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gretavanfleetposts · 5 months ago

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Nothing Breaks Like A Heart - Part Three of Make Her Happy

Author's Note: The long-awaited part three! I'm a dually incredibly embarrassed that this took almost an entire year to finish. The time really got away from me LOL So I'm very sorry for that but I hope you all enjoy (and fingers crossed it was worth at least some of that wait)

Content Warnings: lots of swearing, bit of drinking

Word Count: 6k

Part One - Make Her Happy

Part Two - Give Me Shelter

One of the last things Jake had said to you before he'd left was that you should talk to Josh. And that was exactly what you hadn't done.

In fact, you’d let two weeks slip by like sand through your fingers without poking or prodding the topic even once. You’d clung to your avoidance like battle armor and if you were honest with yourself, you feared losing Jake just as much as you feared losing Josh.

So you and Josh hadn’t spoken and nothing had changed, nothing other than the fact that it felt Jake had been keeping his distance. Or maybe you were just more sensitive to his absence now that it felt necessary.

Damn him for being a good brother. For being better than me.

He was better than you, it seemed. Because he had put you to bed two weeks ago and left under the impression you were going to do the right thing and instead, you'd avoided your problems and had once again come running to Jake to have him make you feel better.

No, not to make me feel better. Just to play a stupid game. That's all.

He must have heard the honk of your car locking because you had barely made it to the front door before he was suddenly standing there in your way, a look on his face that somehow tangled caution and amusement into one jumbled mess expressed as a half-quirked smile and eyebrows that dipped low in the middle of his forehead. It was an expression that quite matched how you felt, butterflies and guilt and all.

“I take it you two didn't talk.”

Is it that obvious?

“What a way to greet a lady,” you said with a sudden scowl as you pushed past him through the doorway and led yourself to his kitchen.

To say you weren’t quite ready to broach that topic would have been an understatement.

“Why do you seem so chipper?” he asked from behind you as he followed your path through his home.

“I can't be happy to see you?” you threw back at him as you dropped your tote bag off your shoulder and onto the pristine marble of his kitchen island with a familiar muffled clang of a glass bottle shrouded by thin canvas to dull the promise it rang out into the air as it was set down. A little something for the soul.

“I guess I’ve admittedly grown a little bit more used to being greeted with tears. But this is a nice change.”

He gave you a sweet smile but paired with the way his eyes seem to wilt at the outer corners, you could see the sadness it held. It reminded you of the guilt you carried around with you constantly lately, only with a new object of affection. How selfish of you to think that this hadn’t taken any toll on him at all.

Your eyes turned soft. “I'm sorry. I am. You've been my sunshine these past several months. I hope you know that.”

Even as you said it, you knew it couldn’t begin to articulate what it was you really felt for him. But it was enough just to see the rose of a deep blush tinge his cheeks red and turn his smile suddenly bashful.

“Happy to provide,” was all he said in that typical, raspy, almost sleepy voice of his.

It was hard not to chuckle at the things he found too intimate to take in stride. It was fine for him to call you what he had in bed but heaven forbid you call him your sunshine…

“Don't think I didn't notice you dodging my original question though,” he added, breaking your concentration.

Oh yeah. My problems. How lovely of him to remind me.

You quirked up an accusing eyebrow. “Like how you dodged my compliment just now?”

“Ever so expertly,” he answered, this time with an unabashed smile that spread his lips wide across his face.

You felt your gaze dart away before you could even stop it, a heavy sigh pillowing in your chest before expelling into the air like a pot on the stove blowing off steam to keep from boiling over.

“I need one night of just…not talking about it.” You’d had plenty of nights of that, actually. What was one more? “Or thinking about it, preferably.” And then to really catch his attention and maybe even further drive home your point, you reached into your bag to uncloak the wine.

There was a specific smile he always donned when alcohol was present and when it took hold, you knew you could take it as an agreement to drop it, at least while there was a full bottle to contend with.

He took it from your grasp with only a dutiful nod, turning the dark glass over in his hands to inspect the label despite the fact that he likely knew nothing printed there would catch his eye. You had one sense of taste that trumped all others when it came to using fermented drinks to bandage your wounds: cheap.

“What am I if not a seasoned distraction?” he asked, already digging into a cupboard to procure two large, round glasses.

“That's why I seek you out,” you answered with a smile as you watched his hands work and tried your hardest not to think back to that first time he had served as your distraction.

“Well, hopefully that’s not the only reason.”

It was that comment that caught you and sent your stomach into a twist unbecoming of someone who was very much not single, especially given the way it suddenly brought the memory of your second time to the forefront of your mind, a time when it was hardly a distraction so much as it was a necessity in that moment.

No, distraction wasn’t the only reason you were there. Comfort either. You’d grown to long for his company in a much deeper way. It wasn’t company in general he was providing you with, it was his and his alone.

And the game, of course. Mostly that.

“What's on the agenda for the night?” Jake asked as if he hadn’t just sent you into a deep spiral of thought that you’d been hoping to avoid that evening.

At least he’d been kind enough to pour you a glass of wine without you asking.

“I brought candyland since you owe me a rematch for what you did last time.”

The memory of your pieces scattered on the floor along with every card in the deck like a colorful patchwork quilt that you'd made him clean up both times he'd done it brought an earnest smile to his face.

“I'll flip the board again if you don't let me get tipsy first.”

You certainly didn't have to wonder if he was serious so with the preservation of your game in mind, you agreed with a nod and a, “Seems fair to me,” as you reached out for your wine. But he was already retreating by the time your fingers reached the air that the temptation in a glass once occupied.

“Come here,” he said with a mischievous look overtaking his face. “Something I want to show you.”

This time it was you left following him through his home, both glass stems tucked snugly between talented fingers like he was beckoning you to chase him if you wanted yours. And you did want yours. That was why, despite the sudden flurry of nerves that his look seemed to conjure in your chest, you did as you were told and followed him.

I swear to God, if he's talking about his dick…

You actually weren't sure what you'd do. Probably not the decent thing.

But to your surprise, he led you to a usually barren room save for the red Persian rug warming the middle and the walls outlined in vintage instruments ready to be plucked off the wall and played. Except today, the center of the room wasn't barren as it had been for months.

The room opened up to greet you with a warm mahogany welcome in the shape of a baby grand piano that instantly made your fingers itch. It wasn't so different from the piano you'd been toying with at the party where you and Josh had met. Of course, you weren't as good a player as he was but you certainly knew your way around.

“Figured we rehearse here enough it was worth the investment,” you heard Jake say from behind you where he now stood watching as you carefully perched yourself onto the little matching mahogany bench.

“My God, she is beautiful,” you breathed as you opened the fallboard to uncover a full set of vintage ebony and ivory that seemed to practically yearn for your touch.

Your fingers danced out a quick melody that warmed your joints as much as it did your demeanor. You hadn't played much lately. Actually, you hadn't really played at all. But there were some things that stuck with you, worked their way into your bones, maybe into your very DNA. And this was one of them.

“Does this mean you're going to learn?” you asked, turning your focus back to him as you swiveled to find his face.

“I'd need a teacher for that and I refuse to let Sam fill that role.”

He gave you a cheeky smile that you read instantly. It was an open invitation for you to take on the role of said teacher, so you stood and, taking your wine glass from his hand finally, made a grand sweeping gesture toward the now unoccupied piano bench.

He took his seat, pretending to throw his imagined coat tails over the bench, earning a giggle that swished the wine in your glass. You hovered not too far behind him as he cracked his knuckles and cleared his throat, making a quite thorough display of his preparation only to put fingers to keys and press out one of the more off-key renditions of twinkle twinkle little star you'd ever heard. And he was met with another giggle that seemed to only encourage his actions.

“Oh that's amazing. You must teach me your ways,” you joked with a smile as you set your glass down on the floor just out of the way.

“Save me, please,” he answered with a hoarse laugh, finally slowing his fingers to a halt but keeping them positioned on the keys.

You approached him slowly, coming up close behind his back to stretch your arms over his shoulders and let your fingers find rest overtop his just as delicately as your chest grazed the wide plane of his back. You could smell his cologne strong on his neck as you guided his fingers to better position them amongst the keys, your breath dusting his cheek with each exhale. And you swore you could almost tell that he was holding in a breath if you paid close enough attention to the movement in his shoulders that seemed to have suddenly stilled.

Somewhere among your skin resting against his and your hair tickling his neck, the world around you seemed to grow still and quiet, fading into a background of white noise and blurred lines. And then you pressed your fingers more firmly into his and a striking chord sliced through the air alongside whatever breath Jake had been holding.

“There, just like that,” you said in a voice far shakier than you had hoped it would turn out to be.

But he was silent, letting you guide his fingers slowly up to a new chord, or outstretching a pinky to hit a further key as yours nudged it, never saying a word. He let you play that way, through him, feeling the notes through the strength and dexterity of his talented fingers that fit so snugly beneath yours and obeyed your every command.

“I knew I was good at something,” he joked in a whisper that barely traveled up above the note lingering beneath your hold until he turned his face dangerously to the side to face yours.

It brought his nose only an inch from yours but what felt even more dangerous were his eyes and the quick flicker they made to your lips, resting parted and practically panting. You didn’t even realize your own breathing had picked up until you suddenly became aware of the heat reaching your palms, heat he could likely feel radiating through his skin still resting beneath yours. And just as quickly as the moment had been conjured, he turned his face back to his hands and yours retreated entirely just before you darted over to your glass of wine to down the contents while he continued to fiddle with keys.

“You're a good student,” you commented as evenly as you could as you took a seat on the bench next to him. A much safer spot than where you had been.

“You’re a good teacher,” he answered with a quick flash of a smile in your direction, fingers still tripping over keys and filling the air around you with a disjointed music that you admittedly didn’t mind.

“Well, maybe not as good as you.” It came out rather absently as you had taken to fiddling with a random key yourself, turning your attention to that instead of the familiar pounding of your heart in your chest, a rhythmic reminder of the effect Jake had on you.

When he turned to face you again, you could feel his eyes hot on your cheek. You wanted to be brave and face him but there was something about his knowing gaze that made you feel that much more defeated. You felt like a terrible person, in all actuality. How could you have fallen for your boyfriend’s brother? Was that actually what you had done or were you just using him like a bandaid? Did you even know anymore?

Maybe it’s just the sex I like.

“Is that why you're here?” he asked, his gaze somehow even hotter than before. “You need another lesson?”

God, can he read my mind?

For a brief moment, you found yourself debating it. It didn’t feel like that was what you had come for but you certainly weren’t ignorant to the need that radiated through your body every time he so much as glanced in your direction. But you also weren’t ignorant to just how wrong it really felt. However it had felt that first time, hesitant as you had been, the glances you stole now didn’t feel that way. They didn’t feel harmless. They didn’t feel like something Josh had signed off his approval on.

And for now, the guilt rang strong enough through your body to stop you from doing something worse.

“I'm here to beat you at candyland,” you answered, eyes finally braving his face only to be greeted by a smile that seemed to be growing by the second.

“Well that's just not going to happen.”

—

“That is cheating!” you yelled over the board as you angrily moved Jake's piece back several spaces behind yours.

“It is not, my piece was planning on being there this whole time,” he argued back, grabbing it from your hand to return it to the space he had just placed it on with his hand that wasn't gripping his wine glass like his life depended on it.

You weren't sure if it was the booze or the antics of the game, but his British accent was starting to slip out the more uncivilized he got and you were trying your best to be stern despite the smile it was holding permanently to your lips.

“It doesn't matter what he was planning on, you didn't roll high enough to go that far!”

He gave you a displeased shake of his head as he finally took his piece back, “accidentally” knocking yours over in the process.

“I don't think you're playing this right,” he mumbled before chugging the remaining contents of his third glass of wine.

“I'm sorry you don’t get to just do whatever you want,” you laughed as you wrestled another card out of his hand seeing as it most certainly was not his turn.

“Well that is too bad, isn't it,” he said gruffly although even he was struggling to keep the smile off his face and commit to the bit.

The day had grown so late that darkness had finally come to greet you and this was your third attempt at a civilized game, which you were beginning to think was simply impossible with Jake. He just couldn’t seem to stop cheating.

Let’s not read too much into that.

By the time you had maneuvered all of the cards away from him thanks to that all-too familiar gleam in his eye, he sat back in his seat to let a comfortable silence grow between you both, silent glances exchanged as a buzz settled over you both. But in the silence and the calm grew that familiar heat, a buzz brought on by more than just the alcohol consumed that night. There was something about it, those quiet, gentle moments, that turned the volume of tension about the room up several levels, like you couldn't trust yourselves to be around one another in such a still moment without busying your hands and your bodies with one another. Like you were always just waiting for the next opportunity for it.

That was how it felt: like you were waiting. And suddenly in the haven of golden light in your little secluded pocket of the night, in the quietness of his gaze trying to stay fixed to anything but you, you felt you shouldn't be there.

Why had you come?

Jake cleared his throat and nudged your empty wine glass. “You want more?”

You gave him a light shake of your head and an answer just as soft. “I'm driving.”

He nodded in return and cast his eyes to his hands. He almost looked nervous. Why would he be nervous?

When he met your eyes again, you could tell he was searching your face for something. But what it was he was looking for, you had no idea. And if he found it, you had no idea of that either. But as you gazed back, you found yourself unable to look away, unable to hide your face or your eyes or your feelings from him. Whatever it was you were feeling, you let him see it there on your features like a book written just for him.

It's him I want. That's why I came.

It seemed to hit you all at once and suddenly the need for action seemed just as real.

“I guess I should go.”

Before I do something I shouldn't.

He nodded again, adding an almost silent “okay” that somehow made the task of getting up all the more hard. But somehow, your feet shuffled and your legs moved and your body, which seemed to be of much more sound mind than your actual mind, moved its way to the kitchen sink, wine glass in hand.

“You don't have to do that,” you heard Jake say from behind you.

Close behind you.

“I don't mind,” you answered quietly as you continued to turn the faucet on and rinse the glass.

That was when you felt him at your back, arms emerging from either side and his hands, practically shaking, entwining themselves with yours to steal the glass away from your grip.

“Here,” he whispered, “let me.”

Fuck.

You weren't exactly sure what it was that suddenly surged through you but the moment the glass was set safely on the counter, you turned into his arms to face him, lacing your fingers into his shirt buttoned ever so lazily. And the move brought your mouth mere inches from his, your bodies practically pressed tight to one another.

There was greed on your lips, greed you wanted him to taste.

“Jake, I want you,” you whispered without even an ounce of shame, finally giving in to what you had been fighting all evening.

It was met with his eyes winding tightly shut as a blow of frustrated air pushed from his lungs. “Don't do that to me,” he shook his head. “That's not fair.”

“You're right, it's not fair-”

Your lips were practically on his when he suddenly pulled back several steps, out of your grasp.

“This can't happen,” he said sternly, although whether that was for you or for him you weren't entirely sure.

What you were sure of though was the embarrassment seeping into your very being. And then the guilt. They seemed to freeze you in your place.

God, what am I doing?

What was worse was that you had thought he wanted you too. Had you read it all wrong? Had you read everything wrong? Was he only entertaining you because he could see your desperation so plainly in everything you did? Was it only pity he felt for you?

Josh had no time for you and now Jake didn’t want you either.

You took a few steps away from the sink, aimless, wandering, before your face fell into your hands, to hide it, to soothe yourself, to try and disappear.

“I’m sorry,” you repeated frantically, practically in a panic. “I don't know what I'm doing. It's just…it's not working.”

“You need to tell him that.”

God, the sympathy you now heard in his voice might have made you feel even worse.

“He knows that.”

“Babe-”

“I plan to,” you burst suddenly, hands falling away from your face to make way for the much louder sentiment, as unsure as it sounded. “I'm going to,” you repeated, “I just thought…”

You trailed off into nothing, totally defeated. You weren’t sure what you had thought but god, you were tired of this. Why was this so difficult? Why was this so complicated? Why hadn’t Josh just shown up like he was supposed to?

You looked to Jake somehow hoping he could give you the answers you were searching for but he looked just as confused, just as lost. And the longer you looked the more he looked…something else entirely.

“Why are you doing this?” he asked almost desperately.

You stuttered. “I mean…I think it's obvious. Or…maybe it isn't, I don't know, I just-”

“We can't be together,” he suddenly blurted out.

If his previous rejection hadn’t hurt, this certainly did. And it brought back to you the words he had said two weeks ago on the couch over pizza and comfort, only this time they seemed to form a coherence they hadn’t quite had when he’d spoken them then.

‘He knows I'm not the answer’.

And then the words that cut a little deeper. A little sharper.

‘Maybe that's why he sends me. He isn't worried about it’.

You wrapped your arms around yourself, all-too aware of what your body language was giving away. You had read it all wrong.

“I…I know that,” you answered quietly, pathetically, even though it wasn’t the truth. Not even close. “I know that.”

His eyes found your face again, this time more frantic, like he knew what he had just done but didn't have any choice in the matter. He raised his hand to your elbow, leaning in as he gripped you. He might have shaken you to try and get you to understand what he was saying if he thought that would go over better than his fingers alone.

“Listen to me, I'm telling you you need to do the right thing. He's my brother. But I can't…I can't be your answer.”

Those damn pesky tears were back, and with a vengeance. If you didn't dart out of there sooner rather than later, you'd be nothing but a puddle of salty water on his kitchen floor and you suddenly had no desire to let him see you that way.

There was anger there too, as misplaced as you knew it was, forming just as quickly and swelling into something so hot it practically blurred your vision. You felt almost lied to. Talk about fucking mixed signals. But you let out a long, terse, “okayyy” without even meeting his eyes, already mentally planning your escape.

“I love you, I do. I love you too much to-”

Bullshit.

“No, I get it,” you interjected before he could drive the knife any deeper. “It's good to know where you stand. Thank you.”

He called out for you more than once but it fell on deaf ears. You were already out of the house.

—

“Where were you?”

Good God, can’t the universe give me a break?

Josh's voice coming out of the near darkness startled you. You knew he was there. You'd seen his car in the driveway when you pulled in. But something about it felt like he was catching you in the middle of sneaking out. Or rather, sneaking in.

“I was out,” was all you said as you sat your things down and kicked off your shoes. You prayed your eyes weren’t still red and puffy from the crying you did on the car ride home.

“Just out?”

There was concern in his voice. You could hear it without even fully seeing his face where it was, shrouded in shadow that seemed all too fitting for the conversation you knew very well was about to be had. He could have easily been hiding from you. Fuck, you wanted to hide from him too.

You wanted to spare him the sigh that was brewing in your chest but it barreled out of you before you could stop it. “I needed to get my thoughts together,” you explained as you stepped further into the house and into the hall where you could better see him.

That was a mistake.

There was already pain in his eyes. Already a redness that you suspected was from his own tears. He knew where this was headed as well as you did.

Fuck, this might actually kill me.

“Why doesn't that sound good?” He gave you a nervous chuckle and the only smile he could manage, both of which fell flat.

“Josh, I…” There was actually nothing coming to your mind, try as hard as you did to think of the right thing to say. To think of anything to say for that matter. But he took pity on you instead and cut right to it. Something you might have been thankful for under any other circumstances. Well, maybe you still were thankful for it given these circumstances.

“I know,” he said without prompting. “I've been spread so thin lately-”

“For a while,” you corrected, only a tinge of the bitterness you felt biting into your tone. “And it's not really feeling like ‘spread thin’ so much as it is not making the time for…certain things. Things that should be a priority.”

Well that certainly sounded bitter.

“I know, baby. I've been wrapped up in a million little things. We're working on a new sound but it has required more of me than the others.”

You felt yourself wince at the pet name, a lump in your throat forming almost out of nowhere and suddenly threatening to strangle you.

You fought against it to push the words out. “Josh, I hear you, I really do, but this just isn't sustainable for me.”

He nodded at this but you could tell he was deep in thought. And his silence seemed to drag on for an eternity. Agonizingly. But when he finally broke it, you found yourself missing that silence.

“Does this have something to do with Jake?” he asked, raising his eyes to yours to undoubtedly impress upon you the importance of the question.

Suddenly you felt cold despite the sweat practically pooling in your palms and the heat flaring in your ears. You couldn't face him and tell him that you had fallen for Jake after all of the late nights you'd spent with him. You couldn’t admit to him the embarrassing truth that you had gone to seek him out, lying to yourself about why the whole time. And you certainly couldn’t admit to him how often you had thought of his brother when you found yourself alone over the past few months. But Josh seemed to glean every last one of those secrets from your silence alone.

“Where were you?” He finally asked the question you'd skirted around when you'd arrived home.

You didn't rarely hear Josh with anything you could call stern in his voice but you heard it now in his question. And his eyes begged the answer from you just as desperately as his tone did.

That was when you began to feel the tears well up for the second time that night. Your undereyes wouldn’t recover until the next week.

“Josh-” you croaked out, although he didn't seem to need you to finish whatever thought you were weakly stringing together into words.

“I shouldn't have let him do it. I shouldn't have let him near you that way.”

“It wouldn't have mattered,” you tried.

“Yes it would have. We wouldn't be here right now if I hadn't pushed you into his arms.”

“If it hadn't been him, I would have just been alone. All alone, Josh.” Even with the tears streaming silently down your face, you said his name pointedly enough that his shoulders seemed to slump and whatever anger was brewing for his brother was waning. “All alone for months and months thinking my boyfriend couldn't care less. Hoping I would at least get a text from you that time rather than Jake acting like some sort of carrier pigeon, as if that was any replacement.”

You'd never seen him so hurt. You'd never seen his face droop and fall that way, his lips melting downward at the corners and the liquid warmth of his eyes almost freezing over. Even his curls seemed to lose their bounce. He was wilting right in front of you and it only made it harder to breathe. It only made it harder to stand there and face him and say whatever the fuck it was you’d been putting off for that very reason.

If you don't do it now, you never will.

You wiped at your tears as best you could, trying to pull yourself together. “It hurts me,” you started. “Having you so close and yet so far constantly, it hurts me and I just can't do it anymore. And I don't want to wait until I resent you. I can't sit around waiting for that to happen. It'll kill me if I ever feel that way for you.”

Tears were now pouring down his face as he shook his head. “I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.”

If he said anything else, you could barely hear it above the racing of your heart in your chest and the dam breaking somewhere behind your eyes. It was like a tsunami when it came, folding you over until you slumped around yourself on the ground to let it wrack through your body. And he was there just as quickly, holding you despite the fact that he most certainly didn't have to. Clinging to you and his sorry's.

You weren't sure how much time passed as you sat there. You could hardly feel it ticking through your tears and a feeling that felt awfully close to regret. You couldn't feel the passage of the wind and the world beyond the strength of Josh's arms holding fast to your form, knowing that when he let go, he wouldn't have this opportunity again. It almost felt cruel, like a moment you should have had among many others but was stolen away from you all at once. So you basked in it. You bathed in it. You memorized his touch and his smell and the way it felt to be supported, even if you hadn't felt it in a while.

You had your reasons, you knew that. Had to remind yourself of it, even. But at the moment, you had nothing but him.

The tears always dried though. They always racked your body and stripped you of your strength and energy and when they vacated, just like they always did, you were left sitting, leaning against the wall of the hallway, in an almost daze-like state. Stuck in a limbo between sorrow and anger and humor. Every emotion you had seemed to sit at the edge of your being waiting for a moment to pounce in a state like this, and you were always left wondering what would take hold next.

Josh mimicked your movements, sitting opposite you like a mirror into what you probably looked like. And for a while, you sat in silence.

“I just want you to be happy,” he said after several moments. “That's all I've ever wanted.”

You nodded and sniffled, wiping your eyes and your nose with the back of your hand like a toddler.

“I know.”

“I mean it.”

I know.

You nodded again but this time when you spoke, your voice was even.

“I know.”

You tapped your fingers against your knee, butt going numb against the hardwood floor and eyes feeling stiff at the corners thanks to the dried tears accumulated there. And it was funny in a way that really wasn’t funny at all that as you sat there and stared at Josh silently, you couldn't help but think to yourself how beautiful he was.

Fucking twins.

“Does Jake make you happy?” Josh asked suddenly, studying your face.

The short answer was yes but the long answer?

‘He knows I'm not the answer’.

“I don't know,” you admitted. And you hoped he believed you when you said it because you really didn't.

You liked how he made you feel. You liked that he was there when no one else was. But was he the answer? You had no idea, actually. Maybe you wanted him to be more than he actually was. Or maybe, just maybe, you just liked having sex with him.

Ha. Well, that's at least some of it. Not that it matters anymore.

You were shamelessly giggling to yourself at the entirely humorless situation you found yourself in even before Josh joined in, bringing his hand to hide his mouth like he was in on the secret joke and attempting to keep it just that, a secret.

“You should probably decide before I have a chance to kill him.” And then after a moment, he added, “Well to be honest with you, I might just kill him anyway.”

You couldn't even explain why but that did you in, spurred a full on fit of laughter. And somehow, Josh found himself laughing right beside you.

Typical Josh. Always a bright spot. Even if it hurt him to be.

—

You hadn't left your house in days. Hadn't washed your sweatpants in as long either. The takeout boxes were certainly piling up too. And had you already finished off the last of your wine stockpile?

Gonna need to hit the grocery store soon. Or Instacart, at the very least.

And when your couch hadn't been occupied by friends spoon-feeding you whatever therapy you needed, be that advice or ice cream, you found yourself alone with more thoughts than you cared to deal with.

And one name in your mind that you avoided at all costs.

You hadn't even texted him that it was over. Hadn't called. Hadn't seen his face or heard his voice or even uttered his name. But God, you felt it, that ache. The longing. The familiar itch that he had scratched for you one too many times that now begged for nails to rake across it.

Relief. You wanted him. You maybe even needed him. That was what the emptiness had shown you. Whatever it was that he even was to you, you missed it. You craved it. But in your hour of need, he was the last thing available to you. And you were certainly stubborn enough not to chase.

Until you eventually weren’t stubborn enough.

You had no idea what had possessed you to rise from the couch that day, throw on a sweatshirt to shield you from the rain, grab your car keys, and drive to his place. You had no idea what possessed you to jump from your car and brave the violent sheets of rain that threatened to topple you as your fist made contact with his door a bit more angrily than maybe it should have. And you had no idea what had possessed you to do all of this just to say what it was you said.

Maybe I enjoy getting hurt.

You weren't invited in. In fact, you weren't even greeted with any words. He seemed breathless the moment he opened the door and his brain caught up with his eyes, whether that was thanks to your unruly appearance made all that much worse by the rain or simply the fact that you were the last person he expected to see standing on his porch after what he had said. After what you had done.

Probably should have run a brush through my hair before coming here.

And then you blurted it out.

“I ended it.”

The rain raged on in an angry war against you but you stood defiantly, like there was some ground there to hold. And maybe there was. It certainly felt like there was. If it wasn't the rain, it was his eyes, staring dangerously into yours and then, even without a single utterance from him still, you saw it. It was undeniable and unmissable.

Jake's eyes flickered down to your lips where they lingered for what felt like an eternity but in actuality was about two seconds. Two of the longest seconds you'd ever felt, waiting for someone to do something about it.

“I just thought you should know,” you added.

And then you left.

#make her happy #give me shelter #nothing breaks like a heart #gvf #gvf fic #jake kiszka #jake kiszka fic #josh kiszka #josh kiszka fic

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cherryflavoured7777 · 1 year ago

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okay i’m thinking a fic where you’re spending your first christmas with Hazel 🥹 and making a gingerbread house while drinking hot cocoa and watching movies… like TONS of fluff im in love with her.

PS i love u and ur writing so much 🩷

THANK U SM ANGEL <3 ily.

(THIS IS PURE FLUFF. BORDERLINE TOO SWEET BUT I AM A very cheesy hoe IM SORRY, you have been warned)

You and Hazel spend your first Christmas Eve together. <3.

word count: 2k

⭐️🎄⭐️🎄⭐️🎄⭐️

December 24th, Christmas Eve, found you spending the entire day at your girlfriend Hazel's house. The two of you totally immersing yourselves in a festive atmosphere, indulging in baking sessions, adding last minute decorations to the space, and listening to a blend of both classic Christmas tunes and your personal favourite songs.

You stood at the kitchen island, putting the finishing touches on a round of baking.

"Smells amazing, baby," Hazel sighed as she wrapped her arms around you from behind, observing you intently as you worked on mixing your second batch of cookies.

"Yeah?" you hummed.

"Mhmm, can't wait to try them." You felt the comforting weight of her chin resting on your shoulder, a warmth spreading through your body.

In the oven, your initial batch of Christmas cookies baked, ready to accompany the gingerbread house you were about to create.

Hazel snakes her arm in-front of you, dipping her finger into the cookie batter you're mixing.

"Hey! no tasting the batter yet." you protest.

"It's not for me, I already snuck a taste when you weren't looking. Open your mouth. You gotta try it."

Hazel’s hands met your waist again, and she gently spun you around.

She drew you a bit closer, fingers gently encircling your waist as she slid her batter-covered finger into your mouth, inviting you to taste. Her eyes grew slightly darker as she watched you slowly suck the batter off her finger, pupils fixated on your mouth. With raised eyebrows, she watched you expectantly.

"See?" She removes her finger from your mouth and licks the excess batter off her finger. "My girl can bake."

It all feels incredibly domestic, and merely being in her presence evokes a flutter in your stomach, a sensation that persists despite the fact that you see her almost every day. Love with Hazel unfolds in unexpectedly simple moments, and you can't help but feel fortunate, a sentiment she shares. The idea of experiencing such a pure connection once seemed unlikely to her, until she met you.

Your eyes stay fixated on hers before for a moment before she speaks.

"I love having you here,” she blurted out.

“I love being here,” you replied.

"No," she seemed a bit frustrated, as if you didn't fully grasp how deeply she meant it.

"Seeing you here gets me excited. Excited about what the future holds for us, you know? I know it sounds insane, or maybe like I’m thinking too far down the line, but I can't wait to come home to you existing in our place one day. Our kitchen, with the stuff we picked out together." Though confident and intentional, you could tell Hazel’s words were laced with vulnerability and a tad of insecurity.

Hazel’s words didn’t freak you out, though, they actually did the opposite. You never imagined you could feel so deeply enamored with another person. Truthfully, you would give her whatever she wanted.

"I know, Haze. Me too. I think about it so much, more than you know," you reassure her.

Hands still on your waist, she lifts you onto the countertop, adjusting slightly to stand between your legs.

Your hand instinctively reaches up to hold her face. You were both so young, and perhaps naive, but you never let that stop you from having these thoughts. You felt you owed yourself a completely lovesick, teenage romance, not tainted by fears of the future, not yet at least.

Your hands brush a strand of brown hair from her face, and you lean down to kiss her.

Whenever you kissed Hazel, you understood why people wanted to kiss, why they chased this feeling.

Growing up, you never quite understood it as much. But here in this moment, and every other one like it, you finally did. The warmth of her lips against yours, the subtle taste of cookie batter lingering between you—it's a simple joy that seems to encapsulate everything sweet and pure in your shared world.

You pull away, leaving her chasing you for more “Alright we gotta get these out of the oven, get out of my way,” you playfully command.

Walking over to put on your oven mitts, you take the tray out, carefully placing it on the stove. The sugary sweet aroma of the cookies envelops the kitchen with a rich warmth.

“I think we make a pretty good team,” Hazel says, smiling at you and admiring your baking.

“What are you talking about? I did all the work,” you tease, giggling as you await her response, turning back around to face her.

“Hey! That’s not true, I-” You cut off her protest with another kiss, choosing to indulge her instead of teasing her further. She smiles into the kiss, grabbing your waist before before her fingers start to trail along your spine, igniting a electricity against your skin. Letting the heated exchange linger, the playful banter transforms into a more intense moment as she slowly walks you backward and pushes you against the counter again.

The kitchen's warmth now feels more noticeable as ever as Hazel's lips leave yours and find their way to the sensitive curve of your neck. Soft, breathy sighs escape your lips, and you feel the air thicken around you. Hazel's hands move with purpose, exploring the contours of your body, leaving a trail of fire in their wake.

The magnetic pull between you intensifies, making it momentarily hard to focus on anything but the rising wanting in your chest. Yet, amidst the heat of the moment, Hazel manages to steer the energy back to your task, her lips lingering near your ear.

“Okay, ready to tackle this beast?” she asks, motioning to the unopened gingerbread house. The mischievous glint in her eyes tells you that she knew exactly what she was doing.

“Absolutley.” you smile, trying to seem unphased and ignore the growing heat between your thighs.

The next half-hour is spent constructing the gingerbread house with Hazel around her kitchen table. She eventually pulls you onto her lap on her chair, her arms encircling you as she reaches behind with the frosting, guiding your hands to steady them as you outline the bodies of the gingerbread men. Laughter reverberates through the room as you and Hazel engage in a frosting fight, adorning the gingerbread with colorful candies and sprinkles, not really paying too much attention to where you're putting them.

“This looks like shit,” you say, staring at your handiwork. Hastily, you reach to save the drooping roof thats caving in.

You can feel Hazel’s breath against your ear behind you as she lets out a laugh, her arms wrapping around you to help salvage the falling structure. The shared moment becomes a sweet memory, even if the gingerbread house didn't turn out as planned.

"I think it's perfect," Hazel declares, placing a gentle kiss on your cheek.

You glance around the room, the glow of Christmas lights casting a warm ambiance. The sound of holiday music playing softly in the background adds to the sweetness of the moment.

“Come on, I’m getting sleepy, let's go watch a movie,” she says, lifting you off her lap, interlacing your hand with hers as she pulls you up the stairs to her room.

You make your way up to Hazel's room, quickly discarding your T-shirt in exchange for one of her oversized sweatshirts, carrying her comforting scent.

Entering the bathroom, you find Hazel already brushing her teeth. You grab your toothbrush from the cup beside her sink, one that you kept there all the time because she insisted.

Staring at each other in the mirror, you both giggle as you brush your teeth in tandem, finding joy in the simplicity of shared routines. When Hazel finishes, she comes up behind you, grabbing a hair tie to keep your hair away from your face as you wash it. She mindlessly held your hips as you bent over to splash water on your face.

You and Hazel were both extremely clingy, but you couldn’t help it, always wanting to be close.

After both of you finish your skincare, you make your way over to her bed, clicking on the remote to her TV as you get comfortable under the covers.

“Okay, you have two choices, Home Alone or The Holiday?” you say as she climbs into bed beside you. She smells like soap and cookie batter.

“Why only those two?” She shifts under the covers, positioning herself beside you.

“Because those are my favourites,” you reply.

“I’ll watch whatever you want, babe,” Hazel says, a yawn escaping her mouth as she wraps her arm around you.

“If you fall asleep, I’m gonna be sad,” you warn. “I want to stay up with you until at least midnight. It's our first Christmas together, and I have to go home in the morning.” You pout.

Hazel’s eyes reflect a certain sadness in them, like she didn’t know how much you wanted her to stay awake. All of a sudden, it's as if her tiredness is gone as she sits up and walks across the room. She opens her closet and pulls something out, a large, flat, wrapped gift.

"Okay, I have something for you," Hazel grinned, excitement dancing in her eyes.

“But, my gifts for you are at home, I thought we were waiting until tomorrow.” You say, a pang of guilt hitting you.

“Shh- it’s fine. I want you to open it now, it’s just a small thing, I have more for tomorrow.” she says.

Her hands trembling slightly with anticipation, Hazel handed over the gift, a hint of nervousness in her smile. Your eyes light up as you accept the package, curiosity mingling with joy.

"Oh wow, Hazel, it's so beautifully wrapped," you say, carefully unwrapping the present.

As the paper fell away, revealing a sleek and elegant box, Hazel couldn't help but hold her breath. You opened the box to find a delicate frame containing a customized star map. The night sky on the night you first met, immortalized in a celestial display.

"Oh, Hazel," you gasped, your eyes welling up with emotion. You recongized the date immediately "Is this…?"

Hazel nodded, her heart swelling with affection. "It's the night we first met. The stars above us that night," she explained, her voice tender.

You and Hazel constantly argue about your first official time meeting. The truth is, she’d watched you from afar for months, never thinking she’d actually have a chance with you. You didn’t officially talk until the first night of senior year, at the annual senior campout. You’d spent basically that entire night with Hazel, following her in awe as she pointed out different constellations to you, her infatuation with astronomy becoming quickly apparent.

You traced your fingers over the constellations, a smile playing on your lips. "This is incredible. I can't believe you did this."

Hazel leaned in, placing a gentle kiss on your cheek. "I wanted us to have a piece of that moment forever. Something to remind us of where it all began."

The room seemed to shimmer with warmth as you pulled Hazel into a tight embrace, the framed star map cradled between you two.

“Thank you, Haze. I love it.” You whisper into her hair.

“Your welcome, baby. I’m glad you like it” she whispers back.

You spend the next two hours tangled up together watching The Holiday. Completely content in eachothers presence. As the credits roll, Hazel’s hands find yours, lightly toying with your fingers. “Hey, pass me your phone.” She whispers.

You reach for it beside you and hand it to her. She turns it on, the clock showing 12:13am, December 25th. She turns to look at you, beaming.

“We made it,” she says smiling, pressing a quick kiss to the corner of your mouth.

“Merry Christmas, baby.” She buried her head in the crook of your neck, peppering warm kisses all over.

“Merry Christmas, my love.” You whisper, hands finding her hair.

She coaxes you onto your side, pulling you into her, gently stroking your hair. The movie soundtrack faded into the background, replaced by the quiet cadence of your shared breaths. Hazel's fingers traced soothing patterns on your back, and as the clock ticked away the minutes, you succumbed to the gentle pull of sleep.

⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

NAHHH CAUSE I NEED A GF THIS CHRISTMAS NOW. WILL I EVER FIND LOVE??

#hazel callahan #bottoms 2023 #hazel callahan x reader #hazel bottoms #hazel callahan imagine #hazel callahan fanfic #bottoms movie #sapphic #ruby cruz #hazel callahan x you #hazel callahan bottoms #hazel callahan x y/n

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trashpandacraft · 1 year ago

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i really like seeing posts about how other people are processing their fibre, so i thought that i'd add ours. we bought a couple bags (about three kilos—this photo is only half) of raw fleece at sheep and wool, and now have it all washed out and cleaned up.

the most helpful boys in the world were very interested in what we were doing, and frankly far less suspicious of the large tub of water than i would've preferred for them to be.

anyhow, about a kilo of fleece got dumped into the tub and arranged to be as aligned as possible. in future washes, i didn't bother with this and didn't find that there was much a difference, and certainly not sufficient difference to justify the time and effort spent carefully laying it out.

i imagine that this is different if you're washing a whole fleece and things are already more or less aligned. if you're washing a bag of of fleece that's just been plopped into the bag, i would suggest not bothering.

the small bag at the end were some locks that we'd picked ahead of time to see if they washed up nicer. (spoiler: they did not.)

worth noting is that we have one of those bathtubs that's short but deep, so this isn't as much water or space as it looks like.

if you've ever wanted to see how water-resistant wool is, here's a great example. these photos were taken the next morning, and some of the fibre was still totally dry, despite having carefully pushed it all underwater before we headed to bed.

after about twelve hours of soaking, this is what we had—the water doesn't look that dirty in the second photo, but you can just barely see a cloud of dirt at the edge of the mesh bag we were using to hold the wool in place in the tub. (it was just laid on the bottom of the tub, and meant that we could easily move the wool up or down the tub, or lift it out entirely, without having to move it much.)

anyhow, soaking water from this batch went into a bucket to feed my wife's plants. (and then the next batch i fucked up and drained it. 🤡 it's amazing they put up with me, tbh.)

wool got moved safely away from the water, and then it was time for the hottest tap water we could manage. our tap runs at well over 60c/145f, so we didn't bother to try to make it any warmer. as it was, i was very grateful that we'd bought the extra heavy duty kitchen gloves.

we added a couple splurts of dishsoap (palmolive) to the tub, then carefully let the fleece spread itself out again, which doesn't take much encouragement, thankfully. and then we fucked off for a while.

twenty minutes later, the water looked like this.

my hand's in the water to about my knuckles in that photo, and as you may notice, it very much appears that i have no fingers.

second wash. our friend the very large mesh laundry bag helped hold the fleece first away from the drain, and then from the tap, and we did it again just like the first wash.

another twenty minutes, and we had this.

you can almost believe that i've got fingers! progress!

this post offers a great look at what it looks like when lanolin is leaving a fleece. we have incredibly soft water, so most of their findings weren't especially relevant to our washing, but the visual guide is fantastic, especially since it took them so many changes to get things clean.

so again, drained, refilled, and resoaped, then left to sit for twenty minutes. and this time, i came back to this!

a whole entire hand! fingertips and everything! i was sort of surprised, honestly, since fine wools have a reputation for being really lanolin heavy, but after this batch of fleece i went down to two washes, and feel like it was more than sufficient for 90% of it. (there was a chunk of merino/bond cross in a later batch that was a little shorter and more lanolin heavy, and likely could've used a third wash, but i'm using that to make rolags and it's going fine, so whatever.)

anyhow, fleece clean! rinse time!

this looks like fleece in water, because that's what it is. we did two rinses, and that seemed plenty sufficient to get out all the suds.

next we spread it out as gently as possible onto a cheap sweater drying rack and hung it on a giant screw that's sort of inexplicably sticking sharp-end-out of the eaves of our porch. (and you'd be like 'that sounds normal, lots of people have screws or whatever to hang things,' to which i'd say 'it does! except that there are three of them and the placement is utterly bizarre, and this is the only one that you can hang anything from.' my best guess is christmas lights, but why a screw? why sharp side out? how sharp side out, at that?)

wool, drying! and the hated roses that have been blooming all fucking winter and are continuing to bloom and are getting bigger and now have spawned more roses somehow, and now we have a bunch of red roses, too. when we moved into this place a year and a half ago there were only white roses. we don't know where the red ones came from, nor do we know why the roses are suddenly VERY TALL—see how in this photo, they don't even clear the top of the wall? now they're like 50cm over it. eighteen inches over it. why. i hate them.

i will continue to hate them unless they become tall enough and self-support enough that they accidentally shade our office, in which case i will hate them slightly less but i'll be mad about it.

and now we're done! that's a lock of nice clean wool! all we did before this photo was fluff out the tips a bit.

i combed some out, and it's pretty good!

nice little nests of combed top. the wool's slightly different colours because, like i said, it wasn't a fleece, it was just fleece, if that makes sense, so there's a bit of a range of colouration in there. but there's much less loss than i'd expected, even combing it out, and all up this was a much easier and less miserable process than i'd feared it would be!

i've put off buying raw fleece for a long time, partly because i've mostly lived in apartments and haven't had a ton of space in which to wash it, and partly because i'm disabled and was afraid that doing it would be too much physically, but it turns out that i probably could have done this a lot sooner, and also that it's not really that hard on the body. the worst of it for me was bending over the tub to fill/refill and then get the wool onto the drying screen, which was a little rough, but definitely not so rough i wouldn't do it again.

(we then did this several more times to get all the fleece washed, and i can already tell you: we're gonna do it again.)

this is the first time i've done raw fleece that had lanolin in it, so please don't take this as an authoritative resource, but that's what we did, and it worked really well and was a lot easier than i'd feared, so i figured i'd share.

#spinning #handspinning #hand spinning #fibre processing #fiber processing #fibre prep #this was fantastic and i loved doing it #i'm very excited to see what we make with it #though i think a lot of this is going to be experiments with processing the washed fibre #but next year there will be even MORE fibre!!#i'm very excited

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dayurno · 11 months ago

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recently reread ur de-aged kevin fic and in the end notes you said you were thinking of doing a sequel w neilandrew being de-aged and just wanted to throw my hat in the ring to say yes pls! you genuinely have such incredible writing and characterization and would LOVE to see your take on it!

wawawa i plan to write it!!!!! i did start a little bit after finishing de-aged kevin and had to scrap it off because i didn't like it, so it might take a little longer. nonetheless i feel like i have no reason not to share it so i'll attach under the cut the scrapped version of kevin with de-aged andreil for your enjoyment :=) if its a little wonky i ask that you bear with me theres a reason why i didnt keep this version

There is a little garden behind Fox Tower where you could fit a dead body without any real effort.

Not that Kevin would know, of course. But he is sure that he has never seen anyone besides himself tend to the ground there — perhaps once in the past there was another athlete who enjoyed gardening, but such a character has not been around for at least a few years. It took Kevin almost an entire week to entirely weed out the square of dirt between Fox Tower’s backdoors and the fence where Palmetto State University property ends and Fox Perimeter starts.

Despite the loneliness of it, the ground is quite fertile; as patches of earth left alone by humankind often are. No one ever comes with Kevin when he gardens — Andrew finding it too soft a hobby and Neil, too pointless —, so there is no worry about someone else intervening with his flowers. Worlds apart from Evermore, Kevin quite enjoys the alone time tending to this garden provides, so he makes a habit out of it.

He’s not sure how well he is doing. His first attempt had been to plant daylilies, because the name had amused him and they were considered beginner plants, offending as the thought is. Daylilies, Kevin’s come to find, are low-maintenance, highly resistant and pest-free — three things Kevin cannot relate to, despite them sharing a surname. Those turned out fine, but one cannot go wrong with daylilies; they’re too easy. The only way Kevin could’ve killed them is if he was an absolute moron.

His second attempt — and the one he is currently keeping a close watch on — were tulips. They’re harder to care for than their predecessors, and take up more of Kevin’s time than he had previously imagined, though he doesn’t fault them for it. He’d gotten seeds from a shop a few blocks down to where Andrew usually buys his cigarettes in Columbia, and hadn’t bothered to ask for more information; Kevin’s first mistake, he realizes.

His tulips have… multiplied. Perhaps too much — hopeless, Kevin sits amidst the rows and rows of golden ladies, dainty-looking but quite surely outnumbering him, and wonders how many more of them could cause a natural imbalance in the area. For how they spread over the garden, Kevin is not sure he wants the answer. Their yellow bulbs seem to mock him.

Deciding this is now above him, Kevin wipes the dirt from his knees and springs up. He breaks the stem of a few tulips that have already bloomed, mindful that they must reserve their energy for a future reblooming, and checks for rotten bulbs before leaving. Surely, with time, his little garden will recover well enough so that it is not fully covered in tulips. Surely he’ll be able to plant something else, then.

If anything, Kevin is at least happy they don’t have thorns. Gathering the handful of flowers he’d cut off, he returns to his dorm, mindlessly wondering to himself if they have a vase wide enough to fit all of these tulips. When their whiny door pushes open under his weight, Kevin announces his arrival by calling out, “Do we still have that big vase from last year?”

No reply. Frowning, Kevin settles his flowers on the kitchen counter and glances over to where Andrew’s wallet and keys sit at their coffee table, even his half-finished pack of cigarettes left untouched. It is highly unlikely for Andrew to leave without at least one of those three items, creature of habit he is. How weird.

Grabbing for his phone, Kevin sees a flash of motion from the corner of his eye, and is just quick enough to sidestep a little body hiding behind the back of their sofa. The idea of something as small as this just hanging around their dorm is so baffling Kevin can hardly compute it, communication between his eyes and his brain coming to a screeching stop as he takes in the sight in front of him.

There’s a child. There’s a — there’s a child.

He is quite small. His hair, a gentle wheat-like thing, curls softly over his forehead, leading down to big, round brown eyes and a thin mouth. The child’s face is very tender, his cheeks flushed from exertion, but he does not meet Kevin’s stare with any such feeling — instead, his eyes widen slightly, and he stumbles back like he’s been hit.

For a moment, Kevin even worries he hasn’t sidestepped as well as he thought and indeed had hit this child on accident. Taking a few steps back himself, Kevin asks, “Who are you?”

It seems like the kind of question the child should ask him, instead of the opposite. The little boy tilts his head back to look at Kevin — and he does have to tilt it very far —, before steeling himself to answer, “I’m—I think I live here now?”

“That…” Kevin hesitates, “can’t be right.” The child’s eyes water slightly. Growing more and more panicked by the minute, Kevin immediately retracts it. “But I’m sure it is, if you’re saying it.”

The tears don’t fall, but they don’t quite recede either; the little boy's face is so fair it starts to look splotchy soon enough, red dusting his nose and cheeks. “Are you my new brother?” He asks, with all the certainty of someone who’s had many new brothers before. A nagging chill runs up Kevin’s spine.

“I don’t believe I am, since I don’t have any siblings,” Kevin limits himself to replying. He crouches down to meet the child’s stare, eyeing his tulips from above his head. Kevin really needs to get that vase soon; it’s not good for them to be out in the open like this. “Can you tell me your name? Why are you here? Where are your parents?”

The little boy eyes him suspiciously. He answers none of Kevin’s questions, but he informs, “There was another little boy too.”

“Right. Well,” Kevin stumbles a bit, unsure of what to say — and what to believe in, even. Children often see things that aren’t there for adults; he does not want to see any manner of spirit today. Or any other day. “Can you go get him for me? Then I can help you figure out what you’re doing here.”

“What else… can I be doing here?” The child asks, frowning lightly. “This is a new home. They—at the last one, they didn’t want me. And I have to be somewhere.”

Recognition shivers through Kevin. “I see,” he replies past the lump in his throat. “I think I might understand. The—the little boy that you mentioned, did he have blue eyes? And, and red hair?”

Andrew crinkles his little nose. “Was orange, not red.”

Oh. Oh, no. Oh, no, no, no. “I understand it now.” Kevin’s thighs tremble too much for him to hold his crouch, so he sits back on his heels, kneeling at Andrew’s height. “How old are you? If you don’t mind.”

Andrew blinks at him for a moment too long before showing Kevin his spread palm — it is unbearably small, chubby, and quite pale, too. “I’m five,” he says.

And he is. He is five years old. He is very five years old by the looks of it, which is not the age Andrew Minyard should be, because before Kevin left for his garden, he was pretty sure the Andrew he left behind was twenty-one.

“You’re five. Okay. That makes sense. Of course,” Kevin babbles, having gone half-stupid from shock. That this could be happening to him — that it could be happening to them again, after Kevin had spent a week of last month being six years old and with no recollection of it. What kind of rotten cosmic joke is this? “I see. Okay, well, let me just—” He rubs a hand across his face. “Hello, I’m Kevin. I am a collegiate athlete. That means I play Exy for a university. Have you heard of it?”

“Exy is on the TV all the time,” Andrew counters, but it seems to be all that he knows. He looks a little hesitant before he nods; tight and anxious. “Hi. I’m Andrew Doe.”

Without a surname makes one a John Doe. Kevin’s heart squeezes. “Hello, Andrew,” he greets, trying to work his face into something gentler. “I understand what you mean now. You called it a new home, correct? It’s not like that. I think what happened here is…”

“Do you work for my father?” A small voice cuts Kevin’s sentence short. He whips his head around to meet a boy a good few inches taller than Andrew leaning against the doorway of their bedroom, his hair a light ginger. When Kevin’s eyes meet his, Neil — Nathaniel? — hunches in on himself in self-reproach, placing little hands in front of his head. “Sorry. I spoke out of turn.”

Kevin blinks. “No,” he answers, softening his voice. This is—this is not the time to doubt whether gentleness is achievable or not; this is the time to force it until it breaks, or until it gives. “I don’t work for your father. I’ve never even met him before.”

Neil pales. Perhaps the idea that someone does not know his father seems outlandish when Neil has been raised under his dominion — Kevin is sure it feels that way, for Neil to look so stricken. Often when you are this small and your parents are the overlords of your world, it feels strange to learn that they are not the end-all-be-all of everyone else’s.

Like a little tour guide, Andrew steps forward to explain, “I think you might be here because your mom and dad went away and children have to live somewhere.”

…Of course, being five years old, his understanding of the situation is about as good as Kevin had expected. Andrew’s explanation of the foster system is fairly good, all things considered, but too realistic for a child his age. He should, at least, still believe that they mean to find him a family instead of sending him from home to home because there is nowhere else for him to be.

Neil pales even further. “Is that true?”

“Is true. Is what happened to me.”

“Alright, alright,” Kevin intervenes at last, and two pairs of eyes turn to him; both hesitant in their own way. He coughs into his fist, deciding that honesty is the easiest route. “To be frank with both of you, I’m not sure why you’re here, either. But… thank you, Andrew, for trying to explain it.”

The little Andrew’s face does something unguarded and surprised before he looks away, blushing lightly.

Kevin keeps his eyes trained to his tulips. “I don’t know what happened for you to get here, but you’re welcome to stay until we can figure this out.”

He is eyed with suspicion from both sides. “I,” Neil shakily starts, the beginning of a meltdown creeping into his voice, “I want my mama. Where is she?”

“I’m sorry,” Kevin replies, and finds that he means it, “I don’t know. If I knew, I’d take you to her.”

He would do no such thing, but it is important to say it, anyway.

Springing upwards before Neil can bring out the waterworks, Kevin takes a few steps next to where he’d put aside his tulips and returns with one in each hand. “Here,” he says, kneeling to their height again. “Want a flower? I just got them from the garden.”

Andrew’s hand reaches for it, but does not bridge the distance, hesitant. Neil doesn’t even try to get it. “Flowers are for girls,” he tells Kevin.

“Hm. Do I look like a girl to you?”

“Yes.”

Kevin supposes that was a mistake on his part. It’s always the hair with children. “Well, I’m not,” he argues — argues! — with five-year-old Neil. “It’s very rude to not accept a gift.”

Neil eyes him, squinting quietly. He takes a few steps closer, looking more relaxed now that he’s figured Kevin is not working for his father. Coaxingly, Kevin offers one of the tulips in his direction — the bigger one, standing proud and yellow and delicate. It took a great effort for them to look this healthy. “These are called golden ladies. They’re perennials — that means they grow no matter the season. I plant them myself.”

A little hand curls around the stem of the smallest of Kevin’s tulips, catching it with all the clumsy delicacy of children who have yet to learn a finer touch. Letting Andrew take it, Kevin's mouth twitches. “Don’t worry about thorns, there’s none.”

He doesn’t mention the eco-system smasher Kevin had accidentally become in the process. Hopefully, no one notices the terrifying increase of tulips in Palmetto for the upcoming springs.

Andrew doesn’t answer him, eyes trained to the tulip. The yellow of the inner petals matches the pale of his hair; makes him look more flower than child. Sweet, sweet boy.

Kevin turns back to Neil. “Won’t you take it even if you don’t like them? I don’t have a vase yet. I’m afraid they’ll just rot if you don’t take them.” This is a lie — but it’s a fair one. Children shouldn’t be so restrained.

The idea of imminent destruction seems to convince Neil to walk the distance between himself and Kevin to take the flower in his little hand. He says nothing. Kevin can’t tell if he likes it at all — he’s so put-upon.

A little hand flutters in the general direction of Kevin’s head. “Why is your hair…” Andrew asks.

“What? Long?” The child nods. “What’s wrong about it?”

“It shouldn’t be like this.”

Well, that’s rude. Kevin huffs softly under his breath, absent-mindedly combing his fingers through his hair. “When I was a little over your age, I had a friend — a brother — who liked my hair like this. I think I just grew used to it.”

It’s not the full story, of course. He can’t tell them about Riko, and how much of his preferences Kevin had taken as law out of admiration, at first, then fear, later on. He can’t explain, either, that his hair staying this way is his own way of mourning — a childhood left unfinished, a little boy abused into the insanity of Riko’s final years, brotherhood yet to be tainted by blood and jealousy. Children this young can’t tell Kevin carries all the marks of the grieving.

“Oh,” Andrew replies. He looks like he wants to ask some more, but he doesn’t.

“I can teach you how to braid it later, if you want,” Kevin offers. He has not even a sliver of a clue about what children should do in their free time. In his time, his mother took him all around the world during her trips, which didn’t usually leave Kevin much time for playing; then, after she died, Exy consumed most of his time between little league and Tetsuji’s endurance bootcamp. “It’s a useful skill. You can impress your future wife with it.”

He knows well enough that Andrew is never, ever going to get a wife; still, Kevin knows no other way to frame the importance — or, rather, mask the lack thereof — of this to him.

Andrew nods politely. He, for one, is taking this much better than Neil seems to be — for good reason, Kevin imagines. Already registered in the foster system, Andrew must be used to adapting to new homes, new siblings, new adults with an eccentric knack for gardening and haircare. He’s indulging Kevin. A five-year-old!

“Well,” Kevin clears his throat, suddenly a little embarrassed. “Are you hungry? It should be almost lunchtime.”

No answer. It’s almost like dealing with the adults Andrew and Neil again.

Lunch is bland and unimaginative; Kevin follows the recipe obsessively, unwilling to make children choke down trash. It’s one thing for their adult selves to indulge Kevin in his lack of culinary talent, but children don’t yet have the taste buds for experimental food, nor the desire to put up with their caretakers’ inability to cook. More than once he resists the urge to add more spice — or even more salt.

While he cooks, Kevin allows Andrew and Neil to get acquainted with each other. They talk quietly, eyeing the other with no less suspicion they eyed Kevin with, and seem happy to do their own thing. Skittish, for sure: but can they be blamed for it? Kevin doesn’t expect them to hit it off immediately, especially with Neil’s under-socialization. In the week or so Kevin should have them, it is likely they’ll progress on that front.

Polite like a trained dog, Andrew waits by the kitchen doorway to help Kevin with setting the table. He’s far too small for such a task — he’ll drop any glassware Kevin gives him. Still, unwilling to let the child feel useless, Kevin asks him to set some napkins and cutlery out. Yes, that should be enough.

“Thank you, Andrew,” he says when he is done finishing up on their plates. Looking at the portions, Kevin is inclined to think they are far too much for someone of their size, but he doubts either have had access to an unrestricted meal in quite a while. At their age, Kevin knows he hadn’t. “It is very kind of you to help with the table.”

Andrew tilts his head towards his food without comment. He is almost unnervingly polite. It’s not the Andrew Kevin knows, and the contrast feels scathing.

Despite the children’s best efforts, their meal is not quiet. Kevin is not good with children, but he likes to think he is good with Andrew and Neil — as good as one can be, anyway. He prompts them into conversation by asking questions about their interests, their lives, their routines; half of it is trying to figure out how to care for these two, and the other half is emulating a chewed-out memory of how Kayleigh used to talk to him.

She was never the kind of parent who baby-talked to Kevin. As soon as he was able to, she tried to engage him in conversation — however loose that concept can be for a five-year-old. Kayleigh, from what he remembers of her, had the ability to make anyone feel listened to; Kevin doesn’t remember ever doubting she cared for his childish babbling about toys and daycare, even if nostalgia had colored the memory a soft mouth-pink. He only wishes he would’ve gotten at least half of her social adeptness. From Kayleigh, all Kevin got was green eyes, a gaping hunger for success and an inescapable attraction to troubled men.

“I play Exy and I like books,” Kevin offers in trade for information. It’s — well, he doesn’t have many hobbies. The gardening and the cooking are a late product of much of Dr. Betsy Dobson’s insistence that Kevin must make something out of himself that isn’t Exy-related. “I like cooking but I’m not good at it. And I like gardening but it takes a lot of work so I don’t do it all the time.”

“It’s not that bad,” Andrew tells him, motioning to his food with small movements. He finished his plate in record time, inhaling Kevin’s poor attempt at a caesar salad like it’s a five stars meal. On the other hand, Neil is halfway through with his and looks done already. “Your food.”

“Not that bad?” Kevin tilts his head slightly, amused. He’ll take it, he supposes. “Thank you, Andrew.”

Hesitant, like perhaps he fears Kevin will be angry at him for it, Neil picks up the conversation where he left off to say, “I like… horses. But, um, like toys.”

“Horses, I see,” Kevin repeats, a bit hopeless. Children’s interests are so loose. “And what else?”

Neil flicks him a suspicious glare. “What else?”

“I gave you four of my interests. A conversation has to be equal.”

Looking as if Kevin had sprouted a second head right in front of him, Neil does not do as he is asked so much as he stares at Kevin, mouth open in a little o. Has no one asked this child what he likes before? It feels out of character for the Butcher of Baltimore, sure, but Neil’s mother had seemed to care for him, at least from what little Kevin had heard about her.

“No?” Kevin tries after a few moments of silence. “I’m just trying to be friends.”

“Why would you be my friend?” Neil asks, putting down his fork with surprising care; as if to ensure it makes no noise. Even his voice is small and unobtrusive, despite the words. “Adults and children aren’t friends. Adults want children to be quiet.”

Kevin hides a wince. He hadn’t imagined the Butcher of Baltimore, in all his serial killer glory, would have indulged his child in conversation — and by the way Neil acts, he could’ve guessed for himself that most of Neil’s childhood had been trying to stay out of his father’s way. But no one ever wants to assume the worst out of a loved one’s suffering; Kevin had held out hope there’d be at least a silver lining in Neil’s horror stories.

It is not unlike how Kevin and Riko were raised in the Nest, anyway. Their private tutors were stern, and despite much of their trying, there was no place for childhood in Evermore: they were told to keep quiet or else. The Master would often say that they were not to act like children — it hadn’t occurred to him up until now how cruel it is to forbid a child from being childish.

“Well, if I’m asking you, don’t you think I want to know?” Kevin argues. “Not all adults think the same thing. Do you think the same thing as every other child?”

A pause. Neil shakes his head, looking somewhat green, as if he had just realized what he said. From Kevin’s other side, Andrew stares anxiously.

Rubbing a hand through his face, Kevin slowly puts out, trying to enunciate his words as gentle as he can make them, “I am not angry that you spoke your mind. It makes sense, what you said.” He shakes his head a little. Only a few minutes in, and he’s already ruining it — Kevin’s no good for anything that doesn’t involve a racquet. “But I would not have asked if I didn’t want to know. Do you understand?”

A small, careful nod. Kevin will take whatever he can get.

“Good.” Kevin starts to gather the empty plates — his and Andrew’s —, and motions towards Neil’s half-finished one. “Do you not like it? I can make you something else, if you want.”

The sudden shift in conversation visibly vexes Neil, but, politely, he replies, “...Not hungry.”

From beside Kevin, Andrew flinches. Hurrying to dispel it, Kevin says, “It’ll be in the fridge in case you want it later.” Piling the plates into one of his hands, Kevin offers the other one to Andrew. “Come on, you didn’t get to tell me what you like during lunch.”

The child watches Kevin’s hand — the right one, smooth and unscarred if a little crooked from the years of gripping racquets — warily before accepting it, threading his little fingers through Kevin’s. His hand feels unimaginably small; so fragile it is a wonder it even exists. Kevin is reminded of the first time he saw a baby bird, back in Dublin: he’d told his mom he couldn’t tell if it was super ugly or super cute. She’d laughed for what felt like an eternity after.

Still sitting politely at the table, Neil watches their joined hands, frowning. Kevin can’t tell what he’s thinking — wouldn’t be able to even with an adult Neil —, but the face he makes claws at his heart. “N—” not his name, “ah, do you want to come with?”

Thus invited, Neil follows them into the kitchen. Kevin washes the dishes and listens as Andrew tells him, a little shyly, that he likes Sesame Street, street cats (“Really?” Kevin asks. “Aren’t their claws a little scary?” to which Andrew seems to lose some respect for him on the spot), chocolate and amusement parks, when he is allowed to go. It's a fairly common list — Kevin didn’t know what he expected a five-year-old version of Andrew to like. Something a little more unorthodox, perhaps.

But children are the same everywhere, at any point. Andrew soaks up the attention Kevin gives him, happy to answer all questions, if a little insecure on why Kevin would be asking them. Knowing where Andrew was at this age, he doesn’t doubt it’s been a while an adult has actually spoken to him with some level of care for what he has to say: when was the last time Andrew has actually felt companionship? Someone who hears what he says and asks questions about it?

It feels sacrilegious to stop now. Already out of dishes to clean, Kevin scrubs and re-scrubs their plates until his hands ache as he asks Andrew questions, not unaware of Neil’s watching eyes.

“And how is it? California?” Kevin asks. The next thing he says is a bold-faced lie, because he’s visited Jean before, but he still says it. “I’ve never been. I heard it’s beautiful.”

He’s heard no such thing. Jean seems to think California is where meaningful art goes to die, but he can’t tell Andrew that.

“Is okay,” Andrew tells him, propped up on a stool next to Kevin. His little legs swing mindlessly. “The traffic — there’s traffic. And Disneyland.”

“You’ve been?” He asks again.

“Oh, um, no.”

It’s expected. “I have not either,” Kevin relates, making it sound like a bigger woe than it really is. His hands are rubbed raw at this point, and the soap pricks at the skin of his palms — soon, he’ll have to stop. Just a little more. “I don’t think I’d like it, either way.”

Andrew watches him curiously. “Why?”

“I don’t like crowds.” It’s not as easy as that, but Kevin leaves it as it is. The prickling sensation of the soap starts to crawl up his wrist, and he decides it is time to stop. Drying his hands off on a nearby cloth, Kevin prompts, “How about some dessert?”

It is the first time he’s ever said those words, and they horrify him, but the quickly-hidden flash of interest in Andrew’s face is worth breaking his streak for. From the stool beside Andrew, Neil frowns lightly. This child is too serious — Kevin tries to remember if he was like this back in little league, but his memory is not the best after so many hits to the head.

He rummages through their freezer. Andrew’s adult self is fond of indulging — there are a few half-eaten ice cream cartons tucked beneath frozen peas and other such vegetables, though most of them are flavored a cherry liqueur Kevin will most certainly not feed to children. Scavenging further he is able to retain a sealed chocolate carton, the frost covering it making his fingertips tingle.

This has to be too frozen to eat. Helpless, Kevin turns to look at the two five-year-olds as if they have a better idea. It’s weird, now, to be the person Andrew and Neil look to for answers — Kevin is used to it being the other way around. He is caught thinking that he’ll probably struggle in the coming days, without his two little shadows making life easier for him.

“I think if I microwave it a little bit, nothing’s going to happen,” Kevin mumbles to himself, aware that he is not inspiring much respect as an authority figure. He’s no Andrew, after all: Kevin’s still himself, despite all his best efforts to be someone else.

The ice cream loses some of its original texture in the microwave, but, if anything, Andrew seems to enjoy it as Kevin passes him a bowl. Neil does not accept one himself, politely saying he doesn't like sweets, and the lack of attitude from him is disturbing. Kevin is used to Neil being a force of nature — seeing him this quiet, this contained, is not easy. It makes him think of the iron-shaped scar on his adult self’s chest. All that dead skin.

Unwilling to let him be left out, Kevin cuts some slices of apple for him, which Neil takes with some degree of gratefulness. The little boys settle in front of the TV while Kevin manages to find a children’s channel, looking small on their ratty dorm carpet. Kevin isn’t sure children should be this small in the first place — he’s not sure if they are little because of genetics, or neglect. How much can you hurt a child until they disappear?

Kevin sits himself with them, cross-legged. He is too old to see the appeal of children’s television, so most of it is watching them from the corner of his eye and finding out what to say to Aaron to get him to come and help.

You 14:36

Hello. I think whatever happened to me last month just happened to Andrew and Neil.

As in, they have turned into five-year-olds. If you’ve forgotten.

When there is no immediate response, Kevin huffs to himself and snatches a picture of their two little heads pending towards each other, deep in conversation about the show they are watching. Kevin is, at least, relieved to see them interacting at all: Andrew might have been to kindergarten already, but Neil has always been undersocialized, all tutors and nannies. If Kevin can’t be his friend, then at least Andrew can.

The picture gets him a quicker answer.

Aaron 14:45

what the fuck what the fuck what the ufck

why doe sthis keep fucking happening to you

Like it’s his fault!

You 14:45

This is not the kind of thing I can control.

They are good children. Polite. Easier to deal with than I was, I wager. But I need you to come and help.

Aaron 14:47

why should i

what makes you think i could help you

You 14:49

Because he is your brother.

Before Kevin can read Aaron’s answer, something hooks on his hair. Looking down, he finds Andrew’s hand hanging a few inches away from it, alarmed and wide-eyed at being caught. Behind him, Neil looks just as queasy, as if this had been their joint effort.

“Can I help you?” Kevin asks, raising his eyebrow a little. When he gets no response, he concedes, "You can touch. Don’t tug or pull. And keep it away from your mouth.”

No response. Kevin doubles down, “It’s really fine. Here.” He pulls his hair out of its low ponytail, letting it curtain down his shoulders and back. It’s not often he lets his hair down like this — it can be too much of a hassle. Kevin ought to cut it one day, but the thought still makes him a little sick to think of. “As long as you’re careful.”

An hesitant little hand inches closer and closer, still warily watching out for Kevin’s reaction. When Andrew finds no resistance, he combs little fingers down the length of Kevin’s hair, faint and amazed. He’s not very gentle — children are too clumsy for it, still, and there is some tugging. It doesn’t hurt, though. Kevin allows it.

Resigning himself to being played with, Kevin gives them his back, leaning his elbow against the couch. Another pair of little hands clutches at a chunk of hair, and he knows Andrew has convinced Neil to get in on their impromptu hairdresser salon. At least they’re playing, Kevin consoles himself as he feels a pull on his scalp. At least they’re getting along.

“I have hair ribbons on my desk,” he offers, knowing what he is setting himself up to and still going through with it. “Colorful ones. Satin. Would you like to see them?”

A pause on the tugging. “Really?” That was Neil.

“Yes. But I’ll have to get up to get them.”

“I can do it,” Andrew tells him, the ever-helpful little waiter. He’s so polite — Kevin wonders if they taught him there is a higher chance of getting adopted if you treat the foster parents with subservience. Probably. “Where is it?”

“Andrew, it’s fine—”

“I’ll do it. He’s still playing, so I’ll do it.”

So kind, giving Neil time to play by himself. Kevin, helplessly charmed, would allow him anything. “Okay. Thank you.” Motioning vaguely in the direction of their desks, he says, “It’s the one with the shelves on top of it. Yes, that one, with the books. Be careful not to hit your head!” Watching Andrew narrowly duck under a shelf gives Kevin half an aneurysm, but the child seems no less interested in his quest. “First drawer. There. Did you find it?”

“Yes,” Andrew replies, shoving a chubby fist into the drawer and pulling out a handful of hair ribbons, all different colors and sizes. There was an organization system to it, and his careless pulling has clearly ruined it. A little disheartened, Kevin doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry. “This?”

“Yes. Please keep the drawer closed.”

The drawer snaps shut, and Andrew makes his way back to them, freshly acquired ribbons falling over his fingers and wrist in colorful flops. Kevin doesn’t see him sit back down, but he feels Andrew’s hand on his hair again. “Why do you have shelves?” Neil asks after a few moments of silence, their hands working ribbons in his hair via extremely clumsy braiding. “Um, just you, I mean. The others are empty.”

That he’s asking anything seems like a blessing, when the child is so quiet. “My—” Kevin hesitates. How to even describe it? “My… friend built them for me. The shelves. He got annoyed at me for leaving my books everywhere.”

It’s true. Just as Kevin loathes Andrew’s habit of leaving his cigarettes anywhere, so does Andrew loathe Kevin’s astray book piles across the living room, left half-read or unfinished in his haste to get to class or practice. The shelves had been less of a compromise and more of a surprise: one day, they were simply sitting above his desk like they’ve always been there. Kevin never asked Andrew if he built them, but he figured the wood splinters on his fingers were reason enough. It took a lot of arguing for Andrew to take them out the right way, instead of just letting the splinters break on their own.

“Oh,” Andrew says, entirely unaware of the story being about his older self and focused on tying a bow on Kevin’s hair. “Where is he?”

“There’s two of them, actually. They’re away for work.” Kevin leans his head closer when the tugging starts to get a little painful. “What are you doing back there, anyway?”

“It’s pretty,” Neil murmurs, defending his work. Kevin doubts it is, but he’s happy to even have the little Neil’s attention at all.

“You know how to braid?” He asks, trying to steal a look and getting his head gently moved back by Andrew. “By the way, what’s your name? You haven’t said.”

Neil hesitates, hands freezing. Kevin keeps talking, “Whatever you want to be called.”

“Um,” Neil thinks on it for a moment. He seems to be rolling Kevin’s hair nervously around his fingers now; a nervous fidget. “My—my dad calls me Junior, but my mom calls me Nat—Nathaniel.”

He doesn’t say it like he enjoys being called either.

“Hello, Nathaniel,” Kevin tilts his head in acknowledgement, because he wasn’t raised in a barn. “I’m Kevin. It’s nice to meet you.”

Shy little thing he is, Nathaniel doesn’t answer.

The children play with Kevin’s hair for a few more minutes before losing interest, leaving him a mess of ribbons and tangles he decides not to deal with for now. He imagines they should be put to sleep soon — children this small sleep in the afternoon, do they not? At their age, Kevin is sure he had to be made to nap one way or another, what with his mother’s hectic schedule. It’s a bit of a parenting cop-out, he is aware, but… Kevin could use a nap himself. Sure the children do, too.

He makes a show out of yawning behind his palm. Two pairs of eyes turn to him, neither particularly moved by his display. Tough crowd.

“Maybe we can all take a nap,” Kevin suggests. Nothing.

#asks #kandreil #my writing #thisis very scuffed i did some minor editing but its seriously not good. dont perceive me

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multifandomwhore-003 · 2 years ago

Text

Prettiest of them all —Drabble

Pairing: MCU! Peter Parker x Female! Reader

Summary: Horny AF 3am writing with no plot

Genre(s): smut, fluff

Warnings: dom! reader, sub! Peter, riding, semi-unedited work

A/N: I really can't decide if I like this or not, I just really need to fuck Peter Parker, any of the three will do

𝙼𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚏𝚒𝚌 𝚊𝚙𝚙𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚜 𝚘𝚗

REQUESTS CLOSED

THIS IS NOT FREE USE, YOU CANNOT USE MY WORK

Reblog if you like

You chuckled so lowly it was almost silent, "Believe me, you're prettier Peter,"

Your lips very softly pecked his, so gently, so delicately, so incredibly torturous, testing the waters of something you've always had the answer to. He took a deep breath, eyes still closed, and fluttered them open only to find yours completely doe-eyed for him.

"Really?"

He had no time or mind to regret his hesitant words now.

You impulsively scoffed at his naiveness, "Fucking Christ, you're perfect," the words quickly slipped before kissing him this time, really kissing him. A shaky hand reached for your waist and stopped right before getting under the fabric. Yours, however, firmly slipped slightly under the collar of his shirt, your ring and pinky finger resting on his collarbone.

His breath has been perhaps quicker than his heartbeat, so much so that he seemed to have no oxygen to make his forehead leave yours.

You cupped his face slightly caressing his cheek, "How's that for your-" you had to admit you were also lacking air, "for your first kiss,"

"Great, y- yeah, that was great," he couldn't fathom coming up with anything more.

You both giggled.

He felt your skin slip out of his shirt and your thumb being placed on his mouth, he soon realized his eyesight was blocked once again, but it didn't matter 'cause for the first time in a while he felt safe, and you were making an effort for it as well. The small, yet very significant contact was reassuring, comforting, and sweet, it was his first kiss after all; he didn't admit it, but you quickly figured it was his first encounter of such nature as well.

"Are you okay?" You whispered after a few seconds of silence.

He just nodded.

"Was-" he cleared his throat and snapped out by facing you once again, still not breaking the closeness, "Was that good? The- the kiss I mean," he subconsciously played with the edge of your top mistaking it for his.

It was your turn to nod now, subconsciously biting your bottom lip, still savoring it. A little clumsy and nervous, maybe a little tense, but kind and soft nonetheless, it was refreshing to not have to kiss a guy who was rushing for something more.

You noticed his flush moving all the way to the top of his face now, spreading pretty quickly.

"You wanna do it again?"

"Yeah-" he cut off himself.

You grinned against him, now more surely pulling him closer by his neck. God bless innocent Peter Parker for only hugging the waistline of your shorts. By the time you began to play with the bottom stitches of his shirt you made sure to look at him, lips free just in case he wanted to stop, he received the message, loud and clear, pulling it off his chest, over his head and not dropping it yet somewhere across your kitchen, he only allowed himself to release the thought of having it to put back in when you reached for his hands to interlace your fingers.

"You sure you wanna do this?"

'Remember it always Peter, consent is fundamental for any human interaction' his aunt's words couldn't have resounded louder.

"Yes, you?"

He smiled, "Yes,"

He helped you jump off the counter and let you guide him through the living room, the hallway, and into your room. You sat him on your bed after helping him to get rid of almost all of his clothes, you let his finger tips travel your body as he watched you undress yourself and seemingly make a whole show out of it. You had every urge to enjoy yourself just as much with him, but that would be for a different time, maybe even a different girl, you made peace with it, after all, this wasn't about you, it was for him.

He very visibly swallowed a groan when you stranded him, you kissed him more passionately this time, attempting to spark a bit more initiative, you confirmed it worked when you felt a little more strength when grabbing your hips, fingers tempted to go down further.

You let out a moan when feeling him completely hard, both your arousals grew bigger. He now confidently traced his lips down your neck, he looked up at you lightly biting the top of one of your breasts, after verifying you liked it, he repeated his action on the other side of your chest. You braided your hands into his hair soon after he began to kiss and suck your nipples.

He saw you after a little while, swollen lips, a thin thread of spit hanging from both places, you cleaned it with your thumb, and then bent down to join your faces.

"Are you ready?" You mumbled.

"Yes,"

With his help you removed his last piece of clothing. Now, if it were any other guy you would effortlessly reach for a condom in your nightstand, however, you decided to be bold and choose not to.

"I'm on the pill, so, don't worry about anything, okay?"

"Okay," he let out lovingly.

You stroke him a few times before beginning, and smoothly sat down, you gasped, he moaned. 'It's always the shy ones' you thought. Although by this point completely consumed by pleasure, he still managed to have his eyes filled with awe for you.

He recovered his strength after a couple seconds, you jumped a second time patiently, he couldn't help but hide his embarrassment in the crook of your neck, your hands reached for his biceps as support.

"Go faster, please," he muttered at the edge of your ear.

You granted his plead, making your actions less paused between one another, you couldn't overwhelm him. You accidentally let yourself fall harder, failing to shut an almost pornographic moan out of you, he just felt too fucking good.

"Oh my god," you couldn't hold the sounds any longer.

He cursed under his breath and began to repeat your name like a prayer. He was close, you could hear his voice weakening by the second, you proceeded to whine his name on his lips to send him over the edge, not long after, he came undone moaning yours.

#peter parker smut #peter paker fluff #mcu! peter parker imagine #mcu! peter parker fluff #mcu! peter parker smut #mcu! peter parker x reader #mcu!spiderman x reader #mcu!peter x reader #mcu!peter parker

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cuddlepilefics · 1 year ago

Text

SKZ Season Greetings - 3

First Snow

Considering how contagious this cold seemed to be if it could take out so many people in such a short time, Chan made sure the members all wore masks when they returned to check on their sick friends. He doubted the masks would actually keep them from falling ill but it was worth a try despite the congestion already having settled at the back of his sinuses. Minho too had been clearing his throat a lot during the last hour of their adjusted schedule, so Chan didn't have much hope for the group to stay healthy. There was simply no way their immune systems were in any shape to fight off infections with how overworked and rundown they all were. "I really hope Innie finally managed to get some sleep", Minho mumbled, running a hand through his hair. He had been the one to stay up with Jeongin for most of the previous night but no matter how tired he was, the image of their maknae crying because he just wanted to sleep but felt too awful to kept haunting him. Giving the dancer a reassuring smile, Chan hummed: "I'm sure him and Changbin are resting well. Don't worry too much." It was hard not to worry though and Chan wasn't as sure as he wanted the dancer to believe, yet there was nothing they could do but wait till they got home.

Making sure his mask was properly covering the lower half of his face, Minho unlocked the door to his dorm and let the members in. They had contemplated to split up the dorms differently to avoid contagion but the only two members who hadn't been overly exposed yet were Hyunjin and Felix, so they decided to just cross their fingers and hope for the best. At least, some of the stress eased when they found both Changbin and Jeongin asleep on the couch, so they took turns showering. Hyunjin and Jisung went back to their dorm to shower and promised they'd take a trip to the store to stock up on sick supplies in case their friends' cold would spread. Jisung had been incredibly quiet all day, which Chan wasn't too concerned about. Frequently having their schedule overthrown and rearranged at the last minute put all of them on edge, so it was no wonder that the rapper had started to withdraw. Minho had gone straight to the kitchen, smiling when he realized there was soup on the stove. He hoped their friends had actually eaten something but he doubted it since the pot was almost filled to the brim.

When Chan joined Minho in the kitchen, he found the dancer staring intently at a spot on the wall, clearing his throat. Minho was tightly gripping a glass of water as he tried to rid himself of the irritation in his throat. "You good?", Chan asked softly after Minho sipped some of the water. The dancer nodded, his voice slightly scratchy when he replied: "Yeah, dunno why my throat's so dry all of a sudden." – "Well, you spent a lot of time with Innie last night. Wouldn't be surprised if you were coming down with the same thing", Chan hummed, giving the other a long look to determine if he looked unwell at all. Shrugging, Minho reminded: "So did Seungmin in the late afternoon and you and Jisung spent a lot of time with Changbin. Are you feeling alright?" – "Honestly?", the leader whispered, avoiding his dongsaeng's eyes, "I don't know. My head and sinuses hurt and I feel pretty rundown. The latter could just be our busy schedules but.... It might all just be me imagining things because I know how likely it is that we caught it, so unless I start running a fever I will convince myself it's all just in my head." – "I get what you mean", Minho sighed, finishing the rest of his water, "Guess all of us will have to take it easy for the time being and try not to freak out too much."

To keep himself from freaking out and reading into the sensations within his body too much, Minho busied himself with making dinner. Cooking was a little like therapy to him and now that he had some time on his hands, it was easy to lose himself in the task. A hearty meal would surely cheer his anxious dongsaengs up, besides, their bodies could all use the nutrients to hopefully stay healthy. Felix had joined him at some point after taking a shower, not wanting to stay alone and grateful that his hyung allowed him to help. Seungmin had showered too at this point and was in his room, while Chan had set up his laptop at the dining table to get some more work done. Minho's head shot up when he heard a door being shut with more force than would've been necessary. Glancing towards the living room, he saw Jeongin alone and luckily still asleep. No sooner than the bathroom door was shut behind him, Changbin broke into a painful cough. Yeah, no wonder the maknae's ribs felt sore if he's been coughing like this all night.

"I'll go check on him", Chan sighed worriedly, fetching the rapper a glass of water before making his way to the bathroom. The leader's heart ached when he saw the tears in his friend's eyes. Setting down the glass on the sink, Chan patted Changbin's back and hummed: "That doesn't sound good." – "Innie's worse", the younger choked out, wiping his eyes as he tried to catch his breath. He gratefully accepted a drink and after clearing his throat a few times, he was able to stop coughing. "How have you been? Did you read my text?", Chan asked quietly as he took a seat on the edge of the tub. Washing his hands, Changbin splashed some cold water on his fever-flushed face before taking a seat on the closed toilet lid. Holding his head in his hands, the rapper admitted: "Didn't know you texted me. Slept for most of the day after we turned on a movie. The coughing only really started now and I finally get what Innie meant when he told me his ribs ached. Gosh, that was exhausting."

After Chan had updated Changbin on their situation, he walked the rapper back to the living room, smiling when Jeongin woke up for a moment and reached out his arms. Slipping under the blanket, Changbin pulled the maknae into a hug and looked at Chan expectantly when the oldest felt their dongsaeng's forehead. Chan's grimace was enough for Changbin to know that Jeongin was still incredibly feverish and the blankets probably weren't helping with that but he had been so cold earlier.

Felix and Seungmin had already started to lay the table, while Minho finished up preparing dinner, glancing at the clock. A smile spread on his lips when the front door opened and Hyunjin and Jisung shuffled into the dorm. Kicking off their shoes, they shook the snow out of their hair before setting their shopping bags down. "Woah, it's snowing?!", Felix gasped, dashing over to the window to take a look outside. Blowing into his frozen hands to warm them up, Jisung smiled: "Yeah, it just started while we were on our way back. Got cold quickly after the sun went down." – "Go wash your hands, so we can get a hot meal into you", Minho instructed as he saw his dongsaengs shiver, "We can unpack those bags later."

Jeongin had woken up from the commotion and sleepily sat up, rubbing his face into the blanket. "Hey there", Changbin whispered, tightening his arms around the maknae, "You feeling a little better after your nap?" The younger only shrugged, looking around the dorm and realizing their friends were back. While Minho went to check on Jeongin, Chan and Seungmin plated the food and already started to serve it. That was also when Chan realized that they wouldn't have had to put on masks because they'd have to remove them for their meal anyway. Suppressing a sigh, Chan accepted that there wasn't much they could do and that he'd only be able to deny the increasing headache for so long.

Though Changbin and Jeongin loved Minho's cooking, they decided to have some of the soup Changbin had made earlier as their throats felt too swollen to swallow anything solid. At that point, Jisung softly spoke up, awkwardly requesting: "Could I have some of that soup too?" – "Are you okay, Hannie?", Minho frowned worriedly as the younger stared down at his hands. Not daring to look up, the rapper nodded and whispered: "My throat's just been a little irritated all day and I'm not really hungry anyway, so...." – "Hang on", Chan frowned as he got up to grab the other a bowl, "Is that why you've been so quiet today?" – "Yeah, talking hurts a bit, so I tried to keep it down", Jisung mumbled, picking at his nails. Placing a bowl of soup in front of the rapper, Chan smiled sadly: "You could've told us you weren't feeling well, you know." – "I thought my mind was making it up and it wasn't too bad", the younger breathed, "It only really started to hurt when I breathed the cold air on our way back." Gently, ruffling Jisung's hair, Chan went back to his seat and instructed. "Go to bed early, yeah? It'll be a quiet evening anyway, so try resting before you start feeling worse."

Changbin had taken Jisung along to watch a movie with him and Jeongin after they had confirmed that he was running a fever too. When the others had cleared the table, Minho caught Chan swallowing a pill and raised his eyebrow at the leader. "The headache's only getting worse", the oldest admitted, finishing the rest of his drink. Biting his lip, Minho hummed: "You said unless you develop a fever you'll convince yourself it's nothing. I think now would be a good time to take your temperature because I don't like that glassy look in your eyes. Honestly, I wouldn't be surprised if you caught it too. You don't look good." He didn't want to remind the Aussie that he probably had the worst immune system out of all of them from how much he often overworked himself and he didn't have to. Closing his eyes, Chan rested his forehead against the kitchen cabinet and sighed: "I guess. What about you? Your voice sounds hoarse." – "Throat's a little irritated but that's about it for now", Minho shrugged, giving his only hyung a crooked smile, "Go take your temperature and get some rest. We'll be fine. Even if all of us catch it, which is not all that unlikely, we'll be fine. Don't think too much." The older nodded before composing himself to go and take his temperature.

As Chan stared at the reading on the thermometer, there was no denying it any longer. Hyunjin and Felix were unloading the shopping bags onto the dining table when the leader returned, a frown etched on his face. "What's wrong, hyung? You look frustrated", Hyunjin asked with a small pout. Biting his lip, Chan sighed. "I am frustrated. Frustrated because I'm sick." – "Aww, no", Felix hummed sympathetically, "Maybe you wanna go join the rest of our sickies. I think they're about to start a movie and you usually like Disney movies." The leader visibly perked up at that and padded over to the living room. Having overheard their conversation, Jisung already poured his hyung a cup of tea and patted the spot next to him, ready to share his blanket with the older.

Hyunjin just finished up restocking the medicine cabinet in the bathroom when Seungmin joined him, a bundle of laundry under his arm. He had gathered Jeongin's sweaty bedsheets and started a wash load while Minho put fresh sheets on Jeongin's bed. The dancer also used the opportunity to slip into his own room and change his clothes. He had started to feel a little cold, especially after watching half of the group cuddle up together under multiple blankets. Glancing out the window and watching the tiny snowflakes drift to the ground, Minho decided it was time to wear his Christmas sweater. Despite their circumstances, he smiled a little as he made his way back to the common area.

Hyunjin and Felix had put everything away and were discussing Christmas decorations when Minho joined them in the kitchen. Stirring a large pot of hot chocolate, Felix turned to the older and asked: "If we'll all be out off work, which doesn't seem so unlikely with how many are sick already, do you think we could decorate the dorm this year, hyung? We've been too busy last year but I'd love the holiday aesthetic. If it bothers anyone, I can limit decorations to only my room but I think it'd be a lot more fun if we did the whole dorm." – "I don't mind if you want to decorate the rest of the dorm too", Minho shrugged pulling up a chair, so he could sit down while he watched his dongsaengs. "Neither do I", Seungmin piped in, returning from the bathroom, "And I highly doubt Innie does. If he wasn't feeling so bad, he'd probably insist on helping you decorate." – "Maybe wait till tomorrow though", Minho hummed and pulled his legs up to his chest, his voice a little scratchy, "I think Jisung's already asleep and it won't take long till Chan's out too, so we should let them sleep and I think decorating is more fun if you listen to the right music." Felix could only agree, thinking back to the Christmas playlist he had compiled over the past few weeks.

With Hyunjin's help, the Aussie started to transfer the hot chocolate into cups. Hyunjin walked off to bring Chan, Changbin and Jeongin theirs so their leader wouldn't miss out due to being asleep like Jisung. Minho gratefully wrapped his hands around the warm cup when Felix handed it to him, the warmth making him sleepy in his seat. He really wanted to join his friends for some cuddles and he doubted he had anything to lose because he already felt like he was coming down with something but as long as he wasn't confirmed sick, he should be a good role model and not 'risk it' on purpose. Thanking Felix for the drink, Minho retreated to his room to huddle under his blanket, ready to go to sleep as soon as his cup was empty. Seungmin too headed to his own room and settled into bed early, telling his friends goodnight. Realizing that almost everyone was asleep or seconds away from falling asleep, Felix pulled Hyunjin along to his room and th pair got comfortable on the Aussie's bed. While they sipped their hot chocolate, they discussed how they'd decorate the dorm in the morning before dozing off in each other's embrace.

#fanfic #fluff #comfort #fanfiction #sickfic #stray kids #sick #skz #snz

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krikeymate · 2 years ago

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Hey, I just want to tell you that you're an incredibly talented author, and all of your posts make me happy and excited.

I also have a request (I love angst, sry not sry) and the Carpenter sisters are kind of my new obsession rn (thanks to you lol)

Could you please write a scenario in which Sam comes back from school (she doesn't know about Billy yet) and witnesses Christina's violent outburst towards Tara?

She can't believe it at first because her mother always treated Sam like a princess (we all know why), and Tara is known to be a "clumsy" kid. So, basically, her little sister lied to her about where the bruises come from, but WHY?! I can't answer my own question, and it's frustrating.

I imagine a larger age gap between the two sisters. Sam knows that her mother doesn't love Tara as much as she adores Sam, but the physical abuse always happens when she isn't around.

Thank you so much for your time and effort!

(I'm sorry if I made a mistake, English isn't my first language)

Thank you so much!! I'm glad to hear you like my stuff :) and your English is great!

This will fit pretty well in my five years late AU! The age gap is 10 years, Christina loves Sam and treats her well (although Sam began pulling away once she discovered her father isn't her father - although she never learnt who was). Christina becomes pretty absent when Sam is 15 and their father leaves, but she's never been violent (to Sam's knowledge), or particularly mean to Tara... she just... doesn't care about her so much. She does the bare minimum, and Sam picks up the slack.

It's October, Sam's 18 and in her senior year, and usually she would be at basketball practice right now, except coach started throwing up 10 minutes into practice and sent everyone home. Sam's pretty irritated, all things considered. They didn't need coach there to train, and boy did they need to train. It seems like nobody practised over the summer, and Sam doesn't want to end her final year with as many losses as last year.

But hey, at least she'll get to spend an extra couple of hours with Tara today! Her sister's been upset lately about all the extra time Sam spends at practice now. It was the same last year, she seems to recall. But she got used to it before, and Sam knows she'll get used to it again.

Mom even bought Tara a soccer ball to kick around the garden, she said that her sister was probably just jealous that Sam's good at a sport. Sam can't say she's ever seen her sister touch it once, but mom says she uses it all the time when Sam's at practice, pointing to Tara's bruised legs and scuffed hands and knees. Then she complains that Tara's been kicking the ball against the kitchen wall, and tells Sam to remind her sister to behave herself.

So, Sam's not expected when she arrives home at 3.45 instead of 6pm. She sneaks around the back, hoping to catch her sister practising soccer - an activity Tara refuses to discuss with her but her mother assures her is happening - but finds only an empty backyard... and it sounds like her mother is yelling in the kitchen. It's pretty alarming to hear, mom rarely raises her voice, and it has Sam scrambling over the fence to pull open the backdoor.

It takes a moment for her to realise what she's seeing.

Tara's on the floor, crying, and crawling backwards, away from their mother. Her cheek is bright red, the indentation of fingers spread across it, complete with several scratches. And her mother is screaming at her. She's in the middle of "I'VE HAD ENOUGH OF YOUR PATHETIC C-" when Sam runs forward and involves herself in the scene.

"What are you doing?!" she cries, standing between Tara and their mother, hands held out as if to push her mother away.

The way her face goes from angry to calm in an instant unsettles Sam. It feels a lot like watching the theatre kids practise at lunch, the way they could go from happy to sad to angry at a click of the finger.

"Honey," she coos, putting a hand on Sam's shoulder. "You're home early?"

"Practise was cancelled," Sam answers warily. Her mother's avoiding the question. "What are you doing?" she repeats, looking over her shoulder to her sister. Tara's rubbing at her face now, breathing heavily through her hiccups to try and control her breathing. Sam frowns, she's going to need her inhaler.

"She was kicking the ball against the wall again," her mother lets out through gritted teeth. Sam can see fragments of frustration leaking through her mask. She knows there was no answer her mother could give that would make this ok, but she had still hoped for better than this. Something reasonable. Something that makes sense.

"So you hit her? Are you kidding me, what the fuck mom," she growls, shaking off her hand and turning to her sister. Sam picks Tara up off the floor, holding her to her chest, and stares down her mother as Tara burrows her face into Sam's hoodie.

"You have no idea what it's like, Samantha," her mother finally responds. "Trying to raise that girl. She's not like you, she's trouble."

Her mother's words floor her. Sam can't believe what she's hearing. She can't believe this is her mother saying these things, doing these things. Sam exits the room backwards, her head shaking the entire time.

Even once they're sequestered away in Sam's room, Tara won't talk to her, won't tell her what happened. She just stays curled into Sam's side, sniffling. Sam has the nagging feeling that her mother wasn't telling the truth. The football's always in the same place every time she sees it, today was no exception. And if that was a lie, then... where did the bruises come from?

Sam has to choke back the nausea. Her sister needs her right now.

She quits basketball the next day.

#/mp #ask box #Scream #Sam Carpenter #Tara Carpenter #AU: five years late #Sam plays basketball was not the next fandom consensus I was expecting to crop up and yet here we are #trigger warning #-> child abuse

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thewritingsandwich · 11 months ago

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The Chiming Lady - Part 2

A Lockwood & Co. Fan Fiction

Other Parts: 1 2 3 4 5

Summary: The agents of Lockwood & Co. are invited to the Halloween-Party of a former client.

A/N: I originally wrote this for @ savelockwoodnco on instagram's filler episode theme. But I'm a month too late... anyways this takes place after 'The Empty Grave' but there are no major spoilers for it. Originally I wrote it in german, but I translated it for the internet with the help of DeepL.

Tag List: @ahead-fullofdreams

Warnings: Mentions of injuries, brief mentions of su***de and mu**er

I'm not quite sure what to think about the fact that I can only really celebrate Halloween this year. In the past, the last day of October was just that - an ordinary day. For many years, October was the start of a stressful time, as the early darkness meant that even more ghosts appeared and caused trouble.

I can still vividly remember a Halloween night when I was still working at Jacobs. Together with my friends, we watched old scary films and ate so much sweets that our bellies would burst. I spent all the other nights of 31 October either at home or in a haunted house. After all, parties and good humour seemed to be reserved for the rich who could afford a good security system and didn't have to chase ghosts at night.

It was the first time I'd ever been in a costume - or at least I couldn't remember any other time. I was wearing brown trousers and had wrapped a top over them with different fabrics. Over the wrapped top I wore a loose-fitting corset made of fake leather. On my back I wore a quiver with fake arrows and I had made a real belt with Holly with lots of storage space. I had painted on fake freckles with a little make-up and braided my hair into a braid. My ears looked pointed thanks to plastic prosthetics. I wasn't really happy yet, but I guess I could only disguise myself as far as my resources would take me - I still looked too much like Lucy Carlyle and not like Eobyn Truewood Heroine of Thalore.

I smoothed out wrinkles in my costume as the stairs to my attic began to creak. I turned to the opening in the floor and saw Lockwood climbing the stairs in his costume.

"Hello, I was wondering if you could paint my face red? George was actually going to do it, but he's locked himself in his room." He was holding a make-up sponge and red face paint in his hand. On his head he wore a headband with little devil horns.

"Sure, but can't you do it yourself?"

"I've already tried that. It looked terrible." He laughed briefly.

So I gestured for him to sit on my bed (the only acceptable seating up here). I sat down next to him and turned to face him.

The colour was really pigmented, but I left a few streaks that I had to painstakingly touch up with the sponge. In the meantime, I was just as red as Lockwood - if not more. I was just getting incredibly warm in this room, in my costume - next to Lockwood.

But we were finished. There were still spots here and there that someone with more knowledge of make-up could perhaps have improved, but Lockwood was happy, so I was too.

We waited together in the kitchen over a cup of tea for Holly and George.

Holly's outfit was truly stunning. She wore a long, loose pastel green dress and fake pointy ears too. Her make-up matched the pastel colour palette she had chosen for her character. Her dark skin made the colours particularly vibrant.

Just before the driver arrived, George finally made an appearance. And his costume was many things.

He had painted his skin chalky white and dyed his hair black. In his mouth, from which (hopefully) fake blood was running, pointed fangs were visible and behind his glasses he had red eyes. His costume resembled the suit of a Victorian gentleman with a long cape and a few pieces of armour.

The three of us knew that George was no ordinary vampire. He was Lord Glethin, a nefarious vampire who had taken control of a country and was now spreading fear and terror with the undead. He was the main villain of our campaign and had spanked us mightily a few times already.

Holly broke the silence that prevailed shortly after his arrival with a round of applause, which I joined in with, as did Lockwood. He looked impressive.

A car horn signalled us to leave and we ran to the front door. I had stowed all my essentials in my belt bag, while Holly carried a fashionable handbag and Lockwood slung a rucksack on his back - I didn't really want to know what he was up to.

Just as we were out of the amazement again, the next surprise greeted us outside our door. In the faint light of dusk and the greenish glow of the ghost lamps, an Austin Healey saloon was parked outside 35 Portland Row. And no, I don't know anything about cars, I just understood George's mumbling.

The driver, an old man with white sideburns, greeted us and opened the door to our seats. Even then I was sure that this was going to be a night to remember.

#original work #lockwood and co #locknation #locknationfillerepisode #anthony lockwood #george karim #lucy carlyle #holly munro #jonathan stroud #l&co #l&co. netflix #locklyle #lucy x lockwood #lockwood & co. fan fiction

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tohisprettyc00l · 11 months ago

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Heyy! Can you do a Hunter x Sabrina Spellman!reader but shes from the human realm & an incredibly powerful witch like shes super skilled in witchcraft, dark magic and etc.. & just really smart how he met her was bcz of Luz & she introduced the reader to the gang and she immediately knew that they weren't human so yea 😭 feel free to input any other ideas of you have in mind & take ur your time!~

A/n:I've never seen whatever show Sabrina is from and I couldn't find any clips so that part might be off sorry if so. Also I forgot about the x hunter until was too late I'm sorry.

You had been friends with Luz as long as you could remember. Her "odd" (as others would say) demeanor pulled you in. But one day she disappeared for months.

A weird defiantly not human version of her took her place. Everyone believed it to be her but you could tell it wasn't. Spending one summer at camp doesn't change you that much. And there was something else that you couldn't place your finger on but she definitely wasn't human.

But then Luz (the real Luz) returned. She was noticeably sadder but didn't want to talk, which you could respect. After a week of being back, she invites you to her house again. You realize that you've never been to her house before. So you agreed, it would be cool to see what her house looks like.

When you did come you discovered 6 other people. Her mom, which made sense, but there were five other children. Despite their looks, they weren't human. You could sense the magic in them. But you didn't want to mention it. They might not want you knowing or maybe Luz and her mom didn't know. Or worse, they were actually humans.

Lunch was nice. But you were having a hard time not mentioning it. But you can't think of one scenario were mentioning it ends well. Luz took notice of your strange behavior and pulled you aside to her room.

"Hey buddy ya doing okay?" She asked. If anyone would be okay with living with non-humans and not take offense to the notation they weren't human it would be Luz.

"Okay, so l don't take this the wrong way. But your friends are they... human?" God, you hope you are right. Because that would be a weird question to ask if you weren't. A look of shock spread across Luz's features.

Okay, so right direction! Probably.

"It's fine if they aren't!" You said quickly. "I just have really really strong feeling that won't go away." You waved your hands around frantically. "Promise not to tell anyone?" Luz said. "Pinky.

She inhaled deeply. "Okay, so they are all witches and they needed a place to stay beside Vee who is a shapeshifter and took my place for a bit but basically my sister now." her voice thinned out at the end before she took a deep breath. "So that's why you were acting so weird."

Once you explained what you meant by that and grabbed a notebook and pencil you went back to the kitchen. After the initial wave, a shock from them wore off they all seemed surprisingly ready to answer your questions. Mainly Gus who seemed just as instred in human culture.

You think you've made five new friends for life.

A/n: Ahh it's done! I lost motivation because I accidentally deleted it, I'm not too proud of it tho :<. Hope it's okay still

#toh x reader #the owl house x reader

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itwasntimethatdidit40 · 6 months ago

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A perfect day.

Pairing/AU: Javier Gutierrez - The Unbearable Weight of Massive Talent X Gabriela (shortened in Gabi by me lol) - The Unbearable Weight of Massive Talent

Warnings: + 18, One shot, Fluff / Smut, established relationship, unprotected sex (wrap it up IRL, please), fingering, masturbation (m and f receiving), a bit of breast sucking, sex on the beach (lol), description of female and male bodies, a lot of kissing, two idiots in love, Corona white cardigan making an appearance, het relationship, Javi is the cutest ever and Gabi is incredibly hungry for him.

Summary: Javi and Gabi, happily in love, spending time together on the beach. It’s basically this LOL

Notes: English is not my first language, so I apologize immensely for any mistake. I wrote it furiously on my phone this morning in a couple of hours and I really hope it's not terrible. Let me know if I should add anything in warnings/tags.

Thanks to anyone who will read, it's the first time I've posted here and unfortunately I still don't know how to use this app, how to insert gifs, give actual credits to the person who made it and make everything cuter. I’m sorry. Anyway, I really hope you like it.

Archive tags: @pedrostories ♥️

Javi woke up that morning thinking that Gabriela deserved a special day. He couldn't believe how lucky he was to have her around and seeing how hard she worked, forgetting about herself most of the time, made him sad.

Even though he always tried to make her understand how much he loved her and how happy he was, he thought she deserved much more.

He woke up next to her, she was sleeping on her stomach with her cheek resting on her pillow.

He thought she was gorgeous, breathtaking.

Her long raven hair spread across her pillow like color on the canvas of an abstract painting, so perfect that it seemed like a divine drawing.

He refrained from the desire to caress them so as not to wake her, even though his hands tingled to feel how silky and soft they were.

She had such a serene expression, her almond-shaped eyes closed placidly, surrounded by long eyelashes, her delicious little nose, those plump and sweet lips that he loved to kiss... everything about her seemed perfect and wonderful to him.

He remained still for a few minutes just to contemplate that perfect image, to hear her regular breathing.

She was the best thing that had ever happened in his life.

It had been so painful for him to have her by his side for so long without having the courage to tell her how much he loved her and now that he had finally confessed his feelings he was the happiest man on earth.

After having achieved some success with his first film he had obtained several offers from film companies and Gabriela was helping him to evaluate them by practically acting as his manager.

He wouldn't have known what to do without her, it was truly a constant security and comfort to have her by his side.

Gabriela made him feel stronger, more alive, made him want to be a better man to deserve her love.

He got up to make coffee, walking silently down the long corridor that led to the kitchen. He turned on the coffee machine and took the bread out of the cupboard.

He wanted to make her her favorite breakfast and bring it to her in bed. He didn't have great cooking skills but he made sure to learn how to cook French toast to perfection, just for her.

He took the butter from the fridge and put a small piece to melt in a pan while he beat eggs with milk in a baking dish. He hummed happily in a low voice as the smell of butter wafted through the kitchen.

He added a pinch of cinnamon to egg and milk mixture and dipped the slices of bread in it, which he then toasted in the pan with butter. He carefully washed some blueberries and raspberries, nibbling on some. Once ready, he placed the French Toast on a nice plate and decorated them with berries and maple syrup, just the way she liked it.

He poured some coffee into two cups and took a long sip, before placing the plate and cups on a tray. He took the tray into the room and saw that she had woken up and was sitting on the bed, stretching. As soon as she saw him appear at the edge of the door, her beautiful dark eyes widened and an expression of surprise lit up on her face.

“Javi, what did you do?”

“I made breakfast,” he replied, full of pride at seeing her smile.

He loved seeing her smile, she was so sweet and beautiful that his heart was still beating as wildly in his chest as it did the first time he saw her.

He sat on the bed next to her, placing the tray on her lap.

"My favorites!" she exclaimed, looking at him languidly and then whispering softly “come here”.

He approached her cautiously so as not to ruin the culinary work he had just created and she kissed him delicately on his lips. "Thank you, love".

“You deserve this and more,” he replied before leaning in again to steal another kiss.

“I thought we could rest and enjoy a sunny day at the beach today, what do you think?”

“I think that's a great idea,” she smiled again, before taking a bite of French toast.

“Oh my God, this is exceptional. You have to try it” she took another bite under the watchful gaze of Javi who didn't intend to miss a single second of her pleased expressions.

He took a slice of bread too and ate silently smiling at her. It was indeed good and he was happy.

Once breakfast was finished, he took everything into the kitchen and packed a bag with beach towels, sunscreen and a couple of books they were reading.

He had every intention of not making her lift a finger so he insisted that she go and get ready calmly while he would take care of everything else.

He headed to the their room to take his clothes and heard the unmistakable sound of running water from the shower.

She was singing out loud a romantic song.

He smiled and headed to the other bathroom to get dressed.

Took a short shower and then returned to the kitchen to prepare something for lunch.

He saw her appear shortly after in the kitchen doorway.

She was wearing a black bikini that he had given her a short time before and over it a light linen cover-up closed by a belt. His gaze lingered on her long, slender legs and on her breasts embraced by the top piece of her costume.

“God, you're so beautiful,” he said, reaching out to her to wrap his arm around her waist and pull her towards him.

She giggled with satisfaction, buried her face in the crook of his neck and placed a kiss on the soft skin just below his ear.

“I can’t wait to spend the day together” she whispered, words vibrating on his skin giving him shivers down his spine.

Javi pulled away from her to grab the bag and the small cooler he had packed with some beers and sandwiches.

Once outside they stopped in the garage to retrieve an umbrella. Javi had to resign himself to giving the bag with the towels to Gabriela to take the umbrella, but not without trying to carry everything before. Gabriela laughed amused by his efforts "I don't think it's necessary for you to load yourself like a mule for me, please Javi, I can carry a bag"

Once they arrived at the beach Javi stuck the umbrella in the sand, spread out the large towel and made Gabi sit in the shade while she looked at him half amused and reluctant.

She was really touched by the fact that he tried so hard for her but at the same time she wanted him to enjoy his well-deserved rest too. He had spent the last few nights reading the scripts that had been proposed to him, taking notes and underlining what he thought needed changing to make them more similar to him and he had certainly lost many hours of sleep concentrated as he was on doing his best to get a second great movie.

She was proud of him and how he had distanced himself from his cousin, proving that he was an infinitely better person than him. Javi was an honest, loving, creative man who treated her like a queen and he made her feel loved and valued every day.

“Javi, please, relax”

“I'm done, now I'll sit next to you” he said, as he placed the small fridge in the shade.

The beach was of very fine white sand, warm under the sun's rays, in the distance some people were walking their dogs or running on the seashore. Everything was calm and quiet, they could only hear the sound of the waves crashing on the shoreline and a few seagulls. The chirping of cicadas was a soft background sound coming from the pine forest behind them.

Gabi took off her swimsuit cover-up, folding it carefully and placing it in her bag.

Javi couldn't help but notice the way the swimsuit slid over the curve of her ass, covering just enough and showing off her gorgeous thighs.

She noticed how he was staring at her and smiled mischievously "what are you looking at?"

“The most beautiful butt I've ever seen” he admitted candidly

“Javi!” she leaned towards him to slap him on the shoulder, feigned offended but actually flattered.

"It’s true!”

Gabi giggled, sitting next to him and kissing that dimple on his cheek that she loved so much.

She pulled a lock of golden curls back from his forehead and she looked into his eyes softly.

“I'm happy that you wore the cardigan I gave you, but I'd like you to take it off now”

It was a white, cotton, crocheted cardigan. She had seen it in a shop and immediately thought it was perfect for him.

When she brought it home he was dubious about it but as soon as he put it on Gabi saw exactly what she had imagined. The cardigan hugged his shoulders, emphasizing his muscles, accentuating his neck and the breadth of his chest. It opened up to a V leaving a generous portion of his pecs exposed and the white created a perfect contrast with his lightly tanned skin. That day she let out a little moan looking at him “oh, it's gorgeous. Javi you are stunning.”

He usually wore it with a t-shirt but this morning he had nothing on underneath and Gabi was absolutely pleased.

She wanted more and her hands went down to undo the few buttons that Javi had buttoned.

She didn't stop looking at his beautiful brown eyes, she loved the way they shone for her, sending back a feeling of dedication and love like she had never felt before. Javi's gaze didn't have a shred of lie in it, she could read him like an open book and for that she was incredibly grateful.

Javi took off the cardigan in one gesture and threw it over the bag, enraptured by her gaze.

Gabi ran a hand over his chest, slowly moving down to his slightly soft tummy, a strip of hair ended up hidden by the striped pants he was wearing.

She knew Javi was self conscious about his tummy but she found it incredibly sexy and always tried to remind him of that.

She didn't care at all that he didn't have abs, in fact she preferred it. His belly was welcoming, soft, the perfect place to rest her head as they read together on the couch, she liked to caress it and nibble it gently when she went down on him to take his cock between her lips.

Every aspect of him was attractive to her, she even tolerated his obsession with Nicolas Cage and his absurd memorabilia room. It was a small price to pay for having the best man she could ever ask for.

She placed another kiss on the empty spot of his beard, her lips opened into a smile on his skin and she whispered “thank you, for this. I needed it"

“Can you pass me some sunscreen, please?” She asked and Javi pulled a bottle out of the bag and immediately offered to help her onto her back.

He took a generous amount of cream and massaged it very carefully, her skin felt like silk under his hands and she smelled of vanilla.

He felt his cock react in his boxers but he limited himself to leave a trail of kisses on her shoulders, without going too far. They could have done other things in the evening, at home.

Gabi returned the favor, covering his back with sunscreen and her hands on his back felt absolutely amazing to Javi.

Sometimes he really felt like a little boy in love, but he didn't care, he was too happy to care how silly he actually seemed.

They sat next to each other for a while, Javi with his arm around Gabi's waist, as they enjoyed the warmth of the sun, the beautiful landscape and the peaceful atmosphere of the sea.

They both read for a while, Gabi lying with her head on his tummy the way she always loved to be.

Suddenly she stood up, determined to drag him into the water.

She took his hands and made him stand up “come on, let's go”.

He looked at her in amazement, as a smile spread across her face, while he was taking off his pants remaining with black shorts.

“It's hot, Javi, time to cool off a little.”

He laughed, running after her to catch her as she approached the sea waves.

The cool water lapped at her feet when Javi grabbed her by the waist laughing

"You're terrible" and she turned to wrap her arms around his neck

"You know that and you love me for this"

And Javi, looking at her splendid smile, thought that it was absolutely true.

Gabi released herself from his grip and immersed herself in the sea a little more.

The water reached her thighs, waves slammed against her skin and she couldn't stop laughing.

She splashed him with water as he got closer and closer

"come on, lazy boy, water is incredible"

Javi dove in head first disappearing for a moment in the waves and then coming back up next to her. She threw her arms around his neck again, feeling his wet skin against her, she kissed him, feeling the salty taste of sea water on his lips.

Javi immediately deepened the kiss, gently forcing her lips with the tip of his tongue, to meet hers.

They stood in the waves, holding each other, Gabi's warm body like melted butter under his hands.

He went down her back, caressing her, and then took her ass with both hands, squeezing it, while he didn't stop kissing her.

Her soft lips fit perfectly with his, a moan of pleasure escaped her and vibrated in his mouth, while Javi's hands slipped under her costume and squeezed her butt cheeks again.

She felt his erection press between them as their tongues danced.

She pulled away from him briefly, giggling breathlessly "I know we should calm down a bit but I don't think I can"

He looked at her nodding and smiling "Me neither. When it comes to you I always get carried away".

She laughed and went even further into the waves, until she was submerged up to her shoulders.

“Come here,” she told him, maliciously looking at him.

He approached her again, unsure of what she wanted to do but incredibly eager to find out.

When he hugged her, she passed her hand over his chest, underwater, going further and further down to the hem of his boxers.

She made room to enter, slowly, until he reached his now incredibly hard cock.

She took it in her hand, massaging it slowly, her eyes fixed on his, with a mischievous smile that drove him crazy.

She knew exactly how to turn him on and had every intention of doing it right there, in that moment.

Fortunately, the few people on the beach were now dots in the distance and would never have noticed what they were doing but the vague awareness of being discovered was nothing more than fuel on fire for Javi.

Gabriela didn't stop stroking him, increasing the pace, making him pant more and more.

Lulled by the sea waves, Javi felt like he was about to explode, completely dazed by the way she was touching him. His arm was securely around her waist as she wrapped her around his neck, anchored firmly in the sand so they wouldn't be swept away by the current.

He couldn't resist the urge to kiss her again, the salt on her lips mixing with her sweet and incredibly familiar taste that never ceased to enchant him.

He stifled his moans between her lips as Gabi continued to work on his cock, he was hard rock when he heard her whisper in his ear

“Javi, fuck me”

He looked at her in disbelief

“Are you sure?”

She nodded and replied “Yes. Come with me” she swam to the right, distancing herself further from prying eyes and returned to shore after a while, followed by Javi. In front of them there was a small hidden cove that Javi had never noticed. “How did you find this place? It's wonderful”

“I noticed it last week when I went swimming early in the morning”

It was totally surrounded by rocks and looked like a private secret room just for them.

She leaned back against a rock and pulled him towards her, kissing him and continuing to stroke his cock.

She smiled smugly feeling it still hard and turgid between her fingers.

“You, sassy little thing,” he smirked “God, you absolutely are the most incredible woman I’ve ever met”

“Fuck me, Javi, please” she whispered again.

His hand went down into her swimsuit, touching her lips, he ran a finger along her opening feeling her relaxed and ready to welcome him.

Gabi always felt safe with him, she knew that she could trust him and he would never do anything she didn't want and this absolute certainty of being able to let herself go freely was the greatest feeling she had ever experienced.

He stroked her more insistently, with circular movements on her clit, she was wetter than ever even though she had just come out of the water.

She felt it in the way she was welcoming his fingers as they slipped inside her, without any effort or resistance.

She wanted it.

She wanted it badly.

Javi inserted his index and middle fingers inside her, while his thumb continued to work on her clit.

He pumped in and out of her, slowly at first and then faster and faster, as she anchored herself even more firmly on his shoulders to maintain balance.

She began to pant, his gaze never left her face for a moment, it was as if his eyes were caressing her too.

With a gesture Gabi moved her bra, uncovering one of her nipple “please, suck it. Suck it while you fuck me, please”

Javi didn't have to be told again and went down to surround it with his lips, passing his tongue over it and then starting to suck it greedily. He loved Gabi's breasts, he always thought it was perfect in shape and size and he knew that her nipples were particularly sensitive and he also knew that she loved the feeling of his beard rubbing against her delicate skin. He felt it harden under his tongue while Gabi's moans became louder and closer together.

“I want y-your cock n-now” she babbled, blinded by desire.

He let out her bud and pulled his fingers out of her and took off his boxers tossing them onto the sand. He moved closer to her, taking her lower lip between his, sucking it lightly and nibbling it, Gabi let out a moan. He moved her swimsuit aside, took his cock in his hand and placed it against her slit.

He introduced just the tip, slowly, to let her get used to it, as he always did. Gabi, however, was so excited by him, by the situation, by the danger of being discovered that she felt she didn't need any preparation.

“Give it all to me, please, Javi, fuck me hard” she begged him, looking into his eyes.

He pushed himself deeper, supporting her with his arms to prevent her from hitting the rock. He didn't want to hurt her, rather he would have hurt his knuckles to cushion his thrusts.

He took the nipple back into his mouth and started sucking it again as if it were the last thing he did in his life, Gabi’s skin so soft and delicious that he would never stop tasting it.

He found that spot inside her that he knew would drive her crazy, hitting it more and more insistently.

Gabi closed her eyes, her body totally flooded with pleasure, while Javi didn't give up and was more than determined to make her see stars in broad daylight.

She hid her face in the crook of his neck when she could no longer hold back her moans, she felt the orgasm rise from the bottom of her tummy to invade her all, a sensation of heat that made her feel boiling even though she was almost naked and completely soaked in sea water.

It was the most overwhelming and satisfying orgasm he had ever given to her.

She looked at him in admiration as he smiled “Javi you are absolutely amazing”

She kissed him once more, as if she had to drink from his lips, as if only him knew how to quench her thirst.

They got dressed and swam back, coming up from the water Javi was struck by the thought that someone might have stolen their things but everything was still there. Javi took another towel from his bag to wrap it around her.

She sat down on the large towel spread out on the sand, feeling exhausted but completely satisfied.

Javi took a beer out of the small fridge and opened it to hand it to her. He knew exactly that she needed it.

“Thanks”

“Are you hungry, sweetheart?”

“No, not now, come here next to me”

Javi was a vision, small droplets of water sliding down his chest, wet hair pulled back, skin slightly tanned and covered in freckles. He sat down next to her and she rested her head on his shoulder.

“I love you” she whispered.

She was grateful, immensely grateful for her life with him.

“I love you too, baby”

#fanfic #pedro pascal #fluff #javi gutierrez #light smut #javi g fanfiction #tuwomt #inspiredbythatdamncardiganfromCoronacommercial #i just couldn't help myself #javi g smut #one shot

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mochi-myles · 1 year ago

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Lore for Maple and Honey

Starting off their story as regular turtles, the two were sold at an auction early on, where they fell into the hands of a young human boy called Koda. The boy, naming them Maple and Honey, wasted no time in taking the two on all sorts of adventures; from a late night heist into the kitchen for a snack to facing the rough waters of a bath, there was nothing the trio couldn't handle. Which was why when the kid started school, he wanted to take them along without hesitation. In their little minds, Honey and Maple didn't quite understand but he spoke so happily and looked so excited that the two turtles soon enough gained the same energy. Although told no by his parents at first, this did nothing to stop him, and a few weeks into school, Koda slipped the turtles into his backpack.

And it worked well during the first few days, the kid keeping the pair in his backpack for the most part, allowing them fresh air every so often and small interactions with his human friends. Honey and Maple were praised, pet, given snacks, and got to play more than ever during recess. Honey was especially proud of being the 'first turtle in space', whatever that was. It didn't take long for the word to spread that, "Lil Koda brought an odd looking turtle to school-!" And with that, they had even more attention, not all of it enjoyable. The turtles were tossed around like a football, kids poking their shell and getting in their face. The worst part was the pair wasn't allowed to return to Koda. In fact, they had at some point lost sight of the kid.

Finding themselves in the grasp of a different kid, fear slowly seeped in. Honey chirped in distress but Maple, seeing this as nothing different than their usual adventures, lashed out. He bit the kid's hand, hard, and latched on, even while the kid screamed and tried to free themself. Their shell was soon slammed into a wall, forcing Maple to let go- and mere moments later, the turtles were falling into a small pool of water; a toilet. They were flushed, being sent down into the sewers.

Being swept through the sewer waters, it wasn't long before they were found by a person named Marie Palmer. Although attempting to fight back, Maple didn't have much energy left to begin with and the two were brought back to her lab. It was some time after that- that Maple and Honey's true story began. With the use of a mutant lizard's DNA by the name of Blueberry, the two turtles were mutated. It's through this mutation that the two gain a sort of 'connection' to one another, able to not only communicate with each other without verbally speaking but seem to sense their emotions.

The two would stay with Blueberry and Marie until the day came that, somehow, they were saved and able to escape. They have faint memories of a person that, while not fully making sense, bring the feeling that they're looking for something- or someone? Regardless, Honey insists upon finding out more. Noting he can't stop her, Maple takes it upon himself to keep her safe and aid with his ideas, though part of him does also wish to discover just what it is they're missing.

Blueberry belongs to @trashyandtiredsol , Marie Palmer belongs to @mikebeanz . Check them and their OCs out because they're both brilliant and incredible!!

#tmnt foodie au #foodies siblings and friends au #maple and honey #tmnt

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delusional-messiah · 1 month ago

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My roommate’s self harming has been getting worse (final part)

When I opened the door I was surprisingly unsurprised at the sight inside. Everything was as it had been last time I had seen him except for one thing. The multitude of makeshift horns stuck up from his scalp, his skin hung around his bones like tattered cloth and his jaw stretched out from his face like some kind of wolf-dog. The only difference was that his mouth was filled with rows of various sharpened objects in place of his teeth. The thread that used to bind his lips not hung from his chin in saliva like strings, steadily dripping decaying black blood. Surrounding his was a littering of blood, skin, bone shards and teeth, all removed from his body to make way for the new modifications.

I backed out of the room slowly. I now knew that something was definitely not right. I listened out for words of encouragement from the voice but none came. Just a cruel, demonic laugh that resonated though my head.

Except it didn't.

It resonated around the room. The voice didn't come from my head at all. It came from his. His mouth gently opening and closing with each word. His broken lips didn't even move to form words, they just parted and closed to try and mimic the action of speaking. That was definitely not right so I ran. Not for the door this time but for the kitchen. I needed something to kill it. To kill him. Again.

I tore open the cupboards to grab a knife or a stick or anything I could use as a weapon but found nothing. Instead, as soon as I opened the first door, a mountain of rotting food fell onto me. It must have been weeks worth of delivered food that had somehow gone uneaten. I could do nothing but stand and stare at the mounds of mould that sat in front of me. As I gazed in silence, I drifted into a dream again. I didn't fall asleep though. It was as if I had simply begun dreaming while awake. The world seemed to shift around me and things materialised in my vision. The symbols I had seen before now glowed on the walls like blood under a blacklight. I looked down at my hands for the first time I could remember and I saw something incredible.

The bones of my knuckles poked through taught, yellow skin, threatening to burst through at any given moment. Cuts ran along the length of my fingers, exposing blackened flesh and whitened bone underneath. It was beautiful. It was a sight to behold. It wasn't me.

Somehow this dream state had provided my with the one thing I always wanted, a new form. Just as soon as it had started, however, the vision faded again and reality returned.

"Do you see?" The voice whispered gently, "Do you understand my world?"

For the first time I realised I could speak again.

"What do you mean 'your world'? I was dreaming wasn't I? Are you in my dreams?"

"No. Let me show you."

As if through some kind of magic, I noticed the mirror that I had covered over so long ago. The cloth was still draped over it but as I watched, it fell away to show me my reflection. I cowered in fear of what I might see and tried to hide my eyes behind my hands but, despite my best efforts, I saw.

What I saw, however, was not the twisted form that I expected but something much more dark and beautiful. Even in just the instant that I glimpsed myself through my closing eyelids I saw a form that I did not recognise but I knew was me. I slowly began to re-open my eyes and what met me was a glorious sight.

I stood as a Skinny, hunched figure. A myriad of horns protruded from my head, surrounded by a halo of wire. Fangs jutted upwards from my elongated jaw. Deep cuts spread across my body in flowing patterns. My legs now sported an extra joint between my knees and my ankles. My legs ended in cloven hooves and a single claw protruded backwards from each. I saw movement behind me and saw my roommate step out into the hallway. He opened his mouth and the voice spoke again.

"Your hands have given us form, now let mine give us power."

As he spoke, the dream state came over me again but this time, I didn't feel like I was dreaming. I was fully awake now. Fully awake and aware of my surroundings. In front of my eyes, maroon skin covered our bodies and the bones in our skulls became blackened and seemed to twist higher into the air, surrounded by their thorny crown. our eyes seemed to grow in our skulls and the carvings in our flesh glowed like the symbols that adorned the walls.

I could do nothing but weep. Black ichor flowed from my darkened eyes as I fell to my knees before my new reflection. For the first time, I didn't see a stranger, or a mockery, or something repulsive.

Now I saw myself.

#creepypasta #horror #short story #writing

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coffyao · 4 months ago

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imprint me chapter 3

link to my a03: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lalaloopsyland

Chapter 3: something brand old

"enjoy your weekend, okay? and try not to oversleep like you usually do."

12pm. If she was luckier, she would wake up 30 minutes earlier. She lifted herself out of bed, and turned on her shower, freezing cold, and exactly 1 minute. She came out, sat in front of her dresser mirror, did her makeup routine, eyeliner, eyeshadow, lipliner, and light lipstick.

she then threw on a purple tank-top, and loose joggers, and went to her living room, where it was carefully arranged with plants, the smaller ones lined up against her kitchen marble counter, and the others scattered around the room, with just a few across her ceiling and just above her sofa. After she made herself a cup of black coffee, she leaned on her counter, and started scrolling on her phone, looking at the messages she exchanged last night.

8:00pm

konantattoos

I don't. what would you like to talk about?

obito1115

a few things. but I don't know how to express it properly.

konantattoos

Your going to have to elaborate. is it personal?

obito1115

kind of. so what I'm actually trying to say is…

konantattoos

obito1115

I want you to get to know me.

obito1115

and then, once you do, I want you to decide what to put on my skin.

obito1115

placement, the size or even the price…that doesn't matter. I just want a tattoo that represents all of me.

obito1115

does that make sense? or am I asking for too much…

konantattoos

this isn't usually requested.

konantattoos

but it isn't impossible either.

konantattoos

instead of messaging here, it might be better to meet face-to-face.

konantattoos

what do you think?

obito1115

might be.

obito1115

are we meeting in the studio?

konantattoos

no. its closed until monday.

konantattoos

plus, its too formal. I think a casual setting would help you open up more.

konantattoos

I already have a location in mind. what time would suit you?

obito1115

don't mind. I'll do whatever time you want.

konantattoos

okay, we can do 1pm. is that fine?

obito1115

yh, thats great.

obito1115

just send me the location, and I'll make sure I'm there.

konantattoos

no problem.

She had yet to find out his true intentions. but she didn't to waste anymore time to figure out why. She drank the rest of her coffee, and took her leather jacket from her coat hanger, exiting her apartment.

she figured if they were both going to be comfortable, she chose a small, and independent café that she used to frequent to. the interior inside was very bohemian, with vine plants spread across the white walls, and a cluster of ferns sticking out from the ceiling. it was incredibly bright due to the scattered pendant lights, and large, arched windows that allowed the sunlight to peek through. Their menu not to mention, was inclusive and provided many allergy-free options.

She found a table with cushioned seats at the far-side of the café, and sat down, checking the time on her watch.

"twelve-thirty…"

she came earlier than intended, but it was better than being late, and she absolutely hated being late.

obito1115

just to let you know, I'm actually here already. hope you don't mind.

konantattoos

oh. are you now.

obito1115

yh. standing near the entrance.

konantatttoos

okay. im here as well.

konantattoo is typing…

konantattoos

just stood up. can you see me?

obito1115 is typing…

obito1115

yh. your wearing the leather jacket, right?

standing up, the man came towards her, but his disposition was different this time, seeming cheerier and his shoulders lighter from whatever stress that held him down yesterday. He even looked different as well, sporting casual wear and a black cap that covered the majority of his face.

"hey. thanks for meeting me," he said, and offered his hand, friendly and to perhaps show her his sincerity.

she shook his hand, and they sat back down, opposite from each other, her hands close to her own body.

"…do you want to order something first?" she asked, intent on making things as least awkward as possible.

"no, it's fine. I much rather have this conversation…"

that was something she much rather did as well, but when she started asking him questions about himself, it was akin to pulling teeth, slow and ridiculously painful.

"so, your name is obito?"

"that's right."

"…your profession?"

"I teach."

"do you have a favourite animal?"

"probably not."

…this is weird.

Even though this was meant to be light-hearted, it was too similar to a interviewer interrogating a tight-lipped interviewee. she wasn't any closer to finding enough about him.

"…sorry, am I being awkward?" he asked, accurately reading the room.

"no. you just seem a bit stiff," she answered honestly.

"so, you say you teach. what subject?"

if he teaches, it could be a starting point for a decent conversation.

"…English literature."

"…oh."

now, she was getting somewhere.

"is it a subject your passionate about? do you enjoy teaching it?"

next to arranging her flowers, she occasionally liked to read poetry herself, whenever she wanted to feel nostalgic again.

"in the beginning, I was, but after a few years, I started to grow tired of it…"

"is it okay if I ask why?" she prodded, eager to get more from him.

"…too much workload. that's all."

now, they were back to square one. when she's close to finding more about him, he would close himself off, preventing her from getting any closer to the cause of why they were meeting in the first place.

"…actually, do you just want to call it a day?" he said, checking the time on his watch. he was likely going to make an excuse that he has 'things' to do, despite only being here for fifteen minutes.

"…so soon?" she asked, doing her best to stop the agitation from creeping on her face.

"yeah, you know the workload I just talked about…just realised its caught up to me."

he stands up, and takes a few coins from his pocket, sliding them onto the table,

"…for your travel back. sorry for wasting your time," he said, and as sudden as their meeting was, so was his departure, and she remained still in her seat, as bewildered as ever.

Land siren

Your whispery undertones sing to me

I’ll willingly fall under your curse

When you continue to

Speak to my withholding breath

I’ll allow you to hold onto me

And bite the flesh of my skin

As long as you

Take my withholding breath

#a03 fic #ao3 #ao3 fanfic #a03 link #fanfiction #naruto fanfiction #konan naruto #naruto au #naruto #konan x obito #obito x konan #obito uchiha #uchiha obito #obikonan #konan akatsuki

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wonderfuldeath · 5 months ago

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.o| Seasonal Calendar |o.

Cry

• July 8 •

Warnings : Fluff, angst, screaming

Please, consider supporting me on Ko-Fi ! ♥

“- Do you at least love me?”

Yes, no, maybe. His voice remains trapped between his lips as they look at each other. Outside, the storm is still less intense than in their little apartment, and no one knows how it all got so out of hand. The silence seems to break the man in front of him and he opens his mouth, wanting to speak, to reassure him, to tell him that yes, fuck yes, he'd loved him so much he'd lost his mind, he'd lost his name. But nothing comes out, just a squeak, a strangely painful sound, nothing comes out, nothing passes and the second one looks at him, shaking his head painfully. A bolt of lightning bursts outside, and for a few seconds he wonders if what frightened him was the bright boom, or his tear-filled gaze. He'd told her, love was complicated, painful. Painful, he didn't like it, it was shaky, everything silly, he found disgusting. But he found even more disgusting her sad look, her watery eyes and her breath a little cut off, as if she were blowing. It was unsettling to remain silent and yet so expressive. He refuses her embrace, recoils as he moves forward and a hand passes over his face, anger, disappointment, the strange pain tangling in his throat. He wants to apologize, but nothing comes out. After all, if they'd come to this, it was partly because of him, partly because of the bitter feeling in his throat. His daily questioning of himself, of people, of life. It was painful, his head was spinning, he wanted to scream. Because, when we love so much, we always end up with this problem: we don't love each other very much and we yell at each other. We spit out our feelings clumsily and desperately, hoping the other person will understand and accept.

“- You can't even answer me.”

His voice cracked, low, slow, it made him vibrate to the depths of his being. Taller than him, more mature perhaps, despite their age difference, he feels like a child who's been refused playtime. Frustrated by his hypocritical childish behavior, it wasn't him who strutted around with everyone, always leaving him in the background and sticking to everyone but his own little self. It wasn't him either, spending hours cooped up in an office, frying his retinas on screens that spit his work in his face, while the other has fun, posting thousands of love messages to everyone but the main one. He didn't have the courage, no longer the courage to fight, he could tell her how beautiful, incredible and magnificent love was. For him, it was only pain, jealousy and contempt. He'd told her he was jealous, sickly jealous, but no, the other kept dancing, laughing, ignoring her. His arm moved, making the air whistle around them as he felt like screaming now, but nothing passed, nothing came out, how do you put three years of relationships on the table at once, without slamming it in the other's face. The feeling was stifling, the love was sickening, the feelings never mesh properly, it's cold and painful. People end up leaving, always, that's how it was, the human was stupid, it grabs you by the throat and hurts. He was no different, arguing and shouting wouldn't change anything. His insecurities spread out in front of him like a toxic viper, numbing his fingers, making his eyes sting as he felt himself slowly bursting. In his head, the storm seems unwilling to calm. How did they live loving as much as he did?

“- Are you crying? Seriously?”

Contempt, or what he takes to be contempt. He feels like raising his voice, telling her that, even if he was angry, he's still older. He owes her respect even if he's angry. But nothing's happened yet, and it's getting on his nerves, he wants to slam it, shake it off, stop being a simple victim in the middle of a dark kitchen. His lover glared at him, still waiting for a reaction, probably wondering why he'd wasted three years of his life, why he'd wasted his time with someone like him. It was true, why did people waste time on each other? It was easier to isolate yourself, to disappear, at least nobody could let you go, nobody could turn their back on you. It was always the most complicated, when you get attached, you take risks, when you take risks, you know what's going to happen in the end, disappointment, pain, sadness. A lot of negative feelings, so easy to stop when you're not attached to anyone. You can't betray yourself, you can't turn your back. We always live with ourselves, no matter what. Other people are evil, terrifying, but often so attractive. It was losing for him, he wanted to be caught by her avid eyes, her tender lips and that body too well built. But he was terrified of his own demons, of how pathetically much he loved. If he had to hold on to him so tightly that he felt like bursting every time he touched him, then he'd rather get scared, suffocate and tell himself he was going to leave. Because everyone would eventually tire of him, of his rotten temper and his disturbing way of breathing. Yet knowing this was one thing, accepting it was another. So he remained silent, weeping his bitterness and his desire for the other to stay. Because a storm was just wind and a big bang. It wouldn't last forever.

“- I-I'm sorry.”

His own voice sounds like a slap, like a deep scratch. A fingernail loses its way into his body, blows him away, bends him in two and he wants to vomit some more. His interlocutor looked up at him, towering over him, and it hit him right in the face. How long had it been since he'd looked at him the way they did? He'd grown in muscle, charm and something strange. His wobbly smile, superimposed on his tired eyes, made him even more handsome. And it took his breath away, as if he'd fallen in love all over again. His heart starts beating faster, harder. It takes him by the throat, drowns him, prevents him from thinking properly. He felt as if he'd wasted an entire life over a silly, trifling matter. The argument wasn't even clear any more, and they asked each other why they'd come to such a dramatic scene. It's all slow, cold, forced, the kind of bad, B-movie moment. The actors seem confused, waiting for the rest of the script to unfold a little more, a little better, but it's vague and we have to keep going. One step forward, one step back, their hearts bruise a little more each time. We can't make the storms go away with words, shouting won't change anything. It was deep, like a wave of uncertainty and disgust, rising in his throat like a strange bitterness as he felt the urge to speak, to get it all out. Then he'd think about what the consequences would be. Because, as he knew only too well, mute people think too much and talkative people not enough.

“What the hell do you want?! I.. If you don't tell me, then I can't know!

- That you love me, even a little. That would be a good start.”

Love, here we go again. His red hair looks soft in the light of the house, and when you look outside, the storm finally seems to die down, leaving only dripping rain and bruised flowers. He feels himself fading, it was always a love story, the crimes, the books, the music, a common thread surrounding a bubble from which no one ever seems to let go. Everyone talks about it, describes it, touches it, dreams about it, but in the end it's a strange feeling. We feel strange, we long for the other, to keep it for ourselves, to have it by our side. Sometimes we like it to death, other times we like it to kill ourselves. It was always somewhere, in or with us. And in the end, it went round in circles, we obviously loved the other, but at the same time, we were never convinced, we said to ourselves that maybe this wasn't love, and we shifted, we looked for it, before understanding when the other was about to leave that it was. It was indeed love, worse, a real feeling that makes us sick and makes us see glitter.

“- Yes. I love you Taehyung.”

This time, the red haired huffed, panting, seemingly trying to find a foothold, a balance, as the older man ran a hand through his own chestnut hair. It was strange, an atmosphere of uncertainty, lost between the argument on the front line and the desire to stop all debate and jump on it upstream. Time seemed to stand still, a flash of lightning thundering in the distance, as if to announce the end of the battle. They stood there like two idiots, staring at each other as if they'd never met. It was strange, all his doubts in one look seemed to have caught fire, it was no longer he who was shocked and shaken but Taehyung. He seemed to be searching for words, stammering, opening his mouth, closing it again. And he's enjoying it, gloating, feeling almighty at having turned the situation to his advantage. To hell with the argument, the discomfort, the desire to strangle him. He feels like shaking him, tapping him on the shoulder and shouting “yes, damn it, yes”. He loves him, with that strange feeling that makes us stupid, always happy, that makes us look like people from somewhere else. If Aliens exist, then they must be people in love, full of feelings that ordinary mortals can't understand. But he does nothing, leaving him to suffocate, to lose himself in his thoughts. A new hope gripped him by the throat, maybe it wouldn't be over, maybe he wasn't going to leave. In fact, he'd never fully thought about the possibility of the other staying, but saying it, hoping for it, wanting it with all his might, gave him the courage to approach. The burning of feelings, the skin under her fingers and the look in her eyes full of tears. Love makes you ugly when it's badly managed, but it was better to be ugly for two, it was easier to manage, less painful. He tasted of strawberries, he must taste of salt, it was all he needed, the strawberries, the salt, her hands against his hips, their bodies sticking together. It was like a pure drug you could never live without. Beautiful and dangerous at the same time, we didn't care because we knew that stopping wouldn't change the addiction anyway.

“- So prove it to me, don't just give me false promises and false hopes, Yoongi. Because I'll die if you don't love me like I love you.

- I can't promise to love you well. Because, you see, I'm wobbly. And full of doubt. But I'll try to love you better. Because, if you really were to leave me, I think I'd die.”

Finally, outside, the storm seemed to be nothing more than wet streaks on windows and cheeks. There was no right way to love, but there was a right way to keep. The proof, they would have years to show it. Even if, deep down, just by looking at each other, they knew there would be nothing left to prove.

#bts os #kim taehyung #bts #min yoongi #fluff #love #taegi

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