me under the camper cobweb awning. Spiders big enough to play the banjo. Thought grows a chuckle to who said that once. Forever gone away in the forever distance. All for the best. For everyone. For them most of all.

Free from pain, from it all. It has been done. No need to know the outside world. Can almost imagine it all. Not now. No need to think about any of that at all. Other than wonder how hot this coffee is for me to sip.

Deep rich aroma takes me away from the pines. Old giggles bounce from concrete walls. Sparks spray in all directions mingles the smell with old metal. When muddle hands rub black grease over my eyebrow. Old scooter parts vomit all over the floor. A victim to be torn apart, rebuilt to either drive faster. Or explode.

Phone rings memories back to green and soft blue reality. Muffle in the far depths of the 1967 brown and green camper. Can’t be right, I shut it off last night.

Crawl back into the sauna brown dungeon. Follow the ringtone to the front. Weave over the hot tea water bottles on the fuzzy floor. Brush last night’s debris aside in the trap of doom between the front seat. Bright pink old life shivers in a frenzy.

I shouldn’t turn the phone over to see the screen. This needs to be my new life now. Can’t go back anyways. How can I like this? How can anyone? Doing this for them. An glove box that only opens and closes by a swift kick is a good place to bury it all away. Turn off all of the past in orange velvet darkness. Leave it all tucked away. Return to the fresh sirene new life.

Canadian geese honk over the tall tree peaks. The way the flock swoops down a long terrain down from blue skies and feather clouds. Sunrays beam grasshopper hisses mid day summer heat. Follow the distant honks and splash. A cool lake lap over dry cracked feet sounds perfect. Clear this heavy head of mine.

Wander back inside. Cool worn out duds for lake water. Cold beer in hand, tuck comfy chair under my arm. A handful of fluorescent pink tags roll in hand. Nice way to return to my new home without getting lost. Wait for another set of geese to flutter above. Lead the way out of the hot sun. Weave between the trees. Step over tree root monsters. Smile at the odd bird or animal hops by.

“We don’t keep secrets, right?”

I whisper to the memories. “No, you don’t.”

Another voice in the dream rasp. “He still loves you.”

He shouldn’t, neither should any of you. Too broken, not enough. Difficult.

Out here. All are no different than any woodland creatures from the largest moose to the small voles scurry by. What is worse, to remember the words. Or the subtle silence of the first night when all of this began. A sink full of awful empty decisions. The oldest brother’s quiet gaze. Patterns flourish in the forest around me. Bright shapes shimmer all that is long gone behind me. Nothing wrong with a cold one in hand on a hot day.

Besides, take in all of this. A wide dark turquoise green lake. Full of life. A single loon lone coo along with the tiny dots of geese in the water. Soft gentle slopes into sand and clay. Show evidence of deer were here moments ago.

He misses you that’s all

One’s voice. Does he?… Of course he does. How could he not? Everyone else knows.

Sit down in the chair. Set down the last 3 cans of a 6 pack. Miraculous 3 survivors of a drunk blackout yesterday. Crack open heaven. Slide it down the fire throat. Feel it burn over it all. Take in this brand new peaceful life of quiet. Should bring out a couple fishing poles for tonight. If I remember to come back for them. Can’t go back to anything nowadays.

When will I see you?

My old self. When my voice had more life.

Soon, Sweetheart, it will be like old times.

There’s a reason why they are called old times. It was a good life. A loud life, somewhat chaotic. The endless laughs, pile ons, pushing around. Plastic cockroaches in cupboards, glitter in ninja smoke bombs. One time Mikey and I replaced Raphael’s shower gel for blue dye. Guy was a grumpy Smurf for 4 days. His grouchy growls. The wooden spoon in papa turtle Smurf’s hand. Mikey ran for his life. I laughed so hard I couldn't breathe. Wash over the more recent screams and pushes away. Even more of the dark and bleek.

When closet doors rattle. Whisky bottles smash in the far distance-

No. Not again. Never speak of it again. None of that ever happened.

Water swishes numb ankles. Whirl to baby ducks splash nearby. Over work, Mother of 6 squacks her children to behave and paddle behind her. Chuckles at their little feet blur under the clear water. Match the same speed of their cotton ball wings. Can remember when Mikey used to run the same way. Anytime Donnie chases Mikey out of his lab. Sometimes so then Donnie and I could play science and pupil again.

Water waves between my toes. Shallow parts warm from the sun. Heat numb limbs. Swallow back to boiling hot water. Scorch delicate young skin.

Mommy it’s too hot.

No…stop

Screams echo. Blister scar. Bare to the summer heat. Every single one remembers every pain. Why did I wear this tank top? Why am I out here? Can’t stay.

Hands stick on to lawn chair. Water waves slosh against the sandy ridge. Small legs kick. Hot water splashes everywhere. Hands shove deep under water.

Sweetheart, breathe…

Violet voice whispers. Take his invisible hands. Squeeze them. The way he told me to. No thumb rubs my hands. Take in all of the cool fresh pine. Have to get used to this alone. Least this way is the best. No one’s burden any more. Can pick up this lawn chair anytime.

Wander back the pink flag trail. Lose myself to millions of songs birds and butterflies flutter by. Brush soft long grass under fingers as I go. Crisp fresh air. Think about what bait to use for food tonight. Another thing I will have to start getting used to.

Yellow happy face atena swings in between shrubs. Wave me down the direction home. Swig the last bit of powerful robust dark beer. Ignite pain away in a smooth burn. Drown darkness where they belong.

Soft breeze hushes the forest buzz. Breathe in strong bitter fuel knocks the taste of beer. Great animal growls a deep hungry growl. Take me back to a cool violet room. To a lab chair and elastic bands for hair tying.

“Sweetheart!?”

Old life hollars me dead frozen in the tall grass. Hidden behind thick honeysuckles. The low hanging tree branches block the meadow opening of my new home. Don’t need to see how close the voice is. Can hear his feet crunch back and forth in the gravel. Rusty truck doors whine open and slam shut. Yellow smiley atena whirs in a hyperactive spaz. Empty cans clang on the far away floor board. Fast in a frantic, more than the time he caught Mikey in his mutagen supply.

Footsteps wobble in the far depths of camper sweet camper. No.

He can’t be here. No one can find me like this. I did this for them. They need to stay away from me. Far from any ear shot here. Can drop everything and run. Spin to do so. Lungs leap to jump for the hot pink trail back to the lake.

Get back here!

Hot greasy hand clap thunder. Drop the entire lazy afternoon supply. Oh crap no! Don’t drop them.

Metal chair legs clang against beer cans.

Shallow gasp in the wind. Pushes me faster down the trail. Teenage bare feet pound thistles and burrs I weaved around before.

Child bare feet blur down a hallway. Slam the bedroom door shut.

“Tessie, wait!”

Oh shit! Dammit! All the curse words Mikey should never hear. He found me. Faster down the hill. Over the log. Reach for the ridge. Follow the open blue sky between the evergreen trunks.

Slip under fast large hands. Hardwood scraps small bare knees. Away from him. Away from the man. Go go go.

Feet hush to the quiet breeze and soft rainfall of leaves. The broken footpath behind me, bare. Maybe turned back to the shellraiser for something. No matter. Least I can slow down, and lungs can breathe.

Leaves rustle ahead. Green blur drops from above. Dead in his tracks. The tall slender turtle raises his hands and snatches me. Should have known. Been raised by ninjas for Pete sake.

Jerk arms in his grip. Swallow the rock down.

“Donnie, what are you doing here? Let me go.”

Sink away from his gaze. Loosen his grip to one hand on my arm.

He pants, “I’m not here to fight, and I should be the one asking you the same question.”

Rip his hand off me. No point in running. His long legs follow behind down the path. As I pick up the lawn chair.

“No phone call, no note, do you know what I found in that camper?” His feet pound behind.

Pick up what’s left of the 6 pack. Dangle the last 2 cans yet to be drank. No point in hiding it now. Plus he said he’s not here to fight. There’s no need to answer. Lanky green hands rip the plastic rings.

“Hey!”

Whirl back to the two cans soar into the forest. Shove Donnie back.

“What the hell was that for? That stuff ain’t cheap.”

He towers over me. Loom a dark shadow over. Calm eyes narrow into deep violet slits. Deepens his sharp tongue.

“Do you know how long I drove to find you,

How long we’ve been looking for you?”

Step out of his shadow. Continue down the path into the sunlight. Home sweet home lies ahead.

Shrug as I go, “You didn’t have to. Just decided to take a trip, that's all, what’s wrong with that?”

Old life lingers in the shadows. Listen to teeth grit splinters. Boy did he skip coffee? Why is he hear anyway. Everyone knows so what’s the point?

Set the lawn chair back under the shade of a hunter's green awning. Since Mr. Grumpy in the corner threw a good set of cans. Guess I’ll have to get more. Crawl back inside the brown velvet coffin. Weave over the thrown cans on the floor. Guess I’ll have to clean this soon. The camper door slams shut.

“I wouldn’t shut that, unless you want to melt.” I speak to the ghost by the door.

Silence. Gonna be civil now. Want to burn holes through my head? Go on, do it. Everyone else is gone, why should anything matter. Open the mini fridge. To an endless supply of bottles, cans, and what I forgot most. Leaps off the shelves, plop to the fuzzy floor.

Oh shit.

“…what is that?”

He’s the brainiac and yet he’s asking me? Should be pretty obvious by the label. Let his long legs weave around me. Take a bag from the fridge. I Crack open a cold one. Fire burns down all those dark heavy nights. Think back to all of the colorful waves last night.

“…T-this…”

Leave him in the camper. Let him figure it out himself. Wasn’t supposed to be here to begin with. Might as well read what brand I use, for what? Who knows.

Set the can in the lawn chair. Camper door shuts, no slam? Weird. Shouldn’t he be furious or something?

Been standing there for a while. Turn to him at the metal steps. Shaded from the hot sun. Bag shivers in between his fingers. Lost to the horizon. That I’ve seen thousands of times in his brown eyes. His internal gears whir. He never looks like this unless…

“You do know, right?”

Silence answers. The deep rise and fall of his chest. He sinks down to the flatten tall grass. Let the bag fall between his fingers. A look I make when I wake up from a nightmare. Before I would run straight to his bedroom.

Set the can away. How? What?!

Rise up from the old seat. I ask, “The guys never told you?”

Rise from his palms, bambi eyes round wide, “They know about this?!”

“Well…yeah”-

“How long?” He mutters, waiting for an answer, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Take a step away from his ember coals glow. Shrug an answer, “I thought you knew, how can everyone else know but you Donnie, you know every inch of the city.”

“How was I supposed to know?” He shoots from the ground. Bury me in his height, “You never call or text me anymore, and then leave the city to who knows where, does Mikey know?!”

Mikey. Golden sun, white dust particles float over the sweet turtle. Bath in old and new sunlight. Breathe that old dry air of that lazy morning.

Nod in silence. Hoarse throat stops all words Heavy numb limbs drag back inside the brown coffin. Large queen size mattress at the back. Warm by the sun. Shut all of the curtains away. Curl all away in a ball. Close away from all life. This is not what is supposed to happen.

“Sweetheart?” Footsteps wobble the camper.

No answer. Feel the camper sink down with him. Warmth touches my arch back, soft thumb rubs me to the old cool lab. All those years ago.

“What are your plans for being out here?” He whispers.

No, he already knows now. He can’t know about this too. It will crush him. Shiver under his soft palm. There’s no going back. I’ve made this decision. Already caused enough problems as it is. First Leo. How it all turned Raph down into this dark hole. Times I’ve picked him up because of what I’ve done. Tried to fix it all for Mikey. Tried to be happy for Mikey. Yet…I am here. This is what I deserve. Donnie shouldn’t even be here. Why is he still here?

Weight shifts the mattress. Warmth drapes behind all along against me. His long arm slides around me. Pull me back tight against his beating heart. Donnie’s muzzle nestles deep into my shoulder. It doesn't take much for him to know.

Brush back strands from my cheek.

He whispers, “You don’t deserve to go through this alone.”

Roll in his arms. Drown myself into this chest I’ve missed so much all night long. Muzzle in his sweet scent and warmth. Squeeze all pain in his tight arms.

I shake, “I-I Don’t kn-know… if I can go back, big brother, I-I’m too broken. No one should be stuck with me”-

Soft lips plant firm silence my heavy forehead.

“You are never too broken, it’s okay to have space for a while when you need it.” His deep voice murmurs in my ear.

Cling on to his belt. The same way when I was small. Take me back to the memories. Away from all of this. Let all of the pain drip onto his chest. Choke on my words.

As my brainiac brother traces slow circles on my back. Sweet rich coffee fills my world. Over the fresh pine. More warm than the summer hot sun. A soft sigh quells more than the lone loon. I am back home. This is home. Safe. Can hide here as long as I need.

He whispers, “I will stay for as long as you need me, little pupil.”

Bit through all the painful tears to fall. That roll down my brother’s chest. Yesterday I was in darkness. Tomorrow, who knows where I will be. For now I am with Donatello. My close friend, my big brother.

I am home.

#tmnt #tmnt fan art #tmnt fanfiction #2012 Donatello #2012 Donnie #2012 tmnt #depression

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in-case-of-grace · 6 months ago

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At some unholy hour, well after the sun has turned its back on the Earth, I walk through my front door, looking disheveled. The lights flick on. My wife, arms folded, growls. "I thought we talked about this."

"We did...I wasn't-"

She sticks her finger out at me, an accusatory spear. "You and I know damn well you were." She looks away. "Say it."

My mouth is dry. When I find them, the words come out like coarse sand. "Fine. I...I was up all night posting, but..." I stop. We both know this dance.

She bites her lip, trying to hold back tears. "And the posts were hilarious, weren't they?"

I look at the floor, ashamed. "So fucking funny..." I want to reassure her, tell her this was the last time-- but we'd both know that was a lie.

She speaks through choked tears. "I...I can't look at you when you're like this." She starts towards the door. "I'm done." I don't move to stop her as she walks out. The sound of the door closing behind her is deafening. This was inevitable, an immutable fact of life-- like gravity.

I can't bear it. I need something to take the edge off, and so I go towards the only thing I know can help. I fumble for my phone, my lifeline. My devil. I stroke its glassy surface, breathing in sharply. Anticipating relief in spite of my better judgement.

The light is nearly blinding, as if god, too, was now accusing me of my sins. My thumbs fly across the screen like starving animals in a feeding frenzy. A tasteful photo soon appears-- that of a very sad, wet feline. Next come the words. "Me when I eat burger."

My wife loved burgers.

Through tears, I press post.

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aisiedaisie · 20 days ago

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Mon Cher

Summary: Vampire! Sirius is looking for his next meal after his only in to the local blood bank ghosts him. Thankfully, it’s spooky season, and what better disguise than his own skin? With parties filled with costume wearing people, blending in has never been easier. But soon after walking into this one random college party, Sirius finds something far, more tempting than a blood bag.

Pairings: Wolfstar

Tags: Vampire AU, immortal Sirius Black, mentions of blood, alcohol, smoking and the like, definitely not proofread-

Notes: This idea has been plaguing my mind since I woke up the other morning.

Word count: 4.8k

"Fuck." The curse slipped from Sirius’s lips, sharp and venomous, just as his battered phone slipped from his hand and hit the floor with a dull thud. The noise was loud enough to rattle the thin walls, sending his downstairs neighbors into a fit of retaliation—fists pounding against the ceiling, muffled shouts of "Shut the fuck up!" and "Be quiet!" slithering through the cracks. But Sirius hardly registered their irritation.

His mind was in a frenzy—racing yet stalling, stuck in an endless loop of buffering, trying to wrap his head around why the number he dialed led only to the grating beeps of disconnection.

He was furious.

Rightfully so.

Peter had vanished, seemingly evaporating into thin air. His calls went unanswered, the line dead, leaving Sirius stranded in his frustration and confusion. Peter, a dhampir, worked at the local blood bank—his only reliable supplier in this dreary town.

A groan tore from his throat, edging dangerously close to a whine, as his fingers raked through his dark curls in frustration. The stress clawed at his thoughts, dragging them under.

He needed to feed. Soon. Though, thanks to his pureblooded lineage, Sirius could stave off the hunger for longer than most. But it had been two weeks now—two long weeks since his last meal.

And he was hungry.

With Peter gone, though, this was going to get complicated. He could try feeding on animals again, but he'd sworn off the habit centuries ago—too much guilt over draining the neighbors’ pets. Besides, this town was so urbanized there wasn’t a park in sight, let alone a forest to skulk around in.

That left one last option.

Feeding on a human.

There were a few reasons why this was his last resort, rather than the first. The main one being that, as a pureblood vampire, if Sirius wasn’t careful, he could accidentally turn his victim into a low-level vampire—a consequence he had no patience for.

Another exasperated groan tore from his lips as he let his head knock itself against the wall. He needed to figure out how he was going to find a willing... a willing human.

He grimaced.

“Damnit, Peter. If you're not already dead, I’ll kill you myself,” Sirius spat, his gaze drifting toward his abandoned, battered phone. The screen was a mess of cracks, more than there’d been a few minutes ago.

It was still lit, showing a fractured image of him and his brother, Regulus, standing in front of Count Orlok's Nightmare Gallery. The photo had been taken a few years back during the few months he had moved to Salem for a bit before returning to Europe.

He was this close to calling and waking his brother up to bitch about his unfortunate circumstances when something caught his eye.

The date.

His stormy grey eyes widened as he read it again: October 30th.

A faint smirk tugged at his lips.

“This could work,” he muttered, pushing himself off the hard, uncomfortable floor. His gaze shifted from his poor phone to his closet, and without hesitation, he crossed the room yanking the door open.

All he needed now was something suitable for the night.

The brisk night air nipped at Sirius’s exposed collarbone, his alabaster skin glimmering faintly under the waning moonlight and the dim street lamps lining the bustling college town. He wore a stereotypical frilly white peasant top, untied at the collar, paired with sleek black pants. His fangs, usually concealed, were on full display—his thirst making it impossible to hide them.

Thankfully, he didn’t stand out too much.

The streets were flooded with people, all draped in costumes. Some stuck to classics: pirates, bar maidens, the Scooby-Doo gang. Others wore more niche outfits—like the dozens of men dressed in black with stark white spikey hair and sunglasses obscuring their eyes.

Sirius didn’t quite get the reference, but he wasn’t one to judge.

The crowd seemingly moved as one, heading toward the massive house at the end of the street. Muffled music and rainbow lights spilled from the open door and garage. The house was fully decked out for Halloween—giant spider webs stretched from the roof to the ground, melting into the thick white mist pouring from fog machines which snaked across the lawn and spilled out onto the pavement.

As Sirius followed the flow of people, snippets of conversation reached his ears. “James always goes all out for Halloween,” a redheaded woman just ahead of him said fondly. She was draped in emerald velvet, shimmering green fairy wings attached to her back.

The woman next to her nodded in agreement, humming softly. She wore a similar costume, but hers was made of glittering tulle the color of topaz, perfectly complementing her short, dark curls and the fluttering golden butterfly clips that were nestled in her hair.

Sirius hummed quietly to himself as he followed the stream of partygoers into the crowded house. The moment he crossed the threshold, he was hit by a wall of deafening music, mingled with the drunken chatter of people shouting over the bass-heavy track.

Deciding to grab a beer from one of the many half-filled ice chests, he made his way to the wall, leaning against it as it thumped in time with the pulsing rhythm. His eyes scanned the room, hoping—praying—that someone might catch his interest.

A honey blond man, dressed as Prince Charming from Shrek, sauntered up next to him, a fake coy expression plastered on his face.

“What’s got a handsome man like you pushed into a corner like a scared little kitten?” he purred, his voice too saccharine to be sincere.

Sirius tried his best to keep his expression neutral, barely sparing the man a glance, even as the so-called ‘Prince Charming’ pressed his body up against his side. Internally, Sirius grimaced. ‘His blood has to taste like garbage-’, he thought, taking a swig of his beer to avoid an otherwise unavoidable eye roll.

“I’m Gil. What’s your name, kitten?”

Sirius couldn’t handle it any longer. He turned his gaze to the blond, giving him a slow, measured onceover. “I’m more of a dog person actually,” he replied, flashing a brief but unmistakable glimpse of his fangs as he offered him a sarcastic smirk. With that, he pushed off the wall and away from the blond.

He navigated through the sea of drunken partygoers, but as he tried to slip past the dance floor, someone grabbed his hands and pulled him in. The pounding music matched the rhythm of his heartbeat, hammering in his chest as he let go of his reservations and allowed himself to be swept across the floor. Laughter bubbled up from deep within him, genuine and unexpected, as he was spun around and grinded on by strangers.

Before long, his beer was drained, and with a soft promise to the girl he’d been dancing with, he excused himself.

That’s when he caught a glimpse of something—a flash of red and brown. A hurried figure darted toward what looked like the backyard. Sirius hesitated for only a moment before setting his empty bottle on the nearest counter and following them outside.

The fresh air was a welcome relief, biting and cool against his skin after the stifling heat of the dance floor. He inhaled deeply, eyes scanning the almost empty backyard as he stepped out into the open night.

A large, pear shaped pool sat in the middle of the yard, its still waters reflecting the flickering lights of the house. A round table was set just off to the side, and a fire pit glowed toward the back, surrounded by a handful of partygoers.

Some lingered near the doors, catching their breath before heading back inside, while others lounged in crimson and gold bean bags around the fire, the warm glow dancing off their faces. Both spots were inviting, but Sirius’s attention was drawn elsewhere.

Sitting alone at the table was a lanky man with sandy blonde hair. A loosely tied red paisley bandana hung around his neck, and a worn cowboy hat rested against his back. A cigarette dangled from his lips, the end glowing faintly in the dark.

Sirius didn’t hesitate. His feet carried him toward the table, as if on their own accord.

“Mind if I nick one off you?” he asked, gesturing toward the man’s cigarette.

The cowboy’s hazel eyes lifted, meeting Sirius’s stormy grey gaze. With a casual shrug, he pulled out the pack and offered him one.

Sirius nodded his thanks, taking a seat next to the cowboy. He placed the fresh cigarette between his lips. His gaze dropped as he leaned in, lighting his cigarette with the tip of the cowboy’s already burning one. The pristine paper gradually turned a warm orange, glowing softly alongside the other’s own cigarette.

His grey gaze slid upward, sultry and deliberate, as he eyed the cowboy through dark lashes. “Thanks, cowboy,” he murmured, exhaling a cloud of smoke.

The cowboy quickly looked away, his freckled, scarred hand rising to cover most of his face as he took a long drag from his own cigarette. “Not a problem,” he muttered, clearing his throat.

The two sat in soft silence—well, as quiet as they could with the occasional cheers and laughter from the firepit nearby, and the distant hum of music drifting into the backyard, far quieter than what Sirius had endured on the dance floor.

Sirius’s gaze couldn’t help but wander over the cowboy’s form as he relaxed into the stiff poolside chair. The cigarette he held was little more than a nub between his fingers now. He wore a loose fitting white T-shirt, paired with dark brown pants. Sirius had to admit—he looked good.

Before he could stop himself, Sirius asked, “What’s your name, cowboy?”

“Remus,” came the quick response, as the blond turned, raising a questioning brow. “And you?”

“Sirius.” He offered a smile, this one far more genuine than the sarcastic smirk he’d given ‘Gil’ earlier.

Remus chuckled, shaking his head. “Named after a star, huh? That’s gotta be a tough name to live up to.”

“And Remus isn’t?” Sirius shot back with a smirk, leaning forward to put out his cigarette in the crystal ashtray between them. “For your sake, I really hope you don’t have a brother.”

Remus let out a full laugh, the sound rich and infectious. The action made a sense of pride bloom in Sirius’s chest. His laugh was lovely.

“I don’t, thankfully,” Remus replied, snuffing out his own cigarette.

Sirius nodded. “Good, can’t have such a handsome cowboy fall victim to fratricide.”

Remus’s cheeks flushed, and he quickly averted his gaze, muttering a hurried, “Shut up,” which only made Sirius more aware of the effect he was having on the poor male.

Sirius leaned in, his smirk playful. “Oh, what’s this?” he teased, shifting slightly to the side to catch another glimpse of Remus’s flushed face.

Remus groaned, his head falling back against the brim of his cowboy hat as he gazed up at the cloudy night sky. “Leave me alone,” he muttered, the words tinged with a hint of exasperation but not at all angry sounding.

Sirius only snickered, leaning in closer as his hand settled gently on Remus’s knee. His thumb traced slow, deliberate circles over the fabric of his pants. “I don’t think you actually want that,” Sirius whispered, his voice low, the teasing edge unmistakable.

Remus’s gaze shifted, locking with Sirius’s once again. His freckled, scarred cheeks were flushed with warmth, a soft pink spreading across his skin. The sight was almost sinful, and Sirius’s pulse quickened at the thought.

Then there was his scent—God, his scent. Remus’s natural aroma was intoxicating, something Sirius wanted to capture, to bottle, so he could breathe it in whenever he pleased. It was warm, inviting, perfect.

It made his mouth water.

“Maybe I don’t,” Remus agreed, though there was a reluctant note to his voice as his gaze shifted away again. Yet, he made no move to remove Sirius’s hand from his knee.

Sirius’s smirk softened into a gentle smile. “Wanna bounce?” he asked, the words slipping out before he could stop himself. Remus was beautiful… and God, was he thirsty.

“Damn, not even offering me dinner first?” Remus teased, though the embarrassment was clear in his tone. His hand moved to cover most of his face, leaving only the tops of his flushed cheeks and those stunning hazel eyes visible.

Sirius arched a dark brow, playing along.

“Who said anything about skipping dinner?” He shook his head with mock exasperation. “There’s a diner near my flat that makes amazing waffles and crepes.” He pulled his hand from Remus’s knee, rising to his feet before offering his hand, extending it toward him, an invitation.

Remus considered his options. His nose wrinkled in thought for a good minute.

Just as Sirius was about to let his hand drop and assure him there was no pressure, Remus took it, standing up beside him.

“If the food sucks, I’m never going out with you again,” Remus warned.

Sirius turned to him, a shit eating grin spreading across his face. “Already thinking of a second date? I must’ve really swept you off your feet,” he teased, his voice light as he guided them back toward the throng of costumed dancers.

Remus didn’t answer but his hand tightened around Sirius’s as they wove through the crowd, clearly not wanting to lose him in the chaos.

Sirius’s pale hand gripped back confidently, navigating them swiftly through the sea of people until they emerged onto the quieter street outside.

The food had been a pleasant surprise, much to both Remus’s and Sirius’s delight. The waffles were some of the fluffiest Remus had ever tasted, and Sirius couldn't help but smirk at the way the cowboy raved about them. It wouldn’t have shocked Sirius if Remus started frequenting the diner on his own after tonight.

Over dinner, Remus also discovered that Sirius spoke fluent French, and it had been almost distracting how divine the language sounded falling from his lips as he exchanged words with the older French woman who took their order.

Now, they were walking back to Sirius’s flat, the night settling comfortably between them.

Remus, in typical form, broke the peaceful silence with a teasing question. “I’m not going to end up on the next episode of a true crime investigation podcast, right?” His hazel eyes sparkled with amusement as he glanced over at Sirius.

Sirius let out an unexpected guffaw, not having anticipated that. “Not if you’re good,” he teased back, though his palms were growing sweaty, and he could only hope Remus would attribute it to nerves.

Which, in a way, wasn’t entirely wrong.

Behind his playful demeanor, Sirius was struggling. It was getting harder to keep his vampiric urges in check, and the fact that he genuinely enjoyed Remus’s company only complicated things. Feeding on him and leaving him in some alley didn’t feel right. It felt wrong, on so many levels.

A soft groan slipped from his lips as they rounded the corner into his apartment complex. Remus must have noticed, his grip tightening in reassurance.

“It’ll be fine,” Remus said, his voice soft but confident. “This isn’t your first time with a guy, rig—?”

Sirius shook his head quickly, cutting him off. “No, I—” He hesitated, his voice dropping.

“That’s not what I’m nervous about.” He pulled his keys from his pocket with his free hand, unlocking the door and holding it open for Remus to step inside first.

Remus’s brows furrowed in brief confusion, but he let out a hum, stepping into the flat. The interior was modest, much like a college student's dorm room. Movie and sports posters covered the walls, and a pile of clothes sat abandoned on a chair near the closet.

Sirius shut the door behind them, his gaze flickering briefly toward Remus. “Want some water?” he asked, already moving toward the kitchenette and grabbing two bottles of sparkling water.

Remus was beckoned toward a small coffee table, Sirius gesturing gently toward the white chair across from him. With a small sigh, Remus sat down, reaching behind his neck to remove his cowboy hat and hang it on the chair’s back knob. He couldn’t hold back the question that had been burning at him for a while. “Why are you so nervous?”

Sirius grimaced, knowing his anxiety had been showing despite his efforts to hide it. “I have something to tell you… and it might be hard to believe—“

“NO WAY YOU’RE A VIRGI—“

“NO!” Sirius groaned, cutting him off with a roll of his eyes. “It’s not that… it’s... just promise me you’ll hear me out, okay?” His expression softened, dark brows pitched upwards looking almost like a kicked dog.

Remus sighed, then nodded, though his confusion was still clear. “Okay.”

Sirius nodded, bracing himself. “I—I’m not human,” he blurted out.

Remus’s hazel eyes widened in surprise before narrowing skeptically. His face carried the unmistakable look of someone thinking, ‘You’ve got to be kidding me.’

Before Remus could respond, Sirius raised his hand to stop him. “I know it sounds ridiculous, but it’s the truth.”

Letting out a soft scoff, Remus leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. “What are you, then? A merman? A fairy? A werewolf?” His tone was dripping with sarcasm as he gestured to Sirius with a dismissive wave.

“I’m a vampire,” Sirius said, his voice steady.

“Liar.”

Without hesitation, Sirius gently took one of Remus’s hands. “I’m serious. I’m telling the truth.” He opened his mouth, revealing his fangs. They were long, far too long to belong to any normal human.

Remus rolled his eyes. “Sirius…”

“Touch them,” Sirius urged, his stormy gray eyes filled with a mix of desperation and sincerity. “They’re real. They’re not like those cheap, fake ones from Halloween stores.”

With a sigh, Remus leaned forward. His free hand reached up, gingerly taking one of Sirius’s fangs between his thumb and forefinger, giving it a light tug, expecting it to pop off.

But it didn’t.

“Fuck…” Remus whispered, his amazement quickly blending into concern. He withdrew his hand from Sirius’s mouth, a look of disbelief overtaking his features. “I really am going to end up on a true crime podcast, aren’t I?”

Sirius squeezed the hand he was still holding, a soft and reassuring touch. “No, Remus… no.” His voice was gentle but firm, the weight of his sincerity evident. He could never hurt anyone—especially not the man sitting across from him.

Remus sat back, staring at Sirius, processing the revelation. After a long pause, he muttered, “I need another cigarette.”

Sirius couldn’t help but laugh softly. Of course, Remus would want a cigarette after that revelation. He hung his head, dark curls falling into his eyes, and let out a gentle huff of amusement. “That was better reaction than I expected.”

“You’re buying me a pack,” Remus groaned, letting his head fall with a soft thud onto the coffee table. “Make that two.”

Sirius smiled, a warmth spreading in his chest. “I can do that,” he assured, his voice lightening the atmosphere.

They sat in a comfortable silence for a few moments, hands still clasped atop the wooden table, neither wanting to break the connection. It felt too precious, too fragile.

“So if you’re not planning on killing me,” Remus began, lifting his head to meet Sirius’s serious gaze, “what do you plan on doing?”

Sirius sighed softly, his stormy gray-blue eyes steady and sincere. “I won’t deny I was looking for someone to feed on… I normally don’t have to resort to this, but my blood dealer—”

“A blood dealer?” Remus interrupted, unable to suppress a laugh. The sound cut through the tension, making Sirius relax a bit.

He nodded, frustration etched on his face. “He just up and disappeared—”

Remus hummed, nodding slowly as he processed the information. “I get it,” he replied, his voice empathetic.

Sirius took a deep breath, glancing away as he spoke. “I just… I don’t know why, but I felt like you would understand.” His gaze drifted toward the window above his bed, lost in thought. “I mean, it’s not something I usually do. I’ve always managed to find my blood without needing to, well, resort to this.”

Remus’s expression softened, a mix of curiosity and understanding in his hazel eyes. “And you thought I’d be okay with being your… meal?” He leaned back slightly, studying Sirius. “That’s a lot to put on someone you barely know.”

“I know it is,” Sirius admitted, his voice dropping to a whisper. “But there’s something about you. You feel… different. Like you wouldn’t judge me for it.”

Remus opened his mouth to respond, then closed it, pondering Sirius’s words. “Okay, but you can’t just expect me to say yes without some kind of… agreement here,” he finally said, a playful glint in his eye. “I need to know you’re not going to, I don’t know, turn me into a vampire next.”

Sirius chuckled, shaking his head. “I promise, I’m not looking to turn you. Just… to feed. That’s all.”

“Okay, then. Let’s start with that,” Remus said, his voice steadying. “But you owe me a pack of cigarettes for this, okay?”

“Deal,” Sirius grinned, feeling a weight lift off his shoulders. The connection between them felt like it had deepened.

After some careful explanation and repeated reassurance that there was no chance Sirius would ever turn him into a vampire, he led Remus to the bed, their hands still intertwined.

“You might want to sit, or maybe lie down,” Sirius murmured, his voice low as he gestured for Remus to get comfortable. “Some people get a little lightheaded when they lose blood.” His eyes flickered with concern, though his tone remained gentle.

Remus raised a brow, a teasing glint in his hazel eyes. “You sound like you've done this before.”

Sirius couldn't help but chuckle softly, though his hand trembled slightly as he reached out to brush his fingertips along Remus's jaw. “I have,” he admitted, his voice growing quieter, “but it’s been a while.”

“How long?” Remus’s voice was soft, but curious.

Sirius’s smile faltered, a shadow passing over his face as the memories surfaced. “Since I was a stupid teenager,” he confessed, his tone heavy with regret. It was the same moment he'd sworn off feeding from humans, the same day he decided wild animals were less complicated, and blood bags even less so—though both were harder to come by now.

Remus exhaled slowly, his fingers covering Sirius's trembling hand. “It’ll be fine,” he whispered, though Sirius wasn’t sure if Remus was comforting him or trying to steel his own nerves.

Sirius gave a small nod, moving his hand from Remus’s jaw and letting his fingers slide down the column of his neck. The freckled skin felt warm beneath his touch, soft and inviting.

Sirius’s fingers found the knot of the red paisley bandana which was still loosely draped around Remus’s neck, tugging gently at it until it unraveled.

Remus's breath hitched, the faintest tremor in his body as Sirius’s skilled hands loosened the fabric and let it fall away. “If it hurts, you’ll stop, right?” he asked, his voice barely more than a breath.

Sirius immediately nodded, leaning back just enough to meet Remus’s worried gaze. “I promise.”

Remus closed his eyes, nodding as if giving himself over to the moment, his trust in Sirius both beautiful and heartbreaking to witness.

Sirius felt his chest tighten, both flattered and pained that Remus could trust him this much—even with a vampire’s hunger hanging between them. A part of him wondered how things would have played out if they had met under different circumstances—when he wasn’t starving, when his mind wasn’t so clouded with want.

Sirius leaned in, the tip of his nose brushing lightly against Remus’s neck, the words he wanted to say dissolving as Remus’s scent flooded his senses. God, the smell was intoxicating—warm and rich, the kind of scent that called to every primal instinct he had.

A low, desperate groan slipped past Sirius's lips as he nuzzled against Remus’s skin. “Fuck, you smell so good, Rem,” he muttered, his voice thick with desire, sounding almost like a plea.

Sirius could feel his pulse drumming in his ears, overpowering even the quiet sounds of the room. He tried to steady his breath, but every inhale brought more of Remus’s scent, and his self-control was stretched to the limit. He let out a shaky breath as he hovered near Remus’s neck, words spilling out in a low murmur before he could catch them.

When Remus tightened his grip on the bed sheets, Sirius felt a pang of guilt mixing with the hunger inside him, making the moment feel so fragile he thought he might break it. "You say that like it’s a bad thing," Remus whispered, his voice a blend of nerves and a faint, playful challenge. Sirius let out a quiet chuckle at that, a bit surprised he could still laugh, given the way his chest felt like it was tied in knots.

“It’s not,” he managed, his voice rough and deeper than he intended.

He couldn’t resist brushing his lips lightly over Remus’s skin, testing, savoring, reassuring. He tried to hold back, to keep his cool, but the scent of him—warm, earthy, undeniably inviting—only made his restraint feel flimsy.

Remus’s breath hitched, sending a surge of anticipation through Sirius. When Remus whispered, “You… you can go ahead,” Sirius felt something unfurl in his chest, a mixture of gratitude and pure, aching need. With careful deliberation, he pressed his lips to the spot on Remus’s neck, feeling his fluttering pulse thrum against his lips, a rhythm that seemed to call to him. “I’ll be gentle,” he whispered, barely a breath, before he allowed his fangs to sink in.

The taste of Remus’s blood was a rush, sweet and filling, warm in a way that made Sirius’s whole body tingle with the unexpectedness of it. He was half-afraid he’d lose himself in it, but he fought to stay grounded, to be as gentle as he’d promised. He’d forgotten what it was like to feed this way—close, deeply connected to the one he fed from.

He felt Remus’s sharp intake of breath, the tension, and then the slow, softening relaxation as the discomfort gave way to something else. Sirius gently eased back, his tongue brushing over the bite marks, soothing the skin and tasting the lingering warmth there.

Sirius pulled back just enough to meet Remus’s gaze. His chest tightened as he took in the hazy, dazed look in Remus’s eyes, relief melting the last of his worry. “Are you okay?” he asked, his voice a little rougher, barely holding back the concern and care that spilled out.

Remus let out a slow breath, a flicker of a smile softening his features. “Yeah… yeah, I’m fine,” he replied, his voice tired but clear. Sirius could feel his own shoulders relax, the relief flooding through him like a balm. “That… wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be.”

A small smile tugged at Sirius’s lips, the weight of his relief finally loosening. “Told you I’d be gentle.”

Remus let out a weak chuckle, his exhaustion starting to set in as he slumped back a bit. “You did… but I think I might need to lie down for a bit.”

Sirius nodded, guiding him to recline on the bed, his hand lingering in Remus’s hair, brushing away a few stray strands from his face. “Thank you… for trusting me.”

Remus’s eyes were half-lidded, his face softened by drowsiness, but he managed a faint smirk. “Just… don’t forget those cigarettes,” he murmured, his voice trailing off as he surrendered to the pull of sleep.

Sirius stayed there for a long moment, watching over him, his hunger finally sated, but something else—something warmer and deeper—settled inside him. As he sat by Remus’s side, Sirius felt a strange peace that had eluded him for so long, and for the first time, he didn’t feel entirely alone.

"Of course, mon cher—I'll buy you as many packs as you want," Sirius whispered, his voice barely above a murmur. The words were gentle, almost reverent, as he leaned down and pressed a soft, chaste kiss to Remus's exposed forehead.

The touch was light, fleeting, but the intimacy of it lingered in the quiet space between them. Sirius watched Remus’s peaceful face, the tension that had been there before now smoothed away as he slept. For a moment, Sirius allowed himself to just breathe him in, feeling an odd sense of contentment— something he hadn’t felt in what seemed like a lifetime.

With a quiet sigh, he pulled back, settling himself beside Remus, content just to watch over him as the night deepened around them.

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dreemseed · 9 months ago

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2/23

Full Moon in Virgo

Friday night out with the boyz, Ridley y Bryan. I can say to myself with total assurance that I love them, although I haven’t told them because I’ve never really been one to say ‘I love you’ after a couple days of knowing someone. Maybe I should start.

Wednesday night, after the rat incident, I was set on leaving Maria’s house the following morning and wrote Bryan and Ridley in a frenzy. I awoke to their reply saying, yes, you can stay with us. I was to stay in Bryan’s room, as he was still going to be out of town in his home country of El Salvador. At the last minute, he booked a week-long trip back to Mérida.

Thursday was spent mostly in bed, smoking bowls here and there with Ridley. Friday came and Bryan was to return that evening, I slept in that morning, got a late breakfast and went on a solo date to the Gran Museo del Mundo Maya. From there I met up with Ridley at the mall, he was picking up Chinese take-out and I needed an extra piece of luggage. The two of us shared what felt like equal parts conversing and silence.

Ridley is a 23 year old transmasc sweetie from Guaymas, Sonora, his father es carnicero, he studied animation, graduated in August, and is currently job hunting. Libra sun and moon, Pisces rising, with a very calm and caring disposition. He has a gatito named Carmelo, who used to be a partially outdoor cat till he lost his tail in a mysterious accident last year. They make a good duo and have been keeping eachother company in Bryan’s absence. Ridley made me tortas and hot cakes, I washed the dishes.

Once Bryan arrived and settled in, the three of us went out into the town. Bryan has a way of galavanting through the streets that mesmerizes me, he's charming and easy to follow. We took el camión al centro. Nos fuimos caminando por el barrio, cada sitio mas y mas ocultado, algunos ya estuvieron en mi radar, otros no. Fuimos al Pipiripau, KINO-UADY, Estadio Salvador Alvarado, Salón Gallos, Palacio de la Música, y La Gata Negra.

Bryan is 22 years old, also studied and graduated with a degree in animation, his personality is, as Ridley described, akin to a highly-sociable dog, he can wolf whistle in true Central American fashion, and he’s added ‘guey’ to his lexicon after 4 years of living in México. He touched every plant, car, fence, building face and lamppost he could get his hands on. We walked by an abandoned bus with it’s rear doors open, Bryan hopped in and I followed, Ridley stayed out on the sidewalk saying he had to piss but I saw the caution they held in their body, I imagine this behavior wouldn’t fly in narco country.

This night was the most liberated I’ve felt on my trip thus far and I’m inspired to take more open hearted action. They mentioned they would be in CDMX in April to see Mitski in concert for the second time and a few days later, a total solar eclipse will be taking place in Mazatlán, where there’s been talk about renting a car to drive to the Pacific coast and bask in nearly 4 minutes of darkness. I’m tempted to extend my trip though I don’t know how feasible that would be. I just can’t shake the feeling that we’ll see each other and soon.

Before we went out that night, I abruptly ditched my mini backpack, full of everything I could possibly need, and carried my phone and wallet instead. It’s as if there was a knowing that we’d be sprinting from one bus stop to the next to catch our ride to the city center. That I needed to pack light to move forward and upward with more ease. Feliz luna llena, que su luz ilumina tu camino y te guíe. 🌕

#mérida #méxico24

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brokenmusicboxwolfe · 11 months ago

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Last night a tree fell in a storm, taking out two smaller trees that were thick with vines. The whole tangled mess came down, completely blocking the way to get out back, which meant to feed Ryoga I had to scramble through a jungle of an overgrown area and go way, way around.

I spent hours and hours, cutting with clippers and a handsaw. This was made tricker with one of the trees not falling but hanging in the tangle. A wee bit dangerous and involving careful cutting. On the plus side I just ( by like five minutes) did manage to make a tunnel through it all in time to get the wood shavings in the animal houses before it was fully dark.

So I go in, eager to flop and maybe watch a movie (I really should work on Mom’s gift and that letter I have to add to one of the Christmas cards)

There had been a message about a problem with my debit card. Okay, not the card but my funds. So I needed to frantically needed to do something, mainly a scramble for $50 and a transfer…

Oh, my internet was out. Of course.

A half hour of work my internet was back, albeit half speed and no images loading. I just needed to go to the website and…

The ipad won’t work.

Ok, to the computer!

Which is now so out of memory it didn’t want to work. I’d need to delete MORE of my photos in a frenzy, completely unable to see what they are since it hadn’t the memory to show me.

OK, crisis averted, well, except for the $50 I now need to find for the place I moved it from….But that can be tomorrow. I can just eat my cold leftovers (microwave doesn’t work and I am too tired and sore to wait around for the oven) and watch a movie…

Recently I foolishly let my tv know about the internet, in an attempt to use it to stream Disney + when I got it to watch Doctor Who. This did NOT work (yeah, it’s pre D+, but you’d think it would be updatable) , nor did trying to get my ipad to “talk” to the tv. But now every time I turn it on I have to manually disable the internet stuff, because the system couldn’t be rebooted without a PIN that I assume came with the tv but has been lost). If I don’t writing appears across the screen demanding I either finish setting it up for a “service” that monitors your viewing to “help” you find stuff (HELL NO!) or disable it (but only until the next time). This should just take….

Oh, great. Turns out you can’t disable it without internet access, and my wonky internet isn’t good enough for it to consider me connected. I can’t even watch a DVD without researching how to get my tv to act like a good old fashioned tv attached to a player.

**sigh**

At least I had a pleasant 2hr break from aggravations in the middle of the day while I talked to/read** to Mom over the phone.

**Still on Going Postal. Mom, the Terry Pratchett fangirl (80+ years old is still a girl!), was also a post master (as was my grandmother, and grandfather, and Pop was a clerk for a while!) so we are having a little extra fun with this one. Seriously, I mean, it’s like every time we watched Miracle on 34th Street. Certain depictions of postal work, either reminding her of her old devotion to her work (we actually made Christmas morning deliveries a couple times, just in case they were gifts) or the reasons she was very glad to finally retire (you do not want to hear about all that, besides, the structure of the system might be different.) I dunno what book I will read to her next, but I know there will be one.

#my day #tired #busy #stressed #if only I could finish Mom’s gift #I made two attempts and both went wrong #but maybe painting will help #if I ever get this crumbly old sculpey to let me finish the legs!

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beea-idiot56 · 1 year ago

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Chapter 4 - I thought this was supposed to be practice!

What happens when a person who has been diagnosed with extreme anxiety and had "retired" from volleyball finds themselves coaching a team full of guys who are a little too loud for their comfort(especially the ginger)?

Slow burn? ✔️ smut?❌ they/them pronouns?✔️ forced?❌

Childe x Reader Volleyball AU Wattpad Link Prologue link(Tumblr)

It had not been long since Y/N had started practicing with the team, a month at most. With about 15 practices under their belt they felt well accustomed to the team. Sure they were not buddies with any of them, but they were able to joke and speak without their heart rate spiking and their hands starting to shake. It was a nice addition to their schedule as well. Between coaching young players, this team, and college, they didn't have any time to focus on their anxiety, it was actually really nice to get out of the house too. Plus they'd never know when Childe would suddenly invite the entire team to a “feeding frenzy”, it was just Childe paying for a bunch of snacks and all of the team would get together and play some sand volleyball or watch movies. It was a really nice addition to their schedule, and it was fun to hang out with people that werent teachers or someone complaining about homework.

Y/n had been asleep, dreaming of nothing in particular, the much needed rest recharging their body and filling them with strength. That was until they heard a loud ringtone from beside them, a grumble escaping their lips as they lifted their head from their pillow just enough to open their eyes barely. Their hand found its way to the phone on the bedside table in the small dorm they stayed in, they lifted the side of the phone to see the contact “Barbatos - Venti - VB” with the photo of venti plastered on top. They grumbled and clicked the “answer” button, bringing the phone to their ear.

“...h-hello?” they mumbled, their voice not awake just yet. Their eyes traveled to their clock beside their bed, 5am. Venti woke y/n up. At 5am. This man better have a damned good reason for it too.

“Ah Y/n! Sorry if I woke you but there's some urgent business to attend to!” Venti spoke, how was he so awake and happy at 5am? This man must be made of sunshine and rainbows, “you see, last night I got an email from the Tsaritsa. Apparently she would like her team, the Harbingers, and our team to have a practice game against each other. Something about preparing for tournaments and not wanting her team to disappoint her. I don’t know, but what I do know is that I accepted it and well, I need my co-coach to come help me coach dear Kaeya!”

Y/n listened, their eyes slowly opening as their brain struggled to process what nonsense Venti had just spewed through his mouth at the speed of light. Y/n took a few moments to think before speaking, “what time?” “oh… ah hee hee…. 8am.” “A. hee. Hee.” Y/n repeated, taking a second before each syllable. They felt anger run through their veins. Venti contacted them about coaching a game that's in THREE HOURS. Y/n silently prayed to archons to give them the strength not to bitch slap venti. They heard nervous laughter on the other side of the line, “I'll be there, but you're praying for my coffee”

“Deal! Just send me your order '' Venti spoke before hanging up the phone. Y/n sighed and sat up in bed. Their dog at their feet(cat if you're allergic and a fish on the bed stand if you're allergic to both 😭) looked up at them. “A/N, help me.” y/n mumbled and the animal simply looked up at them before turning away to go back to sleep.

Y/n pushed open the door to the building that the team played and practiced at. The sounds of shoes squeaking and yelling greeted them in an empty hallway. The lights were still off and the sun was barely over the horizon in the long glass windows that lined the hallway. Usually this place would be packed with people, but it was a Sunday and most kids were hungover at their dorms or off at work, maybe even a church of some kind. Mondstat was always big on its churches, The Grand Cathedral being right down the street from the college as well. Y/n tended to stay away from them, even if they were religious, there were a lot of people in the cathedral at all times. And that always felt really awkward and spiked their heart rate.

Y/n appreciated the quietness of the hallway, they stopped outside the gym doors, the glass square in them giving them a preview as to what they were about to enter. The team peppered between each other while Venti sat and planned out something on a sheet of paper, what Y/n assumed was a lineup and game plan for the practice game. They glanced to the side of them to look out the window, they watched as birds sung from high above on the wires that lined the sky line. They smiled a little bit at it before looking back, their eyes catching the sight of someone standing off by the net. He stared back, the two caught eyes. Childe smiled and waved and y/n waved and smiled back. The two made eye contact for a moment or two before Childe waved them in, and y/n opened the door.

Childe had jogged up to the door and smiled, “ didn't know you were gonna come today!” he beamed, like a golden retriever, y/n could practically see the tail wagging behind him. “Of course I would! I gotta make sure Kaeya is improving, plus I'm always here to see how the team plays. I love watching yall” y/n smile and looked up to Childe. Even though y/n wasn't exactly short/tall, they still had to crane their neck up high to look at the Childe's eyes. He was the tallest player on the team and was also annoying and wore pretty good shoes that bumped his height up another few inches. However, y/n didn't mind. Probably their favorite thing about Childe was that he didn't make eye contact uncomfortable.

Y/n's most important way of conveying that they are listening or that they are happy to talk to a person is when they make eye contact, they make an effort to look people in the eye whenever they talk. And childe was probably their favorite when it came to this. Sure the rest of the team returned the favor, but none of them looked at y/n like they were the greatest player in the world, none of the team looked at them without any hesitation or without thinking they could possibly make any faults. Y/n always felt as though even though they might fuck up, completely screw over a point, that Childe would still look at them and cheer them on. It also helped that the childe had the prettiest eyes in the team. Kaeya had actual stars but it wouldn't compare to the beautiful blue that laced Child's eyes.

Childe draped an arm across their shoulders and pulled them close, walking to the middle of the court, a loud voice booming from him, “did you guys hear that! y/n said they love watching us play!” He cheered and the rest of the team laughed a little as well.

“Since that's the case let's give them the greatest practice game we've ever played!” Childe cheered once again and the rest of the team responded with a ‘hell yeah!’ or ‘woop woop!’. Y/n smiled and shoved Childe off of them lightly, “Alright get to practicing, and let go of me, you're already sweaty!” y/n laughed a little and childe rubbed Y/n’s hair as they walked away, earning the bird in return.

Y/n plopped down on the bleachers next to Venti and set their stuff down. They looked over his shoulders slightly, he had some paperwork out and then the line up. He quickly closed his binder, however, and looked up at y/n.

“Your mere presence brings the team to excitement, Y/n. if i were you id feel honored, it's hard for me to even hype them up that much. It's usually the captain's job” he smiled, a wink following his words. y/n just laughed and shook their head, however. “I'm not that special. I think they are just happy to have a new face around.” they waved off venti who had rolled his eyes at their bashfulness.

y/n stared at the team who peppered, they were all relaxed. Laughing at each other for stupid mistakes and encouraging each other when they made a good save, a feeling of longing returned to their stomach, they could basically see themself standing there.

Y/n stood at the ten foot line, they were idly standing waiting for the ball to be passed up. Lumine stood from across the court right on the edge of the line. They both had their jerseys on and their knee pads were on their ankles. It was clear none of them meant business. Lumine threw the ball up high and y/n stepped under it, pushing it back to lumine. she passed it back and y/n went to go hit it back but a ball hit their ankle and they accidently snapped their wrist too much. Y/n had originally began to laugh a little, “My bad, my bad” they smiled and shook their wrist a bit as Lumine dove for the ball, scraping their knees slightly. “My gosh youre so fucking worthless.” lumine hissed at y/n, causing them to stop. Their laughter died in their throat. They tried to laugh a little, waiting for Lumine to say ‘it's just a joke! Relax!’ but it never came. Lumine threw the ball at the floor and walked away to go pepper with someone else. Leaving y/n alone, holding a ball, and wondering why they even stayed on this team…

“You should go pepper with one of them, childe looks like he's kinda butting into xiao’s and diluc’s passing.'' Venti spoke absentmindedly, looking at the y/n who had been zoned out while looking at the court. The words snapped them out of their trance and they looked over at venti, “Oh, nah. I don't think he'd want to anyways.” they laughed, trying to persuade venti not to make them go pepper without actually saying it. They didn't want to pepper, they wanted to play. Not get that small taste just for it to be snatched out of their grasp. Like a window at the top of an isolation cell. “Oh he would love it! Here I'll call him over! CHILDE! Get over here and pepper with y/n!” Venti yelled ad y/n tried to wave their hands to say no but Childe had already started running over with a ball in his hands. “Of course! C'mon Y/n!” he smiled , waving them up. y/n sighed and took a sip of the coffee that venti had gotten them. They looked up at Childe and there he was again, making eye contact as always. Not with a judging look. But one of excitement. ‘He's not like that, Y/n. Just go pepper, you'll be fine’ they spoke to themselves and stood up. They positioned themself on the ten foot line, so much like how they had done before. Childe threw the ball up and they positioned themself under the ball, setting it high and just like how Lumine liked her sets. Childe took a step forward and set it back to them, but a ball rolled over and bumped against y/n's ankle causing them to stutter step and snap their wrist too much. Childe dove forward to the ball, skidding his knees slightly. His knee pads were on his ankles. The ball came back to y/n on the floor and he laid on the floor on his back. y/n expected a yell from him but soon he started to laugh. And y/n laughed a little as well.

“Haha my bad!” he spoke before hopping back onto his feet. y/n picked up the ball and stared at him. He didn't stalk away. He stayed. Childe stayed. He made eye contact. Y/n hesitated, not knowing what to do with themself. “Cmon, throw the ball up! That was my bad. You don't have to stare at me like I'm going to yell at you!” he laughed a little, drawing y/n out of their trance. Y/n smiled, and threw the ball up.

Peppering and warming up continued as the clock hit 7:55. Venti had turned from paperwork to drills and started running the team through different exercises. y/n on the sidelines coaching Kaeya as well. Giving small pointers here and there, ‘turn your hands in’, ‘center your stomach’, ‘don't jump, but use your legs’. Overall it has been pretty effective. And y/n got to watch the boys play from a new perspective. However there hadn't been any sighting of the harbingers, until the door opened.

The team stopped and all turned to look at the door. Venti had already started rolling the ball cart over to the side of the court where the team was going to be practicing. He had the team line up then brought y/n to go stand in front of all of the team by the ventis side. In they walked. A team of six, with one manager, Signorita.

“Welcome! Ah, it's such a pleasure to see you again, Signorita. Is the Tsarista not here once again?” Venti spoke, yet there was a strain in his voice and his hands stood awkwardly at his sides. “Ah Barbatos, you know better. The Tsaritsa is off doing her own thing, preparing new things for us to face. I'm stepping in as coach for this game, but I doubt I will need to… Say, whos this lovely face, i feel as though i've seen them before…'' Signorita spoke, her voice as cold as ice but her intentions burning through y/n and venti. y/n smiled awkwardly, “I'm Y/n L/n, I'm here to help coach.” they spoke, not knowing how much venti wanted them to disclose. “Awh such a sweet name you are simply so sweet.” Signorita smiled, her arm crossing over her stomach and her other elbow propping up against the forearm. She looked fit, she probably was, actually.

She was. Y/n recognized her now. This was Signorita, she was the setter for the Harbingers female team before she had a nasty accident and had to retire to the side lines and benches. Y/n shivered remembering the accident. They remember witnessing it from the other side of the net. Signorita had practically thrown herself to the ground to get a ball up, but had landed on her wrist, completely shattering it. Y/n remembered watching Signorita trying to shrug it off, and how she left the court after her team, and the Tsaritsa, had dragged her off. What was worse was that y/n remembered lumine making direct eye contact with y/n and saying ‘we wouldn't let you off this court’.

“Oh! I remember you, you were the dear setter for the Khaenri’ah team. How precious you were. I remember how terrible that team treated you." Signorita smiled cutely before their eyes glanced over the entirety of the gym, then landing on someone behind y/n. “Oh and you, the silly little traitor.” she smiled before scoffing, y/n heard a small laugh come from behind them, they looked over their shoulder to see childe laughing and scratching his neck and staring at the ground. Traitor?

“Oh but the past is the past!” she smiled and nodded to the court across from the team, “we will only take five or so minutes to warm up, then we can get right to playing. Would we like an up-ref? I would hate for the game to go… sour.” she smiled, a sinister glean behind her words. However, Venti smiled and shook his head.

“We’re sharing this court for this time, we shouldn't need a up-ref, it's not as though we will be kicking the other team from under the net, will we?” Venti spoke, his eyes staring right through Signorita. She shook her head and smiled, however the smile didn't exactly give y/n any ease in the overwhelming feeling of fear that traced their stomach. The Harbingers then bowed behind their manager and walked over to the court they would be playing on and began to warm up.

Childe gathered up the team and y/n went to go Supervise but venti tugged on their arm. They looked at him, “y/n. I know this is easier said than done, but don't let Signorita get in your head.” he spoke, his voice as old as ice. Sending shivers down y/ns spine.

“I wouldn't do that, I'm not even playing… it's just a practice game right?” y/n spoke nervously, they had been trying to remind themself it was a practice game, but the serious beef between the two teams was starting to get under their skin. “Not to the harbingers. They fight hard, they play dirty, and they tend to not hold punches. The coaches play mind games you would not believe, just, don’t talk to her. She’ll use you to get into the team's head. Ignore her and let me do the talking, alright?” Venti spoke. Y/n nodded and he smiled before patting her on the back and pushing her into the group of players. The team welcomed her and Childe brought her under his and Diluc's arms.

Y/n stared at the ground, feeling nervousness brimming their body as the team talked between themselves they all spoke of what to do, strategizing and planning. y/n couldn't listen however, their eyes focused on the ground and their hands busy picking at the skin around their fingernails. It wasn't until the team dispersed to get water and do the last bit of warming up that Childe addressed them head on.

“Hey you good?” he asked, placing a soft hand on their shoulder. they looked up and smiled, they could be nervous all they wanted but why should they bring down the team with their anxiety. “Yeah I'm fine!” y/n smiled, but it felt strained and the wrinkles did not form around their eyes. Childe stared into their eyes, but y/n couldn't meet them. They looked anywhere but childe. Like the sign behind his head, something about the sponsor of the school, it was another nameless company that promised something but never delivered. “Look me in the eye,” childe spoke, drawing their attention back to him, “and tell me youre fine.” he finished his sentence. Y/n gulped and looked him in the eyes. His eyebrows were furrowed, and since when did both of his hands find their ways to y/n’s shoulders? Y/n opened their mouths to say something, but they couldn't find the words in their throat. It simply died out. “So, traitor huh?” they “masterfully” changed the topic, childe stared at them. A chuckle escaped his mouth and he shook his head as he let the fact they completely changed the topic slide. “Yeah, I used to be on The Harbingers, but transferred over to the Teyvats when I was sent to Liyue for a few weeks. The team was hella toxic anyways.” he spoke, letting his hands drop from y/ns shoulders. Y/n released a breath they didn't know they were holding. “Damn, I didn't realize they were that uptight. Well then, I'm a traitor by their standards too, to the Khaenri’ans. We can be traitors together.” y/n smiled, meeting his eyes. He laughed, wrinkles showed up by his eyes and y/n noticed the freckles placed across his cheeks.

“Cool! We're partners in crime!” he laughed, running a hand through his hair, dischelving it. “Right! You're the one that causes the arson, I'm the cool minded one!” they smiled and

Childe placed a dramatic facial expression on his face, he gasped.

“I can be cool minded!” he tried to defend himself but y/n nearly laughed a little. “Can be, won't be. I have too much anxiety to charge into anything like a chicken without its head, you charge right in. which is why most of your hits go into the net '' they giggled as Childe fell back, his hand laid against his forehead and his other hand dramatically placed on his heart. “You wound me, Y/n, you wound me!” he basically yelled and y/n laughed and reached up to rub the top of his hair. “You'll be alright, maybe if you play really good today i'll take back what i said and you can be the cool headed partner in crime” they laughed and he nodded his head enthusiastically and smiled, “Bet!”

The teams lined up on the courts, neither worrying about subbing in the liberos or where they stood, it wasn't until venti offered first serve to the harbingers and gave the ball over that the entire team started to get serious. They all got into their positions and y/n glanced over all their faces. They all looked as hard as rocks, none of them even blinking.

Kaeya pulled up Diluc first, over on the outside position of the court, childe stood in the middle of the ten foot line, chongyun pulled back as a DS over on the right. In the middle back was Xinqui, the second best passer besides xiao, who was placed next to Xinqui.

“Oh! I guess we need a whistle. Here, lovely Y/n would you do the honors” Venti spoke smiling, Y/n nodded and shuffled around in their bag before pulling out a whistle. They bit on the silicon cover and whistled, making the movements to declare that Pierro, the setter and the first server, could serve. He nodded and threw the ball up high in front of him, making an approach before jumping up and hitting the ball, sending it over the net.

From there the play went quickly. Xiao made a perfect pass up to Kaeya, who set it to childe, who hit the ball and it collided with the blockers on the other side of the net, who were Dottore and Pantalone. It bounced off their hands and back into their side of the court. When Punciella passed up, Pierro set it up, and Scaramouche made an approach, hitting the ball. Childe, however, was there and slammed the ball back into the ground with a block of his own. The team cheered and crowded around him, the first point of the game. To the Teyvats.

The game continued, both coaches giving remarks of improvement to the team and the team taking them and charging forward with pride. Y/n especially had a lot to say to Kaeya, who was starting to get frustrated with them by the middle of the set.

“I know Y/n!” Kaeya yelled as Y/n had told him to center his body. Y/n stutter stepped backwards and they became quiet. Venti glanced at them, a sigh escaping his mouth. “Don't mind Kaeya, he gets angry quickly.” Venti spoke, patting y/n on the back, but this did not go unnoticed by Signorita on the other side of the net. “Awh, is Kaeya just like the other khaenri’ahns? Chasing Y/n off the court? How sad…” she remarked awfully loud. Kaeya stared at her, his mouth wide agape. He started to speak but Venti had already shut down the conversation with a whistle. Scaramouche was now serving, and he had already sent the ball over. Xiao passed it up to Kaeya, who set it to childe, who then hit it over the net, maybe a bit too far over the net. Okay he hit Signorita in the head. “Childe!” y/n had yelled, their hands covering their mouth. They weren't going to lie, they really wanted to laugh right now, but their fear for what was about to conspire had held them back. Venti on the other hand had begun laughing loudly. “Ah! And so the Karma continues!” he laughed loudly, Signorita looked absolutely astonished and she looked at Venti like he had just kicked her in the stomach.

“Oh! So you're laughing at your player who just hit the opposing coach in the head! You're not even going to attest to how bad of a hit that was! Such terrible coaching..” she had scoffed and The Harbingers all kinda just, stood there, not really sure if they should laugh or stand up for the manager.

Childe laughed and shrugged, “maybe don't cause drama in someone else's team if you don't want karma to hit you upside the head. Especially when you mess with the two greatest setters. I mean you can't even compare to ours!” Childe had mumbled the last two sentences but the team laughed and clapped him on the back. Kaeya and y/n both bashfully smiling to themselves.

Signorita scoffed loudly, “time out” she had practically yelled and the teams jogged to the sides of the court to talk to their coaches.

Kaeya looked at y/n as he approached before nodding to the side, they nodded and stepped to the side. “Sorry for yelling at you, you were just trying to help me improve.” he spoke, running a hand through his bangs that had been tangled up, his pony tail resting on his back.

“No you're alright, I was probably a little overbearing, I'm sorry as well. I just-” they sighed, not knowing how to put their words, “i don't want to make excuses, but rather explain my perspective. When I played for the Khaenri’ahns, they all really hated me, and so I had to push myself to absolute perfection, and subconsciously I'm putting that perfection on you in this game. You don’t deserve that, especially since you aren't even a setter really…” they sighed and he smiled before pulling them into a side hug.

“You're the greatest coach I've ever had, y/n. Thanks for pushing me” he smiled.

Coaches and players, it's a relationship that could either break or make a game, a player, a coach. Being understanding and recognizing faults in each other was always the greatest thing the two people could do, no matter what relationship they were in, but in a relationship that was built on a game of mistakes. A game that people use mistakes to get ahead of the other team, it was always important to admit when someone was wrong. So Y/n taking that first step, taking that step to explain why they had been pushing harder than needed, that first step broke down every wall between the two of them. From setter to setter, setter to hitter, player to coach, person to person, the two now knew they could count on the other to admit their imperfections and be able to grow from them.

However, timeouts are only 30 seconds long. So the team dispersed back onto the court or to the bench to get a few more drinks of water. And the other side lined up once again. Venti whistled as y/n walked to stand beside him. Scaramouche Got into position before serving, and Xiao passed the ball with ease. Kaeya set the ball perfectly to Diluc right behind him, who went up and hit the ball as though there hadn't been a single blocker there, with absolute confidence. Hitting it to the side of the court, Scaramuche barely picked the ball up with a pancake, however the fight was useless and the ball shanked off to the side. None of the team was able to bring it back into the court far enough to send it back over to the other side of the court.

The teyvats cheered and gathered around clapping and high fiving each other. They then rotated, childe giving high fives to razor who went in for him for backrow. Childe ran over to the sidelines and y/n picked up his water bottle and handed it to him,

“Thanks” he smiled, taking it from them. He drank from the water bottle, looking at the court from the side of his eye as y/n observed the next serve. The play continued at a fast pace just as usual. When the point was over Childe talked, “You okay?” childe asked, putting his water bottle down. “Hm? Oh are you talking to me?” y/n asked, jumping a little not really expecting to be talked to. “Yeah, those were some pretty rough words from Signorita.” he said looking out onto the court as the next point began. “Oh, yeah. Its worse for Kaeya im sure”

“Yeah but Kaeya is a lot more confident then you” “Wow. thanks.”

“No! I didn't mean it like that-” childe stuttered slightly, gaining a laugh from y/n and they pushed him a little, “I'm kidding with you. You're not wrong, it just sucks to hear it admitted out loud. But yeah I'm fine.” they spoke, staring out at the court, razor made a nice save and y/n clapped and whooped for him. “... are you sure?” childe asked, his eyes now finding their way to y/n's face. Have y/ns eyelashes always been so long?

“Since when were you so worried for me? I'm just a coach” y/n laughed a little, but the humor wasn't there and it felt strained, like y/n was debating whether or not to say something. “And friend.” he spoke, placing a hand on their shoulder. “... oh”

The plays continued, getting progressively more and more heated until it was the last few points. The team had been fighting this last set for a few points now, up to 26-27, Teyvats. Both teams were exhausted, both were falling to dirty tricks, both were out of time outs. Y/n had been watching from the sidelines with progressively more anxiety. They had to start pacing to keep themselves calm, the rallies were getting longer. It was like neither libero was willing to let a single ball drop even if they had to sacrifice a future with healthy knees and elbows.

“COME ON” y/n yelled, clapping their hands as Xiao went up to serve. He had a wicked serve. It was a float serve, but hard. It cut through the sky but would drop at any time, making it unpredictable and hard to track. But Captiano was there, every single time. He always got the ball up to the front row. And would be back against the back line seconds after ready for blocks and hits. Both teams were fighting hard, and neither were ready to give up. Kaeya went to set, but his hands were not positioned correctly, and it fell through them and went straight to the ground.

y/n had never seen a person more angry then Kaeya in that very moment. He looked as though he wanted to kill, and passing the ball under the net with a slam into the ground only echoed their thoughts. Y/n and venti looked at each other, both knowing what they needed to do, but not knowing if they should do it. Y/n sucked in a breath, preparing themself before pulling the cord.

“Xinqui, go in and set for KAeya. Now.” y/n said pushing him forward. “Oh! Okay-” he stuttered before running onto court, telling Kaeya what to do. Kaeya looked up from Xinqui and made short eye contact with y/n, his eyes as hard as stone and his mouth pulled to a thin line, his hands clenching at his side. He jogged off the court but shouldered y/n on his way to the bench. “Hey! Don't take your anger out on them!” Venti had lectured, but it fell short because Kaeya wasn't even listening at this point. He was looking off somewhere else with his arms crossed. Throwing a hissy fit basically.

The next points went quickly, with teyvat just barely losing to some hard blocks and sloppy hits thanks to the change. The team congratulated the other and they all said their goodbyes. The teyvats didn't look too discouraged luckily, “You all did wonderful!” Venti spoke proudly, he always did that. Even though the team knew they could do better, Venti encouraged them. Maybe that's why he was one of the best coaches… Venti gave them all a run down and told them when to come back for practice next since the team usually practiced in the afternoon. Meanwhile, y/n gathered their things and began to get ready to leave to go get themselves lunch. However, as they approached the door they felt a tap on their shoulder.

“Why'd you take me out?” The questions were simple, but it was hard. There would always come a point in time when even the greatest of friends would be split in a decision that neither would be able to say was wrong nor right.

You, yes you reader, may be wondering why as the author I decided to completely change a course of action in the middle of this chapter as the characters, who just had a bonding moment, have a moment of anger. To you I say, you have not been a player who's been pulled out by a coach who you trusted. If you have, then you would understand.

“I thought you needed a break, you were obviously frustrated and your anger caused bad mistakes that wouldn't happen if you were cool minded. I did the best thing in that situation.” y/n spoke, they were trying not to let their anxiety take hold of their words, and switch them to put themself in the wrong. They weren't wrong, they told themself. They had every reason to take Kaeya off the court.

“I would've gotten over it. I needed another chance.” KAeya spoke, crossing his arms, ‘closing off to any discussion.’ “You dont get more chances when the points are on line and that close. A simple mistake causes the game to change completely.” y/n spoke as calmly as possible, trying to explain their side of the situation. “So you put in a new setter? If you ask me thats a big mistake that fucked over the entire game.” his voice rose in volume and his arms uncrossed, his hand flying to the side of his body. “Kaeya, please understand where i'm coming from-”

“NO! Gosh you ARE a fuck up! Just like Lumine said!” Kaeya spoke, his voice had risen to a yell. y/n stutter step backwards again. They glanced around, trying to make sure no one heard this outburst. But it was useless, everyone was staring at the pair.

They took a deep breath before making eye contact once again, “Kaeya. I want to politely ask you to take that back. I may have made a mistake, but it was in your, and the teams, best interest.” they spoke, their voice shaky now.

“No! Because you just cost us the game! I could've pulled through. I know you think you're pushing ‘perfection’ or whatever on me, but maybe push it on yourself a bit more!” he yelled, flailing his arms dramatically. y/n let out a shattered breath, unable to control the shaking in their hands anymore.

“KAEYA. ALBERICH.” a voice rose against his. Both of their heads snapped to the side, to see Childe with his arms at his side, his fists clenched, and his eyes glaring at Kaeya. “Kaeya, bench, now.” Venti spoke, stepping forward and pressing a hand to Childe's shoulder. “Why?” The word was not a question, but a rebuttal. A demand for someone to back him up, not to take y/ns side.

“Because, we need to talk. Y/n had every reason to take you out of the game, and if I disagreed I would have stopped them. Sit. down. Kaeya alberich.” vent spoke, his words were firm, they don't have the light ease to them as normal. In return, Kaeya huffed and stomped over to the bench. Childe turned to go talk to y/n, but he found they were already gone. The door swinging closed from where they had previously been.

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casspurrjoybell-31 · 1 year ago

Text

The Consort - Chapter 7 - Part 1

*Warning Adult Content*

Finn

A night of sitting on metaphorical pins and needles finally catches up with me.

When the first bursts of morning light cascade across the green forest, Brayden pulls me into his arms and tells me it's time to go.

Then he starts running.

It only takes a few minutes before my eyes become weak with fatigue.

Bursts of green become blurred behind the constant, cool breeze slapping against my face.

I try to stay awake, I really do.

For all I know more vampires are just around the corner ready to bring us to our knees.

Yet somehow I manage to fall asleep in his arms.

Romantic, right? I wish.

Imagine sleeping inside of a cramped, cold, metal shopping cart.

Okay, now imagine that shopping cart zooming through the parking lot, one that is devoid of any potholes, loose gravel or human interaction.

Smooth sailing, in other words.

Alright, now picture that the cart emanates a delicious and seductive scent that both excites while lulling its victim into a false sense of calm.

That's the best way I can describe traveling via Brayden's arms.

There's no warmth to him.

No softness.

It's a smooth ride but far from comfortable.

Maybe it's because it's such a smooth ride that I'm able to stay asleep but when Brayden finally urges me awake, my body is stiff and sore as ever.

"Human. Human."

"Mmm?"

A hazy view of Kelly's apartment complex comes into focus.

I squint at it, eyeing the window where only a night ago I was listening to my best friend strum on his guitar while nursing a beer.

Red eyes stare back at me with a frenzied expression.

"The woman inside is upset," Brayden informs me with a frown.

I follow his gaze to the shadow of a woman pacing back and forth in the living room.

My heart sinks when I notice Fiona's familiar pink, fluffy slippers scraping across the carpet before coming to a stop at the patio window.

Seeing them brings me back to the many mornings spent in their apartment after a night of drinking, listening to Kelly re-tell animated stories from the night before while overindulging on Fiona's famous pancakes.

It feels wrong showing up at their apartment without Kelly by my side.

I suck my bottom lip into my mouth and look up at Brayden.

He's still frowning at Fiona with a curious expression.

I expect him to set me on my feet but he keeps me in his arms.

"Why is she afraid?" Brayden whispers to me.

He sounds disappointed, disgusted even.

"She's worried about my friend, Kelly. That's his girlfriend."

"She's not the one in danger," Brayden argues.

"She is safe. Why does it matter?"

"Because Kelly has her heart," I explain.

"Her emotional, metaphorical one anyway. She wants to know he's safe. She won't be happy otherwise."

Brayden shakes his head.

"Foolish. Such emotional creatures."

As much as I want to stay near Brayden, seeing Fiona so distraught has me wriggling out of his arms to get free.

My efforts are futile.

Fiona leans over the railing and squints towards the trees.

I almost think she sees us but then she continues to glance around the area.

"I need to go help her," I grunt, still trying to get out of his grasp.

Brayden hesitates only briefly before gently setting me on my feet.

He tilts his head to the side, studying me from under his crimson gaze.

"I'll eventually be back with your friend," he murmurs and reaches into his pocket.

Slits of sunlight bounce against the screen of my cell-phone.

"Though I cannot guarantee his condition."

My stomach churns.

I knew Kelly was in danger when we were in the forest last night but the weight of it feels heavier than before.

I grab the phone from Brayden's outstretched hand and stuff it in my pocket.

Now that I don't have a pack of vampires on my heels, all my energy is focused on Kelly.

The worry is enough to make me sick.

"Thank you for bringing me back."

Brayden gives a final, fleeting look to Fiona.

His fangs are elongated, his hunger returning after a night on the run.

His angular features catch the light when he tilts his head towards me.

He doesn't acknowledge my gratitude but I don't really expect him to.

"Be safe, okay?" I whisper and am surprised at the genuine concern laced through my words.

Brayden flinches and backs away from me.

"Goodbye, human."

Those are his final words before disappearing into a chaos of grace and speed.

My eyes sweep the area a few times, triple checking to see if he'll come back.

Do I want him to come back?

I'm not sure.

I was only around my vampire for a night and the immortal barely deigns me worthy of his company.

Yet having him gone brings a new sensation of loss and unease that I wasn't expecting.

Is that how it is between a vampire and their consort?

Do other consorts feel any type of connection with their vampire?

"Finn? Is that you? Finn."

Fiona's pink slippers scuffle over the cement of the patio.

Even from here I can tell she hasn't slept all night.

Her eyes are wide with terror and worry as she squints down at me.

I offer up a weak wave of confirmation.

Each step feels heavier than the last while I make my way up to the apartment complex.

It's one thing to arrive here without Kelly.

It's another to openly admit that the reason I'm here alone is because I abandoned him.

Fiona meets me on the second staircase.

She flings her small arms around me and begins to sob.

When she nuzzles into my chest, I get a faint waft of coconut and stale cigarette smoke from her hair.

Fiona is an ex-smoker but on rare occasion she still succumbs to the urge of the nicotine stick, as I like to call them.

Her wails of cry echo through the stairwell, rippling in spirals down the metal handrail.

I've never seen her so upset, not even when Kelly forgot her birthday the first year they were dating.

That was another night I smelled cigarette smoke on her hair.

"I'm s-so-so glad you're alright," she sniffles.

"Shhh. It's okay. Let's just get back up to the apartment."

"W-wait. Where's Kelly?"

We stop at the top landing.

I glance around the stairwell, suddenly paranoid that someone will hear what I have to say.

A security camera is fixed to the top right corner of the wall.

It's pointed directly at us, waiting with bated breath.

"He'll be home soon," I answer, practicing Brayden's example of choosing my words carefully.

"Let's discuss it when we get inside, alright?"

Fiona pulls away from me with a sniffle.

Her blood shot eyes study me.

She knows there's something off.

I wish it wasn't me who had to tell her about everything that happened last night.

Even if Kelly's alive and well, I'm not sure she'll ever forgive me for leaving him behind.

"C'mon," I say again, opening the door and urging her through first.

"We have a lot to talk about."

1 note · View note

rafescoke · 3 years ago

Text

Older ; Rafe Cameron (Part 2)

masterlist

#Part 2

#Part 1

Pairing: Rafe Cameron x reader

Summary: Maybe falling in love with a Maybank wouldn’t be too bad.

Warnings: Smut! (Reader is 17, Rafe is 19), substance, swearing, reader being an asshole

A/N: I do not condone doing any sexual activities if you’re underage and everything that I wrote are solely for entertainment purposes. Take care of yourself always <33

p.s; send requests!

“What the fuck!”

“Good, you’re awake,” Rafe groaned, rubbing his eyes with his palm against the bright sunlight. He sat up straight, trying to regain his bearings and sighed.

“I can’t remember anything.”

“You can, you just choose not to,” Rafe replied, walking towards the bathroom. He felt the morning breeze nipping at his skin from the open window, and blamed it on the uncertain weather of Obx. Last night, he would’ve stripped naked if it wasn’t for the girl sleeping right next to him.

“Oh my god, where are we?”

“A hotel,” he mumbled from the bathroom, leaning onto the sink before reaching for the toothbrush. “We didn’t do anything, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“I’m not thinking about that,” she grunted, and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “Do you have a phone?”

She grabbed for the red phone by the bedside table when he muttered the answer, dialling her brother’s phone number with trembling fingers. She sucked in a breath, waiting impatiently.

“Hello?”

“JJ! I-”

“Save it. I heard everything. Are you really that fucking stupid, (Y/N)? Rafe fucking Cameron?”

“What?” She sat up straighter, her hair falling down to her shoulders. Rafe watched her from the mirror, his eyebrows raised and his eyes worried.

“Don’t play dumb with me, fuck,” he groaned, “Come back home now, or I won’t talk to you ever again.”

“JJ-”

She sighed when JJ hit the end call, throwing the phone onto the bed exasperatedly. She understood why he was acting berserk at the thought of her and Rafe, but why would he even made this into a huge issue?

“You okay?” Rafe asked, wiping his lips with the towel. “Is it the brother?”

“Yes, it’s the brother, and he wants me home,” she grunted, pulling the covers off of her and standing up. She stumbled backwards, still feeling so light, but put her hand up when Rafe tried to help her. “Can you order an Uber for me? Please? I lost my phone.”

Rafe scoffed, putting the discarded shirt on the floor over him, “Don’t be stupid. Let me drive you home.”

“He’s gonna kill you,” she sighed, biting her lips. Rafe had to look away, pushing away all unwanted thoughts.

“Let him,” he mumbled, grabbing his car keys by the television and fixing his hair without even looking at the mirror. He huffed, thinking it must’ve been better, and waited for her by the door.

“Oh god, I look like we fucked,” she groaned, putting her head down as they walked quickly to the car. Rafe laughed, watching her beside him, and shrugged. “Is that a bad thing?”

“Yes, it’s a bad thing,” she widened her eyes, and waited for him to unlock the car. “We’re not the same, Rafe.”

“Really? I thought you didn’t care about the whole kook and pogues thing,” he asked, half-amused. He watched as she entered the car, not saying anything. He placed a hand on her lap, and watched as she grunted again.

“Don’t.”

“You were begging for it yesterday,” he smiled, igniting the engine before focusing on the rearview mirror. “Rafe! Please, just touch-”

“I did not say that.”

“You did,” he nodded, and laughed again. “Not exactly. But you did wanted me to fuck you.”

“That’s not me, that’s the alcohol.”

“Oh, does daddy know you drink?”

She stiffened, and Rafe cursed silently at the sight of her frown. He completely forgot how she had confessed to him yesterday, and took a glance at her before sighing.

“I’m sorry, I don’t mean it like that.”

“Like what? What are you sorry for?”

“(Y/N), I forgot that-”

“I didn’t say shit to you, Rafe. Can you please shut up and just bring me home?” She yelled, her eyes flaring in anger and her chest heaving. Rafe stayed shut for a second, being caught off guard for just wanting to console her, but he decided to let the calm side of him took over.

“Okay. I’m sorry.”

The drive to the outskirts of The Cut was silent, and Rafe didn’t even bother to turn on the radio. He stopped at the gas station and asked her if she wanted anything, but she stayed silent as ever and looking out of the window at a random bald guy pumping his car.

“Fuck, you’re impossible,” he grunted when he entered the car again, placing a chocolate milk on her lap. She jerked at the cold temperature of the bottle, and gave him a glare.

Rafe couldn’t deny the sudden tug on his heart when he turned into the corner to the small house located at the end of the road, biting his lips and constantly glancing at the girl. He wasn’t scared of JJ, but he was dwelling on the possibility of Luke Maybank hitting (Y/N). He wished he could be with her, but even a crazy man would say that’s beyond impossible.

“Give me a call if you need anything.”

“Thanks,” she muttered, stepping out of the vehicle before flinging the door shut. Rafe grunted at his door shutting roughly against his car, and wondered why girls would even do that when they’re mad.

He watched as the door opened to a furious JJ, his eyes bloodshot red and his hair frenzy. (Y/N) said something to him, and Rafe read the lines of ‘I don’t want to hear it’ and ‘not bringing you to a party anymore’ from his mouth, and before he could read anything else, JJ’s eyes met his.

“Yo, is there a problem, Cameron?” JJ yelled from his front porch, flailing his arms as he walked towards the car. Rafe cursed, fumbling with his break, all while listening to (Y/N) trying to hold her brother off.

He sped away, glancing at the rearview mirror as the small house became even smaller, and let out a tired sigh.

It must be fair, he guessed, for JJ to act like that with him. Rafe went absolutely crazy when he found out that Sarah was with John B, constantly thinking about how he wouldn’t treat her as good as anyone else. JJ must’ve been thinking the same way, but Rafe didn’t know how he could convince JJ that he would never hurt her in any way possible. He shook his head at the thought, thinking how they wouldn’t even be a thing, not when the only proper communication they could have is when she’s drunk.

The next few days were a blur to him. Everytime he went down to the restaurant to catch a glimpse of her, even the tiniest look, she would return back to the kitchen and a different server would come and serve him.

It was like she was trying to ignore him, and Rafe knew something happened. She didn’t have the usual glow with her, that smile she’ll put when she’s talking to the bratty customers, and she was even yelled at by the manager in front of everyone, to which she yelled something back before yelling ‘I quit!’ and running towards the exit.

Rafe wanted to run after her, but knew he would annoy her even more. The good thing from that was he wouldn’t have to spend more money eating the tasteless food now, but he didn’t know where to look for her anymore.

It had been 2 weeks now, and Rafe still hasn't seen her since the day in the restaurant.

“God, you’re fucking hooked.”

“No, I’m not,” Rafe shook his head, attempting to drink the cold drink to ignore his friend. Topper rolled his eyes, patting his back before sighing.

“And she’s a minor, too.”

“It’s just 17,” Rafe shrugged, “And I’m still 18. Technically.”

“19 next month,” Topper reminded him, “There’s a long list of girls who would die for you and you’re after a pogue?”

“Don’t say that,” he groaned, pushing the glass further from the edge of the table. “And I don’t like her. I just think about her.”

“Whatever,” he shook his head, “But tell you what. There’s a party tonight, and it’s going to be huge.”

“Not interested,” Rafe mumbled, thinking of a peaceful night of sleeping instead of out partying. He didn’t feel like meeting Dee too, who had been trying to contact him since the day of the bonfire night.

“Come on,” Topper groaned, “It’s only for a few hours. A few hours to let loose.”

“I’ll think about it,” he lied, wanting to end this conversation already. He didn’t feel like drinking or snorting anything, and he wasn’t even sure why. All his teenage years, Rafe had been a party animal, always there at every party in Obx and just enjoying his life.

He didn’t feel like that Rafe Cameron anymore.

“Maybe (Y/N) would be there.”

His head perked up, “No, she won’t.”

“She will,” Topper shrugged, “Everyone’s going to be there. Are you not desperate to see her or something?”

Rafe thought about the possibility of this, and even if she’s not at the party, he was sure he could find her friends and ask them about her.

He sighed, “Fine.”

“I’ll pick you up at 9. Relax, man. You look like your fucking father.”

Rafe laughed with Topper at that statement, his heart set on one thing; (Y/N).

. . .

The loud music thrummed against his eardrums as he tried to cloud his mind, his head already ringing from the amount of drinks he had tonight.

Topper and Kelce had told him that he was too worried about the uncertainties, and he had dwelled so much on that statement that he decided to down so many drinks one after another.

“I didn’t mean for this to happen,” Topper mumbled to Kelce, watching as Rafe situated himself on the sofa, head back, grunting slightly. “But whatever works, I guess. He’s fucking hooked, I swear.”

“Fuck, is that (Y/N)?”

Topper widened his eyes at the sight of the younger girl with Carter entering the party, his arms around her shoulder as he greeted his friends. He thought about amazing she looked, and how he understood Rafe now, but he didn’t know she would come here with a plus one.

He couldn’t let Rafe see this.

“You wanna go back home?” He laughed awkwardly, placing himself beside Rafe and glancing at a giggling (Y/N) with Carter. He looked at Rafe nervously, and cleared his throat. “I’m tired, man. We should go home.”

“Nah, I’m okay,” Rafe replied, feeling his body relaxing. “You’re right, man. All I need is a party.”

“Ha-ha, yeah, now all you need is your bed.”

“What the fuck?” Rafe laughed, turning sideways to look at the state of Topper. He laughed again, “What’s wrong with you? Is Sarah here or something?”

He looked around, his mind woozing, and what greeted him felt like a smack across his face.

(Y/N) Maybank and fucking Carter.

“Oh, fuck,” Topper said to no one in particular, and grabbed Rafe’s hand before he could stand up. “Chill, man. They’re just talking.”

“He tried to touch her,” Rafe mumbled, his eyes flaring up. Why would (Y/N) even allow herself to be in the same room as that stupid boy? She ignored him for 2 weeks, and now this?

“Don’t do anything stupid,” Topper warned, knowing that this would bound to happen. He didn’t know it would be this quick, though.

“Is killing him stupid?”

“Jesus, Rafe, just don’t do anything, okay? If he tries to touch her again and she looks uncomfortable, then do-”

Rafe stood up before Topper could finish his sentence, walking to the pair with a frown settled on his face.

“Cameron,” Carter greeted, a smirk tugging on his lips as he pulled (Y/N) closer. “What’s the deal?”

“What are you doing?” Rafe hissed, looking straight at (Y/N) as she tried to look away. He turned to Carter again, “The bruise looks a little bit dull. Want me to colour it for you?”

Carter stepped up, to which (Y/N) quickly placed her hand against his chest, rolling her eyes. “Stop it. Carter, let’s just go.”

“Are you serious?”

“Rafe, just go,” she threw him a look before parting away with a smirking Carter, to which he groaned and cursed angrily.

“I need a drink,” he said to Topper, and Topper hesitated before handing him his glass. He watched him downed the remaining content of the glass, placing the bottle next to him before throwing his head back again. He tried to say something, but was halted when he saw Dee walking towards them.

��Hey, Rafe.”

Rafe looked up to her brown eyes and sighed, “What do you want?”

“Do you wanna talk? Like somewhere?”

“We can talk here.”

“I mean like privately.”

A sudden thought occurred to Rafe, and he formed a sly smile; if she could do this to him, he could do it back.

When (Y/N) tried to pull away from Carter, saying she needed the bathroom, she had come across a drunk Rafe flirting mindlessly with the same girl who had asked her to reheat her pasta. She watched from the corner, feeling some kind of an emotion in her, and went back to Carter, who was in the mid of a conversation with his boring friends.

“I need you.”

“Now?” Carter glanced at her, “We just arrived.”

“I need you,” she pulled him again, to which he quickly bid his goodbyes to his friends and following her to the extra rooms upstairs.

It was like a reflex; Rafe saw her pulling that obnoxious guy upstairs, and he didn’t think twice before going after her, leaving Dee alone again, all stressed out.

He felt a wave of anger as she laughed at something he said, his hands balling into a fist. Carter tried to kiss her, to which she flinched quickly that his lips had connected with her cheeks instead, and watched as she giggled.

“I can fuck you right here and right now,” Carter sighed, still so absorbed into the moment and the thought of touching her. (Y/N) laughed, pinning him against the wall, and whispered into his ear.

“In a few minutes.”

Rafe watched as he laughed, his hands around her waist now, and all he felt at the moment was to punch the shit out of that pogue for touching her.

“I need the toilet,” she held a finger up, and placed a soft kiss against Carter’s cheeks as he groaned, muttering a ‘in a minute’ before fleeing to the far end of the floor. Rafe glanced at Carter before walking towards the bathroom, his heart hammering against his chest.

“You’re satisfied now?”

(Y/N) looked up from the sink to the mirror, watching Rafe’s reflection before sighing. Her heart soared, and she felt butterflies in the pit of her stomach at the sight of the angry boy. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I really don’t understand you,” Rafe said, walking closer towards her. “Why are you back with that guy?”

(Y/N) rolled her eyes, turning to look at him, to which he slowly filled the gap in between them. She gulped at him being too close to her, and she could feel the warmth radiating from his body.

“I can do whatever I want, Cameron.”

“So ignoring me for 2 weeks and making me jealous is your plan all along?”

“There’s no plan, and you know it,” she scoffed, and tried to push him away. She yelped when he tightened his fingers around her arms, keeping her in place.

She wasn’t sure if she liked it or not.

“Is this your payback for me not fucking you?” He whispered, his eyes glancing down to his lips, and he thought about biting the pink lips and fucking her until the next morning. “Huh? Is that what you’re mad about?”

“Fuck off, Rafe,” she sighed, “I’m a minor, remember? Isn’t your reason as to you’re not fucking me is because I’m a minor?”

“Oh, I see it now,” he laughed, tilting his head backwards before inching closer to her lips. He could feel her temperature rising, and couldn’t push the amusement in his body for getting her all worked up. “It is because I don’t fuck you. Do you feel rejected?”

“Fuck off,” she said, trying to push him again, but to no avail. She hated how turned on she was in that moment, and wished she had had her priorities straight.

“Do you want me to fuck you now?” He asked slowly, his lips grazing against her cheeks. She held her breath, and watched as he laughed. “Now you won’t speak?”

“Rafe, I-”

“Do you want me to fuck you now?” He repeated, his breath heavy. He looked down to her lips again, noticing her biting it, and cursed silently. “Answer me.”

“Yes.”

“Huh? I can’t hear you.”

“God, yes, yes,” she placed her forehead against his, and she could feel her core begging to be touched. She pushed her thighs together, finding some kind of friction for release.

Rafe trailed his fingers down to under her skirt, his mouth slightly apart and his breathing heavy as he watched her squirm, her eyes closed.

He bit her lips, “Open your eyes. Look at me.”

She opened her eyes, watching him intently as his fingers slipped into her panties, teasing her entrance and sending her in an euphoric state. She moaned lightly, and tugged on his wrist before he could continue.

“We’re still in the bathroom,” she said, her thighs trembling for his touch.

“I’ll fuck you in the living room if I have to,” he grunted, and before she could say anything, he turned her over so she could stare at herself in the big mirror.

She bit her lips, hearing him unbuckling his belt and positioning himself before her. She never imagined it to be like this; but she was sure anyways. She never wanted anyone so bad as much as Rafe.

“Faster.”

“Patience,” he groaned, and looked at her through the mirror. He licked his teeth, “Beg for it.”

“Fucking hell, no,” she rolled her eyes, to which he quickly grabbed her face and forced her to look at him through the mirror again.

“I said beg for it.”

“Please,” she whispered, and pushed herself against him, to which he grunted at the sudden touch. He grabbed her waist, pulling her close, and slowly slid himself into her.

He watched as she closed her eyes as he pounded into her, holding his hand against her mouth to shut her moans. He grunted again, telling her to open her eyes, and she obliged quickly.

“Oh my god,” she moaned against his hand, feeling so good that she didn’t ever want to let go.

“Wrong name,” he muttered, trailing his hands down to her neck now, and watched as she clenched around him, sending him to complete stars.

“Fuck, you’re so good,” he expressed, feeling himself getting sloppier, and his hands dropped to the sink to stabilize himself. Her moans were getting louder now, and he didn’t care, because all of his wet dreams before were coming to life.

“I’m close,” she stuttered, feeling all of him inside her now, and she swore no one had done it the way he did. Her hands grabbed onto his, feeling so close now, and screamed as she released herself.

“Fuck,” he groaned, pulling himself out and turning away from her, feeling all kinds of shocks as he came, his chest heaving and his forehead clammy.

Before he could guess their next move, (Y/N) pushed him against the wall, lowering down to her knees and gazing up at him from her position.

Rafe groaned, feeling himself getting hard at just her look, and bit his lips. “Still so sensitive.”

“So?”

“Oh my god,” he grunted, gripping onto her hair as she wrapped her lips around him, bobbing her head and Rafe had a sudden thought of how amazing she was. He felt the familiar feeling approaching again, and grunted again.

“You’re so good, baby.”

She hummed, sending vibrations throughout his whole body causing him to jerk forward, piling her hair up into a ponytail and helping her hit all of the spots to reach his end. He could feel her teeth grazing him, and he could’ve sworn he felt his heartbeat stopped.

“Fuck. You’re killing me,” he expressed, feeling so close now, and before she could prepare herself, the hot load hit the back of her throat, and she giggled as he pulled himself away.

“Holy fuck, you’re amazing.”

She showed him her tongue, all coated with his seed, and Rafe felt like kissing her and marking her as his forever. He didn’t ever want to let her go, now when she was like a precious gem to him.

She swallowed his load slowly, gazing at him with those eyes again, and Rafe had to turn away to stop himself from getting hard again. He placed a soft kiss against her cheek, pulling his jeans up and helping her dress down.

“We should do that again.”

“Oh, we will,” he smiled, turning the faucet open to wash his hands. He waited for (Y/N)’s turn and turned the faucet off before opening the door.

(Y/N) walked past him into the public, and before he could think of anything else he pulled her against his chest again.

“What?”

“We still haven’t kissed,” he said, and watched as she blushed heavily. “Do you wanna kiss?”

“I don’t kiss older guys,” she huffed, her mouth forming into a smile. “Wait until I’m 18.”

“Are you serious?”

She laughed, pulling herself away from him, “I’ll think about it.”

“You know where to find me, Maybank.”

@okayshoto @joselyn001 @onceuponateenagetrash @dyingsleeping @iwannabeapogue @meaganjm @rafesobxs @flossy2929 @unfortunatekiwitrash @scottybitch @asimpwriter @amaya124 @tommy-tommo @thatshithurted8 @fallincindy @marvelwhor3 @rafeswh0ree @kookap @supernaturallydc-blog @blank-velvet @alaniskauany @kiiim8 @witchywrter @kaitlyn2907 @heyimflo @overcookedpastasause @tsukkiswifeey @spidey-d00d @anonymousobxfan @gotmeinloveagain @chicagoblackhawkslover96 @lexi-writes @classydragonthingknight @belongtoyou-u @badbussylol @savannah-elliott @angelreyesgirl100 @haterpenny @beehappyyy @alwaysclassyeagle @maybankslut @kayleea122 @clearbolts @lovelyxtom @christianaevans @jemimah-b99 @opierdalacz @dangerdolns @wildflowerliv @classygirlything21

#rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron smut #rafe cameron imagines #drew starkey #drew starkey x reader #drew starkey imagines #outerbanks #outerbanks x reader #outerbanks imagines #outer banks

590 notes · View notes

bubblyhoney · 3 years ago

Note

sarah i have thought of another fic request or like a cute idea i guess! i didn’t have anyone in mind when i thought of it so you can write it for whoever you want honestly :)

okay so the reader is a streamer but streams games like animal crossing, standew valley, etc. then (insert who you’re writing for) says they don’t like that game, but later ends up buying it and the reader is like “i thought you said you didn’t like this game” and they’re like “well i like you” and they confuses their feelings and they end up playing the game together and reader gives them a tour of their island or farm

i feel like this request isn’t good, but the scenario seemed cute and i wanted to share it. sorry if this is confusing or just too specific cuz i know it can be hard to write requests like that! but yeah i hope it gives you inspiration and you like the request <3

new horizons

warnings: language, a Marvel reference (hint: natasha said it about tony), stupid idiots who don’t realize they like each other, use of pet names, Uno rage, Hasan Piker's presence

words: 1473

tags: sapnap x gn!reader

A/N: i’ve been trying to catch up a little on my requests (i’ve only got a couple so i’m not super overwhelmed) but school and outside life has been taking up most of my time so this one took me a while to make! tbh— ive never played animal crossing so i did google some of the game mechanics and i apologize if anything is inaccurate about the game…. but i liked relaxing and writing this cute one so thank you for requesting hails :3

requests/inbox status: open

“This game is trash.”

Your head quirks, fingers stopped on the screen. You’re in the process of giving your character a cute new nickname; it’s kind of hard to decide between “awkward dude” and “elderly skater”.

“Excuse me?” Your chat comes alive with emotes and ‘KEKW’s, obviously entertained by you and your almost-more-than-friends-friend.

There’s a story for that later.

Sapnap’s rough laugh comes through your headset and he audibly swallows, the sound of a water bottle dropping onto his desk echoing.

“I’m just saying—it’s boring. It’s like Minecraft but you don’t like… do anything.” The grainy image of his bearded face shifts and you see him pull out his phone.

“It’s— you can’t even compare it to Minecraft! It’s a completely different game system—you actually interact with other people live in the game.” You huff out a dramatic sigh, slumping in your chair with a pout. “Just because you go into this lucid state where all you know is ‘touch block, hit George’ doesn’t mean this game isn’t fun.” (He scoffs at your awful impression of his voice. Your viewers love it.)

“Jeez,” he mumbles, fumbling with the cap of his water bottle. “Touched a nerve there, bud.”

You roll your eyes, getting back to the village in the game.

“Don't ‘bud’ me.”

The call falls comfortably quiet, the sounds of him tapping obsessively on his phone and you clicking away filling the silence. A gentle bedroom-pop YouTube playlist remains in the background, prompting you to hum along and glance at the chat to see a flood of “check twitter” and “Y/N TWITTER!!”.

“What happened on Twitter?” You mumble, confused, and pull the website up on another monitor. Sapnap just makes a curious noise, swinging back and forth in a circle. “Oh my God,” you say to yourself, fingertips brushing your parted lips.

“What?”

“Hasan Piker just followed me and retweeted one of my not even remotely political old tweets. Like from a year ago.”

“That’s— wow. Congrats?” Sapnap’s voice cracks, and his ears flush pink the tiniest bit when you glance at his face on Discord.

“I’m gonna go on record and say that he could get it.” You shake your head in disbelief.

Sapnap falls uncharacteristically non-hyper-verbal, so you look past the frenzied chat and to his screen— wait. He muted and turned his camera off.

“Um,” you start, furiously typing question marks in your private chat. “Where’d you go?” You mute and turn screen share off for your stream, concerned that he might’ve fallen off his chair and broken his neck and needs you to call the ambulance.

The characteristic ding of a twitter notification sounds through your bedroom, and you look at your phone quickly.

“That’s where I went.”

Sapnap Tweeted: “all Y/U stans can choke on my dick”.

“Jesus, Sapnap,” you say, and rapidly refresh to read the replies. This tweet was deleted. “That’s so— that barely makes sense, bro. Why— literally what?”

His snicker floods your ears and you relax in your chair. Crisis: averted. “Don’t fucking— what’s wrong with you?”

“I thought it would be funny,” he offers, shrugging, and fiddles with the straw in his water bottle, smile fading. “And also Hasan pisses me off.”

“Why, ‘cause he wants a piece of this? Jealous?” You think back to your viewers, knowing they’re probably spamming question marks and coming to ludacris conclusions about both of your absences. No offense to them. You remember your stan days very vividly.

“I mean, kinda.” He rubs once at his nose, glancing at the camera (and what feels like you) before taking a sip from his water bottle.

“Wow.” You watch one strand of his hair fall from beneath his hat and brush against his full eyebrows. “I’m uh—I’ll get back to my stream. You coming? Or is it time for a Sapnap-snack?”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” He snorts and leans his chin onto the balance of his arm.

“That means you like to take a little snack break mid-stream and come back approximately nine hours later and you didn’t even eat.”

“You know what— fuck you.” He flicks the camera as you laugh at the look on his face.

The teasing mood is easily kept as you switch games from Animal Crossing to Uno, all the while slamming Sapnap with +4’s and skipping the newly-arrived BadBoyHalo at any chance you can get. It unironically pisses him off and he has to take a Sapnap-snack break midway through (only a fifteen minute break this time, during which you and Bad take a “What Kind of Bread Are You?” quiz). The rest of the night is filled with devious cackles (you), loud and sudden bangs that sound suspiciously like someone hitting their desk in anger (Sap) and the stupid barking of Rat, AKA Lucy (Bad). She’s cute but a menace to the sound quality of Bad’s microphone. You sign off stream around 2 a.m. with various forms of thanks and kisses blown to the camera. It’s been a refreshing night, actually; you’ve been busy organizing a partnership stream all week and all your friends have been busy filming or editing or what-not. Quackity had time for a little Roblox every couple of days, though. He’s got your back.

The next time you see Sapnap is after a two hour stream of him try-harding in Valorant and you finishing responding to an email from your partnership in the VC.

“Okay, I’m back.” You hear him shift in his chair and click a couple more times on his keyboard. You perk up in your chair, closing the email browser you’d been looking at.

“Do you want to play anything else? I’m down for anything.”

“Absolutely not Uno. You can go to hell for giving me 6 cards that one time,” he jabs. You scoff, crossing your arms and leaning back in your chair.

“Okay, the +4 was on me but it’s Bad who gave you the last two. That’s not my fault, sweetie.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he mumbles, trailing off as the clicking of his keyboard stops. “Hey, um—Guess what?”

Your heart beats loud in your ears at the tone of his voice. He sounds nervous; that’s never good.

“I’m scared to guess,” you try, playing with a little Minecraft dog figurine you have on your desk with fidgety fingers. “What?”

“I bought Animal Crossing.”

Silence. You stare at his discord icon blankly, trying to reroute the wires of your brain.

“Tell me you love it.”

“Well… I haven’t actually played it— but you said you liked it, so.”

“So,” you repeat him, ears warming but continuing on. “Is that what you tell all your friends when you buy something they like? That it's because of them?”

He seems to choose his next words carefully, pausing a beat to consider your questions.

“Well, I don’t have a crush on all of my friends.”

“You—what?” You stutter, caught off guard and stumbling. What did he just say? “Don’t tell me you mean you have a crush on me.”

“I’m almost positive I just did.” His discord icon stares right back at you, taunting.

“You know, you’re very casual for someone who just admitted they like-like me.” Your cheeks flush pink and you have to press a hand to your chest to keep your breathing sounding stable.

“Yeah, I’m kind of cool like that,” he offers, a huff of a laugh punctuating his statement. The conversation moves into a lull that you can’t help but know is because of you. He must expect you to say something about it, right?

“You are very cool, Sapnap.” You tilt back in your chair, sucking in a breath to prepare yourself for your next words. “And—Isortakindofhaveacrushonyoutoo.”

He must understand you, for you can hear the grin in his voice when he asks “Really?”

“Y-yeah.” You feel like a preteen again, all shaky and giddy in front of the boy you just asked to a middle school dance.

“Um, alright. What do we do now?”

“I don’t know,” you answer genuinely and swing in a happy little circle in your chair. “We could play Animal Crossing.”

“I’m down.”

You swear you’ve never heard more beautiful words.

He keeps his camera off for most of the time you two play, too focused on creating his island and asking you questions about how to fish to turn it on. He silently flips it on when you help him decorate his lawn, needing to show you in real-time the decorations he has bought and where you think he should put them. He looks cute. I mean, of course he does. He always does.

You tell him goodbye late in the night, eyes saying a little more than just “see you tomorrow”.

You like him. He likes you.

It’s even better when you two have matching gardens.

A/N: anybody and everybody (especially my precious hailey) let me know what you think!! :]

#sapnap #mcyt #sapnap x gn!reader #sapnap x reader #sapnap x you #sapnap fluff #sapnap drabble #sapnap oneshot #bubblyhoneyfics #honey answers #mcyt x reader #🥚except small

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bibliocratic · 4 years ago

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clear the area jonmartin, post-MAG200 content warnings in the tags

They earn their ending. A happy-ever-after beyond the gaze of any eyes.

Jon endures his abdication. This world has no Archivists, has need of none, the thankless crown of Knowing finally unburdened from his shoulders. The blood washes off Martin’s hands with soap and scrubbing and scalding water. They live.

The end. In conclusion. Fin.

Jon’s new scar, the packaging of his skin split ragged from collarbone to sternum, fades like sun-caught paint. A maw of red pursing to a gummy primrose pink, settling into a rough cartography of white.

The first few months are hard. Brimstone flare-up silences and ice-pick shouting, open-handed forgiveness and closed-fist weeping. They drain themselves to husks with anger and worry and grief until there is enough space for better things to grow there in their stead. Jon’s nightmares were a nightly stormfront to bear, sweated sheets and dawn fanfares of panic and dread, but he is learning now, with the space for his ribs to expand, that it is ok for them to breathe here.

Jon digs up the garden with a rusty trowel until it is a bumpy canvas of mulch and soil, dirt tucked under his fingernails and decorated with smudges up to his elbows. He hums while he irons their shirts in front of the television, thoughtless and senseless with tune.

Martin has tried to, but the sound goes down the wrong way.

Martin is happy.

It isn’t the sight as such, that might sit as a film over his vision to tinge his waking sepia. The reddest thing they own is a terracotta plant plot brimming with raggedy thyme that lives a precarious cliff-top existence on the kitchen windowsill. He observes Jon’s face in all its variations, even pained – when he snags splinters in his fingers, when he stubs his toe on the stone front step and swears damnation – and his response is sympathy tempered by admonishment.

It’s not the sensation, not really, that might tremble on his skin. Martin’s palms tend to dryness inside their homely bubble of creaky central heating, hemmed in by boisterous coastal winds. He handles bread knives and butter knives and steak knives and carving knives without the muscle memory of other blades, and he thinks he might be getting pretty handy with his oven experimentation.

It’s the sound. It wakes him, the noise lingering like the echo of a slap.

The slick punch of metal into muscle. A tooth-bared, tense-jawed gasp.

Resurfacing to shocked consciousness, he would be seized by a frenzy, to know, to check. His scattering hand scrabbling for the lamp with such force he hit it off the nightstand to roll in a giddy clatter, throwing off the covers to rapidly pollute both of them with the outside air. Jon would be rocked from sleep, groggy, panicked, and Martin’s words would not come, a train of thought trying to race full steam where no one had laid tracks, so it would be just the two of them, exhausted and upset and amping the other up in misery.

Now, upon his rousing, Martin knows not to turn on the light. He does not check. The aftermath of punch-gasp curls in his ear, and he inhale-exhale-inhales with the ferocity of mantra, and clamps the threatened tears in the clench of his teeth.

He does not wake Jon.

“How did you sleep?”

“Oh, you know me. Like a log.”

He is happy. He is. Why wouldn’t he be?

Jon rumbles like a rusty mechanism with snoring whenever he drops off on his back, and he mumbles accusatory when Martin coaxes him to his side. Martin finds black hairs on his pillowcase, in the shower plug. Jon is a vista of experience since the Eye left him, who gets hungry and tired and grumpy and drunk and silly and fed-up and giggly. Jon searches him out with the surety of magnets, and loves him, loves him, loves him. He seals kisses to Martin’s new landscape of extensive scars. Their disagreements, when they surface, are as meaningful and lasting as stones skipped on water.

Martin wanted this. He wants this. The rhythms of domesticity fading to foam on an untroubled shore.

He is out of practise with happiness, that’s all. It doesn’t come to him like breathing. He needs to till the earth of it, shelter its seeds from a thousand circling crows until it bears harvest.

He just has to try harder.

Night-time.

An episode or two of something simple, Jon nodding off like a capsizing ship before the credits. Encouraging him up in grousing, unwilling increments, rubbing out the nettle sting of pins and needles up his own arm. Check the locks, the light switches. Brush teeth. Pyjamas. Put his phone to charge, read until Jon succumbs to sleep. Click the light off, pushing Jon onto his side so his mouth doesn’t dry. Jon squirming around like a fastidious octopus until he has at least half his limbs hooked over Martin.

The dark creating shadow play. In the absence, Martin colouring in the gaps with lurid shades of disaster.

A creak – the rattle of a door downstairs, an intruder unfastening the back door, transferring their weight upon the staircase. A unfamiliar scent – the recollection of smoke-stench in his nostrils, the acrid promise of gas, the ferrous pungency of blood. The rain will flood their house to drown them. The wind will blow their roof in. Jon hooks his leg around Martin, the skin void of hair where Daisy’s mouth had almost torn it off, and all he can envision is the ways this could be destroyed as he watches.

Bundle Jon close. Ignore the rain, the itch at the bottom of his stomach, the queasy roil of his fear. Drift into unkind sleep populated with its garden of earthly terrors.

Martin is… not happy. Not exactly. And that’s fine. It’s fine.

Jon is happy.

Jon, rubbing at the compression lines around his hips, the accusatory splay of the top button refusing to budge closed:

“I can’t fit into my jeans.”

Martin enfolds him from behind, planting his palms over the slight paunch of Jon’s stomach, filled out through sensible eating and small indulgences and a hunger that will never be ravenous but has restored its human qualities.

“Hmm. It’s a good look on you. Healthier.”

“Or it’s middle age.”

“Or it’s eating things that aren’t tea and meal-deal sandwiches.”

“Or other people’s terror.”

“Oh yes, you’re right, I completely forgot about your subsistence diet of eldritch and unbidden horrors in a luscious wholegrain wrap, forgive me.”

Jon laughs at that. The sound has not yet lost its novelty for either of them.

He shifts, turns, his arms a buoy around Martin’s stomach.

“You’ve lost weight.”

“Must be all the clean air,” Martin quips. “All that healthy living.”

Punch. Gasp. Exhale.

Martin wakes up.

When his heart has wound down from the pace of its gallop, he extricates himself from Jon’s grip. It is a laborious task to find the places where they’ve joined in the night and pull them apart, like separating fabric snagged on rosebushes.

He gets some water from the cold tap in the kitchen. Sits heavily on the sofa, the room cossetted by the gloom.

Punch. Gasp. Exhale.

His hands shake.

He doesn’t go back to bed.

He isn’t happy, but he could grow to be. He could. He could. He just isn’t trying hard enough.

Some days, he feels like he’s waiting for the ice to give under them.

Check the passers-by as they walk. Anyone familiar, any teeth filed too sharp, anything animal or blood-shot, any eyes that glance too deep.

Check the oven. The gas knobs are angled to off but a leak is not impossible in a house this old, their alarm might malfunction, they might fall asleep and some spark from a plug socket could catch and incite a conflagration.

Check the window latches. The opening wide enough for a body to squirm through, the claws of a Hunter marring the sill. Wriggling infestations that invade through the letter box, the keyhole, the gap under the door where the wind can whistle through.

Check. Check. Check.

Jon is happy. Jon has a job, work friends, a hundred small luxuries that he has struggled to earn. Jon is happy, so why can’t he be? He went through so much less, the blood washed off easily with soap, what the fuck does he have to cry over –

Martin has always crafted his masks from scrap, tongue out in concentration, piecing things together in low light, a make-do-and-mend of his own devising. His early efforts, the paper mâché and glue easily cracked before he learned to shore up his constructions. He has a small collection garnered over years.

The quiet-voiced, muffled-stepped, muted-smiled creation of a Good Son.

The zipped-mouth, no-refusals-no-complaints-yes-of-course-how-high earnestness of the Good Employee, the desperation sanded off the edges so no one could see.

The I’ll-get-the-first-round friendliness, the open-handed, open-hearted, too-naïve Good Colleague.

This new mask forms in increments, in the same way a rising mound of dirt marks the extent of a grave being dug.

He doesn’t mean to. It’s just he’s better at not talking about things. He always has been. And it is an ugly, easy comfort, to slip back into bad habits.

And Jon is happy.

All the things Martin does not wish to permit the light to touch he compresses inside like shaken soda. The rot in him deepens structural, the places where he papers over moulds and fungal speckles with the distraction of their new life. His smile parades simple, contented, cheeky, teasing, and there is a meticulous artistry in each. He sketches interest, paints joy, manufactures irritation out of the clay of nothingness that he allows himself to feel instead of the overwhelming rush of everything else.

I love you, his mouth murmurs, laughs, sighs, groans, and that at least is always true.

The mask of a Good Partner slips on tailor-made.

They find their nine-to-fives. Jon’s job is uneventful, boring, and nowhere near an Archive. He works in a registry office for the council, filing and organising and he’s cheerfully lied on his CV in order to get it. He gets the bus and texts Martin grumpy faces and GIFs summarising his mood when he gets suck in the commute or some idiot parks in a bus lane, he has a couple of colleagues he likes and a greater number that he tolerates, he gets a hot chocolate from this universe’s overpriced multinational chain on his lunch hour. When he gets home, he complains with delight at the mundanity of his dissatisfactions, regales Martin with tales of meagre drama.

Martin gets a cleaning job at a school. It is monotonous, dull and safe. Martin loses track of the time easily, quagmired in his musings. The children are wary of him and his visible scarring but it doesn’t bother him as much as he thought it would. The teachers are friendly enough, as well as the other cleaning staff, but he does not make friends. They’ll have to move anyway, if anything finds them here, if the Fears emerge again.

Martin tries not to feel like he’s waiting.

He wants to have a good night’s sleep.

“I’ll have breakfast at the school, don’t worry.”

“There were some leftovers from the canteen, so I’m kind of full.”

“It was one of the teacher’s birthdays, you know, Denise? Heh, might have had a bit too much cake. I’ll pop this in the fridge for later though, it’ll keep till tomorrow.”

“I’m just not that hungry tonight, Jon.”

He feels sharper when he doesn’t eat. It is uncomfortable, a scratched-out, hollowing sensation, but things focus more. He can control nothing else but this, and it feels good, to have this mastery over himself when so much is beyond him.

He drops down notches on his belt and tells Jon it’s all the walking he’s doing.

The world continues to happen to them. He goes to the cinema with Jon and picks at popcorn and encourages Jon’s outraged opinion. He meets Jon’s mildly interesting work friends and plays nice and excels at small talk, and he drinks half a cider that he nurses over the evening because it’s making his head fuggy. His body communicates its sharpness to him and he gains grim satisfaction from ignoring it. He goes to work and goes home and doesn’t sleep and goes to work and goes home and doesn’t sleep.

Martin does his best at living, and his mask doesn’t slip.

“You seem tired,” Jon pries his words out carefully, picking them out of his teeth as one would scraps. “Is… is everything ok?”

“Yeah, sure it is. Why?”

“… you seem a bit down today. Recently. Is anything… is there anything you want to talk about?”

“I’ve just been working too hard. Been a while since I had to do double-shifts, heh, I’m not as young as I used to be.”

“If you’re sure?”

Jon shifts to a different position where he’s sat on the sofa, his legs tucking up under him. Martin endures his questioning gaze with practise.

“Yeah, I’m all good.”

Martin delivers a hand-crafted smile that’s gilded heavily with guilelessness and reassurance. He watches as Jon believes him and hates himself.

“You know… You don’t have to if you don’t want to, but you can – you know you can talk to me, Martin?”

Martin’s eyes focus on Jon’s chest at the point where a knife once sunk in, and doesn’t reply.

Punch. Gasp. Exhale.

Martin wakes up.

Jon has twisted over onto his back again, rattling like a chain-smoker’s cough with his snoring. They were quiet that evening, tangled up in their own thoughts, but there is none of that distance in sleep. During the night, Jon’s wormed himself out of the covers with a single-minded determination, his restless legs squashing the duvet to the bottom of the bed on his side, encouraging Martin’s to follow suit.

He’s shirtless, his top chucked off to pile unceremoniously on the floor. The temperature is ripe with a burgeoning summer heat, and Jon tosses and complains if he’s overwarm, and Martin didn’t think he’d get to feel the drudgery of another lived summer. He’s shirtless, and the room is palled in sweltering dark that softens the vague shapes of the wardrobe, the chest of drawers, the knickknacks of the life they’re building together. He’s shirtless, and Martin cannot see where the scar is, the only scar of Jon’s he has ever thought ugly, but he knows it is there. That he put it there. That he could just as easily be waking up alone.

His body pains him to live in it. His stomach tight and bottomed out empty.

He is so so tired.

Martin’s heartbeat does not slow down. His chest constricting, and he swallows, a sharp sound hiccupping in his throat. He stifles it with a forceful sniff but more come as a painful spasming wave, and he has to sit up if any air is to dribble into his lungs.

He should get up. He has to get up, do this in the bathroom, doubled-over the sink, stifling his weakness where it cannot be witnessed. He cannot do this here.

Punch. Gasp.

His burning face is soaked as he bunches up his sleeves against his reddening eyes. A calming exhale drains out shaky, moulds itself into another loud sob. He plants his hands over his mouth, screwing his eyes closed, and this will pass, he’s fine, this will pass…

“Martin?”

I’m sorry to wake you, he thinks to say. It’s nothing, go back to sleep, stop looking at me Jon, I’m fine, I’m fine, it’s nothing, it’s nothing…

His shoulders start to shake.

“Martin?” Jon repeats slowly. And the ice creaks and cracks and Martin gasps and then it breaks, and the force of his damned-up grief is tidal, catastrophic and he sobs into his hands.

“It’s… it’s alright – it’s… it was a nightmare, that’s all, ‘s alright…”

“It’s not!” Martin bubbles out, the words mashed to a wail in his hands. “It’s not, it’s not, it’ll ruin this…”

“Hey.” Jon brings his arm around Martin and he buries his head in the bony crook of his shoulder because he does not want to meet Jon’s eyes. “What do you mean? Martin?”

Jon rubs at his back. Martin’s body betrays him in a hundred ways as it collapses around him. His weeping wrings him out, dry-mouthed and headachy and trembling when he subsides into shivery breaths.

“Talk to me,” Jon says. “Please.”

“You’re so happy,” Martin sniffs out. “I-I want you to be happy, god, o-of course I do. Things are, they’re good, they’re good and we won, s-s-so why does it feel like I’m still holding my breath? I-I go to bed and I’m frightened of every noise, and I wake up and I’m terrified that someone somehow could take this all away, and I can’t sleep, and I-I’m tired, Jon, I’m tired of holding my breath, and it’s all – it’s all so much a-a-a-and I can’t – ”

“Oh, Martin – ”

His words fail him then. Jon holds him up and his arms do not loosen.

“We-we’re going to fix this,” Jon says after a long while. “I promise you, together, we’ll – we’ll talk to someone. You aren’t alone in this. Together, alright, we’ll do this together. We’ve survived – everything else, we can get through this too.”

“I don’t know if I can believe you,” Martin says, too drained to avoid honesty.

“…Maybe not yet,” Jon says after a pause. “That’s OK. I can wait.”

I’m sorry, Martin attempts to say but Jon presses a kiss to his forehead.

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” Jon says. He strokes Martin’s sweat-soaked hair.

“… Can we talk? Tomorrow? You don’t have to tell me everything, but… I’d like to be there for you, if you want me. If you’ll let me.”

Martin nods because he doesn’t trust his gummed-up throat. Jon takes that as an answer.

Dawn comes in slowly enough but they see it in together.

#tma #the magnus archives #cw racing thoughts #cw anxiety #tw eating disorder #tw ptsd #ask to tag #cw nightmares #martin blackwood #jonathan sims #jonmartin #tma spoilers

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masterwords · 3 years ago

Text

the silence drowns pt. 3

Summary: Morgan interrupts Foyet in Hotch's apartment. Bad times are ahead.

Warnings: graphic depictions of violence, gore, pain, torture...not for the squeamish. Near-death (he's not going to die), lots of pain pain pain.

Pairings: Hotch/Morgan

Words: 1.9k

Notes: More pain during the trip to the hospital. If you can't tell, I'm having a little too much fun with Foyet here.

Chapter List

Read on AO3: The Silence Drowns

He woke swimming in Derek's hooded sweatshirt, no idea how he'd gotten to be there. The sleeves hung too long, cuffs nearly covering his ice-cold fingers while he sat slumped over with his back to the couch. He swayed dangerously and tried to lift his head. For a brief moment there was no pain, only cold, a deep unnatural cold that filled him with aching dread. This wasn't his sleeping heater, the chill in his home, this was a cold so rooted in his own marrow he didn't think it could be staved off by any attempt. Flashes of memory, brief and fractured, floated across the tattered movie screen of his mind with each slow blink. Dead limbs being stuffed into Derek's discarded sweatshirt, useless and heavy, Foyet's fist pulling his hair and jerking roughly to get his head through. The hood obscured any peripheral vision he might have, and he couldn't seem to find the strength to slide it off, to turn his head in any direction, instead he let his chin droop until it rested against his chest, and he closed his eyes again.

Fingers twitching, he tried to reach out, swipe one leaden arm to the side to touch Derek who was lying so still beside him. Grazing the warmth of his bicep with icy fingertips, he inhaled a sharp breath into his splintered, flayed chest and felt his cheeks burn hot at the pathetic whine that escaped his lips.

“Derek...” he exhaled, and Foyet let out a chuckle while he put his own clothing back on and cleaned up the last of his things, sheathed his knife against his waist and felt it sing and cry out, thirsty again. Frenzied, he glanced at Aaron and wondered if he could indulge himself one more time but even in his desire, he knew that another cut, no matter how shallow, would be the last. Aaron would come undone, and he couldn't have that, not yet. He set back to the work at hand, readying them for their departure. Didn't want to leave anything important behind. Not that it mattered, fingerprints and the like, there was no great mystery here. Derek would wake and, though he might be incapacitated for some time, he would remember with great clarity the events of the night. He would point his finger while knowing that the name Foyet was synonymous with ghost. He'd like to see their Ms. Garcia find him. Him who? George Foyet didn't exist.

“He's fine,” he growled, grabbing Aaron under the armpits and hoisting him to his feet. The gash at his hip ripped back open, gaped beneath the thick sweatshirt and he whined at the rub of the fabric against tender flesh. He swayed, knees buckling beneath his weight. “Oh don't be so dramatic, really he's fine. He'll have a wicked headache tomorrow but I'm sure he's had hangovers worse...he looks like a party animal, is he a party animal? You can tell me.”

Aaron tried, to no avail, to steady himself on legs made of lead jelly and static. He lurched, curled around his pincushion middle and stumbled forward at Foyet's urging. He didn't answer the question.

“I'll take your silence as a yes. Does it make you jealous? Bet he gets a lot of phone numbers...what's he see in you, huh?” He paused, licked his lips, and walked them toward the door. Aaron's feet slid along the floor, he couldn't seem to lift them, much too heavy, there was cement in his muscles and mortar in his joints but he thought he was doing pretty well under the circumstances. “Well. I don't get it. But what do I know? Neither of you is my type.”

The brisk night air woke him up, brought him to some sort of crystalline reality that he wanted to no part of. In the hazy dreamland there was no pain, it was separated, floating on some faraway cloud he couldn't reach. His mind wasn't tethered to his body, to the pain, the cavernous wounds that opened like great smiling mouths. Here under the sea of stars, enveloped by murky black turning to the hazy green gray of morning, he felt it all. Every step pulled and tore at the raw places, the chasms that served as windows to things that weren't meant to be seen. He could feel it all, sticky where his body was trying to mend itself on the outside and hiding the festering wounds beneath. Foyet shoved him into the passenger seat of his own SUV, the vehicle he hadn't vacated so very long ago, and slammed the door. All he could do was hug his bleeding arms around the electrical fire in his midsection and slump forward until his forehead rested against the dash board. If he cried now, if he let his agonies be known, he doubted whether Foyet would be bothered much. He'd moved on, evolved. The lingering taste of Aaron's suffering was far sweeter than the momentary terror before his life was snuffed out. Growth, Foyet had mused while he shoved Aaron into the sweatshirt. Real growth, a goddamn revelation.

“Buck up, little camper,” Foyet chirped while turning the key in the ignition. “If you haven't figured it out yet, I've decided to be benevolent...you're going to live! Hallelujah! If we make it to the hospital on time anyway. You think we will?”

The engine roared to life and out they pulled onto the open road dangerously fast, Aaron moaning now without any control over anything his body did. A warm trickle of blood at his wrist caught his attention and he turned over his hand, achingly slow, studying it curiously. A rivulet of crimson flowed from beneath the cuff of the sweatshirt and pooled against the meat of his palm. He shivered inside of the sweatshirt, pulled the too long sleeves down over his bloody fingers and inhaled the smell of Derek. It was weak, there was so much blood it was nearly soaking through already but he tried to remember what it smelled like before it was tainted. Sunday mornings spent curled inside of this shirt, stolen from the back of a chair, sipping from a hot mug of coffee while he waited for the house to come to life.

“So serious...” Foyet mused, taking turns much too fast. Enough to stir up Aaron's latent motion sickness, twisting what was left of his ruined guts into volatile balls of fury. Turn after turn, he felt the bile rise in his throat and he struggled against it, wrestled it back down. He squeezed his eyes shut when he knew he should look up and look to the horizon.

“Why...” Aaron started wearily, gagging on the words as he tried to regain some semblance of the man he'd been only a few hours before. He had little faith they'd make it to the hospital in time to save him but if he was going to die, he was going to do it with whatever dignity he could muster.

“Why what? Am I allowing you to live?” Foyet guessed, of course he did. Aaron gulped down a wave of nausea that coursed violently through him. “You didn't accept the deal but it turns out I've never been much of a stickler about consent...if you catch my drift.”

“I won't stop.” Aaron groaned. “My team...” Foyet loosed his wolfish grin.

“You're so predictable, Aaron. Do you think I haven't anticipated that? What are you going to hunt? I don't exist.” He was right, Aaron knew it even in his half-alive fog. Foyet was a scavenger, a nomad, he had more fabricated or stolen identities than any of them could hope to discover. So many that he could afford to burn through them on a whim, just so that his knife could have a little fun. This little jaunt would set him back more than a few when all was said and done, yet he didn't seem to mind. If he wasn't leaving a trail of bodies he wasn't going to be traceable. The truth made him sick. Aaron didn't have enough in him to bluff his way through this time, he was fading fast, in and out on the scent of sandalwood and blood. “Shaugnessey was no fun. He did stop, sent you all away and it was such a bore...I thought for sure he'd slip up, years nothing...but you? I'm gonna enjoy watching you run around in your little hamster wheel until your ticker goes boom.”

Aaron let out a wretched moan followed by a cough and blood spilled over his bottom lip, trickled down his chin. He swiped at what he could with his sleeve and felt the warm wetness of tears on his cheeks. Foyet was right. He gagged and choked; eyes wide with the fear of a man who knew he had precious little time left and felt Foyet's hand rough slapping against his back to help him cough up whatever was clogging him up.

“Not yet. You ready to see some real magic?” Foyet asked his question through his jester's painted grin while he threw the car into park so fast it lurched and groaned at the sudden change. Aaron peered around at the nearly empty parking lot and grimaced at the sharp rays of sunlight piercing the gray dawn. He tried to open his eyes, to take in the bright cream of the clouds and orange of the sun, tried to feel it in his marrow before letting himself be carried away on the riptide of pain that could be his last. “Prepare to be amazed.”

Dragging Aaron out of the vehicle, Foyet spoke like Aaron was still listening, still a captive audience. He'd lost him, though, and at the way the man crumpled the minute his feet hit the pavement, he figured now would be the best time to fake panic. Throwing one of Aaron's limp arms over his shoulders he began hurrying them toward the Emergency Room doors. He hollered at the top of his lungs, dragging Aaron's useless feet along like an anchor. Every so often Aaron coughed more blood down the front of himself, lazily blinking in and out of the darkness, the only sign that he was still among the living.

“Help! Help! My friend!” Foyet called out while a group of people in pale green scrubs rushed out into the parking lot to help. “Please, you've gotta help me, he's dying!”

“What happened?” one asked as they approached, and Foyet turned on the waterworks. Aaron could hear real tears in his voice from wherever he was, hovering over the scene. Detached, somehow, but still able to feel it all. Every razor blade gust of air against his ravaged belly, the way they grabbed at him, not knowing what wounds they were tearing apart. He thrashed, cried out as they hauled him up onto the waiting gurney and strapped his arms down against his own fight. For your own good, they said, and as soon as he calmed down they'd let his hands go. Cold blades made him thrash harder, every last burst of strength he still possessed to fight against the the glint of steel under fluorescent lights as scissors cut Derek's sweatshirt away from him to reveal the real horrors. Beside him, walking at a fast clip while they moved toward the Operating Room, Foyet recounted a story about a mugger in the street, a make-believe theft so emotionally charged that he held them all enraptured. Try as Aaron might from inside of the echo chamber that was his skull, he couldn't seem to make them understand that they were helping the man responsible for his injuries lead them astray, and worse...he watched with horror as they let him go.

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Taglist (comment to be added for this story): @ssa-sarahsunshine, @arsonhotchner

#aaron hotchner #derek morgan #george foyet #hotchgan #mortch #criminal minds #fanfiction #hotch whump

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p-antomime · 4 years ago

Text

dawn addiction.

— minors don't interact.

— wc: 3,3K

content + warnings: 18+, including: car sex, oral (female receiving), fingering, public sex (kinda of), unprotected sex, tummy bulge, pet names (dabi actually calls the reader "princess"), virginity loss (only mentioned), i bit of fluff bye

pairings: no quirk!dabi x fem!reader

— song: Press Your Number; by TAEMIN

After waking up alone one dark night without you sleeping next to him in the spacious bed placed in the middle of his room, Dabi catches himself thinking about you and feeling strange without having your warm body next to his in the bed. Thinking about Y/N was becoming a vicious habit for him and it was the kind of addiction that the more he fed, the more it seemed to swallow his sanity. However, he didn't blame you for not wanting to be seen or related to him, in a small town like the two of you Touya was the delinquent that people avoided interacting with lest they be excluded from that closed society.

He stretches to the side in order to get his own phone from the small table placed on the side of his bed and finds himself standing there for a few seconds feeling the smell of your body that permeated the pillow next to him. After taking a deep inhale, Dabi unlocks his cell phone to try to call you, but there is no answer, after all, it was past 1:00 AM in the dawn and Y/N was now probably lying in her own bed in her house trying to sleep.

The dark haired man lets out an impatient grunt before dropping the cell phone on the bed. He was deeply rooted in you and, because of that, feeling like an insane madman who was insisting on something that couldn't be his. But what could he do but fall in love with you after kissing your lips countless times and spreading your legs dangerously wide for him before claiming your virginity as his?

And the end of that night, just like all the others where you would finish fucking and you would shamefully put on your clothes to go home, would be filled by him masturbating with the thought of your naked body running through his mind.

Touya could feel the warm temperature of yours with little mental effort with his own fingers and would cling to the fading memories of the few non-sexual moments you had shared over the past few months.

That night, Dabi slept when the sun was already up, but Y/N, on the other hand, didn't even sleep a wink. She couldn't even take a lousy nap, because her eyes were glued to her cell phone screen waiting to see if he would call her again because on the first call of the night she wasn't brave enough to answer knowing that her parents were half a wall away. A coward? Yes, that's what she was. But there was a perfect daughter demeanor that she needed to maintain, especially if she wanted to continue to nurture her father's idea of letting her start studying at a university in the metropolitan area of the country.

Y/N would turn twenty a week from today — and if her father's promise to give you a car came true, her plan was already halfway done — and she didn't want to be stuck in that small, rural town forever. She had big dreams, and, ironically, in most of them the fulminating image of Dabi was present beside her. What if she was the only one there who wanted to leave that life? What if he didn't want to leave with her? But more importantly, at what point had their relationship become so deep?

It was now 7 o'clock in the morning, which meant that in about two hours your parents would wake up to go to work. You took a deep breath and reached out to grab the cell phone lying next to you on the bed, and then began to type a message as brief and vague as possible to your lover:

"Pack up all your stuff by next Friday. Take everything that you think is important or of value to you, pack it up, and meet me on the other side of the bridge that leads to the avenue out of town, the side that has the rusty 'Welcome to our town' sign. At two o'clock in the morning. No delays. And please try not to draw too much attention, wear the most decent, neutral clothes you have in your closet. Oh, and bring documents."

And all week long you could barely look your parents in the face without feeling guilty for wanting to break free from their protective arms, but you just couldn't take it anymore. You hated that small town, and you also hated being forced to go to church every Thursday and Sunday with your mother because she said that God would "bless you with all your dreams come true," so why didn't he just indirectly help you leave that town behind? Literally, the only thing holding you back in that town was Touya and you wanted to take him with you outside the boundaries of that town that looked more like a village forgotten by the rest of the world.

Y/N's favorite place to be was Dabi's lips, and even then, the girl's replies to him by messages and short calls that didn't last more than 5 minutes started to decrease drastically. The useless monologues continue to increase inside her mind. Until the Thursday before her birthday when Y/N was about to fall asleep after standing for almost 2 hours listening to the local church mass hoping that her mother would not notice her slouching and irritable posture, suddenly a sound of something banging against her bedroom window was heard. And initially she didn't bother to get up to find out what had caused the noise, until she heard it twice more and frowned as she got out of bed after seeing that it was almost two o'clock in the dawn.

You drew the curtains in front of the window, opened it and stuck your head out, looking down and suddenly feeling your cheeks heat up violently. And there was Touya looking at you with a look of sorrow and animosity. He pointed in the direction of the hidden backyard behind your house where the two of you in the beginning of your relationship used to hide just to spend some time together or have a make-out session that ended up leaving both of you sexually frustrated because neither of you had the courage to have sex in that place where anyone could see you if you made too much noise. However, Dabi was the devil in your life worth sinning for.

— What the fuck are you doing here? — Y/N asked almost desperately as she felt Touya wrap one of his arms around her waist to glue their bodies together.

— What? Can't a man miss his beloved and want to go see her? — He asked, holding her face with his free hand. — You barely answer my messages.

— I told you we were going to meet tomorrow, on Friday. — You rested your hands on his chest to move away just enough to look him in the face.

— And about that, you're killing me with curiosity, princess. What are you thinking of doing tomorrow? It's your birthday. — Dabi commented, running his thumb along her bottom lip affectionately.

— I-I know. — You replied, looking away. — I was planning on... going out... with you. — You just didn't say it was going to be an out-of-town trip with no intention of coming back.

— What are you hiding? — He asked, leaning down to place a simple, tender kiss on her lips.

— Would you follow me wherever I went?

— I would follow you to the ends of hell if you asked me to. — Dabi answered, and instinctively you grabbed his face to place your lips back on theirs in a kiss deeper than the one before in a frenzy of feeling.

— Then do it. — Y/N whispered against his lips staring into his beautiful turquoise eyes. — For my birthday the only thing I ask from you is to always be by my side, I don't need material gifts.

Seconds after you finished speaking, the sound of footsteps inside your house could be heard, and a shiver ran down your back as your hands desperately pushed Dabi away in the direction of the very door through which the two of you had entered the yard.

— Damn, not even at dawn I... — Touya began to complain as he walked briskly away from you and disappeared into the darkness of the night to return to his house.

— Shhh, shut up. I'll see you at dawn. Two o'clock, don't forget. — You whispered loud enough for him to hear you as you turned back and faced the back door of your house slowly opening to reveal to you the sleepy figure of your father.

— Honey? — He asked, and you gasped as if you were distracted by something while you could hear your heart beating rapidly. — What are you doing out here? It's late? and cold, you might catch cold.

— I... — Y/N looked around just to make sure there was no more sign of Dabi. — I heard a noise here when I went down to get some water and just wanted to come down and see if it wasn't an animal or something. But it was nothing, I guess it was just my mind playing with me. — It was a good enough lie considering that it wasn't hard to wake up during the night to go to the bathroom or eat something from the fridge.

And then your father called you inside and you promptly went. As the day went on, not even your father's birthday present with the car seemed to quell the anxiety inside you of going to see Dabi in the middle of the night with no intention of coming home. Y/N packed three backpacks and after watching your parents go to sleep, put them all on the back seats of the car after grabbing the keys that your father had left on top of the coffee table in the living room, and also grabbing some money from your father's safe that was in a secluded room in the residence.

After writing a short, albeit long, letter explaining to her mother that she was going to the metropolitan city — but without saying with whom — to try a new life there and that you would be fine because "there were friends waiting for you there" — which was a big lie, but she didn't need to know that — Y/N put on a sweatshirt and ran out of her now former home. Remembering all the various driving lessons her mother had made her take last year, you put the key in the ignition and made sure that your license and other documents were in one of the pockets of the three backpacks on the back seats. And you set off across town to reach the end of the bridge that served as both a gateway into and out of the city, parking exactly beside the welcome sign.

After about fifteen minutes, you watched a silhouette approach through the darkness, and if you didn't recognize the blue-toned sweatshirt with white details that Dabi usually wore when he didn't want to attract attention, you would surely lock yourself inside your car for fear that it was some sexual predator. Before he could finish approaching you at the agreed upon spot and open his mouth to vocalize something, you ran toward him to jump into his arms and kiss him fervently like you hadn't done in almost two weeks. He didn't fight your grip and responded to your display of affection instantly, he missed your touch more than he would admit.

— Where are we going? — He asked, analyzing her new car as he watched you open the back seat door and gestured for him to put his own belongings inside.

— To the big city. — You answered unlocking the door next to the driver's seat after hearing Dabi choke on his own saliva looking at you as if he hadn't heard you correctly. — Come in. — Your head swiveled inward.

— What do you mean we're going to the city? What about your parents? You have a loving family here, I have nothing to lose, but you? — Dabi put one hand on her shoulder and squeezed it gently.

— I want to go to the city. I want to live with you. — Y/N replied feeling her cheeks heat up and looking at him expectantly. — You said you would go anywhere with me, to the ends of hell.

— And I will, but this decision... — You interrupted him.

— Please. For once in my life I want to do things my way. Without having to hide you from anyone, without having anyone judge me for being with you. Let's go to another city, live together, we'll figure it out when we get there. — You put one hand on his forearm, squeezing it gently.

Touya took a few seconds to process the information and after looking from you to the car, he said:

— Where are the keys? — You waved them in front of him, flashing an amused smile. — So get in the car, doll face. I'll drive. — He gave you a light slap on the butt before pushing you toward the driver's seat, getting into the car and putting the key in the ignition. — How long until we reach the city?

— About six hours, we can get there in the morning.

— Great. — Dabi started the car and began to drive along the deserted road while resting one hand on Y/N’s covered thigh and occasionally giving the area a gentle squeeze.

After about an hour of driving, you became distracted by fiddling with your cell phone until you noticed his long fingers sneaking up and over your thighs until they came dangerously close to Dabi's real intended destination. Her eyes cast a serious countenance at him as if she were silently saying: "Don't you dare" and in response his lips parted in a defiant smile as his hand on the steering wheel slowed and eventually brought the car to a full stop.

— C'mon. It's been almost two weeks since we had sex. — He said, lowering the two seats you were sitting on and pulling you to sit on his lap with your back against the steering wheel.

— And the best place you could find to have sex was inside my new car? — Despite your complaint, you didn't try to restrain his hands from reaching into your sweatshirt to grab and squeeze your breasts, nor did you object to the feeling of his knee pressing against the middle of your legs.

Touya lifts your arms and pulls up your sweatshirt and then concentrates on removing the simple tank top and lacy bra you were wearing, shortly after which he leans over your body to take one of your nipples between his lips to begin stimulating it. In response, you rub your hips against his leg as your hands grip his dark hair as a way to relieve the growing tension settling through your body. His hands slowly slid down your back, past your waist and into your pants, while his right hand also invaded your panties to run his fingers over your pussy lips and his left was busy opening the buttons of that garment.

Y/N put her hands on the hem of his sweatshirt, pulled it up, and was not surprised to see him with nothing underneath. Strangely enough, his skin was naturally too warm and it was not hard to believe that even with the low temperature outside the car he would only need a casual sweatshirt to not feel cold. And that was exactly why you liked so much to run your hands along his body exploring him calmly to make your touches last longer.

Dabi turned his body so that you were lying on the passenger seat and stood over you with a smug smile as his hands dug in and squeezed the skin of your legs after he finished getting rid of your pants with some difficulty because of the tight space.

— Keep your legs open for me or I won't let you cum, princess. — He whispered, sliding his mouth down her torso to her pelvis and pulling her hips up as high as possible before burying his fingers inside her pussy and enveloping her clit with his lips.

Y/N's hands gripped Touya's now messy hair and pushed his face against her hip in search of more of that mind-blowing pleasure she had missed for the few days she had been avoiding him. Suddenly the car became extremely hot, almost to the point where you both felt suffocated and ironically neither of you cared about that, not when Dabi was curving his fingers and sucking your clit in the way that always made your vision cloud and too loud moans escape your mouth. But, you didn't want to cum in his mouth, so your hands moved his face away from your hips and pulled his body up.

— Please, Touya, I need you inside me. — Her voice was slurred by her rapid breathing.

Dabi didn't need you to say anything else, he just stepped back briefly to get rid of the clothes that were still covering his lower body, adjusted your hips to his, leaned on the car door behind your body and guided his cock to the entrance of your pussy. As you felt him fill and enlarge you completely with his tip rubbing against your cervix, you groaned, leaning on his shoulders to face him and watching the small rise against your belly that was always present when that black haired man penetrated you.

Touya slid one hand down your neck and closed his fingers around your neck applying just the right amount of pressure to make waves of pleasure run through your body and not to hurt you. He began to move and Y/N passed her legs around his waist moving her body downward every time Dabi moved upward, occasionally he would take her lips on his just because he liked to feel her moans against his mouth and the rhythm of his hips gradually began to get harder and faster.

— I should cum inside you, hmm? — Touya asked, keeping eye contact with you every moment he thrust inside you again and making you clench your walls around his length without you even realizing it. — Damn, I love you so much, you have no idea what I would do for you.

— So show me. — You grabbed the wrist of his hand that was still resting on your neck and squeezed it without too much force. — Make me your girl.

With a smug and satisfied smile, he continued thrusting himself against her insides to the point where her hips began to ache just seconds before she reached her own orgasm with her nails digging into the skin of Touya's arm and her back arching as spasms coursed through her entire body at a high rate of speed. He gave a few thrusts against your pussy until the white streaks of cum painted your insides and slowly pulled out of you, wanting to prolong the feeling of having you squeeze him some more.

Dabi let his tired body fall back against the driver's seat and concentrated on stabilizing his breathing while you did the same as you looked up at him with the following thought running through your mind: "This is definitely the man I want to be with forever". The thought made your cheeks burn and it didn't go unnoticed by him:

— What? — One of his eyebrows arched.

— Nothing, I was just thinking... about you, about us. — You answered, starting to look around the car for your clothes, and an amused laugh came from Touya's mouth, who looked at you tenderly.

— So I'm always on your mind?

— More than you think, yes. — Y/N answered, leaning over to place a tender kiss at the corner of his lips. — Now get ready, get your clothes, let's get back on the road.

— Can we fuck again before we get to the city again? — Her eyes narrowed in disapproval.

— Shut up, you idiot.

#dabi smut #bnha smut #mha smut #my hero acadamy #boku no hero academia #bnha touya #touya smut #bnha dabi #mha dabi #i4nanami #bnha toya #touya todoroki #dabi x oc #dabi x you #dabi x reader #dabi x y/n #bnha

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ushidoux · 4 years ago

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Daddy Issues - The Neighborhood, Kyoutani x Reader

Warnings: nsfw, a little bit of violence at the beginning, mention of abuse, soft kyoutani,

A/N: Kyoutani is such a simp for you oh my goodness.

---

He hadn’t expected your call that evening.

In fact, you were the last person he’d ever expected to contact him again, not after how you’d broken up in a flurry of emotions, tears running down your cheeks and screaming as you attempted to drag him off of your father.

That night was burned in his memory no matter how hard he tried to forget --

To hear the sound of an open palm hitting flesh the moment he’d left you at the doorstep in front of your parents’ home, and to turn around to see you crumple to the ground in shock, looking up at your clearly drunk and furious father in shock… His vision had turned as red as the blood starting to drip down your nostrils.

It was one thing to hear about how your father treated you, sometimes with unprovoked physical violence, sometimes emotional, despite the fact that you were no longer a child and had only moved back into your home out of necessity, but to see you hurt, his sweetness, the only reason why he worked so hard to quiet his temper and approach the world with some softness, before his very own eyes ignited a whole different type of rage in him.

And before he could even think, every muscle in his body had taken flight and he was charging at your father like some kind of rabid animal, a hand now tightening on the older man’s throat and shoving him against the wall of your home with the other curled into a fist poised directly at his face.

“Don’t you ever fucking try that again.”

The fact that you had begged him to stop didn’t prevent him from landing a good enough hit that he felt the satisfying crunch of a nose giving under pressure, but it prevented subsequent blows, he had to give you that.

The fact that you had pleaded for him to stop had saved that fucker’s life, even if it wasn’t obvious to you then.

Kyoutani hadn’t exactly been trying to be a hero, but it hurt all the same that as your father slid to the ground, stunned and likely slipping into unconsciousness, your face twisted in a mixture of desperation and disgust for a split second before you went to go tend to your loved one, effectively deciding in that moment you were going to shut him out of your life.

He saw it in your eyes, the numbing realization that he was someone who could only feign rehabilitation. You didn’t bother to tell him to leave, immediately pulling out your phone to call 911. He didn’t bother staying to hear you tell him you never wanted to see him again.

Head pounding and nerves still buzzing, he shoved his hands in his pockets and walked off.

And in true Mad Dog fashion, he remained too proud to apologize.

Months passed where not a single word, look, touch or text was exchanged between you two and once again he was alone and so were you.

Or at least, he selfishly hoped so; the thought of you moving on would have broken him. Sometimes he convinced himself you hadn’t meant that much to him, but the fact that he was surlier but yet more patient with the ills of daily life than he had ever been made it impossible to pretend that he wasn’t touched by your time with him.

So when your name flashed on his phone screen as he attempted to turn in early for a team practice in the AM, he was already out of bed, desperate to hear your voice.

“K-kyou?”

He didn’t respond audibly, his heart thumping in a frenzy in terror that he would say the wrong thing. This was his only chance to apologize and hope you’d accept him back into your life, if you could. Even if your father spent time hurting you, it was unforgivable that he had been so close to murdering your relative, he understood that now.

You could hear his halted breath on the other end and even though you were tearful, you found yourself smiling sadly, hoping that Kyou was just freezing up as he did when you pulled at his heartstrings.

Or maybe you were dead wrong and he didn’t want to speak with you and he was right about to click the phone shut. Some time had passed. Was he still your Kyoutani?

“... I miss you,” you ventured to say, finally.

“Where are you right now?” To anyone else, the curt, deliberate way of speaking would seem harsh, but you knew he meant to come find you, wherever you were.

“I’m,” you hesitated, out of a mild embarrassment, “...outside your building.”

...

Kyoutani came out running.

And when he came running, he scooped you in his arms, heavy overcoat and overstuffed purse (optimistically packed to spend the night) and all. It was freezing cold, and he was dressed only in a short sleeved white t-shirt and shorts intended for sleeping, but he was more focused on keeping you in his arms than anything else.

You came back to him and he wouldn’t take it for granted. Next time, he’d be willing to beg.

Even if he told himself he was doing wrong for your sake, he would swallow his pride if it meant you would stay by his side.

He didn’t ask why you were here now, and that was one of the many things you loved about him - the fact that as he held your hand while bringing you into the warmth of his apartment, he didn’t ask any questions, he didn’t berate you or made you feel stupid.

Instead he took your coat quietly and sat you down on your favorite end of his couch, and when he sat beside you, even if he did check for bruises while wiping away your tears, the understanding was clear that you only had to speak if you wanted to.

But you wanted instead to just kiss him, and you did just that because you missed the taste of his lips, but not as much as he missed the taste of yours.

He pulled you onto his lap so that you straddled him and you continued to kiss, parting only for him to pull your shirt over your head, for him to unhook your bra and take a nipple in his mouth.

Mewling softly under the warmth of his tongue, your hands ventured downwards to free the erection poking through his pajama shorts and you started to stroke up and down his shaft, playing with the head with your thumb, playing with his head.

His hand took hold of your hair by the scalp and he tilted you back burying his face in the warmth of your chest, saturating his senses with the smell of you. His cock twitched once under your hold and soon his fingers were moving down your pants as you rubbed against his shaft, trying to get access to your wet center.

And when you finally sank onto his painfully erect cock, he let out a sigh of relief as he could feel your walls closing in him. He moved slowly as if to savor every millimeter of you and took in every sigh and halted breath.

His. Stay his. Even when he misbehaved, stay his. Even when he was violent towards others, stay his. Even if he didn’t know the right thing to do, stay his. Even if he couldn’t understand the complicated relationship you had with your father among others, stay with him.

Like now, as he kept his eyes on you and took in every shift in your expression as you rolled your hips against him, he wondered if he could keep you like this.

He would continue to protect you, but only the way you wanted to be protected, even if it meant he had to continue to change, just a little bit.

#kyoutani x reader #kyoutani kentaro x reader #kyoutani #kyoutani kentaro #haikyuu smut #haikyuu x reader #mae.drabble #mae.writing #series: songscapes

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