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zoropookie · 7 months ago

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HOW HATERS ARE BORN (HHAB)

♡ chapter twenty-nine — bittersweet (💋)

Reading the text didn’t bring tears to his eyes, but for some reason, it still stung badly.

It wasn’t the words themselves, but a twinge of disappointment that he felt shortly afterward. It ruminated in his thoughts the minute that the car ride started, and all he was left with was his own disappointment, and a lack of fight left.

And as he sat in that passengers seat, the words seemed to be knocked out of him yet again. The world blurred into a haze of colors and shapes. He clenched at his own palms until his knuckles turned white and his mind spiraled.

It suffocated him, but he knew a lot about that to endure it anyway.

"You know," A female's voice rippled through his chaos to grasp his attention. "It's not that bad."

He blinked, slowly refocusing his gaze and turning his head manually towards Furina. "What is."

"The (Y/N) stuff." She said, glancing every now and then from the road towards him.

His expression was of weary resignation. "You think so?" He sighed out, the words feeling heavy on his tongue every time he even spoke.

"They may be mad at you right now, but you have a plan." She said, her gaze steady. "It may not be fool proof, but you'll come out of it with a clearer conscience than that Tartaglia ever will. I promise."

But even with her promises, it didn't feel right to be comparing his peace of mind to another's. Maybe his conclusion would be completely different after all. Her words rushed over him like a soothing balm, the turmoil that he usually felt being nudged away.

For the first time in forever, he felt somewhat of a spark of determination. "Thanks." He murmured audibly, a small gasp coming from the former as he cringed, "For...all this, I guess. It's not often people are this nice to me."

"I didn't think you were capable of being grateful! I should gloat in this." She grinned, "You've grown used to people treating you like a liability. Whether you like it or not, it's not normal. Wean yourself off of that as soon as possible."

The rest of the car trip was silent. He couldn't entirely take his mind off of the events, and even the meeting he's taking himself to, but the passing scenery outside the car window put his mind elsewhere until the car slowed to a stop.

He put his back cap and mask on with less resolve than what he started with, unable to shake the feeling of discomfort her felt now that the gravity of the situation weighed down on him. He looked again out the window at the exact seat he wanted before exhaling. "If I don't come back, just abort mission."

"Don't be dramatic." Furina's eyes dulled, also knowing this situation was wary. "But...I'll be near, okay? Just in case this goes south and it actually is someone trying to kill you."

"Yeah, it's really fun being shark bait, thank you." He shook his head to himself, opening the car door to approach the cafe.

The building was more certain than he was in that moment, a warm glow beckoning the area. He never realized how little he went out these days, this same coffee shop was entirely different than the last time he came. The familiar sight and sounds of the city he used to know was suddenly unfamiliar to him.

Muted voices to him inside the little shop, all rambling vicariously. It was funny, the main reason he stopped even coming here was because things started getting busier and busier. Ei would apply pressure to him once he agreed to the streaming stuff. Did he ever really lose his identity if he never got to have one in the first place?

He squared his shoulders once the espresso he ordered was ready, quickly nodding in acknowledgement to the barista and sitting outside for a breath of fresh air. Everything around him was suffocating, and he never thought he'd be like one of those guys who are scared of having an actual life outside of their computer.

Maybe that was her plan, now that he was thinking about it.

He let the cool breeze wash over him, despite almost his whole face being covered except his eyes. He felt skittish, and uneasy, fingers lightly tapping at the to go cup of espresso in his hands. "What am I even looking for..." He murmured irritably, annoyance plaguing his thoughts.

It was a long, and arduous three minutes he sat there thinking about who Twitchpatch may possibly be now that he knew about Childe. How the fuck did he even know who it was? A familiar of his, maybe? But not that many people know about Narukami coffee shop unless someone who did told someone else.

And if they did...then there's also a limited amount of people. He didn't know what to think...until it hit him. Why would Twitchpatch, a news source, know about an indie coffee shop if they weren't also from Inazuma..?

And once he came to that conclusion as the cup was near his lips ponderingly, a feminine voice called, "I didn't think you'd be early."

His heart dropped to his stomach in an instant, his eyes slowly lifting up to meet the woman's voice. There, standing before him, was a sight that he never thought he'd be able to see again in his entire lifetime. Time stopped for him, and he slowly began to look mortified once he realized...

"What the fuck, Makoto." Scaramouche's voice cut through the air, sharp and accusatory. He almost lost it, if it weren't for her softer expression evening out.

"Hey, Kuzu." Makoto said with a softer tone, sitting down in front of him hesitantly. "I thought I wouldn't feel anything out of this, but...it's different when it's you."

"Fuck you." He snapped, his eye almost twitching from how many emotions were going through him in the moment. "Ei said you left us. You made that decision on your own."

"You're missing a lot of the story."

"And even with that in mind, I didn't do shit to you for you to play fake fucking journalist." He pointed. "Yeah, forgot about that little detail? The lie you capitalized off in humor of both of our downfalls? They're scattering to find a way for me to clear the controversy right now because of you."

"Is that not what Ei wanted? Controversy all of the time?" Makoto raised an eyebrow, sitting back in the chair. "It wasn't my desired effect, trust me."

"Yeah? That wasn't what you wanted to happen? I thought you were the one to always think about what you do before you do it. I guess. Fucking. Wrong." He seethed, his teeth grinding into each other. "I should narc on you right now."

Makoto's expression softened, and she reached out tentatively, her hand hovering in the air. "Please, just listen to me for a second."

"Why should I?" He recoiled. "I'm not even mad about what you did to me. But you had no place bringing other people into this. You don't get to waltz back in to my life after doing all of this and act like what you did was some sort of poetic justice. That's not how this works."

"I had no intention on it." Makoto sighed, her shoulders slumped as her eyes narrowed away from him. "Listen...Ei and I had a bad argument before I left. I felt like she was starting to change after all of this and she denied all of it and threatened me. I can't save a dying group if its leader isn't open to criticism."

He scoffed, bitterness tainting his tone. "And you only decided to tell me about this after you left me clueless? About where you were after you fucked off and went off the radar without a word? Are you not essentially just doing what she did?"

"I never said that what I did was okay!" Makoto frowned. "This meeting is harder than I thought it'd be...I wanted to figure out a way I could get you out of there as quick as possible, but I didn't have a way at that time. I was reckless...and it lead to this. If I had the ability to rally up more capable people for the job, I would. But this is all I've got. And you shouldn't be okay with how you're being treated there just because of what I did."

He knew that he wanted to clap back at her again, but he knew she was right in that accord. He chewed at the inners of his mouth, staring at her with an intense gaze.

"You lost the spark in your eyes, Kuzu." She said, "I've seen your streams. You're not even happy doing it, it's like there's nothing there. Why do you do them, in that case?"

"I didn't lose it." He corrected.

"Every time your stream, it feels like you're not passing time. You don't want to be there, and not many people can see it, but you used to look different...more lively." Makoto observed, "It feels like I'm looking at a carcass of what that used to be. You don't eat much, you don't sleep with what I've seen. You always seem like you're worried about something. It's disheartening. Excuse me for thinking of a way out for you."

He sighed fiercely at her, "What do you want from me? What do you want me to do about it?" He had trouble looking into her eyes. "You really...really fucked with me, Makoto."

Makoto sat in silence for a moment, the weight of their shared history hanging heavy in the air. But amidst her own regrets, she stood up after a second and gave a small smile. "You should stop, this isn't good for you. You're...like, deep frying your own brain at this point."

"How do you know what's good for me?" He bit back one last time before feeling his confidence weaken. "You don't even know a thing about me these days."

Her smile didn't waver at his words anymore, she gave him a light pat on his head in mild comfort before stepping back. "Stop streaming, Kuzu." She said, "And if it makes you feel better, air everything out. It's the least you could do for all that she made you do, right? I'm sorry I won't be there beside you to see it."

That light pat was something that he hated, but at the same time, haven't gotten the chance to be granted in ages. He never gave people the chance to get too close to him after all of this, nor even give them the reason to in the first place. It was bittersweet, his heart swelled with the same confusion and kindness Makoto gave him back them.

He wanted to prove her wrong, but he knew it was beyond his pride to keep her by his side. Even with how aware she was that she was right about him. Looking at her after a while, she could tell from his eyes that he was hurt. "I'll see you again sometime, okay? Reconcile with that (Y/N) if you ever get the chance; you seem to like them anyway beyond all the fake news."

She left as quick as she came, and with Scaramouche's previous arrogance and general disposition. He didn't know what to do anymore.

previous ♡ masterlist ♡ next

YOU ARE on your way to being one of the hottest streamer in your nation at the moment, racking a monthly average of 10 million viewers, but something specific bothers you about it. you know that a lot of people hate you, but there's this one account. one account that's been following you since the early days of your career. they leave a flood of rude comments in your stream, your moderators banned each account they made, but they keep making more. you are at the end of your tether. but you are yet to find out that this persistent cockroach is none other than your friend's friend (and the only other streamer that's bigger than you), scaramouche.

taglist ♡ @thystarsshine @veekoko @gumickajolli @simonisferal @kamiboo

@justpeachyteastea @feiherp @pinkismyfavcolor @aether-darling @kunisnaomi

@keiiqq @mine-lu @featuredtofu @danhenglovebot @k4zushi

@kyon-cherri @b4tm4nn @iiinaurate @quacking-simp @auroratumbles

@kookiibun @ulquiorraswife @amvpk01 @simplysm1le @h3xi2g0n3

@alatusorrow @scaranthropy @mellowberrie @magica-ren @vernith

@kabukipookie @bananasquash @suqarlaced @dellalyra @lightyagamifan

@yourfavoritefreakyhan @heartsforseo @yomishen @pwushizz @swivy123

@strxwberryfetish @ibyobi @ashfrommars4 @chemiru @ainnofinway

@agaygothicmushroom @levianamor @dragontammerz @wth121 @lylovw

@morgyyyyyyy @lovemari @suniika @littlesliceofcheese @yumejo89 @liuaneee

@franaby @tiddieshakeshownu @mimi3lover (bold users means i'm having trouble tagging you)

#zoropookie #hhab #scaramouche #scaramouche x reader #genshin scaramouche #genshin #genshin impact #genshin smau #genshin x reader #genshin fanfic #genshin x you #genshin x yn #scaramouche x yn #scaramouche x you

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tropes-and-tales · 1 year ago

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Too Much for You

Day 3: Collaring (Bob Floyd x F!Reader)

(For the 2023 Kinktober event that I created on my own because I am boring and basic and am trying to keep it simple this year...found here!)

CW: Smut (Oral, m!receiving; oblique talk of other sex acts; oblique talk of power dynamics in the bedroom); 18+ only.

Word Count: 2865

AN: This was requested by the lovely @callsign-frostbite!

The Hard Deck is often segregated by cliques, like a high school lunch room: the fighter pilots post up by the pool tables and piano, the fixed wing aircraft pilots claim the stretch of the bar with the dart boards and juke box. The bar proper is the neutral zone, but the two groups rarely mix.

Bob Floyd falls in with the fighter pilots because he’s the back-seater for one, but he feels like he might fit in better with the darts-and-jukebox crowd. They are more sedate, seem more confident in themselves. There’s less of a nightly dick-measuring contest.

It doesn’t hurt that you’re part of the darts-and-jukebox crowd: the prettiest girl he’s ever seen, poured into your uniform so it fits like a glove. You move with that same quiet assurance as your fellow fixed wing pilots, but you’re like a bright point of light, always pulling Bob’s gaze to you. You’re fascinating to watch: when you’re playing darts, when you’re leaning over the jukebox, when you’re dancing a smooth two-step to the songs you pick.

Hangman is the one who first notices Bob’s puppy-dog staring, follows the WSO’s blue-eyed gaze across the Hard Deck where you and the other pilots drink and converse. Hangman nudges Nat, who whispers in Rooster’s ear, who beckons Javi over, and within minutes, the whole crew is watching Bob watching you.

Hangman is the one who first tells Bob not to bother.

“She’s not the one for you, Baby on Board,” he tells Bob while he clasps his shoulder, jostles him a little in his seat. “You need a shy gal. A homebody who will greet you at the door with fresh-baked cookies. A Betty Crocker-type.”

Nat scoffs, shakes her head. “You make him sound like a complete square.”

“Well…” Hangman trails off, shrugs with a wide smile. “I mean…”

“He’s not a complete square, Bagman.” Nat crosses her arms, and she squares up to her fellow fighter pilot. “And anyway, what’s wrong with her? She’s cute.” She tilts her head in your direction.

It’s Javi who has the dirt on you, which sounds like so much of the usual Navy outlandish gossip. He leans in close and tells Bob all about you.

“Her call-sign is Nix,” he says, and he keeps his voice low, as if you might hear over the din of the crowd. “Because she flies one of those Poseidon recon planes. But she’s a complete freak, man. I served on a carrier with a guy whose roommate’s brother dated her. She’s totally into that freaky bedroom shit. She’d eat you alive.”

Bob swallows hard, but he can’t help the flush that breaks out across his cheeks…or the faint throb of lust that drums along with his heartbeat.

“What do you mean, freaky stuff?” It’s Nat who asks the question; his pilot turns and watches you with frank interest now.

Javi shrugs, takes a sip of his beer. “BDSM stuff.” He looks at Bob, gives him another shrug. “Sorry, man. She’s too much for you.”

-----

After the fact, Bob bristles at his teammates’ collective verdict.

Bristling leads to simmering, which leads to outright resentment. The days pass, and Bob teems with indignation. How dare Bagman? How dare Javi? How dare any of them make assumptions about him? Sure, he’s quiet and unassuming and a back-seater, but it grates on his nerves how they act like they know him that well.

They don’t know him at all.

Even their dumb nickname for him: Baby on Board. They forget that he passed the same rigorous training they did, that he graduated from Top Gun just as they did. He’s a goddamned grown man, and they treat him like a boy.

The two cliques at the Hard Deck rarely mix, but halfway through a Friday night, Bob taps into his latent courage—the courage his teammates fail to recognize—and marches over to where you stand by the jukebox. He can hear Hangman behind him, trying to urge him back before it’s too late, but you catch sight of Bob’s approach out of your peripherals and turn to watch him. You neither frown nor smile; your expression is exactly neutral. Bob digs deeper into his hidden reserve of courage, and he holds out a hand.

“I’m Lieutenant Bob Floyd,” he says, and he hopes his teammates can see how he doesn’t stutter, how he meets your gaze levelly because he’s a goddamned man and not a boy. “I heard you fly the new P-8 Poseidon.”

“I do.” You hold your hand out to shake his, and you gift him a smile that seems guarded. “Though it’s a few years old now.”

“Still new by military standards.”

Your smile relaxes, and you drop your hand. “Very true. Are you a pilot?”

Bob shakes his head, tells you he’s a weapons specialist officer, and the conversation flows naturally to your respective aircrafts, the systems on each, and if Bob admired you from afar, he likes the obvious love you have for your airplane even more.

He spends the rest of the night with you, and the hours fly by like nothing. He leaves with your number, and the feeling is better than even the confused look on Bagman’s smug face—that quiet, unassuming Bob Floyd pulled the number of an unattainable fellow pilot.

-----

If you’re into freaky bedroom stuff, it doesn’t make an appearance right away. You and Bob take your time—it doesn’t help that you’re both active duty. There’s a stretch of time, just as your burgeoning relationship is on its shaky new legs, where you’re both deployed on separate missions.

Bob thinks it’ll be the end of the thing between you, but somehow strengthens your relationship. Absence making the heart grow fonder, all that cliched stuff. When you’re finally both back stateside, you make it official: Bob Floyd the WSO and you, the pilot who flies surveillance missions—an official couple.

Your first month as a couple, it’s that awkward period where you’re just figuring each other out in the bedroom. It’s clumsy at first but passionate, the two of you abandoning any pretense of coolness for the ardor that you have for each other.

Bob loves all of it: the time he spends between your thighs, coaxing orgasms from you with his mouth. The time you spend on your knees doing the same for him. All of the varied positions, you riding him, him riding you. The quickies and the love-making where you spend entire hours reveling in each other’s bodies.

BDSM stuff, Javi had said. Bob only has an inkling what that may mean. He imagines whips and chains, a gimp mask, tears of pain. He is open to nearly anything you might want to do, but the idea of pain in the bedroom makes him wary. He doesn’t want to hurt you, even consensually. If it is something you demand, he might have to end things.

The thought tortures him. Each day, he falls more in love with you. Each night, he is slow to fall asleep at the unspoken fear that you may be too much for him and the inverse: that he may not be enough for you.

Bob should have remembered that the Navy is little more than a hive of gossipers. People tell tales, and truth get twisted in the retelling.

Javi and his buddy’s roommate’s brother. Your alleged ex. It was a ridiculous game of telephone. The topic kinda comes up organically over dinner one night, talk about exes, and it leads to Bob blurting out his fears. That he’s not adventuresome enough for you. That when you inevitably ask him to tie you up and whip you, he won’t be able to satisfy you.

The look on your face is priceless. You gaze over your plate at him and ask, “huh?”

He can’t turn back now. He swallows hard, his mouth suddenly dry. “BDSM stuff,” he clarifies. “I don’t…I don’t think I’m into that.”

“Bobby—”

“But I’ll try.” He cuts you off, and he feels sick to his stomach to have brought his silent fears to light with so little finesse. “I’ll try, sweetheart.”

You set your fork down with a quiet clink, and you reach across the table and take his hand. When he chances a look at your face, you don’t seem angry or disappointed. Instead, you smile at him softly.

“You can’t believe everything you hear,” you tell him.

-----

Javi and the gossipmongers in the Navy are half-right: you are not into BDSM.

You are into playing with power dynamics.

Bob gets an education in an entire spectrum of sexuality he’s never even considered before. He’d be ashamed—embarrassed, maybe, as he usually is when it came to frank discussions about sex—but you’re an amazing teacher and, well….he finds that perhaps he’s into playing with power dynamics too.

And you’re both switches. You’re both capable of being dominant or submissive. The possibilities are endless. Bob’s mind boggles at the surfeit of scenes the two of you could play out, and it boggles further to find that those scenes make him fall more and more in love with you. It always felt hokey, talk of how sex was a way to build a connection. Bob never had it before, but now?

Now he has it.

-----

The day goes poorly for Bob: Hangman continues to live up to his nickname, and his rivalry with Rooster spills over to the rest of the TOPGUN pilots. Bob and Nat get paired up with Jake during a dog-fight exercise, and they lose over and over because the man is incapable of teamwork.

Bob can’t control Jake.

Bob can’t even control the plane. He has to cede control to Nat, and he’s usually fine with it, but he feels extra helpless as a back-seater during exercises like this.

But Bob, if he asks nicely, can control you—so when he gets home, frustrated and irritable, he asks if he can be in charge.

You gaze at him a long moment, and your eyes get steadily darker as your pupils dilate.

“Of course,” you tell him.

-----

Bob in charge: he makes you change into the sweet powder-pink lingerie he bought you. A casual cotton dress. He has a housewife kink, he’s found, and he likes to play around with the dynamic of pretending you’re waiting at home for him.

Lingerie, dress. He also helps you put on the collar, a deceptively simple silver band of metal. Not too tight. There’s a little hook at the end for a leash, but neither you nor Bob ever use it. The collar is just a visual reminder of who is in charge, and who is being led.

Bob in charge: he orders you onto all fours. He sits on the couch, freshly showered after his shitty day. He leans back, splays his legs wide. He crooks his forefinger at you.

“Come here, kitten,” he says.

It’s as simple as this. He gives you an order and you obey. He’s in charge; he tells you to crawl to him on hands and knees and you do. You kneel in front of him, your hands on your thighs, your eyes fixed to his face in an expression of adoration. You wait for his next order.

There’s no frustration like with Hangman. There’s no fickle controls like in the back seat of his and Nat’s plane. There’s no dog-fight practice where they lose Maverick in the sun, where they have to do hundreds of push-ups on the tarmac until Bob’s arms burn and his cold fury simmers.

“What do you want?” he asks.

“I want to make you feel good, sir,” you answer, and your voice has a deference it normally doesn’t. Bob feels the tension of his day bleed away bit by bit, then all at once.

Bob in charge: he orders you to put your mouth to him. He’s already half-hard, but he loves the feeling of your warm mouth on him, coaxing him to full life with your worshipful tongue laving him, suckling against his sensitive tip until he’s hard as iron and throbbing in your mouth.

He lays a hand on the back of your head, another tame display of dominance, but he doesn’t force you. He shifts it to cup the side of your face as you take him to the root, your nose pressed against the sparse, coarse curls at the base of his cock. Keeps his hand there as you bob your head, as you take deep breaths through your nose.

You’re reverent when you’re submissive. You always take your time. You cup his balls lightly in one hand, and when you feel them start to draw up—a sure sign his orgasm is approaching—you back off a bit. You release him from the warm confines of your mouth and draw the tip of your tongue over the prominent vein that runs along the underside of his cock. You lick the tip of him, suckle there again until he’s breathing harsh, punched-out breaths. Then you engulf him again, hollow your cheeks and actually hum against him, and the tip of him bumps against the back of your throat until your eyes water.

A lone tear breaks free when you blink, and Bob shifts his hand, brushes it away. He taps you on your chin lightly.

“Eyes on me, kitten,” he orders you, and a moment later, you look up at him.

You look beautifully wrecked: eyes wet and liquid as you gaze at him, your eye makeup streaked and ruined. Your lovely mouth stretched wide around his cock.

“You look pretty as a damned picture,” he tells you, and it’s true. He holds you in this position for a beat, wants to commit the image to memory. He wants to carry this moment with him for future frustrating days—when TOPGUN is grueling, he wants to remember that he has this to come home to.

Not just a gorgeous woman on her knees with her lips wrapped around him, either. You’re that, of course, but you’re more. You’re also the woman who orders him around, who calls him a “good boy,” who cups his face the way he’s cupping yours right now. You’re also the woman who ties him to the bed and teases him relentlessly. You’re also the woman who spends long, lazy Sunday mornings with him, making love in a languid, sleepy way that feels like heaven.

You’re also the woman who flies a spy plane, a lieutenant in your own right, a no-nonsense aviator who commands respect with your quiet competency in a field full of blowhards and jackasses.

Bob releases his hold on your face. He slips his hand down to your throat, and he hooks his forefinger around the metal collar, now warmed from being against your skin.

He tugs it gently. “I’m close,” he warns you. “You gonna take everything I give you? Swallow it down, kitten?”

You pull your mouth away long enough to answer. “Yes, sir,” you tell him, and you sound just as wrecked as he does. He knows what this game does to you. He knows your powder-pink panties are slick with your own arousal, your pretty little pussy likely twitching and clenching around nothing, waiting for him.

He nods, and you bend your head to him again. Your mouth is wonderfully warm, surrounding him, and you pick up your pace. Your hand on his balls squeezes him gently, and he feels his orgasm—delayed several times now—thundering towards him. His hips judder upward, involuntary, chasing the feel of your wet, sucking mouth, and you gag lightly against the action but you never stop.

You never stop once he’s given you an order.

A moment later, the heavy tension in his belly snaps, turns to light and heat that crackles along his spine to the base of his skull, crackles down to where his balls pull up taut in your hand as he comes. He groans out your name, swears as he pulses in your mouth, and each throb of his cock is answered by you swallowing against him, the slim column of your throat working to take everything he gives you.

And you clean him up at his order too, your tongue shyly running over his softening cock, and then your hand tucking him back into his sweatpants before your eyes find his face.

“Thank you,” he tells you. He hooks his finger under your collar again, gently leads you from the floor and onto his lap, and he wraps his arms around you. He presses his head into the side of your neck and sighs out the lingering bit of his frustration from the day, but he’s completely relaxed now. Once he’s recovered, he’ll repay you, but for now, he wants to bask in his post-orgasm glow with you on his lap and in his arms.

And he thinks back to Javi’s words, all those months ago. She’s too much for you, he’d said. Which turned out to be completely untrue: you’re just enough for him. You’re perfect for him.

#bob floyd #bob floyd imagine #bob floyd x reader #robert floyd imagine #robert floyd x reader #robert floyd #top gun maverick #kinktober 2023 #tropes and tales

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mcdonaldsplayground · 2 years ago

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| actually the worst | part 1

ao’nung x f!reader

summary: when your family is forced to leave the omaticaya, you find yourself seeking refuge with strangers. just when things don’t seem so bad, you discover the worst person to ever happen to you. ao’nung has the special ability of making you want to strangle him, and lessons with him haven’t even started yet.

includes: enemies to lovers, swearing, teasing, ao’nung being a cocky mf😌

word count: 2.5k

You could physically feel your heart breaking the further you flew from home. The open sky in front of you appeared blurred through a fresh round of tears that welled in your eyes and the wind bit at your wet cheeks. You wanted nothing more than to scream and protest in frustration, though you knew it was pointless. This was your family’s only option.

To your left, your twin sister, Kiri, gave you a sympathetic look. You had always been the more openly emotional one, but you could tell Kiri was taking the move just as hard as you. In contrast, your brother Lo’ak was intent upon expressing his feelings through the vessel of being an annoying pest, as per usual. He guided his ikran closer to yours, forcing you to move out of the way before you collided.

“Stop that, dickhead!” You shouted over the roar of the wind, wiping your diminishing tears away. Lo’ak only laughed before beginning to fly around you in circles.

“Just trying to cheer you up, [Y/N]! Don’t be such a cry baby!”

You scoffed, rolling your eyes. Instead of responding, you waited until Lo’ak’s lazy circles around you had positioned him beneath you before having your ikran dive and swipe at him. It was a harmless action—missing by a long shot—but he screamed anyway, almost stopping his ikran completely. You couldn’t hold in your laughter as it nearly sent Neteyam crashing into him, only to bank right at the last second.

“You skxawng!” Neteyam yelled, furiously glaring at Lo’ak, who seemed to have recovered from his scare and was now trying to explain how it was your fault. “Just fly straight, dummy,” Neteyam grumbled, swooping over to fly next to you. The two of you shared a knowing smirk before you yelled back at Lo’ak,

“Thanks Lo’ak, I feel better now!” Laughter erupted from your chest once again, and you silently thanked Eywa for your siblings. A heaviness still tugged at your heart, but it was easier to forget while you talked and laughed with them.

You had been travelling for so long that you lost track of time. Your grief made it feel like years, but it was probably only a few days. All you wanted to do was get off your ikran and find a place to lie down for a while to relieve your tense muscles. Unfortunately, your father signalled from the front of the pack that you would be landing soon and you only tensed up more.

In the distance, the vast endlessness of the ocean broke with the sight of an island. As you came closer, you flew over a few large expanses of rock where the harsh waves broke over, sending water cascading down into the more closed off reef. You knew there were Na’vi here, but somehow it still surprised you to see many of them standing on the rocks or swimming along the beach, craning their necks to look at you and your family above them.

The seven of you flew around until you spotted a seemingly safe enough spot to land, coming down together on a stretch of sand. While the rest of your family began to dismount right away, you were more hesitant, wishing you could stay on your ikran instead of facing all these new people.

“[Y/N],” Your mother was busy helping Tuk down from her saddle, but she beckoned you with sympathetic eyes. You sighed deeply, dismounting and running your hand along your ikran’s head in an attempt at comforting yourself. As you walked, Kiri caught up to you and grabbed your hand, squeezing it gently. Glancing sideways, you could see the distaste in her expression and you imagined you had a similar look on your own face. Though the two of you looked remarkably different for twins, your facial expressions were often identical.

As you walked forward, a huge group of the Metkayina came forward as well, effectively meeting you in the middle. They didn’t appear aggressive, but your father had his arms raised as a sign of peace, looking more nervous than you had ever seen before. You gripped Kiri’s hand tighter. As you did so, two younger looking boys broke through the crowd and stalked closer than anyone else. The boy in the front had an intimidating look about him, from the way he confidently strode toward you to the intense questioning expression he wore. When his eyes caught yours you froze, desperately wanting to look away but finding it nearly impossible. His expression didn’t change, but he kept his gaze locked on you even as he turned toward where your two brothers stood. In the corner of your eye you saw your brothers attempt to greet the strangers, which went unreturned. Only when his friend spoke up did the boy tear his eyes away from yours, sending a shiver of relief along your spine.

“Is that supposed to be a tail?” The smaller of the boys grinned, pointing to Neteyam’s anxiously flicking tail, earning a chuckle from many in the crowd and a smirk from the tall boy. You hadn’t even been here five minutes and you already wanted to scream. Mostly at the one who thought he was hot shit.

“How are they supposed to swim?” his friend spoke up again, but was quickly chastised by a gorgeous girl who appeared from the water moments earlier.

“Do not! Rotxo. Ao’nung.” Her expression was scolding as she forced them to back up a few steps, but her large eyes and permanent kind smile made her a lot less threatening. Still, the idiot boys grew silent and stoic, straightening up when the Olo’eyktan and Tsahìk came forward to meet your family. After everyone got the initial, polite greetings out of the way, Chief Tonowari asked your father why you all had come, the following conversation causing much tension among the Metkayina. Ronal seemed particularly opposed to the idea of having you stay, and she decided to use you to make her point. Coming close, she brushed your tail with her fingers before grabbing your forearm to examine.

“Their arms are thin. The will be slow in the water.” You fought the urge to jerk you arm away, feeling a little frightened by the woman. You flexed your fingers nervously, not realizing your mistake until Ronal’s eyes flicked down to your hand. Her gaze hardened and she grasped your wrist, pulling up your hand for everyone to see. “Look. They are not even real Na’vi! They have demon blood!”

A nervous murmur spread throughout the crowd, and you looked away from Ronal, a deep blush forming on your cheeks. Somehow you happened to catch the eyes of that ridiculous boy once again, his brow furrowed. His stare felt odd; it wasn’t accusing or disgusted like you would have expected, but more thoughtful instead. It gave you the sensation of being seen in an intimate, private moment, one that was meant only for you but was somehow being witnessed by this boy as well. Your heart was racing by the time Ronal released you and your strange connection with the boy was broken. You missed most of the further conversation while trying to ground yourself again. You decided it would be best not to look his way for a while.

Your family had already begun settling into your new marui pod, sorting out the various items you had brought from home. It was pretty much the last thing you wanted to do considering it meant you really weren’t going to return to the forest. You were slow in your efforts, frowning deeply as you and Kiri laid out a few mats.

“You’re not being very helpful, [Y/N],” Kiri quipped, an amused smile playing at her lips. You knew she was only trying to make conversation, but you moaned, flopping down dramatically onto the mat you had just taken 10 minutes setting up.

“The air here is so- bleh. It’s slowing me down.” You sighed, throwing your arm over your eyes. Kiri chuckled and plopped down beside you, quickly followed by Neteyam, Lo’ak, and Tuk.

“The air is just like the air back home, weirdo.” Neteyam smiled, poking your cheek before you smacked him away.

“No, she’s right. The air is weird. Like… salty?” Tuk cut in, making her point by smacking her lips as if tasting the air. She made a strange face and the four of you laughed.

“Probably why that stupid boy, Ao’nung, is so salty. His airways are clogged.” You couldn’t help but laugh again at your own joke. You didn’t typically make fun of people, but Ao’nung just got on your nerves. You couldn’t pin down a reason, though, and it bothered you.

“You mean the chief’s son? I didn’t know you spoke to him?” Neteyam questioned, and Lo’ak nodded in agreement. You felt your cheeks get hot.

“I haven’t. But you saw him when we arrived. Looked like a shark chomping at the bit.” Neteyam’s eyebrow shot up in question, but Lo’ak snickered.

“He totally did, bro. Looks like he’s never smiled, like, ever.” This sent everyone into another fit of giggles, only to be interrupted as your parents returned from touring the village.

“Hey, I thought we asked you to set things up while we were gone?” Jake said, looking around at everything that was still mostly packed away.

“Yeah we were, until [Y/N] decided she needed a break.” Lo’ak piped up, earning a kick from you in the shin. “Ow!”

“Hm, well I suppose you need a tour of the place anyway. Your mother and I saw some pretty cool things out there,” Jake grinned, nudging Neytiri, who was clearly trying not to roll her eyes. Your heart warmed a bit at seeing your father try to make the best of things. “Why don’t you kids go out and explore a bit? Make some new friends before your lessons tomorrow?” At this, Lo’ak groaned.

“Dad. Can’t we just chill out here? We have, like, the rest of our lives to do that stuff.” Jake gave him a hard stare, causing Neteyam to stand, pulling Lo’ak up with him.

“Let’s go, Lo’ak. Maybe Tsireya will be out there and you can actually be a man and talk to her instead of ogling.” Before Lo’ak could respond, Neteyam jumped outside and took off, laughing when Lo’ak began to chase him.

“Girls? Are you going out or are you going to help us put everything else away?” Jake gestured to the stuff behind him. You and Kiri shared a look and silent communication before standing up and taking off after your brothers, Tuk in tow.

Outside the marui was almost excruciatingly bright, and it took a while for your eyes to adjust to the way the sun seemed to bounce off the water and sand. Catching up to Neteyam and Lo’ak was easy, seeing as they were arguing loudly. You rolled your eyes and walked ahead of them, trying your best to take everything in and memorize the way around the village. It had only been about five minutes before something caught your attention on the beach and you wandered away from your siblings. You and Kiri had a habit of being absent-minded.

In the sand, next to a marui pod, was a tiny orange creature with many legs and little pincers. You smiled, crouching to get closer. A gasp escaped your lips when the creature slowly started scuttling toward you, stopping next to your outstretched hand.

“Hello, little one.” You breathed, standing up straight with the creature balanced on your palm. You squinted as you examined it, thinking it looked a bit like something you had seen once in the forest.

“What are you doing?” A deep voice asked from almost directly behind you. You whipped around, startled, and tried not to yelp when your eyes met a pair of familiar blue ones. Again, it felt nearly impossible to move under his gaze, and you stuttered, unsure of what to say.

“Do you know how to speak, forest girl?” Ao’nung questioned, mirth dancing in his eyes. That seemed to snap you back a bit, though you still felt strange in his presence.

“Of course I do, dimwit. I just don’t like speaking to assholes.” His eyebrows shot up in surprise at your snarky response.

“Why were you talking to yourself, then?” He pushed back, again looking like he immensely enjoyed teasing you.

“Do you know how to use your eyes?” You mocked. “I was talking to this.” You held up your hand that the creature was still perched on. Ao’nung’s gaze flicked down to look only for a moment before returning to you, smirking.

“That’s actually probably worse than talking to yourself. I don’t know if you know this, but those things don’t talk.”

“I wish you were the same way.”

“Ouch. You’re pretty feisty for such a tiny girl.” You could tell he was trying to goad you on again, but this time you didn’t take the bait. You just wanted to escape his suffocating presence.

“What are you even doing here? Doesn’t the chief’s son have work to do?” You made sure your expression was disinterested, even as he smirked.

“I think it’s more fitting to ask what you are doing here. This is my marui pod.” The tall boy gestured to the pod beside you, pretty much directly above the sand you had found the creature in. Heat rose to your cheeks.

“Oh. I-” But you were cut off by the voices of your siblings who had appeared from around the corner, clearly searching for you.

“Hey. Why did you wander off?” Kiri asked, raising her eyebrows as she glanced between you and Ao’nung.

“Your sister was busy talking to animals. Hope craziness doesn’t run in the family.” Ao’nung grinned, making you scoff. You gently set the creature back in the sand before starting toward Kiri. Against your better judgement, on your way past Ao’nung you bumped his arm with your shoulder.

“Oops.” You muttered, feigning nonchalance as you tried to gauge his reacting in your peripheral vision. He just smirked, shaking his head. For some reason this annoyed you even more, he’s such a dick, you thought.

As you walked away with everyone, Neteyam nudged you, pulling you to walk at the back with him. “Hey, what was that?” He asked quietly, though you could tell Lo’ak, Kiri, and Tuk were listening anyway.

“He’s actually the worst, Teyam. So arrogant. And even more annoying than Lo’ak.” You huffed, earning a light punch from your youngest brother.

“Okay… but you’re usually the nice one. I’ve never seen you like that before.” Neteyam was smiling, poking fun at you in a way that only he could. You smiled too in spite of yourself. However, he was being truthful. It wasn’t like you to be sarcastic or snarky, even to people you didn’t like.

“I can’t explain it. All I can say is that he asks for it. I actually don’t know how I’m going to survive training with him.” You groaned, imagining spending hours on end with your new nemesis.

“Oh cheer up! Training will be fun! We get to watch Lo’ak try to be macho in front of his crush,” Neteyam laughed as Lo’ak stopped dead in his tracks, glaring.

“Bro, shut up about that! Gonna have everyone knowing my business, damn!”

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todayisawthewhxlewxrld · 1 year ago

Text

"well at least let me Love You The Same"

"baby, I thought that we had something. compared to him I'm next to nothing."

synopsis// izuku knows he has no chance, but that doesn't stop him from falling hopelessly head over heels for you… or where izuku is an idiot and doesn't know proper communication since he was seven.

pairing// izuku midoriya x gn!reader

word count// 5.2k

contents// no quirks au, fluff? maybe like a hint of angst? college au, pro heros are now famous musicians, mutual unknown pining, childhood friends to lovers?, izuku has NO game. one singular kys joke.

notes// im trying to get rid of my oldish mha drafts so heres this. anyway i kinda tried something new with the povs in the story so uhm let me know if it worked or if it made everything unnecessarily confusing. anyways todays oneshot was inspired by uneasy hearts weigh the most by dance gavin dance ! (so good im trembling )

April 10th, 20XX | 7 years old

Izuku, you, and Kacchan were on another one of your little adventures. The three of you sat atop some rocks you had to climb to get up in the first place, all of you attempting to catch your breaths as the fresh spring breeze felt heavenly against your sweaty bodies from playing all day long. Izuku loved days like this, where all of you would hang out together. Most days, it was just him and Kacchan because you’d have a babysitter who wouldn’t let you out of their sight, but your parents were home today, and when they’re home, anything is on the table. You want to leave to go to the river with the boys? Go right ahead! You want to chase down an ice cream truck? Sure, why not? Izuku loved when they were around because that meant you were around. and Izuku loved you.

Even as young as he is, he knows, and maybe he doesn’t know in what way he loves you, but he very quickly finds out when he turns toward you. The sun is just barely starting to set, and the orange hue reflects off your eyes as you gaze out into the horizon, like little gold specks of glitter, and Izuku finds himself completely enamored by them. He wants you to look at him, to stare at him as peacefully as you are staring out into nothing, and suddenly you turn toward him as if you had somehow read his thoughts. You grin childishly at him, your smile so big that your eyes shut and your nose crinkles, and Izuku finds his heart skipping a beat. that’s... That’s not normal, is it? Kacchan doesn’t make his heart skip a beat even though Izuku loves him, so why do you? It hits Izuku like a train. Oh, right. Because he loves you. as more than a friend. Lost in thought, Izuku doesn't realize that you're calling his name until you grab him by the shoulders and shake him a little.

“Zuku!”

“S-Sorry!”

You laugh a bit and shake your head as you return your hands back to your sides. “It’s fine; you were mumbling. You okay?”

He nods, an endearing smile paints his face, and his wide green eyes are filled with nothing but pure adoration for you. “Yeah. Yeah, I'm more than okay.”

You return the smile before turning your head back toward the sky, and Izuku has to muster up an inhumane amount of strength not to beg you to keep staring at him, to keep smiling at him, to focus on him and him alone.

Izuku’s life-altering moment is quickly ruined by a grunt.

“Let’s go, extras,” Kacchan says.

Kacchan jumps off the rocks the three of you are sitting on, but instead of landing, he eats shit and lands with a loud thud on the pavement. His knees and palms, and nearly every other part of him, were scraped in the process. Though apparently that's just a normal occurrence for him because he gets up like nothing's happened and stares up at Izuku and you.

“Let’s go; what are you guys waiting for?”

Izuku and you glance at each other in complete amazement. Though Izuku’s awe for Kacchan is quickly replaced by amazement for you, and with the way your eyes glimmer, he almost feels like they’re beckoning him to tell you he loves you. But the next words out of your mouth shut him right up and completely shattered his seven-year-old heart:

“Bakugo is amazing!”

☆。*。☆。☆。*。☆。☆。*。☆。☆。*。☆。☆。

Present day | 19 years old

Izuku lies flat on his bed, staring up at his hands as they stretch out toward the ceiling. He opens and closes them, half-heartedly imagining what it would feel like to hold your hand. He sighs and lets his hands fall back to his sides. Twelve years later and Izuku is still, if not even more, hopelessly in love with you. Actually, at this point, he doesn’t think the word love is large or strong enough to convey how he feels about you. How could such a meek word ever begin to truly explain the depth of his feelings for you? They could never, but it’s the closest attempt. Though Izuku is losing hope in himself and in you, he’s tried to confess; he really has, but every time he thinks the moment is just right, something always happens.

Whether he freezes up, someone walks in, one of you gets a call, or Kacchan somehow gets brought up, whether it's from you talking about him or physically showing up, without a doubt, something goes wrong every time he tries, and at this point, he’s ninety-nine point nine percent sure this is the universe telling him to stop while he’s ahead, and maybe he should listen to it. Not maybe; he should. He knows he should. He’s known since he was seven; you like Kacchan, not him. And maybe the fact that he doesn’t understand why you like Kacchan doesn’t make this any easier. Yes, he agrees that Kacchan is amazing, but there are also so many things that Izuku excels at compared to him, like, for example, romance! But he understands.

He understands that, in your eyes, he's nothing compared to Kacchan; Kacchan is everything he's not. So he'll listen to the universe, or at the very least, he’ll try. He can’t one hundred percent guarantee this will work because Izuku lives off his emotions and thinks with his heart, but he’ll try. He swears he will. He’ll push these feelings so far down, like an anchor cast into the middle of the ocean, he’ll make sure they never reach the surface again. He mumbles to himself about how he should make a plan. That could make things a lot easier, that could make this actually work. Izuku determinedly nods to himself and sits upright, leaning over to grab his pen and notebook from his bedside table. As he writes, he mumbles to himself.

10 STEPS TO GETTING OVER Y/N

1. Desensitize yourself to them!

2-9. ????

10. You’re over them! Congrats!

Izuku sighs. Okay, so maybe he doesn’t have that much of a plan going, but two steps is better than nothing, right? At least he has an idea of how to start! But how is he supposed to do that? With exposure therapy, of course! There’s no better way to desensitize yourself to something than by constantly subjecting yourself to it, so that’s exactly what he’ll do. He’ll just spend more time with you! ... well, even more than he already does! Speaking of which, he should go do that now, not because he actually wants to, of course. This is all just part of his plan to get over you; there's no way in hell this is because he’s so in love with you and feels physically drawn to you like a magnet. Pft. Definitely not.

☆。*。☆。☆。*。☆。☆。*。☆。☆。*。☆。☆。

Bakugo lays on your bed with his head dangling upside down off the end, watching you, who’s sitting cross-legged on the floor, staring at your wall, a small frown flitting across your face.

Bakugo grumbles, “Fuck's wrong with you?”

“I’m gonna do it,” you respond candidly, not bothering to look at him.

He sits up on his elbow, turns slightly to look at you, and quietly asks, “….This isn’t about me telling you to kill yourself the other day, right? Cause I was just joking.”

This finally breaks your gaze away from the wall and toward him, your face scrunched up in confusion. “What? No.”

“Oh ok. Good.” Bakugo goes back to hanging upside down before continuing, “Do what then?”

“Confess.”

He rolls his eyes and scoffs, “Be so fucking serious.”

“I am!!”

“Y/N, you say this every fucking week and never do it.”

“I really mean it this time!” You say adamantly before trailing off, “I just..."

He raises his eyebrow at you. “You just?”

“I need your help.”

“Nuh uh,” he says, shaking his head. “I don’t do that romantic bullshit.”

“Kirishima would say otherwise,” you mumble, “but it’s just... you’re his best friend.”

“Y/N, we're all best friends, idiot, and if anything, you’re closer to him than I am,” he says, either ignoring or not having heard your first statement, and either way, you’re not complaining.

“Can you just help me?”

“What do you even need help with?”

“I don’t know,” you say, shrugging. “I need a plan to confess.”

Bakugo narrows his eyes at you in question. “a plan?”

“Yeah! like, I don’t know,” you say hastily, shaking your hands around you in vague gestures. “Maybe I should get him All Might merch and be like, I like you!” You end your sentence with a thumbs-up.

He looks at you blankly, and he’s not sure if it’s your shit ideas that are making his head hurt or the fact that he’s been hanging upside down for too long. “That’s the stupidest fucking thing I’ve ever heard.”

“Your face is the stupidest fucking thing I’ve ever heard.”

“My face?”

“Yeah.”

“Heard?”

“Seen.”

Bakugo rolls his eyes at you and reluctantly asks, “Got any other shitty ideas?”

“No,” you say meekly.

"God, you're fucking hopeless,” he grumbles, rubbing his temples. He should probably stop hanging upside down, but he also doesn’t really care that much.

You cross your arms and glare at him.

Bakugo tuts. “What if you just confess like a normal person?”

“That just doesn’t feel big enough!” you exclaim, slightly miffed.

He can't help but let out a snort that's so loud it almost sounds painful. “That’s what she said.”

You huff in exasperation. “Can you be serious?!”

“God fuck fine,” he says, finally sitting up. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, I’ve been in love with him since we were kids, Bakugo,” you say, frowning. “I don't want to just be like, Lol, I like you; I want to do something for him!”

“Gross.” Bakugo stands up from your bed and points at you as he commands, “Get a piece of paper.”

You get up and grab a piece like he says regardless, yet you can’t help but still ask, “For what?”

“So we can brainstorm, idiot,” he replies pointedly, now sitting down on the floor where you were just moments ago.

“Oh! Thank you, Bakugo; I knew you loved me!”

He stifles a laugh. “Yeah, don’t go around saying that.”

You take a seat next to Bakugo, both of you sitting cross-legged, and place the paper down in front of the two of you. The two of you lean in to have a better view of the paper, your shoulders and legs touching at this point. You both take turns writing down a plan and either agreeing with it or, more often than not, scribbling it out because one of you finds it stupid. You two go at this for what feels like hours when really it’s probably only been about twenty minutes, give or take. Suddenly, he claps his hands together, and you jump at the noise.

“Jesus christ.” You exhale heavily, your hand on your chest, feeling how your heart races from being startled. “What the fuck was that for?”

“I got it,” he mumbles as he fervently writes something down on the paper, triumphantly slamming the pen down when he’s done.

You stare at him curiously, and he merely smirks at you while pointing down at what he wrote, silently urging you to read it. You roll your eyes at him before quickly scanning what he wrote, and you can see why he got so excited because now you’re feeling the exact same way.

“Bakugo, you’re a genius!” you cry, returning your focus to him.

Bakugo leans in toward you, his gaze zeroing in on yours, and nods. “Fuck yeah, I am!”

With how close you two were sitting together already, the two of you staring at each other like this, leaned in with your noses about to touch, makes it look like the two of you are about to kiss. So if anyone walked in right now, without a doubt, they would think something was up. And it’s just your luck—or lack thereof—when Izuku walks in. The three of you were close enough that, at any given moment, one of you would always end up in the other's dorm without warning. Izuku stops in his tracks when he sees the two of you, and he has to actively will his legs not to give out from underneath him right then and there as you both turn toward him, smiles on your faces.

You swiftly grab the piece of paper and hide it behind your back, smiling up at the boy who holds all of your affection. “Hi Zuku, what’s up?”

Bakugo hums and leans back on his palms. “Sup nerd.”

“Sorry for interrupting!” He stammers nervously; fuck, he hates when he does that. He’s been good about not doing that, but it’s easy to fall back into it when he thinks he’s just witnessed the two of you about to kiss.

“What?” You let out a small laugh. “Zuku, you didn’t interrupt anything.”

“I should have knocked! or given you guys a warning! Sorry, I really didn’t mean to interrupt the two of you!” Izuku avoids all eye contact with either of you as he slowly starts to back out of the room, like If he did it slowly enough, you wouldn’t have even noticed he was there in the first place.

You frown, noticing how his wide eyes are growing glossy. “Zuku, are you okay?”

Even Bakugo is taken aback by how he’s acting as he grumbles, “The fuck are you talking bout, nerd?”

“I’m fine,” he says with a small smile, but the way his bottom lip trembles betrays him. “I-I should go!”

The minute Izuku bolts out of where he came from, you turn to Bakugo in confusion.

“What the fuck was that?”

Bakugo isn’t looking at you; rather, he’s looking down at how your knees are touching; he’s looking at how close together you two are currently sitting. “Oh.”

“Oh?”

“We are all up in each other's personal space,” he says while slowly lifting his head up to look at you.

When he looks at you, all you can say is “Oh,” because you immediately realize just how close the two of you are, your noses about to touch.

He rolls his eyes as he pushes your face away from him. “Yeah oh.”

“Oh fuck,” you exclaim panickedly now that everything’s clicked, “What do I do?!”

“Go after him!”

“And do what?”

Bakugo stares at you in utter disbelief before his face scrunches up into a scowl and barks, “Confess dumbass!”

You blink a few times and frown. “But our plan—“

“Fuck our plan,” Bakugo interrupts you impatiently. “Now you have to improvise and go tell that dumbass that you’re in love with him and that there’s nothing between us.”

You shake your head, staring at Bakugo in fear. “I don't think I can do this—“

“Oh no,” he says sternly, shaking his head. “You’re gonna fucking do this. I’ll drag you outside if I fucking have to.”

“Bakugo,” you plead.

He glares at you, speaking through clenched teeth, “Go. Run. After. Him. Now. Or. I. Will. Make. Your. Life. A. Living. Hell.”

“Again?” You tease him in hopes that it’ll distract him from forcing you to confess, because although you want to, you didn’t want it to happen like this. Though your efforts are futile because Bakugo does not budge.

“Y/N. I swear to fucking god.”

“Fuck fine!” You groan as you stand up, pointing down at Bakugo as you mumble, “But if this goes terrible, I’m blaming you.”

Bakugo slaps your finger away. “Get the fuck out of my face and go serenade the nerd.”

☆。*。☆。☆。*。☆。☆。*。☆。☆。*。☆。☆。

December 10th, 20XX | 12 years old

You and Izuku are sitting on a random bench, huddling for warmth as you wait for the train to arrive. Truthfully, this wouldn’t have been so bad if the two of you were still friends with Bakugo; his body temperature was always the highest out of the three of you, making it extremely easy to use him to warm up in the cold, but once middle school hit, something changed in Bakugo. Popularity and his ego got to him, and now the boy you two once considered a friend was nothing more than a bully on most days, and today was one of those days. You and Izuku side-eye each other and sigh the minute you hear a familiar scoff behind you.

“Fucking extras, hogging the bench.”

Izuku looks like he wants to say something, but you shake your head and place your hand on top of his. Izuku smiles softly at you, and it makes your cheeks warm—wait, what? That doesn’t happen. It’s probably just Bakugo’s body heat radiating off of him, that’s all.

“Oh, look, the nerd needs someone to calm him down, as if. The fuck are you gonna do?” Bakugo sneers.

You know he’s trying to egg Izuku on, but before you can try to say anything to calm Izuku down, he’s already pulling himself away from you and turning to face Bakugo. You quickly copy his actions.

“What’s your problem?” Izuku asks as flatly as he can, trying to show Bakugo that he’s not afraid of him, and he’s not. Not when you’re here, at least.

Bakugo takes a step closer toward Izuku, and you're on high alert, ready to step in between them if need be.

“You’re my fucking problem,” he says, poking a finger harshly into Izuku’s chest. “And that fucking extra too,” he quickly adds on, briefly glaring at you before looking back to Izuku.

You barely have time to respond, blink, or comprehend what’s happening when suddenly Izuku swings and strikes Bakugo. Bakugo's hand quickly touches his cheek where Izuku just hit, his mouth slightly agape, and you're afraid he’s going to retaliate, but he doesn’t. Time seems to come to a lull. Bakugo is staring at Izuku in shock, his hand still on his cheek. It's like he’s frozen under Izuku’s gaze. Izuku is glaring at Bakugo, his chest heaving with every deep breath he takes, and you can't take your eyes off him.

Something swirling deep in your gut makes it feel like someone's in there trying to make balloon animals out of your insides, and it's a horrible feeling—maybe not the feeling itself, but why you feel that way. You aren't sure if it's fear, amazement, or love—maybe a combination of all three, actually. All you know for sure is that watching Izuku punch Bakugo and stand up to him awoke something in you, and whatever it is, you want it to go back to sleep. Your reverie is interrupted by Bakugo spitting out some blood, barely missing you and Izuku, before scowling at the two of you and walking away.

“Holy shit, Zuku-“ you begin but quickly stop when you notice him trembling. You quickly grab him by the shoulders and practically manhandle him into looking at you. “Hey- Zuku?”

“I-I didn't mean to do that,” he confesses, his wide, wet eyes locked on yours.

“Hey, it's fine,” you say softly, cupping his cheek into one of your hands.

Izuku shakes his head softly while leaning into your touch at the same time. “I didn't even care that he said I was his problem—but he brought you into it, and I don't know—I don't know what happened—I just... I didn't want him talking like that to you.”

Oh.

You know now.

Know that whatever just woke up inside you will not go back to sleep anytime soon.

It won't go back to sleep ever, actually.

That feeling in your gut was love. and the other two, sure, but mostly love.

You love Izuku.

You’re in love with Izuku.

You love Izuku so much that you can't help but tear up at the realization as you bring your other hand up to his cheek, fully engulfing his face.

Izuku panics at the sight of your now glossy eyes, which are perfectly matching his.

“y-y/n! Why are you crying? Are you okay? Did-did I do something wrong?”

“No!—“ you can’t help but let out a shaky laugh while tears freely run down your face—"No, Zuku, you didn't do anything wrong at all.”

He wipes away your tears and frowns skeptically. “Then why are you crying?”

“I just—I just really love you, Izuku.”

☆。*。☆。☆。*。☆。☆。*。☆。☆。*。☆。☆。

Present day | 19 years old

You run outside of the dorm buildings, met with an open campus, people walking around here and there as you turn your head every which way, hoping for just a speck, a hint, an image of curly green hair, but you can't find it, can't find him, and it makes your heart clench painfully. You groan loudly, ignoring how people side-eye you in confusion.

“Shit—if I were Zuku, where would I go? Where the fuck would I go?”

You stand there for a few moments, dragging your hand down your face in utter defeat, just trying to figure it out. It shouldn’t take you this long; it really shouldn't. Had you asked yourself this on any other day in any other instance, you would have been able to answer it immediately, but your head is hazy, it's smoky, and it's suffocating. like if you don't tell Izuku and put out the forest fire that are the words “I love you,” you'll suffocate to death in its smoke. Suddenly you feel a tap on your shoulder, quickly turning on your heels to face whoever it is.

“Hey dude, you ok?”

“Kiri! Yeah- yeah, I'm good. Um, what's up?”

Kirishima narrows his eyes at you, confused at your reaction, but doesn't bother saying anything about it. “Oh! I just got done with music lessons and was actually about to go get Bakugo from your dorm.”

“Oh my god,” you say in shock, like you've just had a life-changing epiphany, and technically you have, or at least it feels like it. “Music lessons... The music room! Kirishima, you're a genius! I love you so much, if Bakugo ever does anything to you, I'll kill him. I owe you!”

“What?” Kirishima chuckles nervously, but you’ve already started running toward your destination, and Kirishima is forced to call out an awkward, “Oh, um, okay, bye!”

☆。*。☆。☆。*。☆。☆。*。☆。☆。*。☆。☆。

You're running to the music room like your life depends on it, and you’re sure if your high school PE teacher could see you right now, they would be impressed beyond belief. You get to the building in record time, borderline panting as you enter, but your steps don't slow; no, they won't; they refuse to until Izuku is right in front of you. You swing open the door, and Izuku jolts at the noise. Standing in the doorway, you can't help but notice how he frantically wipes at his face, trying to erase any evidence of him crying just mere seconds before. The sight makes your heart break, and you take a step toward him only for your legs to give out on you completely—fuck, you should probably run more if just this turned your legs into jelly. Izuku is now the one who rushes to your side as you fall to your knees.

“y/n!” He kneels down in front of you, his hands moving around frantically, like he wants to put them somewhere on you but isn’t sure if he should. “Are you okay?”

“Me? Are you?” You ask through heavy breaths, trying to still your racing heart, though you know that won't happen. Once your heart stops racing from the running, it will race for Izuku; it always races for Izuku. like he’s the very blood that keeps your heart beating.

His voice trembles as he asks, “Me?”

You take a deep breath to prepare for the shout you give when exclaiming, “Yes, you!”

“What did I do?”

“You ran out, Izuku!”

he frowns. “I said I was sorry!”

“No,“ you shake your head, “you said you were sorry for interrupting!”

“Exactly!” Izuku lets his head drop back and stares up at the ceiling as he groans in slight frustration.

You scowl at the fact that he’s no longer looking at you, and before you can stop yourself, you grab his face, your fingers squishing his cheeks as you force his head back down to stare at you. “You weren't interrupting anything.”

“But—“ he mumbles, his voice slightly muffled by the way you're squeezing his cheeks so hard that his lips pucker.

“Why?”

Izuku stares at you in confusion as he takes your hand off his face so he can actually speak properly. “What?”

You swallow harshly, trying to ignore how his hand is lingering on yours. “Why did you run out?”

He sighs and retracts his hand from yours, placing it back down in his lap, and you almost feel like you’ve made a mistake somewhere, like you’ve said or done the wrong thing. “Why did you run after me, y/n?”

“Izuku.”

“y/n.”

“Please tell me why you ran out,” you plead softly, slowly inching your hand back to his face. “What do you think you saw?”

His gaze flits down to your hand before he grabs it and brings it up to his cheek, too impatient to wait for you to get it there yourself, leaning into your touch as he sighs. “I know what I saw.”

You rub your thumb against his cheek soothingly as you softly demand, “Then tell me what you saw.”

Izuku looks away, and he cranes his head to the opposite side of your hand, as if he’s now trying to get away from your touch. You don’t try to fight it, although it hurts a lot. You accept it, letting your hand drop back down to your side, and pretend like you don’t feel like whatever he’s about to say will hurt you beyond belief.

“You—you and Kacchan were about to kiss, or did kiss—one or the other.”

You blink at him. Oh, that didn’t hurt. At all, actually. In fact, you find yourself clamping your hands over your mouth, trying to stifle a laugh, but to no avail; you're laughing like Izuku just told you the world's greatest joke, but he obviously does not find this as funny as you do, and your laughing has Izuku staring at you wide-eyed, absolutely mortified.

“Why are you laughing?!”

You collect yourself with a deep breath before smiling at him as you mumble, “Oh my god, Izuku, you are such an idiot, it's almost endearing.”

“What?” His eyebrows knit together and his nose scrunches up as he frowns, but his scrunched-up face trembles, like he’s trying really hard to seem mad or like he’s truly scowling. "Y/N, that's mean! I mean, I knew you two had something going on, but just because I finally walked in on something happening doesn't mean you get to-“

You know better than anyone that once Izuku starts rambling, it's near impossible to get him to stop verbally. You've always had to flick him or something along those lines to get him to stop, and suddenly you realize this has given you the perfect opportunity to do something you've only dreamed about doing each and every time this has happened before. You can't help the smile that's on your face as you quickly lean in and grab Izuku’s face, kissing him, which immediately and effectively shuts him up like you had hoped. Much to your dismay, Izuku is the first one to break the kiss, and he pulls back just enough for you to see the flush on his face, and his eyes are the size of saucer plates as he looks at you in complete disbelief.

“What?” His voice cracks as he asks again, this time louder in complete shock as everything has finally processed in his head, “What?!”

You laugh under your breath as you grab him by the back of his head and pull his head in toward yours, butting your foreheads together. “Not to be cheesy, Zuku, but hell will freeze over before I ever kiss someone who isn't you.”

“Huh? But—I thought—“

You shrug with a small smile on your face as you lean back on your palms. “You thought wrong, Izuku.”

He places a finger on his chin and looks away as he thinks aloud, “Wait, but then—does that mean you like me?”

“No.”

“No?!” his head whips toward you, and his voice trembles against his will as he exclaims, “But you just kissed me!”

You roll your eyes before sitting up straight and leaning toward him, and Izuku can’t find it in him to pull away from you, slightly hoping you’ll kiss him again even if you just said you don’t like him.

You tuck a few of his curls behind his ear, cooing, “I'm in love with you, Izuku.”

“Oh,” he says, pausing. “Oh!!”

You pull your hand away awkwardly. “You know this is usually the part where you reject me or not?…”

“Oh right!“ Izuku grabs your hands with his before continuing, “I'm in love with you too!”

You briefly glance down at your intertwined hands before you look back up at him. The minute your eyes meet, you feel your throat go dry, having to force out a response: “Wait, really?”

“Yeah! Why do you think I ran out?” He laughs softly and gives your hand a small squeeze as he teases, “And no offense, but you're kinda oblivious; I'm really not that subtle.”

you frown. “Well, I could say the same about you!” You pause and think for a moment. “Wait, why the fuck did you even think me and Bakugo had a thing? or that I liked him? Literally, what could ever give you that impression, Zuku?”

“Oh, um,“ he looks away sheepishly as he confesses, “I've kinda… thought that since we were seven?”

“What?!” You stare at him incredulously, eyes so wide they’re giving his naturally saucer-plate-esque eyes a run for their money. “What the hell happened when we were seven to make you think that?!”

He starts tentatively, “Uhm, you kinda like, called Bakugo amazing after he jumped off those rocks we used to climb, but he ate shit and wasn't bothered?” He clears his throat, like what he’s about to say next will make everything click in your brain and make you agree that the reason he thought that makes complete sense. “And not to mention that was like minutes after I realized I was in love with you?…”

“Izuku Midoriya.”

He avoids your gaze and instead focuses on your intertwined hands.

“You thought I was in love with Bakugo this whole time because I called him amazing when we were seven?” You ask in a combination of being slightly miffed and in complete disbelief.

He groans and innocently looks back up at you through his lashes. “Okay, well, when you say it like that—“

You cut him off with a small huff and butted your foreheads together once more, murmuring, "Oh my god, you’re an idiot.”

He hums and nods against you. “Yeah, but now I'm your idiot.”

You can’t help the smile that practically splits your face in two as you scatter kisses over his flushed, freckled painted cheeks.

“Yeah. Yeah, you are.”

©TODAYISAWTHEWHXLEWXRLD

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eupheme · 2 years ago

Text

IN THE WOODS SOMEWHERE | come early morning

[masterlist]

joel miller x f!reader

Rated E - 2.5k

Tags - brief canon-divergence, reader is mid/late 30s+, dirty talk, light angst. oral sex / face-sitting, manual restraints, protected PiV

A/N - I plotted 4 parts for the main story, but there’s some moments I’ve been eager to write for Joel. So this is the 1st of 2 mini-chapters before the ending 💕

You’ve heard about it, of course. Telling jokes and swapping stories. But in the after, in the now - when the cabin had been packed - intimacy had been a stolen luxury. Near-silent encounters in the dark.

Near-silent encounters in the dark. Desperate and fumbling and certainly not something like this.

The water pounds against your back - eyes closed as you scrub at your scalp. It’s early, barely dawn. Windows still frosted, everything cold and still outside.

Waking up with a start, mercifully yanked from a nightmare you’re grateful that you don’t remember.

Leaving him to keep dreaming, as you slide from the warm bed. Padding quietly to the shower, taking your time under the spray.

The feeling of dread sluices from you, disappearing down the drain. Letting your mind drift to more pleasant ones. This soft, new thing with Joel.

Actions speaking what his words cannot. The next morning leaving you feeling awkward, as you woke up alone. Finding him in the kitchen - a moment where you wished you could read his mind.

Until you saw that small smile, just for you.

Until he came back that night, the same gentle rap of his knuckles. Warming you bed, an arm curled around you as you slept.

That was days ago, and he still returns. Time passing in the late hours, filled with slow touches and hushed breaths. A door you leave cracked open now, beckoning him in.

Small things, slowly changing. The slightest tenderness - fingers that brush your neck, when it’s slung across the back of the couch.

When the three of you sit together, jammed on that small couch. As Ellie reads aloud and you work on your crochet. As he sits silently - just soaking it in.

Letting himself look, for once - instead of stolen glances.

It makes your heart race. That silly, soft thing. Bruised and unprotected and already more than a little helpless over him.

A small shake to your head to clear it, as you shut the water off.

You should be more careful.

But there’s a glow about you, as your hand passes over the mirror. Swiping away the steam, showing you the you that’s beneath.

You think you’d call her happy.

Wrapping yourself in the old robe, taking your time getting ready for the morning. Up much earlier than usual - the rest of the house won’t be stirring for a while.

But you’re not the only one awake, when the door finally opens. An arm tucked under his head, a sleepy furrow in his brow as he blinks.

Half-awake - an arm stretched out to the empty space beside him. You wonder if he had been searching in his sleep.

It has you crossing the room, sitting down on the edge of the bed.

You think you like him best in the mornings. Voice even raspier with sleep. That accent coming out heavier - his drawl as smooth as honey, before he’s shaken it loose.

He’s sweet as it, too.

As much as you think he can be, anyways.

Your thumb passes over the scruff that lines his jaw. The tip pressing against the patch of bare skin near his chin, softly stroking.

His own hands wander. Brushing over the worn terry cloth. Shifting closer, the blankets pooling lower - revealing bare shoulder, the expanse of his chest.

You take it in. Each and every scar and mark, from faded to fresh. Rarely able to see him like this, in the rays of light that pour in. Used to quiet moments at night, under a blanket of stars.

Not paying attention to his own hands, ones that slide up your thigh, to your hip. A sharp tug to the belt, as he pulls the knot free.

Moving so fluidly, as if he’s been thinking about it.

The robe parts, baring you from neck to waist. The edges falling open, as he lifts himself up - brushing his lips against your sternum.

You can’t help the low breath, a soft moan, as his whisker scratch your skin. Raising goosebumps as his mouth drags, fingers twisting into the edges as he pulls the fabric taught - keeping you close.

The tip of a tongue flicking against a nipple, your breath caught in your throat as you arch into him. Lips closing around to suck, a glossy smear against your skin as he teases you.

Soft brushes against the sensitive curves, until your fingers are twisting in his hair. Messing up grey-flecked curls that are already ruffled from sleep.

Until he pulls back - the curve of a self-satisfied smile. Marks against your skin, where his lips suctioned - reminders for later.

“You wet for me, darlin’?” He husks, those dark eyes lifting to yours.

The way he asks so openly makes your cheeks heat, though you can feel the arousal pooling in your belly.

Embarrassed and deflecting with a, “Well, I just took a shower…”

Joel gives you a pointed look, from beneath sharp eyebrows.

“From my mouth.” His tongue swipes skin again, as you melt a little further, “I know you like this.”

Like his mouth on you. Like the way he touches your tits - with wet tongue and pinching fingers.

A hand sliding up your thigh, where it meets warm, soaked flesh. His own groan coming, then.

“Lemme taste.”

Your heartbeat gallops, the prospect enthralling. More than eager to have him between your thighs again. Remembering how his arm had pinned across your belly - only able to squirm as he fucked you with his tongue.

Inching further onto the bed, as his hand comes to your hip. The other patting his chest, his look expectant.

“No. Up here.”

The fluttering in your chest swoops low, crashing into your stomach. You blink at him, as he shifts back on the pillows.

“Come again?” You question politely, wondering if you heard him right.

His smile tugs wider, “Sure hope so, sweetheart.”

The look has you fidgeting, as he finds you - coaxing you with his hands. Warm and scarred and tugging you on top of him, until you’re hovering over his chest.

Not quite where he wants you - you’re still feeling nervous.

You’ve heard about it, of course. Telling jokes and swapping stories. But in the after, in the now - when the cabin had been packed - intimacy had been a stolen luxury.

Near-silent encounters in the dark. Desperate and fumbling and certainly not something like this.

Bare skin against skin as your hands find the headboard for balance.

Looking down, your heart skipping a beat as you find him admiring. Eyes dragging over the skin he can see - your own heady excitement at having him beneath you like this.

It’s enough to make your shoulder roll - to tug your arms through the sleeves. To bare yourself fully, for him.

You have time. It’s barely morning - another hour or two before Ellie stirs. The nerves start to dwindle, as his hands stroke over your thighs, as they inch wider.

“Come here, baby.” He rasps.

And this time, you do.

Inching forward, until you’re straddling his face. His low, breathed-out moan of want, as his hands move to cup your ass.

Pushing you that extra inch closer, until you can feel the heat of his breath on your thigh. As his hands shift, thumbs hooking under - the slight tug as he parts you.

The dip of his chin so he can see the effect he’s had on you. A clench of his jaw, air sucked in through his teeth.

“Fuck, sweetheart.” He growls, before his chin is lifting back up.

A little jolt of your hips as his tongue flattens over your cunt. Tracing the slit with a lick, soft and wet and so warm against you.

Unable to bite back the little whimper, your eyes fixed on the way your thighs frame his face - the little look of warning he shoots your way.

Before he does it again.

Another soft swirl of his tongue, feeling so different and new from this angle. A creak of the headboard under your fingers as they tighten, an arching of your back as you’re unable help the slight lean into the sweet pressure of his mouth.

His groan low and muffled as he tastes you - dripping for him. Palms pressing into the curve of your ass to nudge you even closer, a burn already starting in your knees and thighs as you hover him.

The point of his tongue teasing at your entrance. Pressing inside before he’s inching up to suck on your clit, as bliss rolls over you.

Your hips rock, meeting the flick of his tongue. The smallest of rhythms, your want betraying you. Leaning into the wet stroke of his tongue, the warmth of his mouth.

That bit of nervousness coming back - when you look down. A doubt that still creeps in. As you watch the sharp focus of his dark eyes, how they narrow in on your face.

The cant of your hips slow, as you take him in. Your words, whispered out into the still morning.

“Feels so good,” You tell him - because god, it does. “But what about you? This can’t be doing much for you.”

Not used to the attention. When he ate you before, it was after he had come. Kissing your puffy lips where his cock had just been, swiftly building you up again until you were gushing against his tongue.

He draws back with a low, rasping breath. The curve of a smile showing bright teeth before his tongue peeks between them to brush at his lip.

Shifting, uncurling a hand from your thigh - finding yours. Dragging it gently back as he reaches around you. His own hips shifting, until your fingertips are running over something thick and curving.

His other hand tugs down the sheet, and then you’re brushing bare skin. A peek over your shoulder, to see where he’s hard.

Achingly so, heavy and curving up towards his stomach. The tip flushed and already smearing a glossy, damp spot against his skin. Leaking, from tasting you.

It makes you clench. It makes you want him - a hand bracing on his shoulder as you start to lift off him.

His hands come back. Gripping onto your thighs, holding you in place as he makes a warning sound. Low in his throat as he pulls you back into place.

Fully seating you against his mouth.

You wiggle for a second, before he’s devouring you. Tongue flicking against your clit, until you’re smeared across his chin and beard.

Thighs pressing against his ears, now that he’s no longer teasing. Muffled whines that slide through your teeth, his own groans catching in his throat.

You’re not able to do much more than hold onto that wooden headboard again. A hand dropping to sink into his hair, a gentle tug knocking one of his moans free.

His brown eyes hazy, a little jolt as his hips buck against nothing. It’s intoxicating - wrapping around you and tugging you closer to the edge.

Building and building, as you begin to lean into it. Rolling into the press of his tongue, over and over. Drawing everything up tight, as you try to warn him. To beg him.

“Joel,” You gasp, “Fuck. Keep going, I’m gonna come-”

His eyes open then, flicking up. A pleased hum as he does just that - as a hand slides from your thigh, up your stomach. Passing gently over your skin, until he’s cupping the weight of a breast. Touching you, like before.

Teasing and pinching with a warm, broad hand.

And with that extra spark of pleasure, you shatter. Unable to help the tremor that wracks through you, as everything that has strung so tightly snaps.

Your breath coming as a high gasp, biting it back with clenched teeth. Swallowing it down as his tongue passes over you, leaving your clit to press where you pulse for him.

Fingers coming to tease at your clit, pressing and circling and drawing those waves of pleasure out, for as long as he can.

Breathless, by the time you come back down. Weak-limbed and lighter than air - unable to help the smile that stretches your face.

Joel lets you up then, though you think he would have been happy to stay there a while longer. Straddling his chest - careful of his healing wound - as you lean over to reach for the drawer of the bedside table.

Grabbing the little foil package from inside. Something else swiped from the pharmacy a lifetime ago, boxes left from a stock that had been rarely used.

“Can I?” You’re asking, moving down to his hips.

As he’s already rasping a “yes”, as your hand closes around him. Thumb swiping over the wet tip before you’re rolling down the condom over this thick length.

His hands grasping at your waist as you rise up. Slick damping your thighs as you angle the tip, until it’s pressing against your entrance.

You take him slowly, sinking down onto him with a single motion. Nudging deep inside you - your back arching as he stretches you out, even with your orgasm.

Until your hips are flush and you’ve taken all of him. Fingers pinching into soft skin, as rough curse falling from his lips as he watches you.

The way your hands brace on his broad, peppered-grey chest, the experimental bounce as your knees press into the mattress.

Riding him, the slow rocking of your hips becoming more confident. The slap of your skin against his growing louder, as you do you best to keep up the pace.

“Christ, darlin’.” His voice is still low, eyes wandering. The slightest waver to it, that feels like such a treasure, “You’ve got me close already.”

You tuck it away, this picture of him. His words, sending a spark down your spine. One that you ignore, because you want to watch him fall apart.

On this pretty winter morning, the sunlight cutting across his face. Bathing it in gold as his hands grip on, guiding you.

As your head ducks, eyes fluttering shut as you your press your lips against against his. Nudging at his bottom lip with your tongue, as they part.

He tastes like you. You lean into it, as his hips snap against yours. Grinding, as he groans, as you swallow the sounds.

From the way he pulls you down to meet him, you think there will be marks tomorrow. The kiss breaking as his teeth grit, though the noise still rumbles in his chest.

Spearing himself deep, as he comes. Holding you still then, as he pumps himself into you. All that drawn-out desire forced out by the warm, wet clutch of your pussy.

Your eyes greedy, as you watch. Hovering above him, close enough to that mark deepen between his brows as they pucker. The muscles flexing in his neck, the flash of bared teeth.

In this moment, it’s just you and him. Connected for that brief moment of bliss, those few minutes before reality comes crashing back in.

You cling to it, for as long as you can. Until the heave of his chest slows, until your hands are lifting from the expanse of muscle and coarse hair.

And then, he’s moving. Coaxing you off him, so he can slip from you - tie off the latex. A chaste kiss pressed to your temple as he pushes himself up after, a hand running through his curls.

“Lemme grab a shower,” He yawns, a roll of his shoulders as he stretches, “And then I’ll start the fire for you.”

That moment wavers - and then fractures.

Splintering, as a new day begins.

(btw DO NOT use or trust expired condoms!!)

Thank you for reading!! 💖

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x you #joel miller smut #joel miller x y/n #joel miller x female reader #joel miller fic #joel miller

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spirk-trek · 2 months ago

Note

Saw your post about struggling with life and I don't have any fic recommendations but maybe it'd be a nice distraction to share something you've been working on? Do you have any WIPs? Ideas? No pressure. I like to share my creativity with others when I'm down so I don't get stuck in my own head when life gets hard. Love your writing ❤️❤️ If that's too much right now you can just delete this and think about Jim and Spock kissing for a while ❤️

aw, anon, thank you. i like this idea a lot. it actually did help distract me :)

i wrote this almost a year ago after watching the tng episode 'future imperfect.' i have a little more written, but this is all i have ready to share without editing <3 ironically enough, super angsty. whoops. the plan was (is?) to have jim suffer a reoccurrence of vegan choriomeningitis (it's mentioned in the mark of gideon he almost died from it when he was young). it causes his memories to revert back to before he had it. each time he wakes up he's "moved forward" in time, aka his memories, but this also means the disease is progressing and killing him faster... ouch.

anyway! enjoy!

~*~*~*~

Conditions aboard the bridge were entirely normal.

It was a statement Spock would come to repeat several times in his logs. Conditions were, indeed, entirely normal. Alpha shift had recently begun, so with coffee dispersed and stations dutifully filled, the Enterprise was humming to life with familiar sights and sounds. Jim scratching tiredly at his jaw. Spock watching him without intending to. Jim grinning when their gazes caught each other’s.

Normal. Typical. Routine.

Spock swiveled his chair back around to face his station and began reviewing the updated positional reports. They were still halfway between one destination and the next, meaning a day heavy with scanning, navigation, and probe arrays which would follow the ship through space like silvery fish in the wake of a whale. Spock scanned over each plotted path until his chair tipped back imperceptibly.

“Anything interesting, Mr. Spock?”

Spock’s back remained straight, eyes forward. “As your use of that word is frequently subjective-”

He froze as the weight behind him shifted forward, breath ghosting over his ear and down the side of his face. It smelled of mint. A meager sip of coffee. A fresh day.

“Oh well,” Jim lamented. “I suppose we’ll j-”

The half formed word cut off as he straightened abruptly. It was peculiar enough for a crease to appear between Spock’s brows before he turned to find a similarly confused expression on Jim’s face.

Then, he fell.

Consciousness fled the Captain all at once, jaw slack, eyes rolling as he went boneless, crumpling inelegantly to the floor. Spock’s reaction stuttered along with his heart below his ribs, stillness creeping into the world like death.

“Alert Doctor McCoy.” Spock gave the order to whoever decided to carry it out, ejecting himself from his chair and falling to his knees just as Lieutenant Uhura stood and took a step toward the Captain’s fallen form. There was no expression in his suddenly pallid face, no hint of the man who had leaned into Spock moments ago.

Spock spread long fingers over the side of Jim’s face, and a sensation so cold crept into him that he felt bile threaten to lurch up from the bottom of his stomach.

It was... nothing.

Nothing. No pull from the meld points, even as he pressed the pads of his fingers to them, ignoring the circling of the crew. It did not matter if they could see his hand begin to shake as it parted from Jim’s brow, sliding instead to press against the side of his neck. Checking his pulse was not strictly necessary; Spock could hear the heart continue to beat below him even without contact, but he could not feel him. His essence. His spirit. Jim.

As members of the crew continued to surround them, Spock had to fight off a sudden swell of possessiveness which beckoned his limbs to curl around his t'hy'la. To force his mind inside the other’s and find where he had gone. To lead him away from those in this world who did not understand him as he-

“What happened?”

The question was urgent, carried tightly through the warp of a Russian accent. The molten edge to Spock’s vision receded, but the feeling deep within him did not.

“The Captain has had a sudden loss of consciousness,” he answered promptly in a voice that was not his own. He forced his hands, heavy, clumsy, useless, away from the points on Jim’s face again. They had gravitated upward without any accompanying decision by their owner, and Spock found he did not know where to put them. He left them to curl like dead tree bark against the blackness of his knees as Sulu squatted down on the other side of Jim’s body. His gaze bounced between Spock’s face and his Captain’s chest, which rose and fell irregularly. Nobody spoke. Then, the swish of doors.

“Where is he?”

Spock sat back, preemptively accepting the doctor’s protrusion into the space when suddenly, his breath caught in his own throat. Or had it been Jim’s? He blinked hard against an impending dizziness, their bond shattering back through the walls of his mind so intensely, for a moment he was not able to tell their consciousnesses apart. He stared wide eyed at the still form on the ground, unable to feel relief through the sour, neon emotions writhing into his head.

Grief. Fear. Pain.

“Spock? What the devil-”

Through the sudden onslaught of disorientation, he somehow managed to witness Jim resurrect himself. Hazel eyes snapped open, wide and unseeing even as Jim scrambled to his feet, and the first action he took was to lunge at McCoy, savagely taking the hypospray from his hand and throwing it across the room with such force it sent smoke and sparks flying from behind shards of a shattered screen. The sudden burst of their bond had simmered again to an unsteady flow of crackling static, half formed impressions finding their way to him like last season’s leaves through a shallow stream.

Fear. Aloneness. Panic.

He stood, approaching Jim without a second thought. The man would not look at him. He was a cornered animal, glinting with sweat, whites of his eyes visible around wild, dark irises.

“Jim.”

When those eyes finally swiveled onto him, they were a stranger’s.

“Stay away from me,” he hissed, teeth bared, shoulders hunched.

Their connection stuttered again and disappeared altogether. Spock barely resisted the urge to clutch an arm around his abdomen at the feeling of loss.

“Jim,” he said again weakly, almost to himself.

“I said stay away!”

The Captain looked down as if he hadn’t noticed his own body, scrambling clumsily for his phaser and looking it over until he found the controls. A hand grabbed at Spock’s shoulder from behind.

“Spock. I don't think that’s Jim.”

Spock frowned at the realization that, for once, he did not have the one tool at their disposal which could tell them for sure. The connection of their bond continued to lie dormant. Dark.

There was a click, and everyone in the room froze. Jim noticed and looked around, leveling the phaser at them.

“I’ll shoot,” he threatened, and Spock grew colder still at the realization his voice was wavering. The breath released through his nose shook, and moisture gathered unmistakably along his row of lower lashes. Spock couldn’t help but take another step forward and those wild eyes turned onto him again. Jim’s hands around the phaser were shaking so violently, the movement dislodged a hair to curl over his forehead.

“I said I’ll shoot!”

“Spock,” McCoy hissed. In his peripheral vision he could see the doctor’s hands raising slowly in surrender. “I think he means it.”

Spock forced his feet flat to the floor. Blinking slowly, he kept his eyes raised to meet Jim’s. I’m here, he pushed out over the connection, but the sensation of the thought dropping off unheard into space was almost palpable. Jim did not react to him, instead switching his gaze to any number of faces in the room. All strangers to him, just as Spock was now.

“Where is he?”

The question was asked quietly, as if the answer was feared. Spock’s brow furrowed and he cocked his head.

“Where is who, Jim?”

Hazel eyes blinked owlishly at his name but then hardened again. A full body tremor dislodged a tear from each eye, traversing down the sides of Jim's face and dropping from his jaw to leave wet ovals dotting his chest.

“You know who!”

Spock raised a brow, outwardly calm. “I do not.”

“Kodos.”

The name was hissed, pain and fear crumpling Jim’s expression, wilting him. Spock shared a look with McCoy. As Jim watched them, his anger flared again.

“I said where is-”

The sentence weakened and he was blinking, fingers loosening around the phaser until it nearly slipped from his grasp before he tightened his fist around it again. His weight rolled backward and he took several stumbling steps away. This time, it was McCoy who stepped forward, hand twitching toward his spare hyposprays. Spock remained still, as if any movement may cause him to miss something crucial. Dark eyes stayed trained on Jim as he regained tension in his posture. He used his free hand to prop himself against the red shelf at the perimeter of the bridge, his free hand leveling the phaser with some difficulty.

“I asked where Kodos is,” he said emphatically, pleading at the same time as demanding. His chest heaved as he flicked eyes up to McCoy. “Get- Get away from me with that shit.”

Spock nearly swallowed his own tongue in surprise at the language used. He saw several members of the crew exchange glances.

McCoy raised both hands again. “Jim, we don’t-”

The hand around the phaser flexed and he jerked it around deliriously. He pulled at the collar of his uniform, sweat now pouring down his face.

“Don’t give me that bullshit! Tell me where he is!”

Jim’s hand slipped from where it was propping him up and he sank to his knees, chest slamming into the shelf as he did. He bounced back, pulling the phaser into his lap even as his eyes barely remained open, pushing with his heels until he collided with the wall. The doctor seemed content with the risk of approaching him, and although Jim’s body gave an almighty twitch of protest, slack hands appeared too weak to attempt to hold onto the weapon when McCoy slipped it away and sent it scattering along the floor.

“What’s happening to me?”

Spock could hear the question from where he stood, but only just. It was quiet. Distant. He sounded like… a boy.

“We’re gonna figure that out,” McCoy told him softly before pulling a hypo out of his back pocket. Once again Jim seemed determined to get away but his feet slid for purchase against the carpet unsuccessfully, lips parting as he listed to one side. McCoy grasped one golden shoulder and righted him.

“Please. I’ll be good, I…”

McCoy stuck him in the arm and Jim whimpered, looking absolutely despondent even as the spray began to take effect. McCoy grabbed him by the jaw and turned him so their eyes met.

“We’re here to help you, not hurt you. Now, go to sleep.”

And with that, Jim once again collapsed into nothing. The doctor let him continue his descent until he laid flat on the floor, guiding him onto his back. After a quick scan he looked around the room.

“Well? Who’s gonna help me get him down to sick bay?”

~*~*~*~ to be continued...?

#sorry to leave anyone who reads this on such a cliffhanger #totally forgot about my folder full of mini wips #thanks anon #this actually did help :')#spirk #star trek #star trek tos #tng #star trek fanfic #spirk fanfic #angst #tarsus iv #k/s #captain kirk #wip #fanfiction

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orchid-mantis-petals · 11 months ago

Text

WHEN HOME BECOMES YOU CHAPTER 7

/ Hey!! Hello!! a little later than intended but here she is Chapter 7

/ As always a thank you to @maximumkillshot and @taeminsung not only my muses but my spirit guides as I write this story.

/ In the next coming weeks I am going to try and officially build a schedule to follow and post to. That is all the news for now. ONWARD!!

/ Genre: angst, fluff, comfort, a little bit of crack

/ Warnings: talks of sleep, anxiety, ptsd, insomnia, fear, sadness, Swearing

/ Summary:

“What about family??”

“I haven’t heard from them in nearly five years,” a gasp left him, his plump lips sucked into his own teeth. “Chan don’t fret over them, they weren’t kind to me. I chose to leave them behind. My friends, my true family knew that leaving America was the right choice for me. My fresh start,”

“We could be your family,” it was such a simple thing for him to say, but you knew deep in his heart he meant it. Every word of it.

When morning came it was the first thing you noticed was your sleep had been dreamless. Not a thought behind your eyes, as you opened them to the renewed space that you had been given. The silk sheets slid against your skin cool to the touch. It was refreshing against your body. When you finally slipped out of the bed you stretched high and long, the bright morning light that cast over the city calmed your soul. It was as though Felix and Han had come to grace you even though he wasn’t there. You took a picture of the sunrise, and sent it to him and Han with a message attached.

‘Thank you for the sunshine boys,’

Their responses back quick and sweet as you readied for the day. The gym was your first goal, with a smoothie in hand you made your way to the JYP building. On your way out you spied the extra helmet at your door. There was no rhyme or reason for it but you took it with you. At the building you got in your scheduled time for your gym session. There hadn’t been time to have long planned workouts, Stray Kids’ long winded, fully filled schedules made sure of that. You still found time, whether it be in your hotel room or in the sparse hour or so of free time they had. You liked to dedicate that time to keeping your body in shape for your work. Afterward you looked at your phone. In your month with the boys you had found it easier to just sync your calendar to Chan’s. But as you scrolled through your phone there were no events scheduled. Which was odd, you always had their schedule. Aside from a few meetings in the later afternoon you didn’t have much to do. So after your shower you wandered up to Chan’s studio. With a gentle knock you waited for him to let you in. His voice was distant beyond the door but he beckoned you to come inside. Your eyes cast still down, cast to your phone screen.

“Chan, did you add me to the current calendar?? It isn’t showing up on my phone,” when you looked up you finally took stock of him.

“Shi, I forgot, hold on,” the shadows under his eyes seemed darker, a deeper color to the skin around his lids. You saw his shoulders sagged, his hoodie heavy against his body. As though the entirety of it was a weight that dragged against him. There was a hunch to his back as he leaned over to grab his phone from his bag on the floor. Once retrieved, your phone dinged as he added you to the calendar events for the next two months. Your eyes flashed over the prior days schedule, on it you saw 3Racha had been scheduled for NIZI. A current production of the company that featured the producing team of Stray Kids as judges for future JYP groups. By now it had a few seasons, the original purpose was to have various idol coach trainees. There wasn’t much to Chan you knew, not yet anyway. But it was clear in your eyes that he was exhausted. Beyond that, sleep seemed to evade him. You could see that in every part of his body.

“Are you alright??” You knew the answer, no, but would he say so?? Or would he lie to you.

“I-I don’t know. I am exhausted,”

“How much sleep have you gotten??”

“When??” there was a shrug, that shifted the weight of his hoodie back more. You would reprimand him, would have, had you not known the struggle he had with insomnia. How it affected his daily life, the entity that shrouded over him.

“Tell me about it,” your body settled on the studio couch at the back of the room. It was a staple to their videos, well known and well loved. His eyes roamed over you, the light of the room cast a gold glow over his irises. A hidden color in the deep brown pools. There was a wobble to his lip, a fight he couldn’t keep up due to the tiredness that ebbed off him.

“We had to, we, there was,” he couldn’t gather his thoughts, too many of them all at once. You watched as his eyes darted around the room, as he tried to find the thoughts that plagued him. Slowly you reached across the room your hand slid into his, a squeeze to assure him that you were there.

“Take your time,”

“I-It is really hard to work on this NIZI project. While I enjoy having the time and ability to cultivate the young minds of the new Idol generation. It is also hard to see myself within them,” from what little you know of him, the years he had spent as a trainee. Some of the younger members often remarked on how many years it had been, how he was the longest trainee in the company's current history. You didn’t speak, not until he had finished, his thoughts gathered more before he stood to pace the room. “I worry for them, for those who don’t make it. I know the strength of this industry, like the back of my hand. They would not survive it if we let them Debut. But it guts me to have to let them go. To see their faces as I crush their dreams, their hopes. I remember when I was there, when I felt that,” you reached out to him. You dragged him to the couch beside you, with a pat on the middle seat you turned to look at him.

“I may not know the reasons, the whys of it all. There are experiences of yours that I may not understand. But I can say this, those trainees are safer with you there to guide them. Because you know, you know what it is like to hit those points in life. How hard it is to be in that darkness, there is no one more qualified to know if these boys can or will make it in this career,” his head tipped back with a deep sigh, you watched his anxiety float off of him. His hoodie became a comfort rather than a weight against him. Beside him you felt safe, all of these boys had this effect on you.

“Y/N, tell me how did you know??” your lip tucked into your teeth as you pulled your knees up to your chest.

“Because, Chan. I know what it is like to feel so hopeless. As though the entire world had turned on you. When this job was offered to me I didn’t hesitate to take it. There was nothing left for me in America. Few people to love, and those who I do wanted me to chase this dream,”

“What about family??”

“We could be your family,” it was such a simple thing for him to say, but you knew deep in his heart he meant it. Every word of it.

“I think I would like that very much,” you smiled at him, the soft pull of your lips mirrored on his as he watched you. Whatever work the two of you had forgotten in the deep conversations you engaged in. Soon enough silence followed your voice. As your head turned to look at him, eyebrows raised in a quizzical manner. Chan was passed out against the back of the couch. His neck cocked at an odd angle as his breath came out in soft huffs. You laughed softly as you moved to pull him down away from the couch back. Your own body moved so you could continue work as he slept. After your laptop was set up on the coffee table, earbuds on and in you moved Chan. His head came to rest on your thighs. With slow and careful movements you adjusted him into a comfortable position on your lap. When he didn’t stir at all you knew he was exhausted. His body was a heavy weight next to and against you. It was all worth the ache that would come later, to see him so relaxed with you, next to you.

An hour and a half passed, three of your meetings finished by the time the door opened. Changbin emerged from the other side. Your hand stilled in Chan's hair as you raised your index finger to your lips. An ask to be quiet as he putted about the room. Soon he joined you. He chose the free office chair, his own laptop beside yours as he worked. A few minutes later he was deep into his work, his head bopped to whatever beat that had been stuck in his head now out for the universe to see and hear. Eventually he passed the headphones to you, a silent offer to listen. You wanted to, but the man in your lap prevented you from moving. Changbin nodded, he moved around the table. Settled the headphones over your head before he moved back to play the beat he just created. Chan stirred beneath you a shiver wracked his spine, his hoodie abandoned on the chair Chanbin sat in. Before you listened to the beat you reached back behind the couch. A random spotify blanket that was haphazardly draped over the couch. You settled it over him, softly tucked the back of it to his body. A small cocoon is what he became. As the blanket settled over him you and Changbin watched as he tucked his nose under the soft fabric, a soft sigh escaped him as he nuzzled into your thigh and the blanket. The beat all but abandoned as Changbin stood, hand over his mouth to muffle the scream that was locked in his chest. You watched as he slipped away into the recording booth. A sound proof space you noticed as he let his hand drop to let out the scream. After a few moments he returned phone in hand to snap a picture of Chan asleep in your lap. Happily you let him.

“Thank you,” he mouthed as he returned to his seat to play the beat he’d created. When it started you listened intently, your own head moved to the intricate sound he created in mere minutes. When it was finished you removed the headphones and let Changbin take them back from you. He waited patiently for your feedback.

“It was good,” you whispered as you settled your fingers across your keys to finish out some paperwork for a couple staff transfers. The tranquil silence that was created between the three of you was broken when the door swung open once more. This time Han entered the room, at the sight of you he squealed. His voice was loud as he rushed over to you for a hug. The movements jostled Chan in your lap effectively waking the poor man.

“Hannie, you need to look around first,” Changbin scolded as he pulled the younger man away from you. He worried he squashed Chan in his effort to hug you.

“I am so sorry Chan,” your fingers carded into the dark haired man's locks in your lap in hopes you would ease the startled feeling he must have from being woken up so abruptly. There was a heavy sigh before he forced himself upright with a groan.

“It’s alright Sungie, we need to work anyway,” his eyes met yours with a silent thank you for the kindness you had offered him today. You just smiled at him and stood as you collected your belongings.

“Well I will let you three get to it. Can’t keep the geniuses from marking their art,” you made sure to give Han a proper hug before you left them for the rest of the day. Han protested a small bit before Chan dragged him to the recording booth.

“We need to make guides Han,”

**** **** **** ****

Work that afternoon had become hard for him. It wasn’t the usual back and forth banter he’d have with Chan or the constant nag from Han to change something that kept him distracted. No it was you, Changbin was utterly entrapped by the presence you had created in his life. In the lives of his small family. His Whimsy, the kind soul that remained a mystery.

“What do you think of this Changbin??” He wasn’t paying attention, not in the slightest. His mind elsewhere, to the place you sat on that couch. Your nimble fingers tapped lightly away at your keyboard, movements small to keep Chan from waking in your lap below you. There was kindness in every action you took toward them. How he longed to be the person to rest his head over your plush thighs, to be given the permission to exist like that with you. He was not jealous of Chan, not in the slightest. Rather he was so happy to have found his leader passed out, you had guided him to sleep. Changbin was thankful you had gifted the older man the short nap he was given. “Bin,” his head finally turned to meet Chan, eyebrows raised as he hummed in return.

“Mm what??”

“Channie-Hyung, hes lovestruck,” Han sing-songed as he spun in his chair before he returned to the main desk. Changbin felt his hands wrap around his shoulders as he giggled. “I don’t blame you she's pretty,”

“It’s not just that Hannie,” his hands raked over his face as an exasperated sigh left his lips. “She's gorgeous, stunning. But it, it’s not just that. There is this kindness to her. She works so hard to protect us. I want to hear her voice everyday, listen to her speak to me. Around me, her existence in its own right is exquisite,” his mouth moved before he even had time to stop it. The words tumbled out of him, the experience not far off from when he created lyrics. All of it spilled out of him, heart bare and open for his members to see.

“Ask her on a date,” Chan remarked, his fingers typed away at the computer as he arranged the music again. It didn’t fit, not yet. Changbin groaned, unable to now form words for the pure discontentment he had with the idea. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to ask you out. It was that he wasn’t sure how. Or even where to begin. “Just simply ask her out to dinner,”

“I can’t,” he groaned as his head came to thump against the desk effectively rattling the contents that lay strewn about it.

“You can just simply say ‘hey Y/N let's go get dinner.’ Easy as pie,” was it really?? It didn’t feel that way not to him. Chan sighed this time his eyes glanced over the clock on his computer before he moved back with a stretch. “Well speaking of dinner, since we can’t seem to focus we might as well head to the dorms for a break,” Changbin hadn’t planned to protest, not when he truly couldn’t focus on the task at hand. Not when you caused a welcome plague over his mind.

When the car was called they ventured down to the garage that they were always picked up and dropped off from. There not far off he spied your motorcycle, you too were still here. That fact alone made his heart race, there was a chance to see you one more time for the day. Maybe, hopefully. Not long after the three settled outside the elevator to wait for the car did the familiar ding of the metal doors opening draw their attention to behind them. There you stood phone in hand as you stepped out to join them. When you glanced up you smiled at them. He couldn’t help but smile back. Changbin was starstruck by your existence alone. How could he not smile when his whimsy smiled at him?? Before he knew it the words fell from his lips just as fast as he thought of them.

“Dinner, you and me. Together, please,” well that was one way to ask. He heard snickers behind him before his fellow members decided to speak their mind.

“Well that’s one way to do it,”

“He got the words right. Delivery needed work,” he looked back to find Han leaning over Chan with his usual cheeky smile. He was sure to flip them off for their unnecessary commentary to his embarrassment. You however laughed, your soft airy laugh he loved to hear.

“Yes, let’s,”

“When??” He found his chance. He wouldn’t lose it now.

“Now, my place,” something cold and hard pressed to his abdomen. When he looked down he found a helmet had been pressed to his stomach. A helmet, its colors matched yours perfectly. Though the blue and pink tones were in reverse. When his hands clasped over it you dropped the full weight of it to be held by him. “Come on lover boy,” you turned on your heels and walked toward your bike. It was a view he could watch all day. Sure it made him feel not far off form a teenage boy as he RESPECTFULLY eyed your body as it walked away from him. How could he not when you wore your gear. The pants alone were criminal. A deep purple followed the inner and outer seam of your body drew further attention to your ass. The jacket that matched fit snug against your shoulders, and chest. He watched as you turned to look at him, your hands slowly pulled the zipper up up and up over your neck. It was Chan that pushed him into action, the older took his gym bag and nudged him to follow you. He did with careful steps he joined you beside the bike, helmet still lazily clasped in his hands. Your brown eyes glanced up at him, a smile on your lips before you reached into your bag for your own helmet. “Don’t be shy,”

“It’s hard not to be, when you look at me like that,” curse his mouth. Curse his brain for having let that slip out. Your laugh met his ears once more like a song he didn’t know he needed to hear. By now he knew his ears were tinted red. To hide he slipped his head into the helmet his cheeks squished some with all the heavy padding. It felt odd, tight, and strikingly comforting to have the helmet over his head.

“Wait you’re missing something,” you laughed as you reached around and grabbed something from your bag. He couldn’t see what it was, you had moved too quick for him to see what you had put whatever it was on his helmet. Your cheeky smile was reward enough for him though. “A photo, for the boys,” you said as you slipped your own helmet on and turned to take a selfie with him. In the view of the camera he could see you had put magnetic bunny ears on his helmet. Like yours one flopped down the other upright. In the opposite direction of yours. He smiled for the photo. Though his mouth couldn’t be seen he was sure his eyes gave away his glee. Afterward you handed him your backpack to wear while the two of you rode. He watched beneath the visor as you settled over the bike. Your soft thighs pooled some to accommodate the metal and plastic underneath you. When you settled he moved to sit behind you. His own thighs moved to mold into the seat of the bike. He tried to find purchase in anything other than you. Don't get him wrong, he wanted to touch you. Reach his arms around your torso splay his wide palms over your stomach. But he wouldn’t, not at least until you said so. “Changbin, you’ll fall off if you sit like that,” your arms reached back, your fingers threaded into his as you pulled his arms around your torso. There you settled them over your stomach..dreams really do come true. Changbin willed himself to NOT pop a boner while he sat with your back to him like this.

“Okay,” he nodded, helmet bonked against yours in the effort. It made you both laugh. Though yours was so much prettier than his. When his hands settled over you he felt you twist some as the bike roared to life. If Changbin had to describe the feeling of the engine beneath him he’d say it was similar, not far off from the feeling he got when he growled. The deep rumble from the pit of his stomach rolled through his chest and throat. Until he unleashed all the power he had in his voice out his lips. Your motorcycle was the same, except that slow rumble started from the balls of his feet, up his thighs. It settled there before it ricocheted up his spine and stayed in his shoulders only to go back down, then back up once more. It was unfamiliar, new, he gripped you tighter as your own feet lifted off the concrete and the bike moved forward. He leaned over you as you pressed forward, his body molded into yours with the effort to not fall off. The fading sunlight hit you both the moment that you had left the garage. The tired screeched some with the effort to get onto the main streets of the city. He’d seen this city before, it has been his home for many years now. But under the tinted visor it was different.

“It’s my favorite view,” your voice came clear through his ear. It startled him some but he relaxed when he realized he was connected to your helmet through a Bluetooth device.

“I can see why,” he sighed as he leaned back some, as he dared to look around the city he knew so well. He loved it, every second of it. As the two of you zipped through the busy streets he laughed. The sun cast shadows over you both as you took them over the Han bridge. The gold light cast over the water made it shimmer. It was so bright Changbin knew if his visor wasn’t down he'd be blinded. But with it down he could see the full beauty of the water that was below you both. With one last look he settled back with his head over your shoulder to watch the streets in front of you. The music you were playing was funny, American. He couldn’t catch the lyrics but he’d have to ask you for it later to translate the meaning behind it.

The ride wasn’t long enough in his opinion, your apartment was tucked neatly away just outside the heart of the city. When you parked he waited for your signal to get down. When you tapped his arms he let go of the grip he had on you and slipped off the bike. Not long after you slipped off it your legs were far steadier than his as you stood on the concrete floor. “You’ll have to teach me how to drive,”

“Gladly. Though Felix asked first,” you waved him to follow you, and he did. Like a lost puppy he followed you into the building helmet in his hands as he walked behind you. The concierge waved to you before he looked at Changbin. “Good evening. I’ll have some more guests later I’ll page them up,”

“I can make badges for them if you would like to miss,” there was a thought behind your eyes before you nodded.

“Will you make two please??” When the man at the desk nodded you began the walk toward the elevator once more. The small fob on your keys opened the doors. It allowed you further access to the building. Changbin looked around, the place was high class. The security was immaculate, almost better than his own place. He didn’t even want to know the cost of living in a place like this. With your salary he was sure you could afford it. Still it was a mystery to him. Eight floors up and he followed you off the elevator straight into your front door. Then into your home. “Make yourself at home,” you said as you slipped into your house slippers shoes neatly left at the door. “I’m just going to change really quick,”

“O-okay,” he stepped into the spare slippers as he wandered into the small space you called home. The design of it all gave him more of who you were. What you liked. The neon signs and soft plush couch drew his attention. “So you’re having more company later??” He called out as he looked over the art hung on your walls. Some small photos clipped into magnetic frames tacked neatly on the wall. Your life in another country. A life he didn’t know.

“Yes, the rest of the boys are coming later for a movie. Hyunjin insisted on it as a housewarming sort of thing,” he laughed. It made sense. Ever since Felix and Hyunjin had taken you out shopping he’d heard nothing but all the things Hyunjin did to make you happy. “So that also means you’re invited for movie night,”

“Well I guess it won’t be a hassle since I’m already here,” you laughed, his heart thundered in his chest. When he looked back he saw you tiptoe down the steps of your loft space he felt his cheeks burn at the sight of you. Sure it wasn’t much, you weren’t dressed up like you were at the after party. But any sighting of you in clothes that aren’t your work attire was a blessing to him.

“How does Spaghetti sound??”

“Italian is the way to my heart,” truth be told, any food was. But he was a sucker for Italian.

“Wonderful. My MeeMaw made a mean spaghetti recipe,” while you took up residence in the kitchen he sat at the small island bar to watch you work. “If you sit there I’ll give you something to do,”

“Please, I hate just sitting here,” the two of you laughed softly and soon he was given a task to do. Onions to cut, among other small veggies while you prepared the meat and noodles. “Was your grandmother Italian??”

“No, far from it actually, but she had an affinity for Italian food,” your smile warmed his heart. He’d never heard you speak of your family but it was good to hear someone within your life loved you. Enough to gift you a smile when you spoke of them. The conversations between the two of you became endless. One subject filtered into another with ease, there was no awkward pause or silence to fill. He loved every second. And soon enough you joined him, with two plates in hand you gave him one as you sat beside him at the counter. “Hyunjin said a dining room table wasn’t practical for my small space so he didn’t end up getting me one,”

“Yes he told me all about your shopping adventure when he and Felix got to practice last night,” he dipped his fork into his meal and began to twirl it until he had a decent bite of the spaghetti on it. The flavor was unlike anything he’s had before. It was spaghetti, yes, but there was something different. The sauce was rich, thick, but not so much it made a weight in your stomach. Whatever your MeeMaw had in her recipe was divine. A hearty groan escaped his throat as he savored the flavors in his mouth. When he turned to look at you, your eyes were already on him. He lit up knowing you had waited to see how he felt about this meal. “Y/N. Make me this again,”

“If you react like that everytime I do then yes. I will gladly,”

“The boys are going to be so jealous,”

“Let them. They didn’t ask me to dinner. You did,” oh..was there another one of his members you wished to go out with. Had he read the flirtatious banter between you two wrong?? “Get out of your head Seo Changbin. Dinner with you is exactly what I wanted,” he lit up with your reassurances and continued to eat beside you. As you talked he learned you were close with your maternal grandparents, but the rest of your family remained a mystery. You refused to speak of them. He didn’t pry, you’d come to him when you’re ready. He was sad to find the only relatives you adored had passed.

“Is it hard to be here in Korea when you can’t visit their graves??”

“No, I have them with me always,” you shifted to move your pant leg up. It felt scandalous to Changbin to watch you pull the stretchy fabric up up and up to your thigh. But there he saw it. A beautiful floral and star design littered your skin. It was wrapped higher than your pants allowed. The delicate ink took over the entire expanse of your left leg. He’d seen the edges of it on your ankle but to see it in its near full glory was marvelous. “My artist put their ashes in the ink. So they are with me forever,”

“Wow, it's beautiful. Suits you well,” he watched your skin disappear beneath your pants once more as you turned to finish your meal.

“They were everything to me. It feels good to know even with them gone I still have a part of them with me,” he smiled as he listened. There was so much more he wanted to know about you. So much he wished you’d tell him. He wished this dinner would last eternity. But..it couldn’t. With both your plates clear Changbin insisted he do the dishes. After all the effort you took in cooking he made sure you had the chance to relax some before 7 other people invaded your space. After he finished he found you at the wall with the framed photos. The ones that felt a touch out of place. Yet they belonged so well. More parts of you he didn’t know.

“The tall beefy one is Axel,” he listened, you had willingly offered some more of your life. He didn’t want to stop you. “He is my best friend. He urged me to take this opportunity. The night I met you Changbin. If he hadn’t dragged me out to work. I would have missed the opportunity to work abroad. Axel is a huge reason why I’m here, why I’m with you in this moment,”

“I will have to thank him for bringing my Whimsy to me,”

“What??”

“I-I I am so sorry that wasn’t meant to be said..it’s what I call you in my head. W-Whimsy. The woman with the most Wh-Whimsical smile,” his cheeks felt as though they were on fire he couldn’t even believe himself for saying it aloud. Now he stuttered with embarrassment as he tried to explain himself. “You hate it..I’ll stop,” your hand came to rest on his chest in a gentle motion that told him to shut up. When his eyes met yours he melted your cheeks dusted in his favorite pink. A pink that brought out your freckles.

“No, I like it. Please call me that,” he nodded slowly, he didn’t want to stop looking at you. Never. Soon his hand moved, he wanted to join yours. He was sure you could feel his heart as it ricocheted in his chest. But before his hand came to rest over yours the door buzzer went off. He groaned..of course..the guys were here. And this moment between you two had to end. You laughed when his groan became outward. But you did slip away. You allowed the boys entry. You told them to stop at the front counter to pick up the two fobs you had made then returned to his side. Changbin hadn’t moved from his spot. Eyes still glued to the photos on the wall. To you, and the others caught within them.

“The boys have good timing,”

“Something like that,” he huffed lightly before he wandered over to the couch and sank into the plush cushions with a soft groan.

“It just means you and I will have to do this again,”

“You want that??”

“Of course I want that Changbin,” he smiled at the thought of being able to have time like this with you again. He wanted it too, so very much. Soon the front door burst open Felix and Hyunjin first in the door, their arms wrapped tight around you.

“Not fair!! Changbin I wanted to taste Starlight's cooking first!!”

“Yah!! Changbin you’re so unfair!!”

“Guess it just means she likes me more than the two of you,” he sat back into the couch to watch the chaos he had unfolded. Chan and you both gave him pointed looks of disdain as the wailing from the younger two became louder. Eventually they all settled down for the movie.

**** **** **** ****

Your night went perfectly. The dinner you had with Changbin was pleasant. You had learned so much about him. His life here in Korea. It was nice to just have calm chatter with someone. It helped that said someone was so incredibly handsome. Sure he was more than that. But his looks helped factor in your admiration for him. When the movie started you managed to squeeze yourself between Changbin and Felix. Hyunjin and Han fought for a spot between your legs on the floor. In the end it was Han who won though from the other side of the couch you could see Lee Know was keeping a close eye on you. Sure, you had won him over a little at the airport but it was easy to see he still didn’t trust you entirely. Chan had later explained to you how protective Lee Know was over Han and why. You understood it and did your best to show the older male you weren’t a threat to Han or the rest of the boys. The movie went smoothly.

Eventually Han vacated the space at your feet to snuggle up against Lee Know. Hyunjin and Felix were squished together beside them, also fast asleep. It left you, Chan, Changbin and Lee Know to watch over the others. By the time the movie ended you had to help usher out the four sleepy boys. They reminded you of toddlers as they waddled through your home fists rubbing the sleep from their eyes. You bid them goodnight from the door. There was a soft rattle once it closed. The walls of your apartment echoed the sound. From within you heard further proof of things having shifted in your home. When you turned on the light you noticed one of your forgotten boxes had toppled over. Most of its contents had stayed inside the box, yet a few feet away you noticed the broken photo frame. It was a miracle the glass hadn’t shattered further.

You hated that photo, but part of you still struggled to get rid of it. You had yet to find peace with all that happened. Slowly you reached down to pick it up. As the frame came to rest in your fingers you heard your phone go off. You wondered if maybe one of the boys had forgotten something. Yet when you lifted your abandoned device from the couch it was Axel’s contact you faced. You were quick to answer.

“Hey dude you’re calling at a strange time,” there was a small pause before Ivory’s voice filtered in from the other side.

“Y/N, Axel is in the hospital,”

“He..What happened??”

“Logan, he showed up at his place. He demanded to know where you were,”

“Axel is bigger than him how..” your voice tapered off as it began to shake. Fear riddled you immobile. No matter where you went your past would still come to haunt you. He would still come to haunt you.

“He broke Axel’s leg at the knee with a bat before Axel could stop him,” your eyes watered with the thought of your best friend injured with just the idea to protect you. Nothing made sense, the world faded away from you. Slowly you sank to the floor, phone dropped to the hardwood before you even had the chance to stop it. Not like you could, his voice filtered into your head.

“I will find you Dovey,”

“You can never escape me,”

“Just watch my love, you belong to me,”

“Dovey, dovey, dovey,”

You felt nothing, the photo in your hands slipped into your blurry view. The “happy” faces that lay in the cracked frame evident of the truth behind the people in it. Your scream desperate as you threw the frame away from you. Its near perfectness finally shattered all over the floor. Its glass scattered everywhere. Your hands shook as you reached down to pick it up. To pick up the broken bits of your heart as it lay bare on your floor. You didn’t care if the glass cut you. His voice called to you more and more as you sobbed. “I’ll be good..please..please leave them alone,” a line you’ve said a thousand times with his fist inches from your face. You’d take it all to protect them.

“Dovey, here I come,”

TAG LIST:

@taeminsung @maximumkillshot @feybin @alex--awesome--22 @liknws @palindrome969 @newbbystay @highlydestiny

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ash5monster01 · 3 months ago

Text

Getaway Camp : Twelve

Pairing: Charlie Dalton x FemReader

Warnings: fluff, language, angst, nudity, illusions of smut, alcohol consumption, smoking, lots of yelling, misunderstanding.

Summary: Rainy days at camp are the only ones that allow the staff some relief. Taking advantage of the day off, Charlie and Valerie spend it together before joining their friends for some card games. What they don’t expect is how badly it will end.

word count: 3.2k

Masterlist

Eleven ←→ Thirteen

July 17th 1961

It didn’t happen often, but today was one of those camp days where the clouds opened up, poured buckets of water, and killed any outdoor activity for the day. Charlie’s lesson had been canceled before he even heard the camp bugle, and based on the cool wind and lighting flashing across the sky, Valerie also didn’t have to report to duty. Lucky for the both of them, Andy wasn’t as lucky, so they had Charlie’s cabin to themselves.

“We better go soon” Valerie mutters softly against Charlie’s chest, her fingers tracing down between his pecs and to his stomach. She try’s her hardest not to eye the happy trail that she was addicted to.

“Why can’t we just stay right here, in our perfect little bubble” Charlie tells her, lips fumbling against the crown of her head, relishing in the feeling of her bare body pressed against his own.

“Because if we’re not careful, it’ll pop” Valerie teases, patting her hand softly against his hard pec. She never really preferred any body type, she had never preferred anyone. Yet girls her age always pined after the strongest and biggest guys they knew. Guys like Levi and Nate with abs and wide shoulders. Charlie was strong but in a soft and toned way. It was an unexpected strong and it was so much better than some big and beefy guy.

“It’s raining though” Charlie pouts and Valerie giggles, hugging him close as she presses a kiss to his chest. She didn’t want to leave this cabin as much as him.

“I know, which is why the boys are in one of the common cabins with cards. It’ll be fun, just some cozy clothes, day drinks, zero responsibilities. Then when we’re done, I’ll tear all the clothes right back off you” she tells him, fingers walking their way up his chest until tapping his nose lightly.

“Well now I have no room to complain” Charlie says, hand patting softly at her ass and Valerie uses this as a way to crawl over him and out of the bed. Charlie shamelessly watches her naked form as she pulls on her underwear and the clothes she had shed earlier. Her wild brunette curls are slightly frizzy and hanging in mess down her back that she didn’t seem to mind. Charlie thought she couldn’t be anymore beautiful.

“Come on, your turn” she beckons him over, picking up his own pants from the ground and Charlie grins as he whips the blanket from his waist. Valerie tries her best not to look at his length, already regretting convincing him to get out of bed. Charlie smiles as he pulls on his own clothes and finishes with a kiss to Valerie’s lips.

“This better be worth it” Charlie says before lacing his hand with her own and stepping out into the pouring rain. Running quickly with their hands locked, they reach the staffs common cabin that had been overtaken by her friends.

“Damn, it’s about time” Levi says when they step in, wet from the rain but wide and happy smiles on their faces. Everyone looks on with amused smiles, many faces Charlie’s sure he hasn’t seen in the daytime before. Majority is their friends, sat around the large table with cards laid out in front of them.

“Sorry, we were busy” Valerie apologizes, stepping further into the room and trying to eye where they’re at in their game. Not even noticing Nate side stepping her with a drink refill in hand.

“Clearly” Nate snorts, hand reaching to brush her hair back and reveal the fresh hickey on her neck. She quickly swats him away but both Valerie and Charlie turn red anyway. Charlie pulls a seat out at the table for Valerie, joining her side as Mia sets mixed drinks in front of them. There’s no guaranteeing what the cups withheld but both of them knew it was enough to get them tipsy.

“What should we play?” Chrissy asks from the table, clearly a few drinks in and eyes already a bit glazed. They both notice how she tries her best not to look at Nate across the table.

“Anything, just not go fish please” Alice pouts, a sad look on her face mostly because Andy was more than likely not here and she was stuck spending time with the rest of them. Same went for Alex, especially since his job was designed to occupy people on days like this.

“And no spoons. Nate almost broke the table last time” Holly the red head says and Charlie realizes he hasn’t barely seen the girl since his first night here. He briefly wonders if she was still hooking up with Alex. Especially since he now learned Alex was a bit weird.

“Strip poker is also a no” Mia says, pointing a strict finger at both Nate and Levi who hold their hands up in defense.

“Okay fine, but I’ll ask again after a few drinks” Levi smirks at the girl and she softly blushes, eyes rolling at the boy she clearly had a soft spot for. Charlie wonders how their whole hooking up situation worked and how neither of them had caught feelings for each other yet.

“How about War?” Nate suggests and cards come flying in his direction, the group laughing loudly at the simple and childish game he had offered. Nate expects the wave of cards and shrugs as if it was just another day at camp.

The group ends up playing Rummy, the more the drinks flow, the more loud and exuberant they get. Charlie was surprised to find him enjoying himself especially since he was annoyed he had to spend time here instead of alone with Valerie. As the day progresses the rain pours, and then lightens up, all before pouring again. Daylight is fading and the group around them begins to get dazed eyes from all the shared drinks. Every time Charlie’s knee nudges Valerie’s under the table they both find their skin lighting on fire. Desperate for time alone especially the more drinks they consume.

“I’m sick of cards” Chrissy pouts, slamming her pile onto the table. The group laughs, knowing it was because each of their own gazes was getting hazier and hazier. Making it harder to read the cards and make quick decisions. Especially for Levi and Nate who took an intermission to smoke cigars out on the porch half an hour ago.

“Yeah, let’s play something different like Never Have I Ever” Holly cheers as if it’s the best idea yet. The group chuckles but all begin to place down their cards anyway.

“We’re too drunk to come up with anything clever enough for Never Have I Ever. We need something more interesting” Valerie tells them, a look of mischief covering her face and Levi nods. Charlie watching as Levi’s arm falls behind Valerie’s chair and makes his stomach bubble with jealousy.

“I agree, I say we play Truth or Dare” Levi says, eyes daunting like it should be nerve wracking they’ve suggested such a game. Charlie doesn’t get it but waits patiently to see where this goes anyway.

“You just want to play so you can dare us to do dirty stuff” Mia says with a pointed look that Levi ignores.

“It’s not all dirty, come on. It’ll be fun!” Valerie begs and Mia sighs before looking around the rest of the table to see everyone else doesn’t really seem that opposed to a friendly game of truth or dare.

“Ugh fine” she agrees, shoving her own pile of cards and everyone smiles and cheers. The magic of a rainy day at summer camp. So as everyone gets settled, Charlie suddenly feels the heavy tension, because this game could exploit him in so many ways. Especially since not many people knew much about him.

“I go first” Levi grins, leaning back in his chair and clearly having more than one thing up his sleeve. “Mia, truth or dare?”

“Dare” she says, crossing her arms and giving him a look that dares to challenge her. Levi clearly didn’t expect this answer but stays unfazed as he eyes her.

“I dare you to run in the rain, topless” Levi challenges, eyebrows jumping up in a challenge. Waiting to see if she would dare deny him of this request but just like everyone else she has the liquid courage running through her veins.

“Fine” she says, standing and waltzing the door. When she opens it everyone can hear the rain still coming down but she lifts her shirt, revealing her bare back, and sprinting into it. The group hoots and hollers and when she returns, Alice is standing there with her shirt to make sure no one else gets a show.

“Cold?” Levi asks, eyebrow raised and she just shakes her head, hair damp from the heavy rain. It’s not a surprise to anyone that the girl ignores him as her and Alice return to the table.

“Nate” the blonde boys head turns to Mia, awaiting the question as she never removes her eyes from Levi. “Truth or dare?”

“Truth” he grins, like he has no issue sharing any detail about his life. Charlie wonders if his friends ever thought of him the same way he thought of Nate. He almost hoped not.

“Why’d you randomly spend the night with Chrissy on the Fourth of July?” Valerie stiffens against Charlie’s side, eyes pleading with Nate to lie. The last thing she needs is his overly honest self but no one is ever that lucky. Plus Mia is only asking to help her friend, she has no idea the answer is one she doesn’t want to hear.

“Valerie wanted the cabin alone, so she asked if I’d do it just this once” Valerie winces, eyes squeezing close and Charlie slides his arm around her waist. He offers as much comfort as he can. She never voiced that’s what she did that night, but Charlie knew she had done some convincing for them to be alone.

“What?” Chrissy asks, voice cracking as she tries to determine who to be more heartbroken with. Valerie can’t even look as tears well up in the blonde girls eyes. No one says a word as the Chrissy’s lip begins to quiver and then she’s bolting out the door. Escaping the room and everyone in it.

“Nate dude, that was so not cool” Levi instantly comes to his friends defense. Nate scoffs, clearly uninterested in a lecture when he was just playing a game.

“It was the truth, the game is truth or dare” he tries to defend but Valerie shoots a glare his way. Fuming with anger and guilt, surprisingly some sadness too.

“Except in that case. You out of everyone know how much you mean to Chrissy and now she not only hates you but me too” Valerie fires at him and Nate shrugs, not seeing an issue considering he’s made it pretty clear to the blonde girl that he’s not interested in her like that. It’s not his fault she didn’t get the hint all summer.

“What’s it matter Val, you’ve never liked her” Nate says and Valerie gets even more blind with anger, fists clenching at her sides. Both Levi and Charlie are surprised there isn’t smoke coming from her ears.

“You’re such a fucking asshole Nate. People have feelings you know! I guess you really don’t have a heart!” she yells at him and the other girls flinch at the table, not expecting such an angry and sharp voice to come from one of the most relaxed girls they knew.

“Oh, like you do Val! I’ve watched you ignore guys at this camp and show no interest in making any friends for years!” Nate doesn’t know what kind of nerve he’s struck, Valerie’s shoulders deflating as she faces the harsh reality. It was something about herself even she didn’t understand. How she struggled to be attracted to anyone or relate with women on a level she was desperate to understand. Levi is quick to notice the sadness that consumes his friend.

“Look, let’s just finish playing the game. Everyone take a breath” Levi tries to reason but it’s too late. Nate is angry and extremely worked up. So when his eyes meet Levi he knows exactly his next target.

“Fine. Levi, truth or dare?” Levi waits a beat, eyeing his challenger and trying to determine what the best move was. If he was to choose dare like he originally planned, it would probably be something awful. Something that made him look as bad of a guy as Nate. If he chose truth, he faced honesty but he wasn’t sure there was many questions Nate could ask that the rest of them didn’t already know the answers to. It was a safer risk he was willing to take.

“Truth” he answers confidently, smoothly, arm still wrapped around the back of Valerie’s chair as he waited for the shot to be fired.

“Is it true that you and Valerie have hooked up before?” this time it’s Charlie’s turn to stiffen at the girls side, praying that the answer is not one he doesn’t want to hear. Charlie hadn’t been insecure about many things in life but when it came to Valerie he was insecure about everything. Especially her relationship with Levi and all the things he had heard about it.

Levi sits on the question for a moment, waiting to answer because he knows this is Nate’s way of getting under his skin. Him and Valerie had a bond unlike anyone else, he was her best friend, she would never be anything more. There was a moment in his life where he wanted her to be but they both learned fairly quickly it wasn’t meant to be. So with full confidence and trust in his honesty, he answers. “Yes, it is true”

“How many times?” Nate asks and Valerie shoots him a glare that everyone at the table was sure could strike him dead if she wanted it to.

“One question per round!” she tells him but Charlie’s head his spinning. Suddenly he sees everything he has been denying differently. The shared laughs, the times she went off with him alone, all the rumors Andy had shared, his damn arm on the back of her chair. “Charlie?”

“I think I’m gonna go back to my cabin” he says quickly, chair scraping harsh against the cabin wood as he stands abruptly. Valerie watches with sad eyes as Charlie refuses to look at her or anyone at the table for that matter.

“Charlie, please. Wait” Valerie begs as he walks to the door but he doesn’t want to. He can’t believe he actually fell for someone who hadn’t fallen for him. He was just like every other guy to her, nothing more. Especially if you considered her relationship with Levi.

“Valerie just please. Leave me alone. That was all I ever wanted when I got here, to just be left the hell alone” and then the screen door was snapping shut behind him, the boy storming away in the rain that immediately soaked through his clothes. He didn’t care though, nothing could be worse than facing another heartbreak in his life. He was done with heartbreak.

Valerie watches him walk away, heart hammering in her chest because she had never seen Charlie look so cold. He had used her full name, something she hadn’t heard from him in a very long time. When she turns back to the table Nate wears a smug face which is the opposite of Levi’s sympathetic one. The girls are clearly uncomfortable, having been bystanders this whole time. If she had known what a mess they would’ve made she’d have stopped it sooner. Who would have thought the afternoon of simple games could blow up so bad?

“Nate, go somewhere and cool off man” Levi grumbles, standing from the table and walking to Valerie. As much as she doesn’t want his comfort, he was her best friend, and she needed him more than anything.

“Come on, let’s go” he tells her, wrapping his hoodie around her shoulders and guiding her into the rain. Escaping the shrapnel from the bomb that just exploded. Yet it was too late, Valerie had already been hit.

“I’m sorry Val, he pinned me to a wall” Nate says once they step inside the dark and quiet lifeguard quarters. It was the safest spot since Charlie would see them if they walked by to Levi’s cabin and Chrissy was more than likely in Valerie’s.

“I know, it’s okay. It was the truth, a long time ago” Valerie says, recalling the one relationship she found herself in. It was messy, unintentional, two kids trying to find out where they belonged in the world. Valerie who was desperate to love and Levi who looked for love in the wrong places. It had made sense, two best friends, to try out on one another. After a while it became more about the comfort and pleasure than ever about love. Their friendship was lucky to survive.

“Nate’s a dick, we all know that” Levi tries to comfort but Valerie just sighs, slumping in one of the desks chairs, and wishing the ground would swallow her whole.

“I don’t know how to fix this Levi, I’ve never loved someone like this before” she says and finally Levi sees the way her lip trembles and how tears pool in her eyes, begging to fall.

“Oh Val” he sighs, dropping to his knees beside her and pulling her into a hug. Valerie cries against him and he wishes they could go back and stop the game from ever happening. He had never seen her so happy before, so carefree, and now suddenly she was heartbroken.

“I should have told him. I should have told him how much I loved him and then maybe he wouldn’t think I love you” Valerie sobs and Levi just holds her tight, wanting to take away all this pain. Wanting to kick Nate’s ass.

“We’ll figure it out, we have time” he tells her, but did they really? Summer was halfway over. Before they knew it campers would be dwindling down and leaves would be falling from the trees. The deadline that had been looming over them suddenly more daunting. Daunting because it was once about how much more time they had together and now it was how much time she had to fix this.

Valerie makes the walk back to her cabin alone. She tries not to notice the blacked out windows in Charlie’s cabin, the clear message he wants to be alone. That is until she looks at her own and finds the same thing. Quietly she steps inside, praying Chrissy is asleep as she changes into dry clothes and slips into her bed. The blonde girls back is faced to her, rising and falling with each breath, and Valerie can barely make it out from across the cabin. Just when she goes to shut her eyes she freezes at the words that fill their shared cabin.

“I never begged you to be my friend but on at least some level I never expected you to be so cruel”

Taglist: @eden-punk @octaviasdread @pursuedbyamemoryy @poetsinnyc @linmichea1

Comment if you want to be added to the taglist :))

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neonganymede · 10 months ago

Note

May I pls request Fyosig 14 for the kiss prompts? 💜🙏

Of course you may~! Thank you so much for the prompt!! And happy birthday, my friend <3 i hope you have a wonderful day!

14. A Kiss to Make Up

“I really didn’t mean to.”

“I know.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I know you are. I am not mad at you, Sigma.” The soft tut lulled through the room, deceptive in the way it fell over Sigma’s shoulders like a reassuring shroud. The sound of it gave Sigma the strength to glance up, away from the floor and back to the mess that he had caused.

Pink, soft and sweet and delicate even when illuminated by the harsh light of Fyodor's computer. Pink everything. A pink ushanka. A pink shirt. Pink slacks. Even the socks that hid within Fyodor’s boots were the same pink as the rest of his ensemble. Snowy whites existed no more, and it was all Sigma’s fault.

True to his word, Fyodor didn’t look angry. He didn’t look much of anything, unless Sigma glanced at his hands to see the fresh bite marks covering his pale fingers, scattered all over his knuckles like a canvas painted red with irritated brushstrokes. Those likely hurt, but Fyodor still kept his hands serenely folded in his lap as if he hadn’t noticed the sting.

Sigma chewed on his lip, anxiety thrumming through veins in a discordant symphony that had him shifting uncomfortably. “Are you… are you sure? I can pay for dry cleaning. Or I can buy you new clothes? Or—”

“I am sure. In the future, please refrain from helping with the laundry,” Fyodor interrupted with a sigh as he swiveled his chair around to face his computer setup once again. A few seconds later, the rapid-fire sound of Fyodor’s typing filled the room, and Sigma could recognize this for what it was.

A dismissal.

Sigma had been let off the hook, and that somehow made him feel even worse about the entire ordeal. Maybe Fyodor really was mad at him, but he was keeping it well-hidden for Sigma’s sake. The very thought had Sigma’s shoulders slumping in defeat.

He couldn’t fix this if Fyodor wouldn’t let him. He could only try again later and hope for the best. Maybe he’d have better luck once the dust had settled on this rose-colored mistake.

Sigma’s feet still refused to carry him from the room. Instead of leaving immediately, he tried to summon the courage to speak again. The words came out so quiet, so vulnerable, that Sigma doubted Fyodor had even heard his desperate plea.

“Can I… can I kiss you?”

The typing stopped abruptly. Fyodor turned in his seat again, his face no longer calm and expressionless but now… surprised. Pleasantly so. He gave a small nod and stretched out his hand, beckoning Sigma closer.

A wave of relief washed over him, settling Sigma’s nerves at last. He stumbled forward on shaky legs and accepted that offered hand, shivering once Fyodor’s icy fingers wrapped around his. Even with his knuckles bitten to hell and back, Sigma found no warmth in that hand, and yet his heart still fluttered at the chilling touch.

Up close, Sigma thought that the mistakenly pink outfit looked… nice. The white had always contrasted well with Fyodor’s inherent darkness, but this new color almost softened him. Cradled his pale face in a garden of pink where even the ebony of his hair seemed less severe.

As if guessing his thoughts, Fyodor tutted, an easy reprimand filling the air between them. “I would prefer if you keep your opinions to yourself.”

“It’s really not that bad,” he said anyway.

“My ushanka is pink, Sigma.”

As if Sigma had somehow failed to notice. “Maybe pink is your color?”

Fyodor’s eyebrow quirked, a silent question in his violet eyes that had Sigma pursing his lips to settle the smile beginning to form there. Do you even want this kiss? Or need I dismiss you again?

An empty threat, one entirely at odds with the way Fyodor’s firm hand drew him closer. The subtle ease in tension encouraged Sigma to lean in, to brace himself on Fyodor’s chair with one hand while he pressed their lips together. Even Fyodor’s mouth was cold, enough so that a shiver ran down Sigma’s spine. That only made him want to push closer, to leave even a ghost of his own warmth on Fyodor’s skin.

The kiss tasted of frustration, of forgiveness. Fyodor might have been angrier than he wanted Sigma to believe, but each press of his lips promised Sigma that they were okay. That even if Fyodor’s mouth turned sharp, even if his teeth drew blood, even if he drank in Sigma’s yelp of surprise with nothing but a vicious smirk—they were still okay.

And Sigma would take that. He’d take that kiss of frustration, of forgiveness, of blood—and he’d swallow it.

#bsd #fyosig #bsd sigma #bsd fyodor dostoevsky #i hope you liked it!!! <333 happy lue day!!!#this was my first time writing fyosig without a silly clown as well so i hope i got their dynamic right ^^;;;#and i made sure to include some biting just for you >:3

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theragethatisdesire · 1 year ago

Note

hello bb and congratulations again 💗💗💗 i’m so happy and excited for you hitting such a major milestone 🥳 so well deserved!!

could i please request “do you trust me?” w geto? 🥺 no preference on fluff smut or angst, just whatever speaks to you

tytyty in advance 🥰 luv u~

HEY TIFF thank you so much!!!!! i just adore you mwah you're the BEST. i can absolutely do that for you my lovie dove WHERE are all these geto asks coming from rn i have another in my inbox ?!?! i didn't know all u geto girlies were hiding in my followers like hello....ANYWAY i am not a manga girly so i have no idea how geto's actual storyline goes so i went with a modern!AU as is my tendency

It's been a rough day. You're three tequila sodas deep, nuzzled into the wood of your favorite dive bar, and trying to ignore the tears continuously threatening to well in your eyes. Your phone sits on the counter, buzzing continuously and likely irritating the other patrons, but you're beyond caring.

Your cheating, piece-of-work, now ex-boyfriend knows no bounds apparently, sending text after text groveling and begging you to pick up. You have no intentions of doing so, but watching the screen light up over and over again, reading his begging, is giving you a sick satisfaction. Bastard.

"Excuse me?"

A voice floats over your shoulder, deep and pleasant. You turn, fully ready to bark at whoever dared interrupt your misery, but your mouth shuts as soon as you catch sight of the man behind you.

Tall and broad, with long dark hair tied into a neat bun, two little pieces framing his angular face beautifully. He's gorgeous, but something about him disarms you in a way you wish he wouldn't. Your woman's intuition is whispering that something more lurks below the innocent, friendly smile on his face, something dangerous, but you swallow it down, intrigued.

"Yes?"

"Is this seat taken?"

You're surprised; sweaty, fresh out of work in your little waitress uniform, face blotchy with the remnants of spilt tears, you absolutely aren't looking your best. You shrug, nod, and gesture towards the seat, unsure of what exactly this guy's playing at.

"You seem to be drinking alone," he observes after allowing a few quiet minutes to stretch between you.

"I am," you confirm, wincing at the popping sound your straw makes, the last bits of your cocktail struggling to make it up to your mouth, "I try not to make it a habit, but it's been a bit of a day."

"Hm," he nods thoughtfully, reaching a beckoning hand out to the bartender. After he orders his scotch, he orders a drink for you, nailing the combination perfectly: tequila soda, splash of lime juice, with an orange slice. Your eyes narrow in suspicion.

"How did you-"

"I overheard you earlier." That same friendly, disarming smile graces his face, warms your core and sends alarm bells ringing in your head.

"Have you been...watching me?"

"No," he waves a nonchalant hand through the air, sliding a black Amex across the counter to the bartender, "not watching. I just tend to keep an eye on a beautiful woman when I see one."

You blink. Should you be creeped out? Intrigued? Ashamed of the lusty electricity buzzing through your veins at his compliment? All three?

"T-thank you," you stammer, unsure of what else to say.

"Speaking of beautiful women," he turns towards you, cheersing his glass against your own, "what are you doing drinking on your own?"

"My boyfriend sucks," you mumble around the little plastic straw between your lips, "ex that is."

"He must not be all that bright, then," his eyes trail over your figure meaningfully, something in his smile growing darker.

"I just want to forget about him," you admit, shamefully vulnerable in front of a total stranger. You realize you don't even know his name, but when he lays a hand across your thigh, high up enough to be far from friendly, you feel a familiar heat spark across your skin. It's enough to forego the details, you need plenty of things from this mysterious stranger, but not his name.

"I know a thing or two about forgetting someone," his tongue darts out to wet his lips, yours mirroring it unintentionally, "would you like...some advice?"

"I don't know," you chuckle, "what kind of advice?"

"Well, it's more help than it is advice," that smile deepens into a smirk, one eyebrow raising in a silent challenge, "do you trust me?"

"You're a perfect stranger."

"I am," he inclines his head in admittance, but doesn't lose his stamina for a moment, "do you trust me?"

And maybe it's the tequila, maybe it's his strong neck that looks like it would give so deliciously under your teeth, maybe it's the insistent little circles his thumb is rubbing into your thigh, but you feel freer, more daring than before. It escapes your mouth in a whisper, desperate and trembling in the air between you.

"Yes."

#dflajkdfa i don't even know what this is #i feel like do you trust me should have been angsty #but all i could think of was toxic geto hitting on you at the bar?!?!#maybe i got too confident throwing geto in my lineup of men #whatevs #HERE IS UR DRABBLE TIFF MWAH ENJOY #i hope it even makes sense #ragehits1000 #geto suguru x reader

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outofgloom · 1 year ago

Text

DAYSTARS

Daystars burned orange above the tundra and the mountains of storm, and showed us our position. Five days we had tracked across the snowfield. Five warmthless days and nights on the waste, but the beast was close now. I splayed my many-jointed fingers upon the fresh snow and focused my uppermost eye, and I could smell it.

Aabar stopped beside me, knelt down to my level.

“How far, inspector?” she asked, and I could smell her impatience. Vortixx despise the cold and the stillness it brings. She was ready to end the hunt.

I sank my fingers further into the snowcover, twitched them against the stone beneath. Vaguely the shape of the terrain ahead revealed itself to me, the sloping up into hard rock and the ravine opening there, less than thirty bio ahead. I relayed as much.

“The beast wants to escape through the pass,” the Vortixx hissed.

“The poison jungles of Tren Krom are beyond,” Japra added as she approached, rubbing her arms to warm them. “Does it know that, you think?”

Aabar shrugged: “It’s only a Rahi.”

“A Rahi that is immune to all poisons, toxins, and paralytics, according to our employers. Maybe the jungle is its home, and it’s returning there. Or maybe it’s just smarter than we thought?”

“Doesn’t matter.” Aabar stood to her full height again, stretched her claws. “We’ll catch up by day’s end, and our commission is to kill anyways, not paralyze-and-capture.”

“I know, and it’s a shame. I’ve been itching to use the Makika-venom concentrate.”

“Next time.”

I spoke: “It is unlike the Makuta, to seek death for such a specimen.”

“Why do you say that?” Japra asked.

“They usually like their targets living, for their strange purposes.”

“We are paid to do, not to ask why,” Aabar said. “If the Makuta want this thing dead, that’s that.”

I nodded. She beckoned to the Olmaran hunters down the slope, made signs for them to break camp.

“It’s strange, I agree,” Japra said to me quietly. “We’ve hunted for the Makuta before, but this is different. The emissary called it something…the last living Keeta-beast, I think. I’ve never heard of it.”

“The scent is unique, yes, and the tracks…” I wove my fingers together in thought. “Maybe you should’ve learned to power-feed off of confusion, instead of the emotion of fear.”

Japra laughed. “Many times, my friend, they are the same thing.”

======

I stumble, and my traitor body leaves a trail to darken the white snow behind me. It is dark beneath the night and the driving stormwind, and I am slow because my legs are bent wrong now. Fortunately, it is also very cold, so the pain is dull.

Above and ahead, I can still see the last few daystars burning, though the air is full of ice. I set my course by them, away, away…

My lefthand fingers are crushed to ribbons and useless, but my right…My right can still feel. I spread my many-jointed fingers across the ground before me, to smell out the return path, back down the mountain. The ravine is far away now, back up the snowfield, and the wrecked bodies of my companions are frosting over.

There was nothing to be done. I had to leave them. It was my mistake. I should have seen it. So confident were we, so sure of ourselves, and then…and then…

I am the last, and I must make it back, tell them that our hunt was successful, in spite of everything. That we brought down our quarry. Someone must know.

I can still smell the beast, somehow, even though I know it is dead. Its scent clings close, like a memory.

I hope that it will fade soon, and maybe, someday, I too can forget.

======

It was midday by the time we reached the ravine, but the tracks were still clear. Even Aabar could make them out. Large, cut deep in the snow. Further in, it was dark, and there was fog pouring off the mountainside above.

The three Olmaran hunters readied their equipment, affixed spearheads, loaded the Sai-Lutu and the tangle-lines. Japra performed the breath-action to calm her nerves, and readied herself to feed upon the beast’s primitive fear. Aabar tested the charge on her electrified claws, then pulled the party’s Hau from her pack, handing it to me.

“Just a precaution,” she said when I grimaced. “The fog is heavy in there, so you will have to sight the way for us.”

I sighed and placed the mask on my face, felt the surge of its protective energy. I squinted my third eye through the narrow upper vent. It was constricting, but not as bad as other masks.

“When we reach the target,” Aabar continued, “sign the beast’s position, and then fall back.”

“That’s right. Leave the heroics to us,” Japra said winkingly. “Can’t have you claiming a greater share.”

I itched at the mask.

Forward we went at a steady, silent pace. The Olmaran hunters crept along the walls of the ravine, while Japra and Aabar followed just behind me, on either side. I crouched, and my fingers crawled across the stone, drinking the vibrations of earth and air, creeping my perceptions forward through the gloom.

Minutes passed. We moved ahead. The air was dull with fog. My breath steamed through the side-vents of the Hau. Slowly, carefully.

All at once, there it was. I stopped and gave the sign, pointed into the mist. Five bio ahead it crouched behind a fallen boulder. The smell was very strong, and I could almost make out the beast’s shape in my head: A long, lithe body, claws clinking on the stones. Two forelegs…and the rearlegs–

Japra stepped in front of me, gesturing for me to fall back. Aabar was already advancing, and the Olmaran hunters flitted past on their spider-like legs, spears raised. I retreated a few steps further. The rearlegs…the rearlegs were not legs, I realized.

Ahead, the air buzzed with electricity, and there was a report from one of the Sai-Lutu. A sudden roar, cut short, and I could hear Japra laughing. The smell of the beast…the smell was very strong here. Was it over? I stepped forward through the fog, saw the shape of the downed Rahi dimly. One Olmaran stood over it, and Japra was kneeling by its side.

The rearlegs were not legs, I saw. They were treads…Two treads, with two clawed forelegs. A great mouth on a long extendable neck.

“All safe, Lhanen,” came the voice of Aabar, a few bio away. She was cleaning her claws. “Just a Muaka, it seems. Biggest I’ve ever seen, but no match for us. This might be the easiest job we’ve taken.”

A Muaka. I scratched my chin. It was strange…I had tracked the beast all this way, through snow and sleet. There hadn’t been any tread-marks. I had thought that the beast I was tracking was a biped–

I turned too late. A vast shape loomed through the fog behind me, square shoulders topped by a huge domed head. A single red eye glared with grim intelligence…and rage.

A shattering blow struck my Hau shield and broke it, and I was flying backward into the cliff–

======

The fog had subsided when I awoke, and a layer of frost had settled on the bodies of my companions, and on me. The ravine was silent except for the low moaning of wind above.

I examined their broken bodies for signs of life. There was none. I wept over them, though there were no tears in me and every step and movement was pain. I could not bring myself to touch the body of the beast, however. It was too terrible, lying huge and still. I could not see what injury had finally brought it down.

It was not really a beast–not like we had been told. In the moment when it attacked, I remembered how it had looked at me. There was something in its gaze, some strange form of understanding.

That eye was deep with knowledge, not like the eyes of a simple Rahi. There was anger, and the desperation to survive, but there was also judgment…and calculation.

It was an old creature, maybe even wise.

======

My leg twists wrong again, and pain breaks through the numbness, up into my body, but I keep on, through the wind and dark. I won’t give up. Not yet.

I can still smell the beast. It annoys me. I shake my head, wring out my frostbitten fingers, wishing to leave it all behind. The night is complete now, and the wind is howling steadily over me. I must find shelter soon, and in the morning I will make it across the rest of the snowfield and down the slopes beyond. I am tired, but I can make it. I am sure.

One last daystar burns through the driving snow ahead, and I am walking toward it, fixing my course on it. I am sure that it will lead me home.

======

I stood before the great corpse and knew that I should feel anger, or something, at least, but all I felt was loss.

The creature had known that we were tracking it…that I was tracking it. It had known…me, somehow. I saw the bruise-marks on the armor of the Muaka. The creature must have taken down the Rahi-tiger and carried it ahead, set a trap for us. It had been cunning. No wonder the Makuta sought it, even for its death.

“F-forgive me,” I stammered in the cold air. “Forgive us.”

The great eye did not glow. It stared straight ahead. I could not bear to remain before its gaze any longer.

======

The last daystar is low on the horizon. Very low. It is still there, in fact, though the silver nightstars have now appeared. Closer now. It is getting closer as I walk.

It is not a star.

I stop in my tracks. I can smell it, and my fingers twitch at the sensation of its presence. It is alive after all. I did not touch it in the ravine. I could not bear to.

The eye continues to approach, though I am standing still, and I understand. I am no longer the tracker, nor the hunter.

It is both.

Red light beams through the snow-filled air, and I feel the heat of it on my face.

My voice rasps out against the wind. I don’t know why:

“Hear me,” I say unbidden, though I doubt the creature can understand my speech. “You are no beast. I know this now. The Makuta told us that you were Keeta Ongu, last of your kind.”

One last heavy step, and it stands over me, a black shape beyond the margins of my sight.

“I wish I had understood before, for the sake of my friends, but we hunted you and harried you, and now it is done. You are no beast. You are the last, and so you must survive.”

The eye does not blink, nor waver. I am transfixed.

“Spare me,” I say, “and I will tell the Makuta that you are no more. I swear. On the third eye of Kalmah I swear it. Judge me, as you did before.”

A moment passes, and I spread my arms wide, wincing at the pain. The black shape stands before me, and my sight is filled with the light of the great eye.

“You are no beas--”

My words are battered away as a sudden roar flattens me to the ground. The air shakes with the noise, and all my senses are overwhelmed as I wait for death to come. The smell of the creature is everywhere, all around, and my eyes register nothing but red, red rage, red judgment, red death--

======

I awaken face down in the snow. It is dark, and pain moves through my legs and through my ruined fingers. I feel the pull of sleep once more, and I wish to let go, but something stops me.

I groan and roll over with some effort. I am alone, and the wind has subsided. Snow is falling gently on my face.

My head throbs as I raise it, looking around. I want to lay back down, but I can't yet. I squint my third eye and focus. I can see my footprints and the dark stain of fluid leading back up the slope, still just visible beneath a layer of snowfall. I cannot have been lying here for long.

I raise myself on one arm, and the pain in my legs jolts my weary brain further awake. I crane my neck around, to look where the creature had stood.

But there are no other tracks, no sign of a trail. The snow is unbroken. Not only that, but the smell of the creature is gone. Not even a trace. My mind is fuzzy, and sleep pulls at me again. It is very cold, and though I am used to the cold, even my body has limits. Sleep, rest. Your companions are gone. You are alone. It would be better...

No. I struggle up shakily, stamp my twisted legs, and roar with the pain in them. The pain is real, even if my memories are confused. It angers me, and the anger is good.

I start walking again. This time, I will not stop.

Ahead, the nightstars burn silver above the tundra and the mountains of storm, and I rage at them, for they are so far away, and I have so far to go.

I rage like a beast, a wounded beast, because that is how I will survive. The anger warms me, and I feel my eyes burn red with it, red with loss, and with rage, red with death...

You are no beast. You are the last, and so you must survive.

I have come through confusion, to the other side of fear. I have seen the last of the Keeta Ongu, and looked into its eye with my own.

Judge me, as you did before.

I am no beast.

I am the last.

And so I must survive.

#bionicle #art #writing #fanfiction #outofgloom #works

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sichore · 1 year ago

Text

Kloktober Day 22: sea horror or cosmic horror

[Both? Both. It's a bit of both. Y'all know the visuals for I Tamper With the Evidence at the Murdersite of Odin? This is about that level of weird and violent and unsettling. With the bonus of an OC, a brief mention of seggs, and the four most horrifying words no one wants to hear.]

It's rotating.

Pickles tries to ignore it like everything else, with a cocktail of chemicals coursing through his veins and a bottle in his hand. Things are fine, good, great even. Whatever is happening between him and Jimi is fantastic.

But he feels their ripples of worry, gnawing at them like a beast, churning their insides. Only he has that right.

It's nothing to talk about, though. Everything was fine, after all. His evenings have gotten fairly routine. If he's home and the band's not working into the night, or partying, then he's camped out on Jimi's couch. He'd probably be here in the studio even if there was a party, anyway. If he's gonna black out, he may as well do it while in the comforting flow of Jimi's work.

It's rotating.

His head tilts back onto the back of the couch. Pickles doesn't have to look at Jimi to see them deep in concentration at their easel. And slouching, no doubt. Grinning to himself, he reaches out in the sixth way, and feels the gentle curve of Jimi straightening up in response. With a bit of effort, he reaches in the seventh way, like a flow of water over their head, and tingles as the warm glow of Jimi's content falls over him like leaves.

Things are good. Great. Whatever is spinning out there is none of his business.

The room is cast in yellow, painted in the light cast from Jimi's lamp. (Or what did they call the hue that one time? Orchard? Ochre. Because of course they had to correct him.) Pickles closes his eyes, and when he opens them, the room is dark and cast in ripples of blue – no, indigo, and the mournful green of shipwrecks, and the swimming shadows of the deep.

Jimi stands before him, still as stone. The lens of their glasses blaze white like the sun.

"We need to talk."

"Whoa, babe," Pickles chuckles, shivers briefly. "What's got yer panties in a twist? Need me to undo 'em?"

Pickles. He sinks back into the cushions from the force of his name, beaten into him like a gong. Jimi may say 'talk', but Pickles needs to listen.

"Okee, okee, here." He has the foresight to set his bottle on the floor at least; can't have a single drop staining the couch, after all.

Jimi's head tilts. Their glasses flash and now Pickles can see the brown eyes he's searching for, narrowed in pain.

He beckons with both hands. "C'mere, baby."

Jimi shakes their head. Their curls hang loose, and Pickles watches their bounce slow in real time, like ribbons in the sea, losing momentum in the current. "You've been feeling it, too, right?" they ask.

He has. Ever since that kiss in the kitchen. Ever since the beginning, really. That's why it's fine. It's always been there. "I know, Jim, and it's fine, so just–"

"No!" Jimi shrieks like a fallen chandelier, shattering, and then they're on him. They curl over Pickles as a lion does over their fresh kill, over their mate. Pickles tries to pull them down, to have that wonderful weight press against all of him, but Jimi is rigid and unrelenting under his hands.

Pickles does his best to keep them together, while Jimi grabs at his shirt, his shoulders, shaking, eyes squeezed shut. It's very much like trying to catch raindrops, and though he tries to get a bearing on their face, Jimi moves, dodges his movements. "Baby, baby, hey," he calls out, and the keening wail that tears out of Jimi rips him in two.

"What's happening to us?" Jimi pleads, grasping both sides of his face. Pickles can finally see their face past the skewed glasses and the ink bleeding into their eyes, widened in panic.

So that's it. They're sinking. He can deal with that.

Pickles holds their head between his hands, fingers tangling in their curls, wrapping around his fingers like flotsam. He presses their foreheads together and the command comes out on instinct: "Look at me."

Jimi Looks at him as the dark takes over their eyes, as autumn fades under the eclipse, and they fall as one in a spiral.

It's rotating, and as infinity condenses into a moment, briefly, Pickles understands. Planets and stars swirl around them as streaks of light, titans that collide and birth and die and blind him. Jimi is there, and then they're not, and he has to reach out across galaxies to grasp and wrap them to him.

Where are you going? The drummer asks uselessly, as his thousand eyes have grown back and Jimi is right there, quivering and resplendent, the starlight of her scales signaling faster than he can keep up.

I can't stop it! the painter shouts from several mouths, her teeth dripping viscera and nebulae alike. Pickles swims with them, tendrils binding so tight that they twist and coil into themselves until they burst and bleed meteors. He bathes in the starshower and bares his throat, arduously, when Jimi lunges and rips out his jugular.

There in the Ocean amidst the dirge of the chaos and the infant cries of the cosmos, there are no friends, no lovers. There is only that which exists in perpetuity, and can only be defined as inevitable. And as lord, He Sees.

The shimmering sea, the primordial waves of Their domain. The glittering expanse is mirrored, and just for a moment, before Jimi closes their mind to him and they return to being two instead of one, he sees the source of their despair: the crimson eye, a burning, hellish gateway.

Time snaps, ticks on, drips down like the sweat on Pickles' temple. He eases up his grip on Jimi's bare thigh and idly pats the drenched shirt on her back. The room still sways in the hues of the Ocean, but the waves are quiet now. Jimi clings to his shoulders as they would driftwood, and carefully, as they pull out from the aching cavity of his chest, he unwinds that sixth sense, feeling, whatever. Jimi lifts their hips with some effort, and gingerly, Pickles pulls out, breath whooshing as he does so.

Pussy's got him in a chokehold, for real.

"Hey, champ," he sighs, rubbing down Jimi's spine. "You good?"

"Mmph," Jimi replies elegantly. They ease back so Pickles can brush aside the curls clinging to their face. Their glasses are… somewhere, and their brown eyes are calm and blissfully blown out. Kiss-flushed lips part and ask, "Are we good?"

"Yeah, of course, babe."

Something tugs at the back of Pickles' mind, something besides that Other they're unraveling at the edges of the Ocean. Like an angry red pin prick of blood, already clotted and fading.

Pickles kisses the tip of Jimi's wide, round nose, pleased when they predictably giggle and shy away from the tickle of his beard. He pats their plush hip. "Of course we're good. What else would we be?"

Jimi's smile wavers, eyes darting around and away from Pickles. The tides have receded, and the room's settled into the familiar deep blues of night, accented by the harsh, red lines of Mordhaus' exterior lights.

Jimi taps out anxiety against his collar. In reply, Pickles' drums out a merry beat on their thighs. That makes those pretty lips turn up again. "I – I don't know what we are."

"We don't gotta be anything. I'm good with this right here." And Pickles grabs two handfuls of ass, laughs at Jimi's eye roll. "Riiiight here. Okey?"

"Okay," Jimi concedes, kisses him, and then again.

It's rotating, this great force around them, groaning with the passing of ages, growling like a pacing beast. So long as they harmonize, Pickles can ignore the call.

#metalocalypse #pickles the drummer #mtl oc #kloktober #kloktober 2023 #my writing #jamila calabash

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