#cause i just needed to spew my thoughts out into the void | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

ieatangstforbreakfast · 11 months ago

Text

Pairing ೃ⁀➷ 𝐄𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐡 𝟒𝟐! 𝐌𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐬 𝐌𝐨𝐫𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐬 x Fem! Reader

Summary ೃ⁀➷ Lovers have secrets of their own, no matter how much they come to trust each other, whether it be a past mistake or an unspoken trauma. For you and Miles, however, your secrets came in the form of hidden identities— one being a masked vigilante, and the other a mastermind.

Genre ೃ⁀➷ Forbidden love, mutual pining, angst♡

Tags ೃ⁀➷ Both are artists, reader is from a very wealthy family, both are living double lives, underaged smoking, reader is female and uses she/her pronouns, forbidden love (ish?), swearing, daddy issues, mommy issues, reader is unhinged, both are mentally unstable, lots of flirting.

Author's Note ೃ⁀➷ l went through like a fuck ton of shit [Broke up with my boyfriend of two years, entrance exam, and uh I lost some friends] and 2024’s barely started lol sorry for the late update, i am,,, extremely deep in hurting 👍

Tag list ೃ⁀➷ @sakura-onesan @coffeeandtealol @luvjunie @noetophat @proudgojofucker @depresssedcowboy @adorefavv @l0starl @your-girl-mj @nyumeii @iheartamajiki @yoluv-tiannaaa--212 @bakauwu @callsignwidow

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟏𝟐: 𝐁𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐎𝐧 𝐎𝐮𝐫 𝐇𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐬

Summary ೃ⁀➷ Miles and Eddie make an exchange. A certain nightmare plagues his thoughts. Your insanity unfolds, and so does Miles’ suspicions.

[Warning: Blasphemy, mentioned of fucked up things and crimes, deranged thinking]

MASTERLIST

Previous chapter || Next chapter

“Miles, what would make you hate me?”

The memory was so long ago. Well, to be exact, perhaps it’s been a month or two since it happened. Miles could still so clearly remember the way you leaned your head against the damp wall, your eyes far off into the void of whatever haunted you. At that time, his feelings had been but a spark budding within his chest ever so delicately, a butterfly ripping out of its cocoon in his stomach.

“I don’t know.” Miles whispered into the air. “I don’t think it’s possible to truly hate a person when you know them personally.”

At that moment, you looked at him, with your head half-buried within your hood.

“Why’s that?” You asked, fiddling with the ends of your hoodie.

Miles took a moment to think about how to word his answer.

“When you recognize someone enough to know that they’re not evil people who’d do random shit for shits and giggles, you learn to realize that they’re not really a monster.. At least, not as much as they seem.” His lingering gaze travels towards the ample of your cheek. “I can’t hate you when I know you. You’ve got a name, and you’re somebody’s sister, daughter.. Well, you don’t have to be all that. You just need to be somebody, and you’re somebody to me, and that alone’s the reason why I can never hate you.”

“That’s.. Interesting.” You whispered. “So technically, you humanize your enemies.”

“That’s one weird way to put it, but yeah.”

“But what if it’s a façade?” The words rolled off your tongue seamlessly. “What if.. They’re not exactly the person you thought they were. What if they’ve done more harm than good?”

He thinks about it for a moment.

“It’s not my job to humanize people. People humanize themselves.” Miles answered. “If there’s truly nothing at all about this person that makes them human, or makes me feel like they still have a relatively active conscience inside of them.. I can’t.”

“So you’re saying thay if they’re not human, you’ll hate them?”

“No!” He rapidly shook his head.

“No, ‘cause Miles, I’ll be fair with you. Ion think there’s anything more monstrous than humanity. We are our own enemies. Nothing else causes more pain to a human other than its own body or its own kind, which is why hatred is such a natural thing.”

“Hatred is a natural thing for you, because you grew up only having to think about yourself.”

“Because if not me, then who would?” You spewed. You didn’t mean to sound overtly bitter, but you were. “Unlike you, Miles, my family ain’t the shit. It’s me against the world always— I-If, had I gotten a remote opportunity to care about anyone other than myself, maybe I wouldn’t be this hateful.”

“Well, you got a chance now.”

“How so?”

“You got me.”

You paused, wondering if you’ve heard correctly.

“… I’ve got you?”

Whatever did that statement mean? You’ve heard about a million pick-up lines, but what the hell was this?

“F’course you do. We’re friends.”

Friends.

“Friends?” Just friends?

Miles hums. “Buddies. Amigos.”

Ah, right, that’s how it always starts. Just friends.

Miles snuck his hand into one of his pockets, plucking out something round that you were too lost in your haze to even notice. He seems to fiddle with it for a moment, digging his fingers into its plush before nudging it towards you.

“You want some?”

You turned around and realized he’d peeled you an orange. “.. What.. These are so expensive these days. How’d you even get one?” Your hand reaches out for the fruit, examining its tiny size. You’d heard about the sudden inflation of prices, so fruits inevitably turned into a luxury for most. Miles parts the mandarin and places the larger half on top of your hand.

“.. I stole one from my neighbor’s garden. God did say generous people prosper, so I did him a favor.”

“I’m pretty sure there was a ‘thou shall not steal’ in one of the commandments, Miles.” You laughed, plopping a piece atop your tongue. The tangy, sweet, yet sour flavor bursts right in, making you grimace ever so lightly. “Oh, that’s sour.”

Miles took after you, similarly cringing. “Eugh.”

“It’s probably not all that ripe yet. It’s fine though,” You plopped another into your mouth. “I like oranges— sour things as a whole. They snap me back into life.”

“That sounds sad.” He mumbled, turning to look at you. “Kinda worrying, if you ask me.”

“Well, I wasn’t asking.” You plucked out one of the seeds from your teeth.

“Right, ‘cause you never ask.” Miles took another bite. “You only answer.”

“What does that even mean?”

“I don’t know.” Miles shrugged. “I like saying random shit to tick you off.”

You rolled your eyes, trudging your way up from the floor as you staggered from the cold. “Thanks for the orange, Miles.” Running a hand through your hair, you looked out and sighed. He couldn’t help but feel surprised at the lack of your sass.

“You’re welcome, princesa.”

Your brow cringed. “Don’t call me that.”

His finger twitches. He watched as you froze for a moment, turning to look at him. With gentle steps, you approached and leaned down— tufts of your hair brushing against the temple of his forehead. At that moment, he swallows while taking in the scent of your perfume and its ridiculously sweet stench. How could everything about you be so sweet?

You plucked your pen out of his hands. “This is mine.” You reminded of him. Miles didn’t utter a single word til’ your eyes met. Even in the darkness, you saw, but you ignored— well, rather, you tried to ignore it, but it stung.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, then?”

Miles turned his head, forcibly pushing down the butterflies fluttering like haywire in his stomach.

Hands clammy, heart haywire, eyes unable to meet yours.

“Sure, whatever.”

That day ended there, but Miles knew then. He knew.

Eddie Brock couldn't look past the television store, as his eyes were drawn completely to the news. Not that he couldn't afford a paper, or a gadget of his own— he was simply nervous, figdety, and this ominous pit that holed itself into his stomach unnerved him like a pig carved up for the butcher. He'd known of the news already, honestly, something along the lines of the daily murders and crimes that weren't all too unusual to be fair, and rather than the screen's bright technicolored themes, he was hyper focused entirely on one thing.

The face of Will Barlowe, the almighty senator. Eddie had long been staring at that man's creased, brown skin and slick, blonde hair that was fading into this falsified shade of platinum all because of his whitening strands.

Damn the rich, all of them.

Eddie was no one, like everyone else. A drop of water in the ocean, a needle in a haystack. He was one, like the rest, with the hard workers who carried the economy with their white, blue, pink-collared jobs. He thrived, initially, three years ago. He was an activist then— a journalist in a crisp collared shirt and black dress pants, warning the young about the dangers of climate change, and speaking outwardly in regard to politics.

Now, he was nothing more but a wrinkled jacket-wearing, eccentric and amusing conspiracy theorist scraping the tiniest bits of his dignity to post videos on Facebook or Youtube shorts about how fucked up and dystopian America's grown to become.

When the Prowler, the younger one, decidedly linked him a location allegedly shared by the elites, Eddie wanted to think of it as a chance to shine, to end everything once and for all, and to avenge Anna. For Anna, and for what could’ve been their happy, serene life. But when he arrived, painstakingly clad in plaid while forging the identity of a lost tourist, he was disappointed entirely to find out that the warehouse had been burnt down.

He could still recall the charcoaled crevices of what could’ve been his salvation— that masked boy, the Prowler, promised him salvation in a what-could’ve-been some rich guy’s attempt of a house barbecue.

“Did I make ya wait long?”

A voice reminiscent of a growl. That same shade of neon magenta lingered, popping like a change of color in the melancholy of great Harlem. Eddie tries not to look, but the presence of the boy simmered like fire even as he hung like a spider from the ceiling. He was always like that— the Prowler. The boy was a tall, lanky thing who walked and talked suave. Dominican, he initially assumed. Eddie figured this little vigilante was likely a high schooler with hopes consequently dimmed by the recession.

“Nope.” Eddie attempted to appeal cooly, instead, he only crumbled more. “I’d been watching the news this whole time, tryna check if there was anything about the fire.”

He hears a metal click. “They prolly wouldn’t say nothin’. See, if they didn’t wanna hide it, it’d be all over the television. But it ain’t there, so that means the Chávez’s are hiding the fire from the other families. They prolly paid the witnesses to keep their mouths shut or bribed all the television networks to say it’s some barbecue party gone bad.”

A few passersby couldn’t help but squeak at the sight of the infamous vigilante hanging from a store sign, but they all seemed to know better than approaching him. Trouble was wherever he was, after all, or something the daily bugle said along those lines. They shared glances, sure. Curious, amused glances like how people would marvel at a lion in a zoo.

“It’s,” Eddie finally looked at him. “it’s something ‘bout the Chávez’s?”

With a momentary pause, the Prowler released his grip from the metal poles and dangled down for a second before decidedly letting his feet hit the ground. He was tall— truly, around an inch or two taller than grouchy Eddie. His braids seemed much longer than he’d last seen them. Did he recently get them redone?

“.. That’s right.” Prowler hummed. “.. But we might wanna move some place else to have this conversation, Mr. Brock.”

And where the cat went, curiosity followed down as it made its way to the dark alleyways.

Eddie had a million questions, like any other normal being. The Chávez’s, the Primos, the Barlowes, the Fisks, the Osborns, and all of the other wealthy families connected to one another were all listed down on his kill bill naturally, and he’d been dreaming about the day of crossing out their names with ink made from their blood. Cliché, but a threat either way. Eddie wasn’t a writer, but a journalist anyways. Creativity in terms of wording his hatred was limited and it wasn’t his forte.

“In your past facebook post, you mentioned the Chávez’s briefly,” The boy began, halting by the corner dampened by rain. “I need information about the whole family.”

“… Aren’t you supposed to know the basic information about your enemies?”

“If it were that easy, I wouldn’t be needing your help.” The two white shapes that proxied as his eyes narrowed, grimacing ever so lightly. “There’s little information about them in the black market, and within the scarcity, most of them aren’t factual.”

“They’re rich enough to be able to squander their wealth on silencing people,” Eddie kicked at a can. “Of course no one knows, but I do.”

“How so?”

Picking at something in between his cheek, Eddie sighed a long sigh.

“… My wife worked as their private attorney.”

He watched the boy take a step back. “.. Your wife?”

“Yeah.” Eddie nodded. “My wife, Anna. She was taught to keep silent about their crimes, and to find a loophole in every case.” A lump formed in his throat.

The Prowler stared. He couldn’t make out whether it was an empathetic or judgmental one. “.. So your wife covered up the Chávez’s crimes?”

“A part of it.” Eddie mumbled. “There’s more to the elite than we know, Anna had to burn her files after every case, so she couldn’t snitch or post them after she quits.”

His head turns. “… I see.”

He sees the boy shift, weirdly, fidgety. He couldn’t particularly describe the unease this young vigilante conveyed. It was almost like he was on the verge of asking something, but his mask made it harder to read what he was desperate to know about.

“.. So can you tell me?”

A simmering silence sunk into the gaps of their conversation.

“What’s in it for me?” Eddie asked, knowing he shouldn’t have, as it was obvious and painstakingly accusatory.

“Why do we have to have transactions when it comes to justice?”

Eddie paced. “Capitalism.”

“Fair point.” The Prowler sighed, rocking on the ends of his neon shoes. “Well, what d’ya want?”

Eddie thinks, and thinks. What could a conspiracy theorist— no, a journalist want? Could he ask for a man’s death? The head of Barlowe? The head of Chávez? Or could that only be achieved after this gamble? He looked at this boy, and Eddie pictured this teenager basking his hands in blood.

What would make him any different from the elites?

“… When you went to the warehouse, you guys.. Took evidence? Even a USB, right?”

He stared. “Yeah, we dug it up and we tried sending it to every news outlet we could find.. All of them rejected the information.”

“Why?” Eddie furrowed his brow. “Was the information incomplete? Did you send the evidence beneath a credible name as a source?”

“Credible name?”

“Yeah, if the information comes from a credible source, they might do something about it. Likewise, if the information is complete, they might take the risk, after all, the Chávez’s are old money, and they have a lot of influence in regard to politics. If they publish anything against them, without complete information, or if you’re just a bunch of trespassers regarded as criminals by the media,” Eddie held out a finger. “Someone will get shot.”

The boy swallowed.

“If not you, if not your partner, it’s the journalist. Always the journalist.”

And Eddie’s seen too much of his co-workers wound up as mere victims in a headline. ‘Journalist shot dead.’

And he didn’t want his name to be reduced to a John Doe in one of the many causes people are too afraid to fight for.

“… I’ll tell you all about the Chávez’s, if you give me the records you stole from the warehouse.”

The Prowler stood, seemingly caught up in his thoughts for a moment. “.. Okay, but I’m telling you, don’t make a large move without consulting me first.”

“I still want my head attached to my head, of course I’ll consult y’all first.” Eddie chuckled, his fingers pouring into his pockets. “Then, what do you want to know about the Chávez’s?”

Without missing a beat, he answered.

“You can give me all you got. Recent scandals, fuck ups.. Perhaps, you got anything from the collapse of the Aureum building three years ago?”

“The Aureum building,” Eddie echoed, reminiscing like a veteran released from war. “That was the messiest thing I’ve ever witnessed in the last ten years. The lawsuits, the bribes, and the social media mayhem—“

“The deaths.” Miles cringed, remembering his father. “Surely, that was the most fucked up thing.”

“Aside from the architecture? Sure.” Eddie pulled out a box of cigars from his pocket, wringing out a single stick. “Weak scaffolding, quick-dry cement.. Put two and two together, and everything collapsed as soon as the opening began.”

Miles wallowed, grimacing at the sight of the habit. “Could it have been planned?”

With a flick of his lighter, Eddie took one breath in and sighed. “Could? There’s no ‘could’, boy, it was planned.”

Planned? Planned by who?

Were the Chávez’s really masters at self-sabotage? Or were their enemies really just each other?

“You see, the Chávez’s specialize in human trafficking, slave trade, and child labor. The people they ship work tirelessly for other businesses without a fee— because we, you and I and the rest of us who had the freedom to earn education, refused to work under hellish circumstances and poor environments. Without us, precisely, without the poor, the rich are nothing.”

“Then the Aureum building?”

“The Aureum building was a cover-up for a bigger scandal.” Eddie tilted his head. “The people inside were likely witnesses, or people who knew about the human trafficking.. And when the building collapsed, they sued the construction companies involved, got the money, but damaged their reputation.. And I don’t see why they’d do all of that just to damage their reputation.”

Miles pondered and pondered.

“.. It was probably someone from inside the family who planned everything.”

“That’s what I think so too.” Eddie added, blowing off another puff of intoxicating smoke. “Someone who won’t suffer from the damaged reputation.. Yet someone who still manages to benefit from it all financially.”

“… Could it be.. Any one of the siblings?”

Eddie takes a step back, likely thinking about it. “.. Well, the other one’s in London, the other one’s too stupid, and the last’s a minor.”

“Minor?” Miles repeated. “How young are we talking?”

“.. Well, the last time I heard about the girl.. She was thirteen, and it’s been three years since then, so she’s probably fifteen to sixteen.”

It’s not as though a thirteen year old could possibly plan out such a meticulous plan… Well maybe, or maybe not, it’s not as though Miles was the only genius capable of great things.

“You know any of their names?”

“Names.” Eddie furrowed his brow. “The last girl’s protected by the law, since it’s illegal to paparazzi minors.. But the first two are Montrell and Anthony.”

Montrell. Mon. Three children. Two older brothers. One girl. Sixteen, sixteen years old just like you.

Miles swallowed.

It’s as though he could feel your hands blocking your vision, whispering sweet nothings into his ear.

He falters, alerting Eddie. “What’s wrong?”

“.. My head just hurts.” He mumbled, turning his head. “I think I kinda overworked myself. I still got a date.. Need to.. Rest.”

“Date?” Eddie blew. “That’s right. You’re quite famous, ain’t you?”

Miles rolled his eyes, able to freely express his distaste for the supposed compliment behind his mask. “I try not to be, don’t wanna make her think about it too much. The broad shoulders don’t help as much, though.”

“She know all ‘bout your..” With his cigarette squeezed between his ring, Eddie gestured at him. “Your little vigilante thing?”

Leaning his head against the brick wall, Miles crossed his arms and shrugged. “She better not. Don’t wanna make her daddy even madder.” He lowers his gaze a bit, his mask naturally zooming into the title of Eddie’s cigarette box. It was the same brand as your brother’s, likely a different flavor. Mint or something. Everyone around him smoked too much.

“She from the finer part of York or what?”

“The finest.” He recalls your brother’s luxury car. “.. But I think she’s tryna hide it.”

Eddie plucks the cigar out his teeth, a sort of accusatory yet mundane expression scribbled all over his scruffy face. Eventually, he laughs it off. “That’s all of what’s wrong with our society. The poor pretend to be rich and the rich pretend to be poor. They like romanticizing poverty but likely won’t be able to find comfort if they walked in our shoes for ‘bout a damn mile.”

“She ain’t nun like that.” Miles butted in. “She’s sweet, my girl. Cruel, sometimes, but that’s how ladies gotta be from time to time— seeing as how the world fucks them up every now and then.”

“.. That your first date?” Eddie asked.

“I guess. We’re kissing, but we got no label.”

Eddie scoffed an old man’s scoff. “Your generation’s got me fucked up. Y’all and your situationship bullshittery.”

“It ain’t like that.”

“It’s always like that.” Eddie narrowed his eyes. Miles similarly cringed, wondering how Eddie could be so bitter— having to remind himself seconds later that the man’s poor wife was dead. Dead as hell. As dead as his father. “If she can’t even be upfront about her wealth, she’s likely hiding something from you.”

“My man, I’m lucky she even looked my way. You know nun ‘bout her, don’t be like that.”

“And what if she’s from the oligarchy, huh?” Eddie exaggerated. “What if she’s a Fisk? A Barlowe? Hell, even worse, what if she’s a Chávez?”

Miles didn’t reply.

As the puff of smoke emanated through the damp air, suddenly, Miles pictured you holding a cigarette while grinning at him wickedly— and somehow, that tantalizing air.. Suited you like the slip of a glove.

“I’m just kidding w’ya, man.” Eddie laughed, flicking the cigarette away, crushing it with the sole of his wrinkled boot.

“Ain’t funny, Ed.” Miles grumbled. “People I loved died in Aureum.”

“But she’s still rich, though. You can never be too sure ‘bout the kind of secrets her family’s keeping. If push comes to shove, will you still be able to love her if you do find out that her family’s fucked up?”

“Stop it.” He angrily seethed. “Stop.”

Eddie watched with a certain stank in his eye.

“… Y’know, there’s a rumor that one of the Chávez kids are illegitimate.”

.. Miles left seconds after.

It’d not been his greatest day, and earnestly speaking, his gut’s been clamoring at him to listen, only for him to reject its pleas. He’d thought about listening— to whatever higher being was calling upon him to stray away from you.

His Mama told him to pray throughout his struggles. She’d not been a zealot, his mother. But she was no stranger to the novena, to pray and to call for help in such long days. He’d been subjected to it early on: the novenas, the masses, the lingering of frankincense in the air. Though she never truly coerced him to participate in the church, Miles simply titter-tottered throughout those dull Sunday evenings.

He didn’t want some higher being to stop him from becoming a horrible person; Miles wanted to be good on his own accord.

But you.. You made him question. Not you, but himself.

Though his dad always told him to question everything while he’s young, Miles couldn’t question you. How could ever question you?

An illegitimate child. Which one was it?

Your brothers, who had everything?

Or you, who had nothing?

And although Eddie left the alleyway unscathed, Miles felt that blood had stained his hands.

And you could still taste blood in your mouth.

You could still hear the crunch of that man’s neck echoing in your ears, his tiny pleads of self-preservation before the snap to his death. It rang and rang behind your eyes, between your ears, like a haunting melody you couldn’t help but repeat.

The memory of his fear merely energized your veins, but left you gawking in dauntness even as you worked your way through the hotel— showing Montrell the ropes and tending to the preparations for the upcoming charity event. The snap, the way it snapped— the way his neck snapped was a musical lyric that pulsed and pulsed in your mind.

Snap.

ＳＮＡＰ.

The idea of fear intrigued you, cannibalism, however, not so much. The symbiote immensely argued with you, that it wasn’t your body in particular feasting on human flesh, but the symbiote itself. It needed to be fed, and it needed sustenance— but you didn’t know where else to find that sustenance.

“Miss?” Charlotte, the head housekeeper called out to you, snapping you back from the profanities of your mind.

Suddenly, you’re back staring at the new, tall, stained-glass windows— basking you in the glory of pale lights in shades of ethereal yellow and blue. It’s been under construction for quite a while now, but after your father had approved of the idea, you were willing to wait long enough to see its outcome. You’d only gotten the news just a few hours ago in regard to its completion, and now you’ve been staring at it for a while now.

“Yes?” You stifled airily, wallowing in a hundred emotions.

Charlotte bows her head for a moment, unveiling an approaching guest.

Before you could even process to question who it was, Montrell and his gentle eyes appeared before you. He seems to marvel at the windows before you as he takes another step up the stairs.

“Wow,” He huffed. “Is this.. Your design?”

You simply looked at the window with crossed arms and a smile. “I couldn’t forget about the windows when we went to Veronica’s wedding. I liked.. The colors and the drama it endowed.” You smiled, tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear. “.. This was my final project in the hotel.. I’ve done so much to rebrand everything, but we still can’t do much ‘bout what happened in the past.”

The lights dawned upon the both of you.

“Does it hold any special meaning?” He asks.

You shrugged. “It varies on the person, I guess. I think, those who don’t really know me will try to put meaning into all that I do, but those who really know me know that my art is plainly.. Meant for aesthetic.”

Montrell frowned. “How can you make art without passion?”

“.. You pick up a pen.” You carved a smile. “And you just draw.”

You draw, and you draw. Carved it in, like how a knife would pierce a sack of flesh. Murder the canvas with each stroke, and if they ask you ‘why?’, answer with ‘why not?’.

“I think.. Only Miles can place meaning in my art. After all, my passion resides in him.”

“Like a proxy.” Montrell darkly laughed, shaking his head. “.. I wonder how hard you’d break once you lose him.”

You turned your head to look at your brother’s charming face.

“Is that a threat?”

“A warning,” He remarked. “After all, how could he ever love you once he realizes that our family’s responsible for his father’s death?”

You turned your head back to the windows. “… I feel guilty, actually. I don’t really know how to approach Miles if he ever comes to realize my identity.”

“.. Don’t you feel lonely having to constantly push away the people you love?”

You shrugged. “I’m a pretty girl. Pretty girls are never lonely.”

“Sure.”

Montrell looked at you. To be precise, he eyed you, and he looked at the way you casted your eyes downward. From a mile away, one would believe you fostered insecurity and shame in the way you’d stare, but knowing you and the way you were, that downcast gaze of yours imbued disinterest and a heightened sense of.. Superiority.

No matter how hard you try to appear empathetic, you were always and inevitably still a Chávez. Even in the way you pursed your rouged lips, or spoke with eloquence, or held your head high.. You and your siblings, who were forged to become heartless from the beginning, were never bound to be kind.. Or good.

But could Miles do it?

Could he actually change you? Humanize you?

Make you kind and loving, and normal?

You tightened your grip over your arm. “I.. Was going to escape tonight, originally.. For our date. He wanted us to have a halloween date. It’s so dorky. He’s so dorky.” The way you fawned was genuine, though. He could see it so clearly. “But after daddy mentioned the USB, I didn’t know how to face him without feeling guilty.. I came to meet Miles with the intention of using him to get his dead dad’s stuff but I ended up.. Falling for him. I never knew I was capable of feeling like this.”

“.. When we’re too busy to survive, it feels frustrating to have to care for someone else. That’s why our family doesn’t feel like one.” Montrell whispered.

“We’re not a Greek tragedy.”

“Exactly, which would mean,” He turns to you. “You’re likely still savable, [N/n].”

You lightly winced. “.. I haven’t heard that nickname since I was twelve.”

Your brother chuckles at the reminder. “.. We called you that since you couldn’t pronounce your name when you were three.” Montrell heaved a long breath, as though he were a dreamer reminiscing the times. Ah, he truly is a sucker for what’s long gone, huh? “Antonne and I were so excited to have you. Your first word was my name, actually, Mon. I had to sneak up into your cradle every night just to make you practice say my name. Mama used to hold you in her arms whenever I got home from school, and she used to read out my cards with you in her other hands ‘cause you were one energetic kid.”

Oh, so like a normal family?

We were capable of having that this whole time?

…

“[Y/n]?”

You snapped yourself back to reality, Montrell’s voice leading you out of your internal monologue. “Did you hear my question?” He queried. “You kinda zoned out there.”

“Sorry, I was thinking ‘bout something. You were saying?”

“Once you get the USB.. Are you going to leave him?”

The question seemed far fetched from the previous topic, which caught you off-guard. You turn your head. “.. I don’t know. I’d rather make him hate me, and have him leave me first, because I don’t think I can ever bring it upon myself to leave him.”

Such a romantic.

“Do you think you can handle it?”

“.. It’s not a question of whether I can handle it, it’s a question of whether Miles can handle it.”

Montrell murmured. “.. What if he gets revenge?”

“Revenge?” You repeated, the idea sounding funnily dramatic. “Revenge on me? I didn’t throw that building over his father’s head.”

“Ah, yes, but there’s a thing called karma.” Montrell spoke as thought to remind you. “It’ll be out there to get you, or at least, that’s what I’ve heard.”

You couldn’t help but aimlessly ponder. “… Why do poor people believe in futile things such as karma?”

The way you worded it, and the way it exited your tongue seemed unusually natural. Montrell, who’s been too used to such words, only shrugged. “Cause there’s nothing else to save them. That’s why they have a god, [Y/n]. They can’t save themselves, and so that’s why they believe something otherworldly will.”

Before you could speak, Montrell looked out into the glass windows before turning to you.

“Speaking of which, I think you should use daffodils for the upcoming party.”

“.. Daffodils?” You repeated.

Your brother nods. “Yes. I find them to be quite lovely.”

Since when did he have an interest in flowers? You internally squirmed. “Where the hell am I going to get daffodils in autumn?” You groaned. “We can use other yellow flowers for the golden theme.”

“Well, you’re not in charge anymore.” Was his attempt of a tease. “Surely there are still daffodils here in this season. We’ll have to find the best greenhouse in town.”

“But why?”

“Because I said so.”

You sweetly casted a glance at him, smiling as a thought crowed at you.

A sharp pain shoots through Miles’ head. A pulsing, familiar pain— resembling a bullet, dove straight into his subconscious.

He stumbles back as darkness clouds his vision, a sort of slithering and slimy feeling coursing through his system like a snake seething beneath his skin. His heart was hammering against his chest. It was like that time during the warehouse, where he felt genuinely uneasy and unsettled. The eyes of that figure behind the window, watching him tremulously stare back.

In the cage of his mind, Miles finds himself inside a dark void— where the silence was loud enough to hear the sound of a pin drop.

Then there was this drumming.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

The melody was unfamiliar, but the voice nostalgic. Miles crawled amidst the darkness, searching for the voice, only to look up and catch the sight of a pristine, delicately made shoe. It kicked against the front of a desk, making a rhythmic pattern. Thump. Thump. Thump. With each passing moment, his eyes continued to linger upward, from the shoe, to a leg, to a waist, to your pretty face.

You sat there, above the desk, with your pretty hair and your pretty eyes, puckering up your pretty lips along with the song. You were so idly calm, so leisure while singing so softly, he could hardly make out the words exiting your mouth. A dim, green light cascaded against the silhouette of your figure, further accentuating the pink of your lips and the darkening of your gaze.

You smiled, but your eyes held nothing. Like you never knew what kindness was, even in his presence. You never looked at him like that before— like you hated him enough that you wanted him to die.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

The thumping was growing faster and faster with each second. Upon seeing his struggle, a stifled laugh laces the lyrics.

Miles tried to move, but his whole body writhed in pain— like he was beaten, defeated. His arms itched in burns and scars. With the sound of your hum, Miles looks up, only to see you cross your arms before your chest, the tip of your shoe gently grazing against the skin of his temple. He feels as though he was being watched, idly, by an audience that had no interest at all in intervening. Like everyone was amused to see him.. Kneeling before you.

Click. Click. Click. The cutter clicked in your palm as the blade rose higher.

It’s like your presence alone was enough to blind him, and his conscience kept crawling back to you no matter how hard it tries to stray.

Really, who are you, [Y/n]?

Why was it whenever you lingered in his dreams, you were the cruelest person to exist?

And why was it that Miles knew that he’d probably still adore you with your hands around his neck?

“.. Miles?”

From a gentle shuffle, Miles awoke to the sound of his mother’s voice.

Miles jolted up, his skin half drenched with cold sweat. Unfortunately enough, his awakening was nothing avian. On the contrary, his awakening felt like a somber chore. The material clung onto him like glue, making him utter a groan. For a while, he helplessly looked around like a child lost between rows of linoleum aisles, his mind hopping from question to question. 'What just happened? What was I dreaming of?'

Like some hungover drunkard, he gently peeled himself away from the sweat-stained sheets and begrudgingly sat upright. Rio’s gentle hand cradled his aching head.

“Rest, mijo, you’re exhausted.”

“Mama, I—“ He broke, running a damp hand over his head. For a moment, he flinches, checking to see if his hands were covered in blood. “What happened?”

His mother’s dark curls lightly brushed against his temple. Her eyes were just as exhausted as he was, with dark circles rimming the doeness of her gaze. “I got home to you taking a nap but you kept squirming. I was so worried. Que paso?”

He looked around, realizing he’d dropped himself unconscious atop the sofa.

“.. Nightmare.”

Night terrors, to put it precisely. It’s been haunting him since the death of his father three years ago. He thought they’d long vanished after meeting you, but after his suspicions arose, his anxiety came crawling back like a dreadful stench.

Rio handed him a glass of water, to which he gulped down to its very last drop— like he’s been thirsting for all his life.

“Mama,” He called out. “… What do I do?”

His loving mother creased her brow, shaking her head. “What is it, mijo? What’s wrong?”

He runs his hand over his face, wondering how to begin. At that moment, Miles recalls your sweetest smiles, your loudest laughs, and your warmest hugs.

You held his hand, dragged him out of that maze, and you vandalized the hotel together. You tore yourself away from the expectations of your family, and went to him.

You chose him.

But could he go so far to assume that you loved him?

Rio shifted comfortably, trying to appear more welcoming to whatever catastrophe Miles was about to unleash. “What’s wrong, Miles?”

Miles couldn’t even admit it to himself, though he’d long noticed, he preferred to remain ignorant ‘til the truth was spilled from your own lips.. But he didn’t know how much longer he could last. Blood runs thicker than water, but both feel the same when your eyes are closed— and that could mean many things.

“A lot, ma.” He buried his head into his hands. “And Ionno if I could deal with it all.”

“You don’t have to deal with everything, Miles.” Rio frowned. “You’re only fifteen. Eres demasiado joven. Con el tiempo todo se arregla.”

“Me duele la cabeza.”

“Ponte vaporub.” Rio stood to grab the small, blue ointment. As she unscrews its green cap, Miles was immediately hit with its loud, minty scent. Digging her fingers into the substance, Rio smears the vaporub all over Miles’ forehead. “Sana sana colita de rana, si no sana hoy, sanará mañana.”

He lightly moved away with a sigh. “I’m not a kid anymore, ma.”

“I’m your mother, you’ll always be my kid.” As the cooling sensation sunk into his skin, he felt his mother’s palm cup his cheek. “And since you’re my kid, I always get worried about you. I know we ain’t got nothing much, but we got each other, Miles. You’re a great kid bound to achieve great things.”

He wasn’t too sure about that. That whole great kid thing. You had your fingers entangled all over his puppet strings, and it made him hesitate.

But what if that was exactly your plan? To ruin him entirely for your benefit?

“.. Ma, what would you do if the person you liked lied to you about their identity?”

Rio sat in silence.

“.. Que?”

Ah, fuck. That’s a stupid question.

“Nothing.” Miles turned his head. “Sorry, that was a stupid question—“

“No, Miles. I didn’t mean to— I just, you like someone? A girl?”

Miles shifted uncomfortably. Rio softened. “A boy?”

“No, ma!” He exclaimed, embarrassed. “I-It’s a girl. I like a girl.. Por los clavos de Cristo.”

“Oh, I was preparing myself.” Rio placed a hand over her heart. “Don’t get me wrong, I’d accept you no matter what, I just didn’t have a long wonderful speech prepared for it.. But what’s wrong with the girl?”

“Well, ma, it’s just..”

“Did she cheat on you!?”

“No! We’re not even together yet, ma. We were gonna have our first date today, but.. But her family’s been treating her horribly, and her older brother picked her up while we were out buying costumes for our halloween date only for him to directly tell me that it ain’t happening.”

“And then?”

“She talked ‘bout her dad throwing a fit, and now she hasn’t replied the whole day.” He slipped his fingers through his hair. “I even woke up at six in the morning just to get my braids redone at Tasha’s… And they invited me to a party at their house on Sunday.”

“Sunday? Then— that’s great!” Rio exclaimed, placing her hands over her son’s shoulders. “That would mean they’re open to getting to know you. Well, I think you can borrow some of your dad’s old clothes for the party, you two look great in suits anyway.”

“W-Well, ma, that ain’t entirely the problem, she’s..” He swallowed. “Ma, I think she comes from a very rich family.”

“Okay, and?” Rio raised a brow. “Did she ever make you feel inferior for having superior wealth?”

“.. No? Well, she’s been trying to keep it on the down low this whole time, but.. Whenever I see her, she acts so.. Proper and polite when she don’t even notice it. And her brother’s British too, and I— Ionno how the hell that happened, but he sound like the type to spit out tap water if I ever brought him to a restaurant.”

“Well, you’re dating the girl, Miles, not her brother.” Rio sighed. He thinks of it for a moment, then shrugs. Only then he notices his mother’s wide smile, her shoulder nearly glued onto his.

“So.. Who’s the girl?”

Miles fiddled awkwardly, unsure how to answer. Rio seemed adamant for an answer, so, after a while of internally mustering up sentences, Miles replied. “Her name.. [Y/n].”

“Mhm.”

“She uh.. Sixteen. I-I met her three months ago.. And we started doing graffiti together since then.”

“Oh, so she’s an artist?”

Miles gaped. “S… Sum like that, yeah.”

Your art varied. Your colors were blander while his, more vibrant. But there was something about the way you drew, that was so meaningfully realistic that it captured entirely how your mind pondered in its darkest moments. An art style that captured entirely the darkest of what life could bring.

He remembers going through your sketchpads, how your dabbles consisted of dull realism. Maybe it was only dull because it was exactly what New York’s become— cold and calloused.

But in contrast, you were able to set his world on fire in a way he’s never seen. Only you could paint over the dullness with scarlet, in a way that had him choking from the smoke emanating from your fire.

But he couldn’t tell his mother the way you’ve worsened him.

His mother wouldn’t let him get too close to someone as bright and dangerous as you.

“Why haven’t you mentioned about her before? I could’ve helped!” Rio tossed her dark curls to the side. They’d always reminded him of the dark sea. “Es puertorriqueña? Puede hablar español?”

“No,” Miles thinks about it for a minute. “I-Ionno, actually. She never told me anythin’ bout it, but she can’t speak Spanish so I ain’t sure.”

Rio attempted, no she really did try to attempt— to hide her disappointment. Were her grandkids bound to forever be free of her culture? How saddening.

“Pero creo que ella está estudiando español.”

“Oh?”

“Sí.” Mile seemed to lightened up. “She’s so cute. She can’t even pronounce ‘roja’.”

“But she’s trying.” Rio could not be any happier. “She’s trying! Eso es bueno! Ella ya me gusta. Not everyone tries these days, you know.”

He wondered if his mother was faking her enthusiasm just to ease him. He’d expected her to be more.. Angry about it.

“.. I’m surprised you’re not upset, ma.”

“Upset?” Rio furrowed her brows. “Miles, how could I get upset? You’re experiencing what every other teenager experiences, that’s great!.. I know you’ve been trying to act like an adult to help us, and you’ve given up so much just to keep us afloat. I’ve been getting worried that you’ve been focusing too much with adult responsibilities that you’re forgetting that you’re just a kid. You’re allowed to go around and be a kid. You’re allowed to like a girl— so long as she’s not a bad influence.”

Miles pushes back the thought of you being a smoker.

“She’s not a bad influence. She’s.. Just going through a lot.. She makes me happy, ma.”

Rio looked at him proudly. Only then, she wondered if her dearest husband ever brooded like this too upon realizing his feelings for her. She wondered if Jeff ever pouted the way Miles did, and looked out into the world with such admiration in his eyes as though he were shaping the void into an image of her.

Jeff loved, and thus, Miles could love too.

“If she makes you happy, then I’m happy.” She beamed. “So long as she’s not a brat or an alcoholic, or a racist, or any of those bad people, I’ll accept her.”

The mother shared a loving glimpse of her son, making out an image of her late husband in the way he smiled. Suddenly, she pats her lap and stands up. “Bueno, I’m making adobo.”

“I can help—“

“No, sit down, you’re tired.” Rio held out a finger. “Take a rest, Miles.”

“But Ma—“

“Rest.”

And he did.

Well, he tried. It was a subtle attempt. A poor one, at that. He sat upright by the sofa, listening to his mother chop up the potatoes. He tries to discreetly look into your messages, only to find you’ve finally texted back.

her ♡ || two minutes ago.

sorry i haven’t texted!! 😭😭

remember the party this sunday? my dad is making me help with the preparations so i couldn’t go to our date

i’m really sorry 🥺 don’t get mad

if you want, we can do it tomorrow.

Miles pouted. He didn’t want to reply immediately. He didn’t want to look desperate.

So he waited for another five minutes.

.. Even though you made him wait for six hours.

He switches the television on in attempt to distract himself from your message.

‘Last night, a horrific murder happened within Brooklyn, as the body of a beheaded man was discovered outside of a local bodega. Witnesses claim that an alien disguised as a teenage girl had ripped off, and eaten the man’s head.’

“The hell?” Miles burrowed his brows upon being greeted with the news on television. “An alien?”

He watches as the screen switches over towards one of the witnesses, a scruffy man with reddened eyes— evidently too lost in whatever he was taking to speak too calmly.

“.. They’re prolly high as hell.”

‘I’m ain’t even [censored] with y’all— some [censored] ripped off Kyle’s head— it was a horrific looking piece of [censored] made out of black goo or whatever the [censored]. The government’s [censored] making alien [censored]!

‘So far, there have been no records of the scene, as the cameras had been blacked out.’

“What the f—“ Miles grew mindful of his language upon realizing his mother was in the other room. “How the hell did that even happen!? Blacked out my ass.”

It was more or less, likely a murder related to the elites. One of their kids must’ve been hanging out with those junkies and killed a man for fun.

A phone begins to ring. Miles turns his head.

“Miles, can you get that for me?” He heard his mother, who was too busy chopping up something, call out.

He turns off the television, hops out of the sofa and heads straight into his mother’s room. As he flicks the light open, a king-sized bed greets him with its gray, large glory. He used to jump on that bed too much when he was a kid. Now, it looked.. Desolate, and almost deserted. With how large the bed was, he couldn’t help but ponder how lonely his mother must’ve felt, sleeping in a bed less warmer than three years ago.

Miles passes by the closet, and after foraging for a bit, he manages to find his mother’s phone atop a drawer— swiftly grabbing the gadget before turning to leave.

As he turns, his foot accidentally nudges against a box.

He peers through it, before kicking it away.

Making his way back to the kitchen, he hands the ringing phone over to his mother before curtly returning to the room to close the lights.

But as his hands reached out towards the switch, his eyes were drawn back to the sight of the box.

It looked like it’d been cast aside beside the closet.

Hearing his mother speak over the phone lightheartedly, something about something. Miles trudges towards the orange, cardboard box, kneeling by the floor with a single knee down on the wood. His hand curiously glazes over the top, feeling a pile of dust collect over his fingers.

Hesitantly, he takes off the lid, finding a familiar white, collared shirt. He pulls it up to the ceiling light and watches as it unfolds into a larger sheet.

This belonged to his father’s.

He looks right back into the box, finding a pair of black, dress pants neatly folded into a square. Meekly, he tugs on it, hoping he wouldn’t uncover anything sinister like a severed hand or an eyeball. After pulling the whole thing out, a longer line of black unravels.

A strange array of emotions lingered inside him.

Nostalgia. Wrath. Happiness.

It smelled like dust, and it was forever devoid of its owner’s scent and warmth.

“Miles, do you want juice?”

“Huh? Y-yeah.” He stammered. “Grape juice would be nice.”

His mother’s comment slips past his ears. For a moment, he pondered about wearing this to the Sunday party, but he couldn’t help but think how it likely wouldn’t fit him. His father was a giant, and he was quite lanky.

Upon hearing his mother’s footsteps, Miles hurriedly and clumsily attempts to refold the clothes, only then hearing a soft clatter. He pivots his head to the side.

There was a USB.

“For the florals, I think daffodils would be great.”

Your hands skimmed across the air in attempt of drafting an idea. From afar, you manage to earn a wider view of the banquet hall. Workers left and right helped with tidying up the refectory, scrubbing up windows and mopping up the floors. “It would match the golden theme, don’t you think?” You asked of Charlotte, who nodded wobbly with her dire age.

As of that moment, you’d been preparing for the layout of the party. As much as you didn’t want to listen to Montrell’s suggestion, you figured getting on his bad side would be a bad move.

The fundraiser, originally hosted by your aunt, was planned out to gather enough money to support Senator Barlowe’s projects. Your family was to auction off high-priced materials such as clothes, jewelry, paintings, and even estates for the sake of meeting the goal. Which would also mean that the highest of the elite would be attending the party.

And you were less than thrilled to be its co-host.

Charlotte marvels at your suggestion, taking it with a smile but a pique. “However, daffodils can’t usually be placed with other flowers, so I’ll have to make a special request to the florist to do the preparations extensively.”

You raised a brow. “Why can’t they be placed together with other flowers?”

One of the maids carrying a porcelain vase walk past you, making you gently remind her to put it aside.

Charlotte parts her palms. “They secrete toxins into the water. So whenever it’s placed among other flowers, the rest die.”

“Oh,” You widened your gaze, processing this newly found information. “How did you know that?”

Charlotte blinked, trying to think back. “.. Well, daffodils were used for your mother and father’s wedding. It was a struggle, since the day of the wedding, half of the bouquet had already wilted.”

You stood back in surprise, crossing your arms before your chest. “Mama must’ve been furious.”

Charlotte shook her head. “Your father plucked flowers out from the gardens and made her a bouquet himself.”

Wait. What? WHAT?

Wow, who knew your daddy was quite the romantic?

I’m just as shocked as every other person.

“M-My father?” You dumbly repeated. “My father plucked out the flowers himself? Or was it Mr. Nigel?”

“Your father, himself, Miss.” Charlotte laughed, finding your shock to be quite amusing. “He’s quite great at it too— flower arrangement. Your grandmother taught him from an early age.”

“My father truly arranged the bouquet for him and mama’s wedding?” You couldn’t believe your ears. “He has that sort of talent?”

“Why, of course!” She beamed a warm beam. “Like you, he used to oversee the interior of the hotel. He has great taste when it comes to color, and you’ve inherited that side of him.”

You tried to think about it, your father— who was now an old man with a permanent sneer on his wrinkled lip— arranging flowers in his youth, picking out pastel and cream curtains for the parties, and overseeing the menu. It didn’t seem like something he’d do, at all. Then again, your mother used to describe him in a way that made it tragic.

A good man, never a good father. Torn between yearning to be held in arms that never welcomed him and finding his worth beyond the standard of his own father.

You tried to sympathize with him. Your father.

Though he was who he was, he cared about you, in a twisted, fucked-up way. Your engagement with Richard Fisk was privately decided after the hotel went near-bankrupt had it not been for the Fisks and their mystical talent for cover-ups— and your father simply took most of your managing rights away just so the family you’d marry into wouldn’t use you for their own greed.

The fate wasn’t entirely horrible either. You’d marry into new money, sure, but their wealth would most definitely preserve the comfortable life you’re living right now.

It was your own greed that was worsening you.

Your desire to have a tantamount of power.

But what if you never needed it?

“Miss!”

What if all you needed was a peaceful life? Marry into the Fisks, host parties, and care no more about anything?

“Miss [Y/n]!”

.. But what about Miles?

He hadn’t answered any of your texts yet.

“Miss [Y/n], a call.” One of your secretaries came crashing through the doors with his phone. How you hated that word. Call. A signal of what would definitely exhaust you. Where was Montrell? Why weren’t they calling out for him? Were you really the only one able to handle all the messes in here? Workers left and right stopped as he trudged up the stairs, nearly tossing the phone over to you. You slip it close to your ear, making your way down with each click of your heel.

Charlotte watches as you listen to the caller with such intent. Silently, you eyed your surroundings before heading out.

As you reached the patio, you looked out into the dimming violet evening that was fading out along with the scarlet of the sun. The caller rambles on, something along about the recent incident.

“I’ve bribed the higher-ups to rush the investigation and to arrest the witnesses. We’ll release the story that they had murdered their friend after taking drugs.”

“Good.” You plucked out your vape from your pockets. “Report to me immediately once you find all the records about their families and their identities.”

“Understood.” You hear the sound of Morrison’s computer typing. Likely writing up a list. “I’ve also halted the investigation of the fire. I’ve told your father the information was tracked from an accidental leak after a delivery of the samples to one of the families had the address exposed. Sir Anthony will have to take up the blame since it was his idea.”

You took a long huff. “Good job. You did well.”

The smoke lingers, and you close your eyes.

Sorry, Antonne. You’ll live, I guess.

“Morrison,” You called out to him. “.. How’s Miles?”

The typing comes to a halt. For a moment, the two of you shared a moment of silence. You picture him pushing his glasses up higher off the bridge of his nose.

“.. I’ve spent most of my attention on other things, so I haven’t been able to check up on him yet.”

“Ah, is that so?” You mumbled. “Never mind then, just continue on with halting the investigation. I’ll take care of the rest, and remember, if any of the witnesses start describing my face—“

Clack.

You turned your head.

What was that?

ＳＯＭＥＯＮＥ‘Ｓ　ＨＥＲＥ

No shit.

Beyond the gardens, the skies were beginning to dim. That familiar shade of magenta, it lingered like a ghost and it haunted you like your past. There was a click that set your mind off, and suddenly you couldn’t help but feel like the world was integrating itself into a technicolor, dotted comic.

Then and there, spying on you from the top of the six Corinthian columns of the garden, sat the young Prowler.

“Miss [Y/n]? You were saying?” Morrison pried from you.

You parted your phone from you ear, a side of your grin heightening into a catty smirk.

“… If any of them start describing my face, take care of it.”

Then and there, you ended the call with one light tap. You remained stubborn with your posture, seemingly amused and befuddled by it all while keeping your head high. The boy watched you curiously but stiffly, as if he were unsure of what to do. You were mutually frozen, but you couldn’t allow any sort of weakness to seep through the cracks of your confidence.

You took a step close, and he tenses. The sound of your heel clicking against the tiles sends an echo into the garden.

“To what do I owe the pleasure?” You greeted of him with sincere politeness, placing a hand over your hip. Was it an attempt to appear idle or what? “… It’s quite an honor to have you here as a guest.”

“Who are you?” The boy growled, voice delved baritones deep. “Really.”

You tilted your head.

“Who would you like me to be?”

His gauntlet unfolds, and suddenly, he launches himself at you, grabbing you by the neck.

[A/n: I PASSED MY FUCKING ENTRANCE EXAM GUYS]

175 notes · View notes

loserlvrss · 10 months ago

Text

꒰ 𝐇𝐎𝐖 𝐓𝐎 𝐀𝐏𝐎𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐈𝐙𝐄 ꒱ 寺園佳汰

summary : keita would never let you go to bed mad at him

genre : angst to eventual fluff, established relationship, drabble, keita x afab!reader tws : alleged argument, kissing author notes : evnneblr doesn't write about keita enough ꃋᴖꃋ that's my short king (i’m barely (157.48cm) 5’2) word count : 1k

silence.

you swear you didn’t have to try hard to hear the dust through the air, that’s how quiet your apartment seemed.

in reality, you weren’t entirely convinced keita hadn’t left a long time ago—probably sound asleep back at the dorm while his members played games.

but he cared more about you than that, didn’t he?

you knew in your heart that your boyfriend would never leave you unhappy; never leave an argument unsolved. you knew, as you laid between the covers on your bed, that keita was probably still sitting on your couch.

you could almost picture his head resting against the back, hear the frustrated sigh that left his lips. you didn’t want to be angry anymore, honestly not remembering what you two had argued about in the first place. in hindsight, you realized it probably didn’t even matter.

but you could remember the nasty words that were spewed in venom-laced tones. and you regretted them more than anything. you shouldn’t have blamed him for being tired—he worked so hard after all—you shouldn’t have yelled at him after he bedrudgingly came over after hours of dance practice. you shouldn’t have accused him of not loving you anymore, because that was the final straw, causing an argument that after a while didn’t even pertain to the initial spark.

you knew he loved you with his entire heart. hell, you loved him just as much, if not more. so, you, at the end of your scattered thoughts, couldn’t figure out where all this had come from. you didn’t need to seek out forgiveness, because in your mind there was nothing for either of you to be truly sorry for. couples fight, argue, disagree. it’s all a part of the hurdles of life. the only thing you were sorry for was dragging it out this long when you both could’ve been asleep in each others arms.

“y/n,” you heard the creek of your bedroom door. “are you awake?” you debated stooping lower and pretending to sleep. however, you couldn’t figure out where that thought stemmed from either. maybe it’s what you would’ve done to your exes, but keita was different from them; more patient, gentle and definitely, a lot kinder. he didn’t deserve that, and you knew it. “it’s getting kinda late, and if you want me to go so you can cool off a bit more, i can. i just need a yes or no then.”

you sat up, curling your knees into your chest, and wrapping your arms around them. you could see his backlight silhouette in the doorway, hand still nervously fidgeting with the knob.

“i’m sorry.” you finally said against cold air. “i shouldn’t have said those things to you, keita. i know they aren’t true.” you saw him freeze, but before he got a chance to get a word in, you spoke again. “and i’m sorry for letting it go on this long, i’m not mad at you anymore. so, please don’t go?” you didn’t mean for it to sound so much like a question, but you also didn’t want to pressure him to stay if he hadn’t forgiven you for such an audacious claim.

you don’t know if the tension felt one-sided, or if he was drowning in it too. you had a shortness of breath, a trembling in your heart and hands. a nervousness you couldn’t fight off as you awaited his voice.

“i won’t, if…” he said, cutting through the thickness of the air and all the way to your ears. your mind started running, jumping to fill in the voided sentence with whatever you could muster up. was it bad? was it good? would he stay with you tonight? you didn’t want time to be the teller, but it seemed maybe he was teasing you for being so stupid earlier. or maybe he was just coming up with ways to have you make it up to him, weighing out which would be the best. “if you admit that you know i love you.”

he began approaching the bed, and you pouted out your bottom lip in an attempt to stop the emotions from spilling over. “but either way, obviously, i’m going to have to show you because you seemed to have forgot.” he climbed up onto the bed, moving the covers out of his way.

the moment you felt his hands meet your arms, tears started rolling down your cheeks.

you don’t really know why you started crying. maybe it was because you had kept them back after storming off to your room, staring at the ceiling for god knows how long. but they didn’t go unnoticed by your boyfriend, his palms coming to rest against your cheeks as his thumbs brushed them away.

“baby,” you could see, even through the dark, that he looked at you like you were the cutest thing in the world—and maybe to him, you were. “it’s okay, you don’t have to cry. i’m not mad at you, i know you didn’t mean it. i’m sorry we said those things to each other, i’m sorry i left you in here alone like this. you were just upset i’ve been neglecting you for practice, and i was frustrated about being so tired. i’m sorry, y/n.”

he punctuated every word by peppering a light kiss to various parts of your face. “i love you.” and finally he kissed your lips, gently holding you in place. “i’ll never do it again—never leave you upset like this again.”

“i’ll never do it either—never accuse you of not loving me. i’m really sorry.” you hiccuped out, lips barely centimeters apart.

he smiled at your words. “you forgive me?”

you sniffled. “do you forgive me?”

he kissed your lips again. “i’ll always forgive you, baby.”

“i love you, keita.”

“you know i love you too?”

you breathily laughed, in disbelief of the night you’ve had. “yeah.” you whispered, reaffirming it with another light kiss that you initiated this time.

your heart was full as he adjusted the two of you to be laying down, your head against his chest. he traced cute doodles on your bare arm, holding you to him, and you listened to the rhythmic beats and gentle breathing until eventually the two of you fell asleep—close and unbothered, just how it was intended to be.

reblogs, likes and comments are greatly appreciated! thank u!

— perm tag list .ᐟ send an ask to be added c:

108 notes · View notes

pensivegreen · 5 months ago

Text

CH 1: Silent Shadows

Whispers In The Dark

Aaron Hotchner x BAU!reader

Note: not canon, diverges from storyline. Slow burn. Also, my first time attempting to actually write.

TW: typical criminal minds description of crime and criminal behavior, brief mention of insecurities, swearing

WC: 1.4 K

The car ride to D.C. was uneventful. Everyone divided into two Suburbans either sleeping or rereading the case file. You opted to stare out the window for the majority of the ride, admiring the last couple weeks of autumn. It’s always been your favorite season weather-wise in addition to the feeling of comfort it awakens that you naturally never received.

Gazing out the window, your eyes meet the D.C. police station that invited your team here. Parked, everyone gets out in near synchrony, walking into the station. A man meets you all as soon as you enter the double doors. “Lieutenant Cook, thank you for coming so fast.”.

“Of course, we’re happy to help.” JJ shakes the man’s outstretched hand, “Jennifer Jareau, we spoke on the phone. This is Supervisor Special Agent Hotchner, Rossi, Special Agent Morgan, Prentiss, Y/L/N, and Dr. Spencer Reid.” JJ introduces everyone skillfully as it is not the first or last time.

“Nice to meet y’all. I’ve cleared out a room in the back for you guys to set up camp. Already had my guys place all the evidence boxes there as well.” You are impressed at how prepared Lieutenant Cook is, yet staring at the weathered man in front of you, it’s obvious he just wants this case solved.

“Thank you. Reid, get with Garcia and start working on the geographic profile. Rossi, start rifling through the caseload in the back looking for any patterns or peculiarities. Morgan and Prentiss, pair up and meet with the victims’ families and friends. We need a more in-depth understanding of the victim profile. Y/n and I will help Prentiss and Morgan by dividing the attention.” Hotch delegates the team to work as efficiently as possible, as we’re behind the unsub and have catching up to do.

Like normal Hotch jumps into the driver's seat without even asking, punching an address into the GPS. Driving off, the only noise filling the void was the monotone voice spewing directions every so often. You can feel that Hotch is in thought, attempting to battle if he should press the issue he has created in his mind.

“You’ve been off ever since we took this case.”

Damn profilers.

“Just been in thought is all. I thought you said we aren’t supposed to profile each other?” you turn your head to quirk your eyebrow at him.

Turning his head to glance at you quickly, before resuming his attention to the road, “It’s not a profile just an observation.” Hotch subconsciously grips and releases his hand on the steering wheel, “Is it because of what these girls look like?”

Shit. You gently pull your attention from the driver's side back to the road. Everyone knows it’s weird when you work a case where you fit the unsubs type. It’s not the first time but, something about the trauma inflicted on these women causes you to stir more than normal.

“It’s not the first or last time I’ll see myself in those photos, Hotch. I’m fine” You try to be truthful but ease any doubt you sense. You know Hotch is trying to look out for you but you don’t want to feel babied or the rest of the team to patronize you.

With a reluctant glare, Hotch drops the topic, “Okay”.

· · ─────── · ୨୧ · ─────── · ·

You and Hotch make your way around the D.C. area meeting with the families and friends of the victims. The interviews paint a consistent picture: all three victims usually stayed late on campus, either immersed in academic pursuits or enjoying social activities. Each loved one highlights the resilience and physical fitness of the women, emphatically stating they would not go quietly if attacked or abducted.

The first interview is with the parents of Sarah, a diligent student engrossed in her studies. Her mother recalls, “Sarah often studied until the library closed. She was disciplined and fiercely independent. She knew how to be safe.”

The second victim’s roommate, a close friend named Lisa, confirms a similar pattern. “Sophia was a social butterfly but also a health nut. She’d often be the last to leave the gym or a party, especially since she usually would help clean up.”

During the third visit, the brother of Rachel, a passionate athlete, echoes the previous sentiments. “Rachel was tough. She trained in self-defense for years. If someone attempted to kidnap her, they’d regret it.”

After the last interview, sitting in the car you voice the gnawing question. “Why would an organized offender target victims who would not only be noticed missing but would also resist?”

Hotch nods, his brows furrowed. “An organized offender typically avoids high-risk situations. These women pose a threat and increase the risk of the unsub being caught mid-abduction.”

Your phone vibrates, reading the caller ID you pick up. “Morgan, can you tell me about the other two victims?”

Morgan’s voice comes through the line, steady and clear. “Same patterns, Y/N. Both women were frequently on campus late, either for classes or social events. They were also physically fit and had strong personalities.”

Exchanging looks with Hotch, you feel the pieces start to click together. “Thanks, Morgan. We’ll see you at the station.”

· · ─────── · ୨୧ · ─────── · ·

Soon, the entire team gathers in the makeshift office at the police station.

“The question,” Hotch begins, addressing everyone, “is why an organized unsub would choose high-risk victims?”

Morgan weighs in first. “It could be a challenge thing. He might get a thrill from the struggle, from overpowering someone strong and resilient.”

“Or it could be a form of revenge,” Emily adds thoughtfully. “Maybe these women represent someone in his past who was strong and defiant. He might feel the need to dominate and break them.”

You nod, considering. “We also need to think about the possibility of him planning his approach meticulously. Maybe he’s confident enough in his methods and knowledge of their routines that he feels the risk is minimal.”

Spencer looks up from his notes. “The meticulous planning could suggest he has observed them for a prolonged period. He might have an intimate knowledge of their schedules, their habits. It’s not about random opportunity—it’s a well-calculated choice.”

JJ interjects, “And the emotional connection he feels might make him think he ‘knows’ them, reducing his perceived risk of getting caught.”

Hotch sums it up, “So, our unsub is highly organized, possibly with narcissistic tendencies, feeling superior and confident in his ability to control the situation despite the high-risk nature of his targets.”

As the meeting wraps up, everyone feels the weight of what still needs to be uncovered pressing down. The exhaustion from the day’s work begins to set in, the heaviness of the case reducing their energy. Reluctantly you all decide it would be best to call it a night and hit tomorrow with renewed vigor.

Although the FBI pays well they sure do cut costs in other areas; like hotel rooms. Before arriving at any hotel the team sets up a lottery system to determine who is sharing and who is the lucky bastard getting a single room. Garcia electronically handles this and sends out a mass message with the results.

The team begins to walk into the hotel when everyone's phone buzzes and instantaneously Rossi blares, “Oh I’m gonna sleep well tonight.”

Emily through exhaustion declares injustice, “You’ve got to be kidding me! This is the 3rd time in a row. Did you pay Garcia off?”

“If it wasn’t so late I’d demand a redraw.” Derek shakes his head with a smile. “JJ looks like we are stuck together.”

You finally look at the message to see you are rooming with Hotch. Great. Now you can’t escape his watchful eye at all. You’ve roomed with Hotch a handful of times and every time you feel stiff. From the moment you first saw Hotch, you had a hidden crush on him but, you’ve pushed down any attraction. Seeing the stoic man always dressed in suits suddenly walking around in sweats feels like a line that shouldn’t be crossed.

Walking into the room behind Hotch, you place your bag down beginning to pull out the things you need for the night. Luckily, Hotch lets you take the shower first. You hurriedly finish in the bathroom as your feet throb from soreness.

“All you”

Hotch follows your command shutting the bathroom door. Climbing into bed, your body melts into the mattress; the stiff pillows feel like memory foam due to exhaustion. Your eyes close hoping to be greeted by slumber before Hotch leaves the bathroom. With a stroke of luck, drowsiness seeps across your muscles. But before sleep claims you, the faces of the victims flash behind your eyes, echoing the hidden unease you feel.

#aaron hotch hotchner #aaron hotch fanfiction #aaron hotch fic #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotchner #bau team #criminal minds #slow burn #bau x reader

42 notes · View notes

ranticore · 6 months ago

Text

answering asks in a big batch post

my god u guys are curious

nah I don't think they live that long. the matriarchs maybe will take several generations of rider but for the average workers i don't believe their lifespan would be much longer than a human's. maybe an extra 10 or 20 years over the human average, in which case they would be retired (and likely grieving)

@illbecreativelater thank you bestie... yeah absolutely, any recommendations of the pern books need to have a big "this was written in the 1960s" disclaimer attached lol. i have a real soft spot for them for the sci-fi disguised as fantasy aspect, and the plotline of people coming together to rediscover lost technology - if someone reads it purely for dragon riding i think they'd be disappointed. i find it interesting how it launched a genre but the most unique aspects of the story (aforementioned sci-fi elements) were not really replicated in other dragon riding fiction. also um obligatory plug for Said The Black Horse if you like Pern Story since that's where all the characters come from (no dragons tho)

idk

hfkjsg i'm kidding, I didn't think I'd put this much thought into the prehistory stuff so it's still patchy and not internally consistent. re: the mages, they did not go willingly at ALL and it was not the crime of one group - it was unable to be conclusively proven (behind closed doors) what started the "portals spewing out inorganic killing machines" problem. each had dirt on the other and they all stabbed eachother in the back over it during the ensuing tribunals (and it was because Revelation had no leverage over the others that it became the fall guy). there were only a handful of mages in reality, and one of them was fully exonerated and became the judge who gave the sentence and the ensuing punishment. the options presented to the mages were "submit or die", with submission being contingent on their future lives as underground pest control monsters.

the magic was not like dnd wizard magic. it was more esoteric - a study like alchemy which could not actually be weaponised. wizards were vulnerable to physical attack. they weren't throwing out lightning bolts or fireballs, and away from their laboratories, helpers, and equipment, they couldn't cast spells at will. they were, as it turns out, very stoppable. far from the most powerful people in the world - the ability to manipulate the fabric of reality is all well and good but if you don't have a rich patron or king giving you unlimited funding it's not like you can do much. the spell of Turn Into Monster was the last piece of magic powered by extra-dimensional sources before those sources chose to stop humouring spellcasters, and it took years to implement.

magic could not handle the new threat. they tried and failed. it was very much a "i opened a portal to the void to see if it would make my dinky little orrery spin, and something in the void stared back" situation, where that 'something' was not controllable by magical means. the events at Amphora were greater than just a stream of crawling beasts (again, where Amphora once sat there is now a vast plain of completely flat, empty land)

anyway i still need to seal up some of the gaps but essentially, wizards caused the mess collectively, were unable to stop it, and then turned viciously on one another when it became clear their magic wasn't helping and their patrons were no longer willing to support them. many of them were torn from their laboratories by the vengeful public and few survived long enough to see their new lives as wyrms.

Dark age/renaissance/industrial revolution: yes kind of! Even the generations of people directly following the original settling of Siren were forced to live essentially stone-age lives despite being fully aware of technology like LEDs or rocket engines. The mineral composition of Siren made metals really hard to come by, and without an established Industrial Sector they struggled to produce things like medicine (the ol' 'how will you make insulin' question again) and they were shit outta luck for microchips or computers. they could farm, they could make primitive refineries, but it was increasingly clear that if they wanted to reproduce the conveniences of modern Earth life, it would have to be developed again from scratch using only the materials available on Siren. And the more decrepit the original settlement ruins became, the harder it was to access knowledge of the old world, and for a while many societies on Siren were subsistence farmers/hunters only. this dark age birthed many superstitions and myths that persist today, and the theory of 'predecessors' who were like gods who'd come to Siren to populate it with their creations. normally i wouldn't believe stuff like this could happen but tbh i've seen people go full anti-vax in real time and it only takes a few generations of that for entire belief systems to spring up and warp the truth.

the renaissance era is Qedivar's time, it's when the University is at its peak and the study of the natural world and its phenomena has become more science than superstition, it is an era of rapidly expanding knowledge. Industrial Revolution has not taken place however it's not far off on the horizon; the most 'modern' cast of characters I have is a whaling crew in a metal-hulled, coal-powered ship.

which forms of government were most prevalent during the existance of Sirenian civilization? which forms exist currently?: the first Sirenian government was a military dictatorship formed in secret with the first rebels at the helm, which dissolved once its stated goals had been met and the settlement had been destroyed. after that there was an attempt at republicanism but ultimately different groups drifted apart instead of staying all in one place, forming small scattered enclaves around the western continent, usually ruled by whoever chose to go out there and start farming. these developed into villages. pelagic villages in some regions are still ruled by a patriarch (gender neutral) selected by a council of elders based on who has the most experience. there have been as many forms of government over the years across the planet as you can imagine, probably. notably, most of the Eastern continent is ruled by whoever is currently the president of the University. for most prevalent I'd say some form of council, elected or not. but on the eastern coast of the Eastern continent there exists Siren's only bloodline monarchy as well, and that still persists into the renaissance era.

was there any sort of access to advanced knowledge that helped them during the social/cultural/technological development? Not particularly; although people went to Siren specifically to make a settlement and live there, it was never intended to be permanent. when permanently settling other planets (for example, the ship that brought people to Siren originated on another planet, Ceti, and not Earth) the effort would usually be far more robust and massive databanks would provide people with knowledge. the settlement had 3D printers to produce clothing and day to day objects when needed, but they were sabotaged by the last non-allied unmodified humans when it became clear their cause was lost. they also had basic wikipedia level databanks which were stored within their own servers (i.e no cloud backups or anything and no connection to anything outside Siren), which were subject to flood damage and also more sabotage via crowbar, in an attempt to hide from future access what had been done within the genetic lab. parts of the databanks were later able to be accessed (it's how Qedivar got all that information about Ishmael) but as mentioned above, the knowledge was scarce and all but useless. it'd be like a caveman finding a manual for how to turn on a wifi router, but there's no wifi, no router, and no materials to make any of those things.

some of the harpy visors contained the photo albums (3D and immersive videos included) of the pilots who once wore them, which provided a glimpse into Earth or Ceti. they also had digital maps which greatly aided in navigating Siren; there was never any era of exploration, as the geography of the planet was known from the start.

had things like feudalism/class inequality/slavery still emerged, regardless? yes but in small and isolated areas, as the population density of Siren overall is extremely low and it was difficult for anyone to concentrate enough power in one place to enact widespread feudalism or start up a formal slave trade. the monarchy described above does engage in feudalism, for example. class inequality is very pronounced in places like the University but classes are not defined by wealth, rather by scholarly ability. in the west coastal areas of the Eastern continent it is common to simply not have any relationship with your blood relatives on the basis of that relation; that is, even if you know who your parents are (a very rare occurrence). this makes it difficult to concentrate class power via bloodline, and why the monarchy is wildly different and kind of an unthinkable novelty to everyone outside it lol.

#ice storm over kosa #rds #setting: siren #i have one more ask about siren but i want to draw something for it so it's lying in wait for now

30 notes · View notes

asappywriter · 1 month ago

Text

Dog Days are Over snippet

Posting the first part of my fanfic as a pilot of shorts since Its taking me forever writing the second half

Warning: Meations of violence

Aemond wasn’t cruel. He wasn’t evil, nor a killer. He knew he wasn’t, yet he still felt the crushing misery and fear that came with death.

A death he caused.

The boy lived, he knew he need not feel such sorrow, but it had already buried itself in his bones and torn its way into his soul.

Perhaps he deserved the anguish, he was the one that had sent his dog after the boy. He was the one that had heisted before pulling her off. Aemond had been the one to sit beside him instead of rushing him to the hospital, staring down at his bloodied face and wondering if it was best to just throw him into some river.

The thought was cruel, the action was cruel, his hesitance was cruel. But was he cruel?

It hadn’t been his dog's fault, she simply was following the orders of her man.

Her man, he relented, not her master.

He hadn’t been thinking when he went to his mother. He never seemed to think before seeking comfort from her.

“-Your own kin, Aemond. You’ve nearly slaughtered your own kin. All over some silly childhood-“

Absently he picked at his fingernails, counting the minutes.

They had been there for twenty seven minutes and forty eight seconds, his grandfather had yet to say a word and his mother had yet to stop spewing them.

He ignored the bile rising in his throat at her words, forcing himself to focus on keeping the emotion’s squeezing his chest away from his face. He did not need his mother to witness his misery, he himself wished that he had the strength to pretend he had no reason for it.

He hadn’t inherited his mother’s ability to blind herself. Instead he was forced to bear witness to plain, ugly truths.

“…death, Aemond. Is that what you wish? To die? Surely now Rheanyra will spur her murderess plans into motion because of this.”

He briefly flickered his eyes from his lap over to his grandfather, wondering how, even now, he managed to hold a sense of stoicism. Otto didn’t yell at him like Alicent did, and that was almost worse. At least his mother felt something, while Otto only seemed to have cold indifference towards both his existence and sins.

He turned his gaze to his mother, studying her face. He did not see much of himself in her, he never had no matter how many hours he had spent as a child searching. Aegon had her nose and her curls, while Helaena shared her smile, along with the rarity that they appeared.

The only thing Aemond shared with his mother was her rage.

“No doubt she will use this as an excuse, claiming your siblings had some sort of involvement that deserves punishment.”

Alicent began to resume her pacing, having only stopped to rake her hands over her tear stained face. He hated it when she cried, he hated it even more when he was the reason for it.

“Do you have anything to say for yourself, Aemond?“

Her words broke him out of his stupor, snapping him away from his thoughts. Straightening, he was silent for a moment, searching both his mind and his mothers gaze for whatever answer she would want to hear.

He swallowed down the lump in his throat and willed his voice not to crack.

“It…it was a mistake. I regret it now.”

It was a pathetic excuse for an explanation, and he knew it. He had to force himself to not look away from his mother’s ashen face.

“Perhaps not all is lost.”

His attention snapped to his grandfather, a wave of unexpected adrenaline washing over him. His mother’s figure turned ridged at Otto’s voice, the reminder of him being present seeming to unnerve her just as much as it did him.

Alicent’s teary eyes seemed to dry as they turned to Otto, her face hardening. Briefly Aemond wondered if he had been looking at her the same way.

“What?”

Her words were almost completely void of sound, uttered gently under her breath. He almost flinched at the sudden shift to softness.

“The boy is not dead, as Aemond has said. He’s merely maimed,” it was Alicents turn to flinch. “He is in a similar state to which Aemond was left in. Rheanyra and her kin have no ground to press chargers on.”

His mother seemed to almost recoil at the reminder of that night, her eyes turning to his eye, or rather lack thereof. He himself felt a bubble of both shame and anger well in his chest at the memory, his spine stiffening.

“But-

“They are foolish, yes. But they are not so much of a fool to try and make this a legal matter. We’ve already sent the boy back, now we must wait for a response.”

The room was silent, save from the crackling from the fireplace. Aemond's gaze shifted between his grandfather and his mother, watching them simply stare at each other. His mother opened her mother to argue, heisted for a moment, before closing it again.

Her hand went up to her cross necklace, her scarred fingers turning white at how hard she was gripping the pendent. With a sigh, she gave her father a small nod before quietly leaving the room.

She did not once glance back at Aemond as she went. It was for the best, he thought. It was better for her to not look at him rather than for her to look at him with shame and disappointment.

#aemond targaryen #fanfic #house of the dragon

3 notes · View notes

ants-personal · 6 months ago

Text

anyways more lil tidbits about the everymanhornets au

Whenever otherworldly things take place habit is well aware of who or what is happening and honestly he wouldn't help cause its funny but also that means something else gets to torment evan and that's just not allowed tbh so he helps save tim to save evan so he can go back to being the only thing causing misery

Evan does have knowledge of the other anes simply cause of habit which is distressing he knows whatever happened caused some cracks in his pocket of the universe he knows that tims friends are stuck in the ark suffering and his are stuck in candleverse and fairmount he doesn't share this information.

Habit constantly berates tim for being lame and boring such a let down since from what he's understood tim was suppose to be one of slenderman's big players The masked one meant to help good ol slendy trap others in his games a real top dog and instead he gets... this the masky nowhere to be seen even if habit can sense it laying dormant for now

When masky does show up he is aggressive towards evan evan even when he's himself since he can sense habit any parts of tim are not present and at one point he even bludgeons evan to death with a pipe letting habit take back control puppeteering evans corpse pissed off and clawing deep marks in maskies neck

Tim has been over the years been able to suppress masky and really any control slenderman has with the help of his doctor and new meds plus just being away from the center of activity helps to move on keep the good memories block out the bad creating a space in his head to trap masky in

He uses what he learns to try and help evan at the very least stay in control longer and more with habit course its easier when your alter or whatever isn't constantly whispering in your ears or tearing apart your insides to claw himself to the front seat. It's hard to do but works even when whatever building or maze evan tries to trap habit in inside his mind he always finds a way out pissed off

Tim and Evan are more durable then normal people for obvious reasons but evan is the only here that can't actually died (for now :) habit refuses to let him but he does feel every death the pain never dulls blood never tastes any better. Evans not the biggest fan but will do what he needs to to protect Tim and Habit needs him even if tim hates seeing evans dead body being animated by those shiny dead purple eyes. He has new scars and yeah they are badass okay but still sucks cause when evans back he looks like the living dead and acts like it body trying to keep up. Tim tries to ease his suffering cutting the days drive short so evan can lay in an actual bed.

Along the way slender man's influence does start being able to seep back into tims mind dreams hallucinations doing whatever it can to make tim stop helping habits plan using his friends against him in typical fashion blurs and figures on the side of the road that only tim notices sending information that ends up sending them out of the way cause tim was certain it was something important

Tim doesnt know what the hell the rake is but he sure doesn't like it or the way it's trying to literally eat them. (The sequence i have thought out for this part is inspired on the setting and events of one of my fave into the dark movies *Im Just Fucking With You* but instead of a person evan and tim are dealing with the rake running around causing mayhem and death)

Tim does get stuck in something close to ark a space created specific for him to break him down and stop any progress. Its an endless abandoned building there is not exit and any windows show nothing but pure black void the horrible twisted versions of his friends run and attack throughout the halls. Alex nothing more than a feral man spewing nothing but hatred for tim trying to kill him with the same knife used to kill him. Jay screams out for tim but no matter how fast he gets there jay always dies blood pooling asking tim why he wasn't here till alex finds and chases him away cycle repeats. Now brian is a little different aware of what's happening sometimes unable to fight for control and trying to kill tim himself but when the cycle restarts he tries to find a way out for tim. Eventually on one run he runs into a guy he's never seen before sneaking through the halls trying to find Tim himself talking to himself? He doesn't get the chance to ask before he's transported back to his spawn area

Oh yeah this is where Tims mask returns but he's not the one who finds it. Evan does in what looks like an abandoned classroom there's a message on the board and laying on top of the desk is Tims mask. Evan picks it up a lil amazed because he's only seen this thing in videos and cmon its cool unaware that he has triggered a change in Tim masky coming back in full force standing silently in the doorway eyes white traces of static flicker through them. Posture stiff and breathing slow anger rolling off of him in waves at evan for even touching the mask. Evan tries to get to tim and when its not working and hes getting slowly caged in he tries to run to keep the mask away cause its not what tim wants its futile evan is able to fight him off for a bit hiding and running from room to halls dodging masky and corrupted alex and jay before masky catches him and kills him so he can take back what his. Course habit doesn't like masky or being beaten by him even if it was evan so they end up beating eachother and destroying the place main area of the place till brain is able to find open the door evan had come through and helps habit send both him and masky through it landing them back in the small clearing of the quiet forest. Tims back and panics flinging the mask off his face while habit laughs at him and brags how he very much won that fight

Uhh i have like fun ones too but i have more scene thought out then others as you can see the fun ones are like downtime between evan and tim learning to be a sorta found family but not father son and also bonding over how fucked up their lives were and are :p

#everymanhornets #blocked that tag if you dont wanna see it lol #tim wright #evan myers #fic stuff #ant posts stuff

2 notes · View notes

verycherry1 · 2 years ago

Text

Pike Roast {Carmen Berzatto | Pt.3}

Part one

Part two

There was a yawn bobbing up his throat, he blinks tightly trying to swallow it down. The technique stopped working after the third yawn caused his eyes to water, he slipped his phone out from his back pocket.

8:30pm.

The well-known coffee chain was just a five-minute walk, he was certain he could manage to make it in time before they closed at 9. He desperately needed the caffeine to pull him through clearing out the remaining shelves before renovations began the following morning. He didn’t give it another thought before he was sprinting out the door of The Beef, marching down the strip of Chicago.

The city was louder for a Wednesday night. Bars are at a little bit more capacity than usual. Despite the uproar of college kids cackling from each bar, he was caught off guard by a familiar yelp from a chatty tavern steps away. He studied the way you threw your head back, laughing in slow motion, balancing the stem of your beer bottle between your fingers all in one motion. Beautiful. He thought to himself, swallowing the lump that knotted in his throat as he watched you gush at the backward hat that was spewing nothing but slurred bullshit across from you. He felt his blood pressure begin to increase, palms sweaty from clenching his fist so tight at the unsettling sight in front of him.

Does he know that you hate cilantro? He thought to himself, sizing up the generic frat-like fucker that was making you bust your gut with laughter. Had this mystery man already made his way into the solitary of your studio? And seen your ridiculous collection of coffee mugs you showed Carmen the first night he slept over? Had this man already filled the void on Carmen’s side of your bed? Using his set of knives to prepare meals for you, or the ashtray you specifically bought for him to ash on your patio. Did you burn his white cotton tees to replace with the new man’s threads to wear to bed? Are you showing up to his work with Pike Roast?

Did you even fucking miss him? Carmen ingested his heart from his throat, turning away from the mockery in front of him. No longer feeling the need for the liquid adrenaline, but rather, a burning poison from a shot glass.

He slammed the restaurant door behind him thinking of your toothy grin flashing at a man that wasn’t him. It wasn’t long until his fist collided with the paper-thin wall, justifying that it was to help with renovations, not his anger that was fueled by you moving on.

—

The renovations only kept his mind occupied for so long. No matter how hard he tried to flee from his thoughts, the jealousy lingered. He couldn’t even look at the clock without visualizing what you were doing right now. Let alone whom you were doing. His curiosity got the better of him after another long day of remodeling at the restaurant, convincing himself he was just dropping by your apartment to retrieve his set of knives. Amongst other belongings, he had left.

He shifts from one foot to the other, gawking at the door he once pushed your frame against during a heated make-out session. His fist bundled in his wool jacket, sweating at the motion of pulling them out and colliding them onto the frame, heart pounding louder than his knocks.

You didn’t give him much time to prepare, within seconds the door unfastened. He knew it wasn’t off to a good start by the sigh that escaped your lips.

You roll your eyes, flickering your wrist to look at your watch, jutting your chin out signaling him to get started.

“Y’er new man here?” he questions, trying not to make it obvious his eyes were looking past your height and into your apartment.

“I seem to be misunderstanding how that’s any of your business?” You catch on, bringing the door closer to your hip to close the visible space.

His blue eyes flicker to your agitated ones. “Is he?”

“My boyfriend? No, just a hobby.” You smirk, matter of fact like.

“Can I come inside then?” He asks in a faint mutter, trying his best to brush off your snarky remarks.

“Absolutely not.”

He sighs, running his fingers through his matted curls growing impatient with how difficult you’re being. “Why not?”

“Because you’re not welcome here Carmen.” You tell him before verbally stabbing him with his own words, “we’re not a couple.” As if he hadn’t spent this entire month licking his wounds, you managed to form another gash.

“You don’t have to keep reminding me that I fucked up.” He mumbled, blankly staring into your rage.

You’d grown irritated at this point, rolling your eyes once more. “Then stop randomly showing up at my apartment.”

“I’m so sorry, (Y/N). ” He blurts in an outburst before you can swing the door shut. Not similar to the tone he yelled with but, more of a desperate crack in his voice. It was so foreign that it left you stuck, pausing any insults you had left.

His hand rubbed the back of his head, looking back and forth down the hallway anxiously. “I-I wasn’t fair to you. I wasn’t nice to you, and I’m sorry..” There’s a tired look in his eyes that stopped up your throat.

“You..” he resumes, only to pause again. He brings his fingers to pinch the bridge of his nose, hoping it’ll assist him to formulate something, anything coherent before his anxiety gets the best of him. “you have a really big heart, and I uhh, I guess that’s overwhelming because I..um” he stops once more, too overstimulated because he doesn’t even know where to begin with getting you to understand his absolute mess of a thought process. “Because I don’t come from a very affectionate background. And and-“

“Carm..” you whisper cautiously, trying to defuse his sudden departure of fight or flight.

“I didn’t have a lot of friends growing up, I had uhh… a stutter when I was kid, I was scared to speak half the time..” he confesses, avoiding any contact with you.

“Carmy..” you try again.

“I got shitty grades because I couldn’t pay attention half the time.. I didn’t get into college..”

“Carmen..” you try once more in the same faint whisper but he’s already lost all sense of self-control that his words just spiral into word vomit.

“I didn’t have any girlfriends, I don’t think I’m funny..” he lets out a weak laugh, taking his closed fist and compressing it to his chest, hoping the ball will prevent his chest from closing in on him before he can tell you everything from his heart.

“Car-“

“My brother stopped letting me into the restaurant a couple of years ago, just cut me off cold. And umm.. that hurt y’know? Made me feel rejected, and lame, and shitty and uncoo-“

You grab his entire face, feeling the heat from his cheeks releasing in the palm of your hands. “Carmen, enough.”

Obeying, all he can do is plead with his watered-down eyes. Like he’s telling you he’s trying and he knows he fucked up but that he doesn’t know what to do with all of his emotions at once.

“M’sorry.. M’sofuckin sorry..” he mutters, sliding his rough hands over your silk-like fingers.

“Carm, breathe..” You coo, still cradling his face while stroking either side of his cheeks causing him to release a deep sigh of exhaustion. The weight of his entire head immediately eased into your embrace. Even if he wanted to convince you how sorry he was, his energy ran low.

“Please don’t make me go home..” he whispers, clinging to your hands that haven’t let go of his face.

He can’t go home, he doesn’t want to go home. Whether or not he wanted to admit it, aside from the restaurant - you’re the only home he knows.

His calloused thumbs are continuously rubbing over the back of your hands. “Can I- Can I please come inside?” he asks in a shakey tone, bracing himself for you to tell him to get lost.

But you don’t. Instead, you pull his face to reach your own, silencing any other apologies with your lips over his. He immediately sighs into your mouth, feeling the majority of the knot in his chest decompress. You keep the pace slow, but Carmen wants nothing more than to make up for the lost time. He grinned against your mouth when his strength lifted you off the surface causing a yelp to escape from your lips. Your legs immediately draped around his waist as he carried you inside, only to unravel from his figure when he tossed you gently onto the bed. Carmen wasted no time stripping from his layers, first with his shirt as he studied you with such attentiveness that he didn’t bother with the rest of his clothes. All he wanted was to please you.

The tips of your fingers learned the intricacies of the prompt veins down up his biceps, your mouth stamping wet kisses to the juncture between his neck and shoulder while he hovered over you. He wasted no time with you, engulfing each whimper from your lips and squeeze of your muscles around his fingers. His tongue told him exactly where he needed to be and he never relented. Never strayed. He studied your squirms from the heave of your breast and the tuck of your bottom lip between your teeth. The way your muscles spasmed as you chanted his name.

Through hitched breaths, you reminded Carmen with each kitten lick he flicked that no one ever made you feel this undone, this fucking good. Your fingers intertwined in his mane as he trailed his lips up the curve of her body.

“Hmm, so what are we going to do about that boy toy of yours?” He questioned as he pressed his hips against yours. Angling your head back so he can kiss along your throat, gently biting.

His question made you huff, blush on your face as you smiled with your lip between your teeth. On instinct, your thighs cradled his hips between them and he placed his hands beside your head. Your glazed eyes stare up at him between your feathered lashes. There was a crooked curve of his mouth while he admired your frame under his.

“I’ve grown quite bored of that hobby.” You confess to him, pulling his lips back to yours getting lost between your sheets for the rest of the day.

#carmen berzatto #the bear #the bear fx #carmen berzatto x reader #carmy x reader #carmen berzatto imagine #carmen berzatto blurb #carmen berzatto angst #cherry joints #carmen berzatto smut #carmy berzatto

733 notes · View notes

dreamersparacosm · 2 years ago

Note

[ GAZE ] our muses are having sex in missionary and the one on the bottom tells them to slow down so they can just look at them for a few moments.

^^THIS ONE W AUSTIN AND READER IS ON BOTTOM OMG PLS

nsfw!

note ; making love to austin :((( my warm king i know he smells like cashmere i just need him so bad

warnings ; penetration ?? like they’re having sex lmao

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

austin butler did not make love.

that’s the thing about it: he’s fucked girls, ruined them until they begged for more, left them during the darkest hours of the night to spare them the burden of getting attached to someone who didn’t exist.

he liked his way of living, thought the career he chose didn’t allow him the luxury of falling in love with someone. thought it was a massive waste of time, especially when he was so intent on climbing the ladder of success. he didn’t know how bad he needed it, needed you, needed to make love, until the first time he got to experience that.

and in your bed, under sheets that smell like lavender and traces of you, he lets himself make love to you. lets himself take his time, makes sure it’s perfect for both you and him. realizes that he was missing out all along. he’s gentle, careful, like he’s not sure how to proceed as if he’s never seen another naked girl in his lifetime.

you look up at him with wide, innocent eyes, and he’s scared that he’ll break you, too fast and you’ll shatter onto the bed like a vase tipping over a ledge.

he was the only one who would ever be able to ruin you, make you feel good. no man had ever touched you before — it used to make you feel small, insecure, but austin was nothing short of reassuring. there was a small part of him that relished in that knowledge, that no one would ever have you the way he gets to.

the thrusts are slow, a pace that is so loving he convinces himself that time stops, as if someone poured glue in between the hands of the clock. feels himself stretching you out, small whimpers of pain and pleasure falling from your lips. he bottoms out inside you, letting his pelvis rest against yours, searching your eyes for a sign of regret. “you okay, baby?” the pad of his thumb runs over your cheek bone.

you can hardly speak, let alone formulate one coherent thought. you feel so full — full of adoration, full of his cock, full of him. the urgency of his question is noted but you can’t think, you’re even finding it hard to breathe in a room that is so well air-conditioned it’s like the arctic. “y-yes. i’m okay, i’m good.”

he kisses your nose, reaching down to hoist your leg around his waist. you moan at the feeling of him reaching a spot you didn’t even know existed. he’s looking at you with those bright blue eyes, but they’re not darkened with lust or desire or some other lewd thought. they’re painted with an undying love, something that felt so foreign yet so right to him.

he slowly, carefully, like a steady trickle of water leaking down a faucet, moves inside of you, lets you adjust to the feeling. he pulls himself out completely, slowly inserting back into your entrance that is soaking wet, from the foreplay and the tension that’s so thick in the room a knife wouldn’t even be able to cut it. his hips fall into a steady rhythm, thrusting as he presses sloppy kisses over your face, your lips, your shoulder. he’s lost in a haze, drunken by the effects of how good and how tight you are around him. and then he’s whimpering, groaning, speaking senseless babble into the void as your nails claw down his back. “you’re my best girl. my good girl, fuck, angel, you feel so damn good. can’t get enough of this pussy.”

it’s a foreign sound: skin slapping, spew of profanities and curses flying from your lips, the sound of your juices squelching with each thrust. you let out a moan, a mewl that causes him to stare into your eyes, so turned on he might combust in you within the next second. “o-oh my god,” you drawl out between each plunge of his cock, eyes connecting with his for a mere second.

you’re just moaning, a pathetic little mess under his body as his thrusts become more forceful, like he’s chasing a release he never has before. he whispers into your shoulder iloveyouiloveyouiloveyou, his brain consumed with thoughts of your pussy and the wetness and the way your needy walls suck around the girth of his length.

you don’t care about how fast he’s going, that’s not the issue, but you’re almost scared of losing the moment, like it won’t engrain in your brain at this pace. “w-wait,” you say, bottom lip tucked under your teeth.

as if you screamed bloody murder, he stops, stills himself inside you while his face contorts in fear. “are you okay? are you hurt? do you want me to stop —“

“i’m fine, baby,” your fingers reach out to caress his face, look deep into those big blue eyes, the reason you fell so undeniably hard for him. “go slow. just wanna look at you for a few moments.”

austin butler did not make love; but in that moment, in that room, he was certain he would never do anything else for as long as he lived.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

thank you for joining my celly! requests are now closed.

#answered #anon #angelina’s 3.5k celly #austin butler #austin butler elvis #austin butler angst #austin butler blurb #austin butler fluff #austin butler fanfic #austin butler x reader #austin butler imagine #austin butler smut #austin butler gif

1K notes · View notes

rinrinx2 · 2 years ago

Text

Me and my Husband

Rindou × Fem!Reader

Summary: Rindou just seems to take advantage of your marriage until it's falling apart. Maybe he decides to save it or not.

Warnings: Angst, Mature themes, Mature Language, Inappropriate Language, mentions of divorce, mentions of cheating, Smut, Oral, Penetration.

-----------------------------------------

Your POV

Drip, drip drip, drip...

The faucet dripped away in the bathroom right opposite your bedroom, the same faucet you had been nagging Rindou to fix for the past 2 months, another reason your fight had occurred .

Or that's what your mind kept on telling you, all the small things he hadn't completed, all the small changes that had occurred from the first time you got together till now were the cause for the fight that had occurred what felt mere seconds ago but must of been hours.

You sat on the luxurious silked sheet bed, tears dripping down your cheeks as your starred into the void.

You weren't sure where Rindou had stormed off to when your arguing had ceased and the pain of the words you said to each other sank in, all you knew was that as you sat on the bed crying like you had been murdered when you heard the giant wood oak door of your overview penthouse slam shut.

'He didn't even try to comfort me'

Your mind was trying to reason with you to leave while your heart kept persisting you stay.

'Maybe he'll realize how much I mean to him.... yeah right' your thought as the overwhelming sensation of abandonment settled in.

"I wish I had just kept quiet" you sobbed into your palms as you hunched over in despair.

------------------------------------

Flashback to the fight

Drip, drip, drip...

"Rindou when are you going to fix that faucet it keeps leaking" you questioned as you, heard the water wasting all the way from the kitchen as you prepared dinner.

"Tommorow" Rindou replied back lacklusterly as he lied on the couch watching whatever show appeared on the TV while he still remained in his work suit.

That suit that was speckled with red dots of some man he probably beat to death, and you hated that he wore it in the house so casually like it was nothing.

"You know Kakucho's wife said that he changes before he gets home and he even goes as far as trying to hide his bloody suites so she doesn't see them"

"Well maybe you should've married Kakucho then" Rindou spewed back at your comment, causing you to clutch your knife a bit tighter.

"You know it's just the effort of trying to be a decent husband is what I'm trying to get at" you spoke raising your voice as you kept your back turned chopping aways at a carrot.

"Here we go again" Rindou said as put a couch cushion over his face to muffle out your complaints.

And you weren't quite sure what caused the vine of reason to snap in your head, maybe it was his half ass replies or his bored tone or even the way he walked around with his shoes in the house but something had caused you to snap.

And without a moment to waste you slammed the metal knife down causing a loud clink noise, enough to catch Rindous attention to move the pillow as your body did a full 180.

"Here we go again! Here we fucking go again" you repeated his words back to him.

"Here you go again being a shit husband Haitani Rindou. You seem to have fucking time for everything and everyone else, when Koko needs someone to help him choose between a new Ferrari or Mustang you're always free or when Mikey needs someone to go with him to a club you're magically free but when your fucking wife whom you married asks you to fix the faucet, take your shoes off before you get into the house or even just take your fucking bloody clothes off its like I'm asking you for the world -"

"That's different, that's works related" Rindou said chiming into you speaking.

"How the fuck is going to a club work related, all you do is get drunk and come home smelling like some girls cheap perform and with red lipstick stains on your collar. How is fucking some other woman job related. You're so fucking dense"

Like a wave crashing onto a bolder your words had pierced Rindou but not the in the manner you thought.

He now stood up walking over to where you stood as he began his half of the fight.

"And let me guess playing house wife is so hard. It because of this fucking job you have everything you want, the clothes, the jewelry, the shoes the fucking faucet even. You're such an ungrateful bitch sometimes"

"I fucking hate you. I hate you, I hate this marriage. When your brother told me to marry him instead of you I should've just listened to him. You're always be second best to him!"

And that did it, Rindou walked into your shared bedroom grabbing his wallet and watch as you stood frozen on your spot.

And as if the wave had finally hit you, the realization of your words came sinking in causing you trail after him.

"Rindou, wait. I didn't mean to-" you said as you followed behind him in the bedroom trying your best to apologize.

"No (Y/N), you've made it fucking clear I'm a cheating shit husband and you're right you should've married Ran, because I always will be FUCKING SECOND BEST TO HIM"

And the words leaving his lips caused you to fall onto the bed as tears fell out.

----------------------------------------

Rindous POV

Smoke cascaded around him as he took drag after drag of a half finished cigarette, still agitated about the whole thing.

'Maybe I should get a divorce' Rindou thought while he crushed the half lighted cigarette into the centre console of his car.

And as if some deity read his thoughts his phone rang up with a name that was thrown at him about 2 hours ago.

"Hey Ran" Rindou said as he spoke into his phone.

"Hey Rinnie, you home. I wanted to come around and discuss the plans Mikey wanted us to look at"

"I'm, I'm urrh not at home" Rindou said as he fidgeted with another cigarette.

"What happened, you and (Y/N)-chan fight" Ran said jokingly.

"Yeah I guess you could say that" Rindou replied as he placed another cigarette between his lips.

"Hey Ran did you ever try to convince (Y/N) to marry you instead of me" Rindou asked. The idea that his own brother was after you didn't make sense to him and he had assumed you just made it up to be spiteful in the moment.

There was a long silence pause Ran began speaking again.

"Yeah I did"

At those words the unlit cigarette fell from Rindous lips.

"I told her to leave you and marry me. I told her I'd leave Bonten and we'd move to the country side. We'd elope and you'd never hear from us again so you couldn't be upset at me or hate her. I knew you loved her Rin but when you introduced us something in my snapped and it was like all i could see was her, but don't worry she turned my marriage proposal down. She told me she loved you to much to do that"

"That's when I realized how much she really loved you, she didn't care about you being a criminal or about how she'd be viewed by the public or her family all she wanted was you. But that was years ago, I'm sorry I kept it from you. I never thought you'd find out" Ran said as he let out a sigh, hoping his brother would forgive him for his past ways.

Rindou sat emotionless in his car as Rans words fell all around him.

'God I'm fucking idiot'

You loved him no matter what and he couldn't even change a fucking faucet.

Rindou didn't even end the call, he just sped off to your penthouse in Roppongi.

--------------------------------

Your POV

A loud bang of the of the door startled your sulking figure.

And when you blinked and your eyes opened there stood Rindou.

'We're gonna start fighting again aren't we'

But before you could let a word out, Rindou fell to his knees, grabbing at your midsection as he apologized.

"I'm sorry (Y/N). Im so sorry. Please forgive me. Please don't leave me. I'll fix the faucet. I won't go to the clubs. We can elope if you want, we won't have to live this life. You can have a normal life just Please don't leave me"

And like the merciful God you were to Rindou you didn't even make him suffer a moment longer.

You moved his head away from your midsection and brought yours lower down to place a soft kiss on his chapped lips.

"It's okay I forgive, Rindou" you said and placed your lips back on his.

Rindou shifted up from his knees moving onto the bed, so that he trapped you between the bed and his body.

He kissed you with a burning passion, he didn't deserve a woman like you. You forgave him and all his shortcomings so easily and loved him whole heartily.

Rindou slipped his tongue between your lips, asking permission to enter and you agreed.

His tongue tangled with yours as you lapped at your tongue sucking on it in pleasure.

Rindou pulled back from the kiss, and carefully made his way down to your waist, gently pulling your jeans down. He was going to show you how sorry he was with how much pleasure he was going to inflict on you.

You breath hitched as Rindou carefully pulled your panties to the side. The cool evening air against you unclothed arousal made your cheeks burn hot.

"I'm so sorry baby" Rindou said as he placed a kiss on the inside of your thigh.

"I'm so so sorry" he said continuing his actions to the other thigh.

"I'm so so so sorry" he said as he placed his tongue flat against your pussy giving it a firm lick from your clit to your wet hole.

Rindou began sucking on your clit as his fingers prodded at your entrance. The suction of his mouth as it pulled and pushed your clit back and forth paired with his massive fingers pushing slightly into your puckered hole was making you unwind quick.

"Oh Rinnie" you moaned out.

And the sound of his nickname made him hard. Rindou began grinding his bulge against the bed in hope to find relief.

He continued sucking your clit till he moved his tongue lower to replace his fingers. Rindous wet muscle shoved itself in and out of your hole as it clamped down on him, while his fingers went to work on your swollen clit rubbing it back and forth.

"Rin I'm gonna cum, just please put your cock in me" you begged out, you needed to feel the push of pressure in your lower abdomen ad he took you, you had to feel his tip graze against your cervix that made you clamp so hard down on him that he came within a second.

"I don't deserve your pussy"

"Yes you do baby, you deserve my pussy so much. Please fuck it, its your pussy"

Even after a heavy argument you still let him have ownership of your sacred parts.

Quickly Rindou undid his belt and pulled his slack down with it, as well as remove his suit jacket and shirt.

Rindou now stood fully nude infront of you, his heavy cock stood up as beads of precum leaked out of his slit. Rindou moved back down to the bed helping you removing your sweater and unclasping your bra, giving each nipple a firm suck as he positioned himself between you.

"Thank you for letting me fuck this pussy"

Rindou began sinking into your warm slick cunt, the deeper he went the tighter it got.

The feeling was euphoric and Rindou knew he wouldn't last long.

You grabbed at rindous shoulders as he began thrusting slowly back and forth, the feeling of his massive cock rocking back and forth inside you as his cock head nudged deep within you.

Rindou could feel his balls contract and expand with every slap against your wet cunt, just aching to release the cum inside them into your womb.

And the thought of feeling your pussy milk him for all the semen in his balls made Rindou rut into your cunt.

His hips not leaving yours as he took deep shallow thrusts.

The sensation of being filled so deep in your pussy made you moan out Rindous name over and over till you lashline was filled with tears again, but this time the cause was pleasure.

"Your pus-sy is gon-na ma-ke mee cum" Rindou stuttered out as the grip on your pussy tightened by the second.

You were close too, you could feel it as your head began feeling lightheaded and your grip on his shoulder was loosening, you could feel it approach, the deep plunging feeling until it snapped and your pussy tightened so much that it nearly pushed Rindous heavy cock out.

Rindou shoved himself as deep as he could as your pussy tried to spit him out, the sensation pushing him over the edge as thick hot strings of cum shot out into your cunt.

You and Rindou remained connected as your caught your breath. Once Rindou caught his he lied on top of you, cock still deep within you.

"I'm sorry (Y/N)"

Even though his apology left his lips he knew the cycle of his behavior would continue.

Pls tell me if this story flows and makes sense 😭, I did some changes, pls feel free to comment what you think.

193 notes · View notes

collisiondiscourse · 4 years ago

Text

meet you in the middle // bkdk (ch. 306) fic

Katsuki meets him at the edge of the world.

Standing on the rubbles of a once-thriving city that his people had called home, Katsuki sees him at a distance. A lone figure, standing beside broken statues that overlook a cliff of failures and broken promises. Katsuki sees him at a distance and feels something inside him break like a dam of something unmentionable. The glass beneath his worn combat boots crunches and cracks like the remains of his heart, every step heavy with the weight of the world around him slipping unto drooping shoulders. He says nothing, knowing the other runaway could hear his approach all the same.

Deep purple bruises set themselves under dull viridian eyes, the mixture of color out of place but lovely all the same. His hair’s a mess--greasy in the way that tells Bakugou he hasn’t showered in days, yet Katsuki would love nothing more than to bury his face in the tangled mass of green. The suit and armor he wears is torn, dented, fractured, dirty; it’s scarred like the skin it tries its best to hide. Deku stands still and watches him approach.

The blond halts in his steps.

In that moment, when red and green meet at the edge of the world, time stops completely. The broken concrete beneath their feet feels like a vast and endless void of nothing, silence wrapping around them beautifully and painfully. Between them, the few meters feel like blocks, to miles, to lightyears apart.

It is endless.

Between them, there is pain and sorrow. There is a hurt so deep that neither of the boys could begin to comprehend it--old scars and fresh wounds mending and tearing open, pace akin to the shift of the weather. Between them, Katsuki can feel things that feel like they should be impossible but aren’t. Between them, Katsuki can feel the contradictions that ripple beneath the surface of their skin.

Between them, Katsuki can feel it all.

The distance is staggering. It chases after the two of them like they had chased each other, something like a curse that pulls them apart while simultaneously keeping them at arm’s length.

Katsuki used to beg for it, he knows. (God, does he know.) He used to spend day-by-day stretching that distance, yanking the string that kept them tied together in hopes that eventually it would snap.

Yet that same distance had become something he’d grown to hate. He hated it in the way that it caused Izuku to close himself to the world and nearly cost him his life when Shigaraki had pierced him in battle. He hated the way it shut doors and cuffed him to his hospital bed when he’d found out that Deku was in a coma.

And he hated that distance the most when it brought Deku all the way here.

“Kacchan,” Deku says, the old nickname leaving his mouth simultaneously like a prayer and a pained gasp of fear. “Why are you here?”

The ‘why’ rings in the blond’s head like the sound of a gunshot, piercing and painful at the audacity to even ask such a thing. Why? Why did I come here? Why did I leave everything I’d ever dreamed of in order to chase your dumbass here?

Because. Why the fuck wouldn’t I come here, Deku?

“I got your letter,” Katsuki grunts out instead. His hands clench and unclench, tired and a little bit pained from his journey to find Izuku as fast as possible. The stupid fucking paper rests inside the pants pocket of his hero costume, setting his insides ablaze and leaving the taste of battery acid at the back of his throat.

“You still shouldn’t have--”

“--Shouldn’t have what, Deku?!” He inevitably yet suddenly explodes. The green-haired boy startles from across the building’s roof, jaw shutting with an audible click. “Shouldn’t have dropped out of UA? Shouldn’t have left every single person that loves me and sent myself out on a suicide mission? Shouldn’t have left my fucking mother without even a proper ‘goodbye’?!”

Deku snaps, “You damn well know it wasn’t that simple, Kacchan--”

“It never fucking is! It never fucking is that simple, Deku! You think I wanted to abandon our class? You think I didn’t care about the fucking fact that I just dropped out of UA and will probably never become a fucking pro-hero because of it? I destroyed my own dreams, you idiot!”

“Then go back!” the other boy replies, furious tears welling in his eyes. Katsuki feels paralyzed, unable to move through the surge of emotion that overtakes his mind. Deku takes a step forward, shaking so hard that the blond fears he might pass out. “Go back, you ass! Don’t let me take anything more from you, Kacchan, just please don’t. I can’t handle something like that! Go back and become the number one hero like you always promised, please.”

(A dozen meters apart.)

Izuku’s voice trembles and wavers, desperation seeping from his figure as teardrops fall to the tarmac below. He stands firmly on his two feet, but Katsuki can feel the way his heart begs on its knees. Bakugou’s glare softens.

“I can’t do that, Deku.”

He sniffles. “Why not?”

Tentatively, Bakugou takes a step forward, pacing himself. He opens his mouth to answer, but can’t seem to find the right words and looks away with a frustrated snarl. Deku’s eyes, red-rimmed with agony, peer up at him through his unruly green hair and the wound on Katsuki’s abdomen throbs with heat.

“...Because. I nearly died for you, didn’t I?” the blond eventually replies. “Because I know you think that that means you have to go and fucking do things alone because you don’t want me to nearly die for you a second time, but that’s exactly fucking it.” Katsuki huffs. He takes another step further, watching Deku crumple to the ground as sobs rack his figure.

“Kacchan got hurt, but it wasn’t your battle. It’s mine,” he chokes out anyway, stubborn as he is in the way Bakugou had grown to admire. As much as the blond’s soul rattles with anger, with hatred at the society that forced his childhood friend to bear the weight of the world upon his shoulders, he forces himself not to shout.

(Five meters apart.)

“‘Wasn’t’, was the word. Now, it is. I’m not letting you do this alone whether you fucking like it or not, shitty nerd.” Katsuki sucks in a breath. “You never gave me a choice, did you? I didn’t have a choice into knowing about your cursed fucking quirk, I didn’t have a choice into you leaving us to fight Shigaraki alone, I didn’t have a choice in knowing whether you’d be okay or not in the hospital after I myself nearly fucking died--and now that I finally goddamn do have that choice, you better make sure you let me have it, Deku.” Another step.

Deku lets out an anguished gasp for air between his hiccups and tears, and wails, “But why? Kacchan, you have the choice to be safe and let yourself win without One for All getting away! Why would you let me bring you more harm like this?!”

“Because you never fucking let me apologize to you, shithead!” The blond succumbs at last, yelling in hurt and in pain. The distance between them is so small, yet every goddamn particle feels like a world’s away in which Kacchan and Deku were made to fall apart. His skin prickles, air buzzing with the energy of a feeling so big contained in something so small. The moment suspends itself in time, fragile as glass and broken shards twice as painful, “I wanted to say that I was sorry, okay?!”

“Kacchan--”

Bakugou growls, “No. Let me say this, Izuku.” He waited, so goddamn long, for an opportunity to say what he wanted--no, needed--to say. The distance that felt like a whole galaxy between them burned something fierce, a serendipitous inevitability that felt like it was reaching its boiling point as the world around them reduced to ashes. The blond musses up his hair and exhales heavily, letting his angry demeanour calm for Izuku’s sake.

“I used to resent you. So much.” Katsuki starts. He’s close enough to Deku that he can see the subtle way the shorter boy scrunches his brows together, letting out a shaky breath of incredulousness. “When we were in middle school, I tormented and bullied you under the guise of hating you for something that you couldn’t control.”

“The truth is, that wasn’t why I resented you.” He blows out a breath. Deku looks up at him in shock, so Bakugou ploughs on. “I resented you because I didn’t understand you. At that time, I couldn’t understand how anyone, especially someone virtually powerless like yourself, could somehow still be a better person--hell, a better hero--than I was.”

Ruby red eyes gazed at the horizon.

“I always thought myself to be the best at everything. Always knew I was destined for victory. That hasn’t changed,” Katsuki swallows as Izuku pulls himself back on to his feet. Now standing, Izuku looks at him as if he’d suddenly had the revelation of his life, (which, Bakugou assumes, was paramount to this in any case.) “What has changed now though… is that I think I finally get it.”

He coughs.

“... I think I finally get you,”

(Two meters.)

“Katsuki… I’m--” Deku swallows, eyes shiny again as he tries to compose himself. He nods at the blond and in that instant Katsuki knows he’s been forgiven a long time ago. The distance tugs at the pit of his stomach, feelings of something warm and strange writhing inside. What once was a flood of misunderstanding that crashed and pulled the two of them apart had dried into a lively valley. Deku takes a step closer.

“But it isn’t just that anymore,” the blond is quick to blurt out. He looks at Deku and for once instead of a regretful past or an ongoing development, he thinks he sees a future.

“If this were all for atonement, I wouldn’t have left UA like you said. It’s… deeper. I’m workin’ on it, but there’s just something that pulls me to do this. It pisses me off, but it also makes me want to keep you at an arm’s length.” Katsuki shakes his head at the bullshit that spews out from his own mouth.

“I don’t fucking know what it is, but I know how it makes me feel.”

Izuku stares into his eyes, wide and innocent in a way that used to make him angry but now only makes him… dazed. “And how does it make you feel, Kacchan?”

He huffs a laugh of rueful acceptance. “Fucking weird. Like I suddenly want to chase you to the ends of the fucking earth just to make sure you’re alive. Like I want to be close to you again and again and again even in our next fucking lives.”

Katsuki takes another hesitant step forward.

“I want a lot of things now. I want shit that I can’t name but I sure as hell know won’t relate to becoming the number one hero. I want to keep you within sight, keep you close and alive because of the fact that it’s you and nothing else. I want…”

(Three feet.)

The distance around them is reduced to a little less than an ache. Issues like theirs aren’t solved overnight, but for the small distance they have between each other it feels less like a curse and more like the moment before an inevitability. They can’t quantify all that they are to each other--can’t begin to measure it in fickle things like centimeters or miles or inches or lightyears--but in that moment Katsuki supposes one could label what they have as ‘love’.

He’s never spoken this much in such a short amount of time, never let himself be wordy when his concise speech was efficient and easy. Yet, something about freckles and scars and green hair makes him want to run his fucking mouth off and list his every feeling under the sun. The vice-like grip over his heart that had been there since the moment he’d woken up in the hospital eases a little, and Katsuki’s broken heart feels like it is coming home.

(Two feet.)

“You want…?”

Katsuki looks into Izuku’s eyes, really looks. He looks and he sees life and salvation and something that he’d been missing for so long that tasting it for the first time has left him wanting like a man in a desert. He reaches out an arm, now fully within reach and gives Deku a pleading and weak stare that says everything and nothing at once.

“I want everything that I can get. Everything you can give me. No matter what the cost.”

(One.)

Deku crashes into his embrace, pulling him close and meeting Katsuki somewhere in the middle as the chase finally fucking stops. To Katsuki, it feels like the birth of a star as the warmth engulfs him fully, setting alight to every one of his nerves. The feeling of holding Deku fills him with all the words he cannot name and it feels like he’s reached some impossible height at the top of the world.

The war has not been forgotten, and the road ahead of them is long, but the distance between Kacchan and Deku--Katsuki and Izuku--is now nothing more than a physical concept. The hug blurs the line between the two young heroes, shaping itself until it is indistinguishable where one ends and the other begins. There is a sensation, one that is burning like an inferno but comforting all the same because at this point in time, Katsuki vows to run after and find Izuku Midoriya in every lifetime after this, in every world that they’ll be in. He vows with all his heart that he’ll be the one to watch Deku while Deku watches the world, to protect Deku while Deku protects the others. Katsuki vows to take Deku for everything that he is and isn’t, wholly and unconditionally because the distance is gone and there’s nothing now that can stop him from following this boy to the ends of the universe.

Katsuki Bakugou vows all this because here, right now, on top of the ruins of a city he’d once known and arms full of a boy he’d been trying to chase for a lifetime--Katsuki comes home.

(Zero.)

#bnha #mha #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #bakudeku #katsudeku #ktdk #bkdk #bnha spoilers #mha spoilers #decchan #bkdk fic #bnha 306 #katsuki bakugou #bakugou katsuki #izuku midoriya #midoriya izuku #codi.docx #DONT LET THIS FLOP ITS SO SEXY

283 notes · View notes

kshira · 4 years ago

Text

+ ryūnosuke tanaka

—request; Um, hi✨. I love all of your works and they are fantastic. Could I ask for some NSFW Tanaka?? I love him so much and he doesn't get enough love for his dorky ass. Okay thank you, I care about you bye!

ღ ◟ t/w| f!reader, smut; cursing, 18+ content, exhibitionism & kinda voyeurism?

◟an: thank u sm doll & i went a lil wild with tanaka since i’ve never written for him before. i hope you enjoy. :*

you impatiently tap your foot against the floor pressing your back against the hotel wall, the sounds of a distant clock add volumes to your nervous state.

sending the risqué message to your boyfriend you knew for a simple dirty picture in return but for an invite to his room? perfect.

the door creaking open caused you to jump, you gulp letting your eyes take small glances around the empty hallways before pulling your view to tanaka.

his bald head protrudes out of the door, his eyes fixated on the surroundings looking for another person but there is only one, you.

with a hush from his drawn lips tanaka pulls his finger up to his mouth “be quiet okay? asahi is sleeping in the other bed beside me”

you tuck a nod down in embarrassment back to your boyfriend, you really couldn’t wait until you got back from this trip now, could you?

his fingers lace around yours and tugs you into the room, breathing in the pitch darkness you are led right under the covers with him.

tanaka pulls the covers over the both of you before diving right into your mouth, his tongue swiping the inside of it while his hands cradling your face pulling you deeper on him.

he’s needy with his kisses, wanting to almost fuse himself with you, he needs more and you’re happy to oblige for some relief.

pressing your body harder on him you feel the bulge growing through his sweatpants, the poor boy is aching for you but he’ll never blatantly say that.

a smirk threads on your face “please? i’ll be really quiet” your fingers palm the growth and knowing him he returned the favor slithering his hand down to your cunny pressing a thumb over your bud.

he rises out from the covers to peel off his clothes “okay princess” he whispers aiding help to your restricting outfit and pressing your naked body back down.

you can feel his fingertips scaling across your body touching base with your perked pebbles along with the soft skin right under your bellybutton and most importantly right where you want him most.

tanaka settles his other hand on your thigh chalking his nail across the smooth skin while he indulges your core with his finger, swiping another one to rinse and repeat the gratifying pleasure.

lifting your body off the sinking mattress you let out mewls and pants from his finger scissoring away at your core—

but it’s the stirring of asahi that paralyzes you, the sounds of his body rolling across the cotton bed making you stiff to the touch but to tanaka it only makes him harder.

what is a better way to fuck your girlfriend then to do it beside his peaceful sleeping friend?

“i thought you said you’d be quiet? do you want him to wake up and hear how messy you’re getting just from my fingers?” tanaka taunts the words in the crook of your neck, making your cunt clench automatically.

pulling his eyes away from your silhouette tanaka peers through the void to watch asahi lay dormant now, you’d take sneaky glances too but you’re too absorbed with continuous thrusts of his fingers upward into your sopping cunny.

his fingers march at a divine pace, a low moan spews out of your lips with a chain reaction of your hole clenching around his thick digits.

tanaka let his other had creep up to your throat, snaking closer to your mouth letting a finger trace the outline of your lips— before dipping into your mouth swirling around the saliva mixture then cupping his hand over it.

“close already? you really was wanting me huh, or is it because he’s in here?” the threaded pleasures tangle together thinking how tanka has you practically humping his hand for relief or the mere fact that you really were turned on at the situation.

your core pluses to the faster jabs in with the added effect of tanaka pulling out and jolting right back in had you on edge, the last puzzle piece was put together and you can feel the pleasure washing over your toes.

but it stops.

“mm sss—so cc—close!” you muffle over tanka vice grip on your mouth, the denial fills your gut causing tiny tears to run to the corners of your eyes.

“i wanna feel you cum around me, won’t take long” tanaka seize his body over yours, running his hardened member over your slick slit before plunging fully bottoming out before you could even blink.

the stretch of him entering was a tantalizing burn that surged through you—even the soaked mess you had between your legs couldn’t halt it, but thoughts of getting caught by asahi made it a little better.

tanaka runs his hands down your legs scattered with goosebumps and throws them over his broadened shoulder spearing deeper in you, if it was even possible.

his hand remained on your mouth burrying your head deeper into the mattress while he fucked you at a hardened pace, letting the drag of his body trace along your bud, you were close to cumming sooner than you wanted.

“i bet it turns you on that asahi could wake up any minute and hear me fucking this pretty little pussy” you whine back at tanaka’s words under his grip.

you can feel him shifting his body lower to you, your legs connect to your breasts while he brushes his nose over yours “you’re mine, and this pussy is all mine”

tanaka takes harsher thrust into you not caring what lewd sounds are being made, you’re his after all and everybody should know that.

chasing his ultimate vitality he lets his member map out your hole—knowing you’re close as well tanaka treats your neglected bud with savoring traces of his thumb.

the sounds of your heart beating from the adrenaline filled sex mutes the moan you unknowingly boast out in the room your orgasm finally hitting, tanaka signs off with filling you up entirely, so much it paints the bedsheets.

post sex with tanaka was always the most tender moments, naked bodies intertwined with a lulling silence, his lips peppering your face while he holds you so close muttering the sweetest praises.

it’s complete bliss, for you and tanaka.

but asahi on the other hand, he will have to watch twenty horror shows to blur out what he heard and saw tonight.

789 notes · View notes

blueprint-han · 4 years ago

Text

ex.

↪ so many what if’s. who would give you those answers?

— where in you stumble into your ex at a friend’s wedding, and the subsequent conversation leads to new hope blooming in your relationship.

pairing: chan x reader

genre: ex au; angst with a fluffy ending.

⇥ warnings: themes/mentions of break up/make up, mentions of alcohol, please let me know if I miss a warning. please note that i, by no means condone any toxic relationships. this fic here with bang chan and Y/N is NOT an example of a toxic relationship or an implication of bang chan’s actions in real life. please take it as fiction.

word count: 3.3 K

type: one shot.

⇥ disclaimer: this fiction does not represent the activities of the real Bang Chan, nor is associated with JYPE in any form. Events are pure fiction. ♡

↯ note: I decided to merge your request with the prompt because it’s angst and guess who’s the queen of angst? You !! 😌 This was picked up from ex, as you can see and again your url ~vibes~ so uwu hope you enjoy it, this is my first time writing angst tho so please go easy on me. <3 Love you mom <333 ⇥ dawn.☀️

The dance hall’s fairly crowded when you take another shot of your martini, drowning in its essence as you make a desperate attempt to disconnect yourself from your vicinity. You wanna believe you’re drunk, though it’s not true in the slightest — you can still feel, hear, see everything around you clearly — the alcohol’s clearly not having its effect today. You wish, oh so dearly wish it did, because the man standing about two tables away from you really doesn’t deserve the attention you’re giving him right now.

The last thing you’d expected when you entered the hall to attend your friend’s wedding was to stumble right into the one man you’d been trying to avoid for the past two months. At that very moment, you cursed all the odds for making you face the man of your nightmares, the one who broke your heart.

Bang Chan.

Sure enough, just like when he’d dropped the news on you, all the butterflies in your stomach drop dead one by one, gloom and desolation taking over. The mere sight of him is enough to send you into a frenzy of confusion — you feel the flutter in your heart to know that he’s doing okay, but you can also feel that pit of sadness, anger and heartbreak mixed to wash over as one of the most conflicting feelings ever.

“O-oh, hi there, Y/N.” Chan had waved a hand and bowed down, but you shakily nodded your head, not bothering to give him any words of acknowledgement as you stumbled into the hall. How is it that you didn’t notice him until half the wedding was over? How could you forget that he was supposed to attend, because he was the bride’s friend alike?

Was it wrong that part of you still wished that you could be standing next to him, watching him as he introduced you to his friends, calling you “his girlfriend”?

You wondered what the look on Chan’s face would’ve been when you left his greeting hanging in the cold air like that. Was he broken on the inside too? Or did he simply not care? He’d been the one to end it, after all. He looks smart right now — adorning a luxurious black suit, his brownish hair slicked neatly to the side and parted. The delicate silver chain you’d given him on his birthday is oddly still on his neck — you promise yourself to not think about it much, because you know it’ll give you hope — and hope’s a dangerous feeling, at least for you.

When the music starts blaring through the speakers and the couple start dancing together, you sigh, straightening your posture from where you’re leaning against the shot table. Your friend has the prettiest smile plastered onto her face — it comes naturally to her, you figure, seeming as to how she’s married to the love of her life right now. They both seem lost — almost peaceful — as they stare into each other’s eyes. Soon, more and more couples join, until the whole hall is filled with everyone dancing on their heels, twirling and smiling and dancing gracefully. Everyone except you, of course.

You sigh, fixing the hem of your swan-white dress. Way to go for your mood to be ruined — all because you happened to stumble upon your ex boyfriend, and thoughts consumed you as a whole. Was it so wrong of you to wish that you could go back in time and change his decision? You’d moved on from this — you’d told yourself you’d moved on a month ago. You wiped him out of your memory — all the things that reminded you of him — but what if you’d only patched up the wound, not healed it in the slightest? What if the person who held the key to repair your broken heart was held by a person who you’d let go, and by all means, couldn’t reach out now?

So many what if’s. Who would give you those answers? He surely hadn’t, when all he did was just break it out to you over a meeting at the park that he’d fallen out of love with you.

You never understood what happened. It just started with the less frequent messages and meet ups, the excuse of always being busy, and that slowly morphed into him ignoring you for days, until one day he broke the news and ended it, on good terms. Or at least you thought so.

You sigh again, asking the bartender to lend you one bottle of the drink — which he does without question — before you walk over to the staircase that seems to lead to the terrace. Away from the risk of your eyes landing on him and your thoughts going all over the place again. If only you could walk away from the pit of emotions in your heart the same way. If only.

When you kick the almost rusted door open, the fresh blast of cold air that hits you makes you sigh in relief. You tuck several strands of hair neatly behind your ear, walking to the edge as you glance at the view. Leaning against the concrete, you let the lights coming from the night cityscape blur your vision, along with the faint, distant echoing of horns coming from the roads fill your ears. It’s a distraction, after all.

You pop open the cork of the bottle, letting the fizz bubble down before pressing your lips against the rim. One gulp, two, you then gaze up at the night sky. Rinse and repeat, until the whole bottle is almost finished. You ignore the void in your heart, filling it with the essence of alcohol and ignoring the feelings bubbling in it right now.

Chan was like a drug — so addicting and so hard to get rid of once you got into the habit of consuming it regularly. You wanted to reach out and hold onto those memories you shared with him — he was the first person where you let your heart do the talking, and all it took was a look at another person to change lanes, leave you alone in the dust of your crushed heart — only to come to the disappointing note that you’d lost those memories forever. They existed merely in a place you couldn’t reach, couldn’t see, but could only recall. It was pure torture to you, but you’d ignored it all for so long, certainly you could ignore it again.

“Need a refill?”

Your head snaps back in the direction of the voice. A familiar, one soothing voice that now brings pain to your heart, now threatens to bring back the wave of emotions you’d kept at bay.

Your eyes meet the hazel brown orbs, and not diverting from their strong, fierce gaze; you scoff, turning back around to stare off into the distance.

Chan frowns, tilting his chin as he tries to soothe the burn from your two reactions. He doesn’t back away though, because now he maybe understands what you felt like when it all fell apart, when he wrote your ending with a shaky hand.

He walks front to where you’re leaning against the concrete, silently drinking out of the glass he holds in his hand.

Should I say something? He thinks. He should, right? When you ended it, you did end on peaceful terms, even though your reaction felt like you were more affected by it. Even after three months, he still feels the warmth that flowed through him whenever he looks at you — you who clearly don’t want to speak to him. He feels crazy now, for wanting to let you go.

You hadn’t even bothered to curse at him that day — just looked at him with eyes that honestly pierced through his soul, and hurt him more than any of your words could’ve. But maybe that was what he deserved, right?

“Why did you come here?” You ask, swirling the almost empty bottle in your hand. Oddly enough, you don’t feel like walking away, feet frozen in position. You’d ended it on good terms, didn’t you? You’d promised to each other you’d be good friends.

“I noticed you were alone.” The man feels himself say.

“Didn’t you bring your girlfriend along? Isn’t she alone right now?” You counter, taking another sip of your drink. Again, the alcohol is having no effect on you. Why did your tolerance have to be so high when you needed it to be low?

“I-” He takes a deep breath, tilting his head to either side to relieve the tension in his neck. “Broke up with her. About three weeks ago.”

You only chuckle. Somehow, your feelings are strong when he’s away, but when the cause is right in front of you, somehow they fail to make an appearance.

“Did you come here so you could win me back?” You ask, straightening up as you avoid Chan’s firm gaze on you, and his face goes gloomier and gloomier with every statement you spew at him. But then again, who could blame you for being angry? You had every right to.

“No.” He shook his head, fixing his position so his shoulders are about an inch away from yours. “I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“I’m alright.” You say, softening at the edges at his concerned tone. You don’t know why you’re listening to him and not going back into the hall, but your legs are still frozen in place, something in you, your heart, doesn’t let you move.

Why do you feel like it’s your first time meeting him all over again?

He’s your ex, a part of your life you’re supposed to forget. Instead, you’re here, reminiscing it with the very person who left you in the first place. The situation you’re bound in is so weird — you almost don’t know what to do — but nonetheless, you just stand there, ignoring the slight flutter in your heart — just like the first time again.

“How are you doing?” You give yourself the liberty to ask him that question — just to know how he’s doing. Just another way for you to answer your countless what if’s, another method to try and fill the void in your heart.

Chan sighs, straightening up himself before looking at you. “I missed you.”

At the simple admission, you soften around the edges some more. It was wrong, so wrong that you were giving him to permission to get into your heart again — but what if you never wanted him to leave in the first place?

Hope — the dangerous feeling — starts resonating through your chest. It’s the tiniest emotion, one you can’t quite sense, but still feel. You can feel yourself grow warm, feel his gaze burn into the side of your face as he awaits a reaction.

“I-I don’t know what to say to that.” You reply, tucking some of your hair behind your ear again, before curling it with your index finger. You don’t look into his eyes yet — you’re not so brave to do so — focusing your bored, almost sad gaze as you count all the lights flashing at you on a skyscraper. Anything to distract you from this feeling.

Chan notices your stare, and sighs again. He’s battling himself too, right now. Should I say it? He thinks.

“I-I’ll be honest and confess to you, okay?” Chan turns to face you properly, while you bite your lip, waiting for his next words. Oddly enough, you feel more nervous now than you felt that day when Chan ended it with you. It’s so weird to feel it all over again.

“I’ve missed you and… I truly regret what I did that day.” He runs his hands through his chocolate brown hair, which seems to look particularly soft today. It reminds you of when you’d casually back hug him when he was working, pecking the back of his neck as you’d comb your fingers through his hair.

“Chan, no.” You feel your voice crack, the sadness overflowing out of its cup, spreading to all your senses as you close your eyes, letting out a single tear.

“Y/N…” Chan places his hand on your shoulder. You don’t flinch.

“Y-You l-left me.” You feel your brain cloud over, having no control over yourself as the words start spilling out of your mouth, piercing Chan’s heart bit by bit. “Y-You l-left me when I thought you’d stay… And you left me alone.” You feel his thumb rub against the bare skin of your shoulder, and this time, you stare up, looking straight into his eyes.

“I loved you,” You stammer, inhaling deeply as you take note of Chan’s expression. Surprisingly, he’s crying too. The rims of his eyes are filled with tears, his whole face goes red as he tries not to violently sob. “I love you.” You correct yourself.

“But you left me. You left me when I thought all I had was you and - and, what? Three months later, you tell me you miss me? Is this because your girlfriend broke up with you? You wanna win me back?” You spew, slamming your hand against his chest as you shake in his arms.

He wordlessly pulls you into his embrace, and you don’t complain — you don’t know if it’s because of your brain being cloudy and your eyes being all itchy from crying, or if it was because you missed his hugs, but you feel yourself clutch onto the material of your shirt as you cry, cry and cry until you feel like your tears don’t remain.

“I’m so sorry…” Is all he can say, wrapping his arms around your shoulders as he tries to comfort you.

“I hate you, Chan. I hate you so much.”

Something in him shatters when he hears your words. He wordlessly mouths “Alright.” and doesn’t bother controlling his tears anymore, letting them flow down his cheeks and settle into your hair, not bothering to hold back the sounds of brokenness he makes either.

“I’m so sorry, Y/N.” He pulls away, holding your chin to force your gaze into his eyes. “I shouldn’t have done that to you, it was so wrong of me. I regret it now, so much.” He curls his lips inwards, and watching him cry is soul-crushing. You should be hating him for leaving you, screaming, crying, but you hate yourself for reaching up to rake through his hair, sliding your hand down to his soft cheek before gently swiping your thumb against it. Wiping off his tears.

“We’ve already forgiven each other, right? It’s okay.” You take deep breaths to calm yourself down. Leaving him behind seems hard enough, but seeing him cry in front of you seems impossible. Are you still in love with him?

“I’m still sorry.” He mutters softly, gazing into your eyes as he takes hold of the hand that rests on his cheek. “I was so horrible to not know that I had you beside me all along, and instead I turned my back at you and left you. It was so wrong of me.” he breaks into tears again, and this time, before you can pull him into a hug, he grabs both your hands in his own. Holding them in between each other.

Yep, you’re still in love with him.

You look at him, absorbing all his features, and suddenly you’re thrown back to the first time he ever asked you out. It seems all too familiar — all too real. You find yourself holding your breath once again, waiting for what he has to say. He rests his forehead against your grasped hands, sighing brokenly as he speaks up.

“I won’t ask you to accept me again, Y/N.” He says as a matter of fact. He understands that the things that happened may not allow you to let him into your heart again. “I won’t ask you to date me either, because I know what I did isn’t that simple to forgive.”

Chan feels so stupid now. You were there for him all the time, yet he left you for someone else. You were beside him to help him when he felt desolated, but somehow he became a cause for your desolation. It shocks, confuses him and makes him seethe in turmoil.

“But,” he begins, holding his breath. “I still want to try. I wanna try being the person I couldn’t be when I was with you. I-I wanna change and win you back, b-but…”

“But?” You ask mindlessly, totally overwhelmed and dazed out by his honest words, the newfound emotion thrums to your chest. It’s love, for sure. But it isn’t that special kind of love, at least not yet.

“But I wanna do that only if you let me. It’s your choice, Y/N.”

Your eyes widen as you try to grasp his words, noticing how his warm hands holding onto yours still, only grow warmer and tighter.

“I r-really love you Y/N, a lot. And… well, I know you may not be able to make this decision soon. But please, just give it a thought?”

You shake your head, a soft smile tugging at your lips as you look up into his eyes again. They’re red and puffy by now, but they’re still gorgeous, they still remind you of the time you’d gently kiss over his eyelids whenever he cried like that.

You roll your eyes to the back of your head in deep thought, before tucking your bottom lip under your teeth and nodding. “Okay.”

“Okay…?” He asks, hopeful. You can almost feel his nervousness in the way his palms sweat, but you simply smile.

“We won’t date yet.” You said. “But I’ll allow you into my heart one last time. Don’t break it.”

And at your acceptance, Chan beams, feeling more tears roll down his eyes as he pulls you into a hug. This time, you don’t spare any restraint, wrapping your arms around your waist as you press your cheek against his chest. “Thank you, thank you, thank you…” Chan keeps mumbling and repeating, to which you only shush him gently, telling him it’s okay and he doesn’t have to thank him.

He still does. You only smile to yourself, and for the first time in three months, you feel somewhat at peace. There’s a long way to go — you have to adapt to this relationship, let your heart join back bit by bit and build each other’s confidence again. But you’re certain you can do it together. This story deserved a happy ending, and you were going to give it one, no matter how hard you’d have to try.

“Hey guys!” You hear someone walk through the door, immediately parting away and clearing your throats.

“Yes?” The both of you say at the same time, tensing up and then laughing at each other. If Chan’s tears were crushing, Chan’s giggles were truly healing. The way his eyes would scrunch up into the cutest crescents and his dimples would make an appearance always made you want to peck his cheeks. Now wasn’t the time though.

“Dinner’s being served, so Y/F/N told you to come downstairs.” The person at the door says, immediately running downstairs, as if to not interrupt your moment any further.

“Alright.” You laugh, taking Chan’s hands in yours as you intertwine your nimble fingers with his long, slender ones. “Let’s go shall we?” You don’t bother picking up the alcohol bottles, because you’ll be coming back here with your friends later anyways — they can be tended to later.

“Of course,” Chan pulls you along with him, running to the door — both the ones that lead to the diner and the ones that signified your new start.

Curse at me all you want, as long as you let it all out, and we can go back to how we were.

*:･ﾟ✧ find the other fics here !

425 notes · View notes

aressss1 · 4 years ago

Text

Through Fire and Ice Chapter 8

(Technoblade x Reader)

Chapter 8

~~~~~~

Techno and Ranboo were hard at work on the mine to the library in the stronghold. It had been two weeks since you had requested Techno to come help you out of your panic. When the two of you talked more on the subject, you were careful with your words. He could tell you weren’t trying to offend him when it came to Phil, but Techno picked up on your fear of Philza almost immediately. He wanted you to be comfortable around Phil, but that was obviously going to need some time.

Even so, when Phil expressed that he wanted to apologize formally, Techno had shaken his head, saying it wasn’t the right time yet. Techno didn’t need to say anything else for Phil to get it. Though he still had a sad look in his eyes. The both of them had seen wars, and what they do to people. They had seen what can throw those people over the edge, and sometimes it wasn’t the war, but the aftermath when the war was branded into their minds. They wouldn’t push you, not until you were ready.

Ranboo had a satchel attached to his side, and every once in a while, Techno would watch him fiddle with it when the bag had gotten in his way. Raising his eyebrow, Techno said nothing, only kept swinging away with his pickaxe. He listened to Ranboo talk, easily throwing his thoughts in here and there. Ranboo was extremely easy to get along with. For that, Techno was grateful.

“Let me just check our coords.” Ranboo pulled the flap of the satchel up searching around the bag. The thing that caught Techno’s attention was the rough texture of the black egg sitting inside the satchel.

“Uhhhh, Ranboo?” Techno set the end of the pickaxe down and let some of his weight rest on the handle. “Why are you carrying the egg around?” Ranboo stopped, he nervously grinned, gauging Techno’s reaction.

“Well, um… You see…” Ranboo fumbled over his words. “This egg,” he hesitated, “likes to follow me?” The piglin hybrid cocked his head to the side, his golden eyes showing confusion.

“Alright, I believe it.” Techno used the back of his hand to wipe the sweat beading on his forehead away. “You’re always finding out something weird about yourself, so this isn’t really that surprising.” Ranboo’s tail swished behind him, and he visibly relaxed.

“Wanna see?” Ranboo asked looking eager. “I haven’t been able to show Phil yet, he’s been too busy.”

Techno nodded, his eyes watching as Ranboo placed the egg down on the ground and went to walk away from the egg. It didn’t take too long before the sound of an enderman teleporting ripped its way through the strip mine, echoing off the walls. There sitting before Ranboo was the egg. Ranboo’s eyes twinkled as he looked back toward Techno. He carefully picked the egg up from the ground, stowing it back into his satchel. The action made Techno chuckle.

“Ranboo, you remind me of one of those parents who carries their baby in a harness strapped to their chest.” Techno snickered.

“What can I say, parenthood has snuck up on me.” Ranboo laughed with Techno. It wasn’t too long before they were back at work on the tunnel. They weren’t even halfway to the strong hold. It was going to take a while before they were going to be there. Especially since Phil wanted the library under wraps. They didn’t need anyone trying to sabotage anything.

Techno let his mind wander back to you, the way you felt in his arms, your scent. Everything about you was alluring to him and he couldn’t understand it. But… He also saw the way you looked at Dream, he heard your giggles to Dreams jokes. He could pretend he didn’t see the light touches the two of you would share. He set his jaw, putting more into his swings of his pickaxe. This had to be some cruel joke on him.

He rarely liked the company of others, always telling himself to be more social when people were around. Some even snubbed him when he tried. There were a few people that were good to him, he couldn’t deny that. He was fine being alone.

Techno still lost in his thoughts, kept going, hitting harder and harder with his pickaxe. Ranboo was now looking over at him curiously, the sight making him worry for Techno. He didn’t know how to even approach it. Techno kept mining forward, his breathing becoming labored. He only stopped when his pickaxe had broken, crumbling in his hands. He stood there for just a second heavily breathing, his hands clenched. Why was he so tense?

“You alright, Tech?” Ranboo leaned in beside Techno. Techno wiped the sweat from his face, his mind flashing to you, your face twisted like the others when they saw him. He hated it. If Dream had his way that’s how it would be. Maybe it was time to put his violent ways to rest? The voices be damned. He didn’t want you to see him as a monster. There was no need to fight anymore, he wanted to settle down.

Phil grinned at his invention for the ever-growing residential area of The Burrow. His arm was all healed up, after many persuaded him to take a health potion from the doctor. This left him able to do his projects. He had installed multiple elevators so that the people building their houses up high could easily reach ground level. His hands rested on his hips triumphantly as he watched some children playing with the elevators, with their parents watching. Phil tested his invention out one last time, going to the very top of the cavern that was eye level with some of the glowstone hanging down. His elytra hung from his shoulders like a cape.

This was something that he had been wanting to do for a while. He climbed over the railing of the landing that led into people’s homes.

He allowed himself to look at the ground, his hands grasping the railing. It was a long way down but having flown across a void this was nothing to him. He let himself fall forward, feeling his fingers slip away from the railing, he fell, and he glided through the cavern toward the beacon on the other end. The wind on his face, the excitement in his chest, his emotions were heightened. He let out a triumphant laugh, as the structures around him started whizzing by. People were cheering for him as he zipped past them.

When he had gotten to the beacon, he let his feet touch down, the adrenaline still pumping. What he wouldn’t give to find a gigantic cave and fly through it. This cavern was only a taste of it. But cavern’s like that were rare. His eyes scanned the area of people busy at work.

His eyes landed on the newest addition of the cave; a hospital carved into the wall right next to where the old med bay had been just two weeks prior. Wilbur was put in charge of the building plans for this, and it turned out beautiful. It was mostly made of quartz from the nether, and it was nicely accentuated with bricks. The inside was very nice as well, with plenty of room for everyone who needed care. A voice broke him out of his thoughts.

“Ey Philza! Big man!” Schlatt approached Phil. “How ya been?” The goat hybrid stopped a few feet away from him. He was acting like he hadn’t called Phil out two weeks ago. “I had something I wanted to talk to ya about.” Phil sighed in irritation.

Before two weeks ago he hadn’t minded Schlatt, now he was just a pain, because people were still treating Phil as a traitor, and those that spewed that hate usually expressed how they wanted Schlatt as the head of The Burrow. Phil would gladly step down, but he never received any official answer from Schlatt. Phil didn’t want the stress, but he was thrust upon this role, he would take the role until someone else wanted to step in. He kind of hoped it would be Schlatt.

“So,” Schlatt grinned at Phil. “I’ve been noticing people’s morale around here is plummeting and I am here to talk business.” He clapped his hands together. “So… I propose, a sort of… arena.” He stood up straight his arms fall behind his back. “We need some sort of entertainment, so why not let people beat the shit out of other people for the amusement of others.” Phil gave him a dead pan look.

“An… Arena?” Phil sighed. “I do have my concerns Schlatt,” Phil looked at Schlatt uneasily.

“Oh, I know you do, Phil. That’s why I’m here to tell you… That there will be rules, to abide by, legal forms and all that.” He waved his hand at the mention of the legalities. “This could really be the start we need for the economy.” Schlatt’s goat eyes peered down at Phil almost expectantly.

“Economy?” Phil felt his face twist up in confusion. “What are you on about Schlatt?”

“Well, you see Philza. I’m glad you asked because I have a shiny new currency, just ready to be used.” He fished around his pocket, pulling a gold coin engraved with an s out. “Introducing, the Schlatt coin!” He gave Phil a huge smile. Phil quirked up an eyebrow at him.

“Sounds like a waste of gold mate.” Phil crossed his arms and shrugged. “Emeralds are a good currency to use.” Phil’s words caused Schlatt’s smile to falter. Phil inwardly sighed, would he really give this man leadership if he asked for it? Maybe… But he was scared that Schlatt would use up resources for meaningless things like the Schlatt coin. “I’ll tell you what Schlatt, you can run your arena. You can allow gambling, you can sell Schlatt coins for gambling purposes, but outside your arena they are worthless.”

“So, what you’re sayin’ is my Schlatt coins are nothing more than poker chips.” Schlatt gave a grimace pocketing his coin.

“Take the deal or not. Emeralds have higher value than gold.” Schlatt pondered over his words. “Not to mention it wouldn’t be hard to fake a Schlatt coin. There’s so much gold in the nether.” Schlatt rubbed his chin, pondering.

“Alright Phil, you do have some good points. This might also allow me to expand into other business ventures.” Schlatt had his smile back on. “Did you know I always wanted to be a landlord?” Phil shook his head. The conversation went on, about Schlatt’s wants in life. This conversation revealed more of Schlatt as a person, than of the businessman. Schlatt was about to turn and walk away when he stopped and faced toward Phil once more. “Ey, tell Technoblade, that if he wants to come fight in The Pit, I would be more than happy to make some money off of him.” With that he chuckled and walked away.

Phil let out a sigh of relief. What an… Odd conversation. He couldn’t deny the people needed somewhere to let their frustrations out, whether it was actually fighting in the pit or gambling their money away. Having an economy would hopefully serve this place well. Services couldn’t be free forever, and trading when there was already lack of resources was proving hard.

Phil started walking toward the new hospital to check on everything. He had a lot to think about, and hopefully this was a step in the right direction for everyone here.

You had earned yourself a good gig working for Niki. She gave you a place to sleep, and she fed you well, in order for your services. This was the least you could do for her. You did not want to make someone feel as if you were using them. You wanted to give back. The last two weeks you had healed nicely, due to a health potion Niki had scrounged up for you. You were running deliveries out to people; they were mostly deliveries of rations to everyone around The Burrow. Techno enjoyed walking with you on your deliveries every night.

For whatever reason Techno was late today, he mentioned something about mining earlier. You shrugged it off when you didn’t see him waiting for you at Niki’s door. Making your way to the small cart that Dream had made for you, you start loading it up with the boxes of food Niki had prepared. You lingered for a second, your eyes scanning the area for Techno. Disappointment set in when you didn’t see your friend, biting the inside of your cheek you sigh. You really enjoyed walking with him.

“Want some help tonight?” You recognized Dream’s voice; he had approached you while you were checking the wheels on the cart. A smile pulled at your lips at the sight of him.

“Sure, thanks Dream.” Well at least you had a friend with you during tonight’s delivery run. “I appreciate it!”

“Heh,” Dream chuckled, “It’s not a problem at all. You shouldn’t be pulling carts by yourself anyway.” His fingers lightly grazed your cheek. “How are you feeling?” His voice soothed your soul.

“I’m alright,” You subconsciously leaned into his touch, feeling your heart flutter. “It feels good to be doing things again.” You let out a sigh of content. This cave was beautiful in comparison to the unfinished room you currently slept in. Techno was slowly but surely working to add a second story to the bakery, and to finish off what needed to be done in the main bakery. The second story would serve as Niki’s home.

“I bet,” Dream hummed, “I’m just glad you’re okay.” The two of you talked, as you started your route. People were starting to get used to seeing you, and you pretended not to notice how they would look at Techno when he towered over them. You could smell their fear, you wished they could see the being that Techno was to you. It was a different story when Dream was with you. People greeted you more as well as Dream, people didn’t act scared of Dream like they did with Techno. The thought made you sad.

You and Dream had just gotten done with the residential part of your route, on your way back to the bakery to collect more food from Niki. Your eyes looked around at everyone’s houses most of them were in the walls of the cave, but some were log cabins adorning the makeshift streets. What caught your attention, was a blank cave wall, ready to be mined out and built in. You stopped and looked at the wall.

“You want a house of your own?” Dream asked as he peered back at you when you stopped. You bit your lip and nodded. Having your own space would be amazing. “We can do that for you.” Dream slapped a hand on your shoulder, pulling you close, you could feel the heat from his body. “Command me to move the world, and I will do it for you.” You could see his smile behind his mask.

“Cheesy.” You let out a laugh. He laughed with you, his grip tightening on your shoulder.

“I know you like it.” He teased, “But seriously, Sapnap and I can help you with your house. I’d say George too… But… I can almost guarantee that he’ll be off sleeping somewhere.”

“Well at least you know your friend well enough,” You giggled. Dream sighed happily at your laughter. He let go of your shoulder, and you found yourself missing his touch. He returned to his earlier position pulling the cart.

“We should get back and do the rest of the route.” You could hear the smile in his voice, and you nodded walking by his side. Your chest felt warm having him by your side. You hadn’t felt anything like this in a very long time. You dared to let your hand pull the cart with him, he only chuckled and you felt the weight of his hand on yours the rest of the trip back to Niki’s bakery.

You still missed Techno, but you had failed to see him when you were immersed in conversation with Dream. Techno saw Dream’s hand on yours and he saw how happy you were talking with him; he couldn’t bring himself to do or say anything. He just stumbled back and gained his composure, his eyes flicked from you to Dream. He couldn’t ignore your smile, the way you laughed. He shook his head and headed back to Phil’s house.

Maybe you were better off with Dream.

#technoblade x reader #technoblade/reader #c!techno x reader #techno fanfic #c!techno #angst #dream x reader #dream mcyt #through fire and ice #mcyt x reader

147 notes · View notes