#i don’t care anymore if this burns bridges i just can’t stand seeing this shit | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

steviewashere · 5 months ago

Note

This may be a bit out there request (also feel free to ignore) for a small oneshot, but can I request some pure steve angst? him and hop sharing a drink, no ships, just two dudes talking about shitty things that have happened to them over the past few years. My boy desperately needs a father figure.

Okay, I'm so sorry this took so long to answer. I literally started writing it, forgot about it, and then came back and couldn't think of anything. And I also didn't have Hopper share too much, but I hope this suffices some. This was a fun challenge. <3

Pairing: Steve Harrington & Jim "Chief" Hopper CW: Discussion of Canon Traumatic Events, Brief Mention of Canon Violence Tags: Post-Canon, Post-Season 4, Angst and Hurt/Comfort

🫂—————🫂 He’d been sitting outside with his head between his knees for the better part of half an hour when the door creaked open behind him. Even as the footfalls, heavy and slow, made their way towards him, Steve didn’t dare drag his eyes up. Kept them securely at his feet. To the wooden step underneath him. On the off chance that whatever world existed around him was a mirage.

The person sits down next to him with an unceremonious grunt. Their breaths are as heavy as their steps. A swallow clicking in their throat, probably dry and overused. Something chilled is pressed against his denim clad thigh. And that’s when Steve finally draws enough effort to look up.

Hopper sits hunched, head pointed at the trees beyond his cabin, eyes darting between them. In his right hand is an offered, cold bottle of beer. A firm outstretched bridge. And Steve tentatively takes it. He’s not quite old enough to be partaking in this, Hopper should know that, but also—he’s not the chief anymore, is he? So, why should he care?

His beer is already uncapped when he raises it to his face. Knocking it back and taking it in with a deep swallow. The foam churning on his tongue, sugary between his teeth, and moist on his lips. He heaves a sigh. Mutters, “Thanks.”

Another bottle is drank from. The slosh against the sides of the glass an easy sound. Hopper smacks his lips together. “Looked like you needed one,” he states gruffly. A swig. “God knows I did with all that damn commotion in there.”

“Yeah,” Steve murmurs back, “it’s too loud for me.” He takes a small sip at his drink. Shifts the bottle back and forth between his palms, relishing in the crisp condensation on his skin. Begins to pick at the label where it looks like it’ll peel away easily, if he just gave it his full effort. “I don’t even know why I came over. I can’t stand noisy shit.”

“Feel like the old Steve Harrington that I’ve met would say otherwise,” Hopper muses. Instead of dignifying it with a response, Steve just nods his head in silent agreement. Because yeah, pre-November, 1983 Steve would be doing keg stands and chanting at the top of his lungs. Not moping around on the front porch of the ex-chief of police. Sharing beer of all things.

The noise inside the house floats out from under the crooked front door. A mixture of birdsong and laughter. The subtle soft chirps of crickets beginning to wake up. It’s good outside, the air cold on Steve’s face and the sun nearly set. He takes a deep breath and just absorbs.

“Sometimes,” Hop starts softly when their shared silence stretches too long, “sometimes I look at you and see myself.”

Steve swallows around nothing. “That a good thing?” He asks just as quiet.

“No,” Hopper answers honestly. “You look like you’d rather be under the dirt than be anywhere. There’s…you’re a lonely lookin’ nineteen year old.”

He shrugs. “Yeah, well—“ Steve sighs. “—maybe I’d rather that. All things considered, Hopper.” There are eyes on him, he can sense them through the aching joint of his left shoulder. They burn him. It hurts to have attention like this on him, after so much time alone. And he knows that he’s got Robin and the party members—he’ll maybe have Eddie if he pulls through in the hospital. But that doesn’t make his house any less silent, or his parents’ room any less dusty, or his bed any less cold.

“You got anybody you can talk to, kid? Outside of Robin?”

Steve sniffs. Picks at the label on his beer bottle. Tries not to notice his shaking hands. “Who ‘m I gonna talk to?” He asks lowly. “A shrink is gonna think I’m crazy, put me away. And y’know how my parents are. They aren’t going to believe me, let alone listen.”

Hopper’s leg bumps his. Beer bottle clinking against the porch as he sets it down. He ducks down, enough to make direct eye contact with Steve. His eyes are fierce, yet inviting and soft. Steve’s stomach churns. “Talk to me, then. You need an adult who will understand you? I’m right here.”

He scoffs. “What do you want me to talk about?”

“Anything. Everything. Something, Steve.” A hand lands gently on his shoulder. The warmth a lull, a sweet thing. And something inside of him begins to melt. But he doesn’t say anything, still. Hopper sighs long and winded. And the touch dissipates, leaving Steve drifted and yearning.

Behind them, Hopper’s cabin swells with noise. That raspy laugh of Robin’s. And Mike’s honk snorting. Even Jonathan is adding something, a few loud comments here and there. “I can’t believe we won!” Dustin crows and the others join in intense agreement. And Steve wonders why he can’t celebrate like they can. What happened to him. Where his joy lays in all this.

Hopper sips his beer again, looking out at the trees once more. Smacks his lips together. “I don’t know how to celebrate this shit,” he admits quietly. “I’m…Part of me is excited to not see my girl use those powers of hers again. To hopefully see her hair grow out. But another part of me is—I just remember all the bad shit that happened before we got to this point.”

“Yeah,” Steve croaks. He gulps a good third of his beer in one go. The sour bitterness of the drink burning his throat alive. When he pulls the bottle away, he absentmindedly rubs at the dark red demobat scar on his neck. “Especially when my body remembers and is covered in my failures,” he mutters.

Beside him, Hopper makes a noise of agreement. A hum. A grunt sort of thing. “I used to be a fat guy.” He half-heartedly chuckles. “Now I’m just this skinny dude with real short hair and the eyes of a World War Two soldier.”

Steve snorts. “And I used to have plain, blemish free skin. Now look at me, Hop.” He gestures loosely at his own face and neck when Hopper does turn and look over. “No amount of coconut oil—or whatever—is going to get rid of this shit. Like my mom keeps insisting on. I mean…She doesn’t know all the shit I’ve been through. The—The plate I took to the crown of my head or the needle to my neck or those Russian shitheads that knocked me senseless.”

Hopper’s breath hitches. Steve curses at himself internally. Remembers the haunted body that pulled him in close when they reconvened. Remembers the frantic calls from Jonathan, of all people, asking what to do when it comes to nightmares—“Not mine,” Jonathan had said, “Hop’s. He just…He just yells.” And even remembers the faint hints Hop gave: the relief in finding a jar of peanut butter, the biting cold, the labor, and the cells. The separation from who he used to be. The loneliness within what he’d gone through, which Steve knows all too well. “Russians?” Hopper softly implores anyway.

And part of Steve knows what he’s doing. The crack to his shell deepening, stretching. But he answers despite it all. Keeps his voice leveled, careful as to not be heard from inside the cabin. “Yeah,” he whispers, the syllables cracking. “Robs and Dustin and I, we all decoded this tape, right? There was Russian speech on it or whatever and I ended up finding the source of the intermission. It was coming from underneath Starcourt. So, y’know how stupid we all are, we went ahead and found these assholes and…Well I—“ He rubs the lip of his beer bottle to his own bottom lip. Eyes glossing over, remembering. “They were going to hurt Robin,” he states, his own voice like gravel, “and Dustin. And little Erica. So I did the stupid thing. Answered their interrogation. They didn’t like the answers; I earned a few punches. Went unconscious. Got hit with some truth serum drug bullshit. Threw up my guts, ended up with a concussion, saw a guy die in front of me, went home and threw up again in the shower, and then I went to bed.”

All at once, the world narrows to just them. Hopper’s completely silent though and Steve doesn’t want to glance over. See the pity written on his sullen, aged face. So he shrugs, takes another swig of his beer, and burps lightly when the carbonation comes up. Nonchalance. “Play stupid games, win stupid prizes. Right, Hop?” Steve pokes quietly. “Throw myself in danger for the people around me. Try to keep them on my good side. Show them I’m worth giving a shit about. Save ‘em. Love ‘em for a bit. Wait until they turn on me or whatever.

“I know you do it, too. So don’t try to lecture me,” Steve mutters, “At least we don’t have to do it again.”

He’s not sure what to really expect to any of that. But he doesn’t think he’d ever expect a firm, heavy arm to wrap around his shoulders. To tug him in close and warm. To hold him gently.

“I’m sorry, kid,” Hopper murmurs.

Steve tries to pull away, but the hand on his opposite bicep squeezes him back. “It’s not your fault, Hop. It’s—“

“You’re a kid, Steve,” he emphasizes. “A kid with a long fucking life ahead of you. And you’ve already seen enough for, well, for lifetimes. You should’a never been in any of this shit, none of you teens should’a. Not just those Russians, Steve. But for everything.”

He doesn’t feel like a kid. Doesn’t really feel like anything, but Hopper doesn’t need to know that right now. Sure, he’d understand. That liminal space after losing his daughter, right after war, before his world quite literally turned upside down—Hopper lived that nothingness for a long while. Maybe he lives it again, Steve isn’t sure.

But he just sighs. “You shouldn’t have been there, either,” Steve murmurs. His face is warm and his eyes sting. And before he really knows what’s happening, he’s crying. Hot tears that sear all the way down to the underside of his jaw. That don’t really produce much noise from him, but he supposes the terrible stuttering in and out is something.

“C’mere, kid,” Hopper mutters.

His beer gets set aside somewhere. Pulled even further in. Head nestled on Hopper’s shoulder, the fresh shave of his beard burning on Steve’s forehead. A hand between his shoulder blades and the other on the back of his head. Steve’s arms sit limp at his sides. But within Hop’s warmth, the musk of aftershave and Irish Spring soap, and his firm and careful hold—Steve finally breaks.

It’s not a catastrophic thing, like he had expected. It’s not all that quiet either.

Shoulders shaking, eyes heavy, and nose burning—Steve cries. Cries with the force of a sudden summer downpour. Heaves giant breaths as if he’s just come up from drowning. And he sobs against the bare skin of Hopper’s neck. Open mouthed. Wet exhales. Big globs of spit sticky between his lips.

When he can finally catch his breath, feel the exhaustion into his bones, he pulls back.

Hopper lays his hands on either side of Steve’s face. His own cheeks wet with tears. Sniffling. “I know, okay? I know, kid,” he says quietly. “You need a home to run to? A shoulder to cry on? You just need a good dad hug? Come over, okay? Steve, you just gotta come over.”

And with that, all Steve can do, is give in.

He cries again into Hopper’s shoulder.

Later, he’ll listen to Hopper in turn. Hug him just as fiercely. Laugh at the absurdity of it all. But this is nice. Just this for a little while longer.

For the first time in his life, though, he feels like he’s got a home to return to. An ear to hear him. And a heart to care about him.

🫂—————🫂 Thank you for the ask, this was an interesting one!

#stranger things #steve harrington #jim hopper #steve harrington & jim hopper #angst and hurt/comfort

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ellytraoflight · 2 years ago

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Awesamponk came full circle in the egg finale. We’ve seen them jump from lovers to estranged, holding on, letting go, to enemies once again. Ponk’s attempt at retribution backfired on him but it didn’t, really, because Ponk still has Fran hidden away in some secret prison (like a baby piglin used as a bartering chip; like the consequences of Sam’s actions).

Ponk’s “killing Sam” mission started long ago, where he tried to conscript Foolish to help him murder Sam in somewhere around July 2021. It’s worth mentioning, though, that he has plenty of opportunities to murder Sam in the coming months that he never takes. He fantasizes of it like a dream he hopes will come to fruition—a recent ex insincerely wishing death upon their past lover. He’s (understandably) very betrayed by and angry at Sam, but he doesn’t act on any murder plans. His death is not what Ponk really wants at this point in time.

Even after Sam took Ponk’s arm, Ponk was (mostly) amicable towards Sam face-to-face for a long time. He yells a lot, and he makes petty jabs (“I know you’re good at burning [bridges]” comes to mind), but follows it up with, "Just so you know, you can come to me after everything. I will still support you, Sam, okay? You'll still have a place to stay. Because all the wrong that you have done is going to catch up behind you." Sam immediately says, “I don’t think I’ve done anything wrong.” At this point in time (approximately July 2021), Ponk seems to be bitter, but tells Sam that he’s still willing to wait for him. Sam, meanwhile, obstinately refuses any sort of reproach. This is essentially how their relationship goes for the next year or so, even while Ponk threatens bloody murder behind his back.

Ponk acts in a similar way towards Sam right after Dream escapes prison, only this time the amount of time he’s waited has taken its toll. "The next time you ask for my help, I don't think I'll be there for you. I think I'll just stand and watch. I honestly don't care anymore. [...] You're not even worth the durability on my sword.” Sam offers his own, and Ponk refuses even that. “I don't want you to die, you know why? [...] I have a feeling that someone great, someone who used to be is still in there, and he’s fighting to come out. And one day, that person will make it out, and you will see the shit that you've done to other people in this world, alright? It'll be much worth than death, Sam." Here, I believe Ponk states what he really wants: he can’t wait for Sam anymore, but he doesn’t want Sam to die. He knows that Sam is going to suffer for his actions one way or another, but he doesn’t want to be the one to do it. He’s done with Sam.

The next time he talks about wanting to murder Sam comes chronologically after his lore stream where he decides to live in a cave. He’s tired, his clothes are tattered, and he asks both Aimsey and Eryn for their help in killing Sam. In a couple of months, Ponk jumps the train from “I don’t want Sam dead” to “I’m going to kill Sam myself.” In between his last interaction with Sam and here, Ponk’s been beaten down by life and has been alone for months. The only thing Ponk knows how to do by this point is blame Sam: in his mind, all his problems started with Sam and his arm.

This isn’t even considering all the times both Ponk and Sam separately have flirted with Foolish to hurt the other. Or, the times Sam’s flirted with Ponk while truly believing he hasn’t done anything wrong.

By the point of the egg finale, Ponk has realized that Sam is never going to change. Ponk has been suffering, and he blames it all on Sam, and Sam has received no retribution. So, Ponk finally takes it upon himself to hurt Sam the way that Sam hurt Ponk all that time ago, even though he claimed he never would. And it still doesn’t work! Because Sam always had a contingency plan, and he blows up Ponk and he escapes. He still hasn’t learned his lesson—and neither has Ponk. He can never truly let go.

It’s interesting to think about awesamponk in the context of the egg finale, which primarily covers the story of Skeppy and Badboyhalo. Where Skeppy and Bad have doomed themselves and the world time and time again in order to save the other, Sam and Ponk will never be able to overcome their strife, despite how much they still clearly care for one another. Skephalo say “I care for you so much that everything else can burn,” where awesamponk say “I care for you so much that I’ll flay you myself.” Both exhibit unhealthy codependencies that end up hurting themselves, the other party, and the rest of the server.

I have to wonder where awesamponk is going to go from here. Neither of them are healing, and they are both getting worse, and that’s pretty par for the course for a dream smp relationship, actually.

#dream smp #dsmp #awesamponk #awesamdude #dropsbyponk #eggpire #mcyt #dream smp meta #i have spent so long on this i should be asleep right now #i also have no idea if this is all the relevant awesamponk stuff. I dont watch many streams I catch up later when i hear something happened #and so many of ponks streams are lost #skephalo #when i first saw the awesamponk interaction in the egg finale #i went hm. is that really how they would react? how has anything built up to this?#it turns out that a lot has been building up to this. and its executed very well. i never should have doubted ponks lore capabilities.#at first i was thinking well i dont want this to be the end to the awesamponk story arc #but i cant really think of a better end unless they want to put in the work to show them rebuilding their relationship #theyre never going to be okay theyre always going to be hurting and hurting each other #you know what ive learned from dsmp? tearing down relationships is much easier than building them back up #dsmp analysis #OH ALSO #curses to whoever wrote that script image of an awesamponk confrontation after sam is imprisoned and killed by dream #the 'dream hates you. you know he does. you loved me' one #i thought it was real until I looked for it again now #it really should have been real those lines are so good and very in character #but i'm pretty sure theyre not #anyway i hope you enjoyed

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eternal-armin · 3 years ago

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brain stew. [vi]

observant vi has noticed you've been doing pretty much anything else but sleeping. drabble series 2/5 proofread.

music pumped through speakers. after hours of silence, you would rather this than any more. you nodded to the beat, mouthing the words, flipping through a book for any semblance of something interesting.

whatever time it was, you didn’t care to know. at this point you were used to the shivers on your skin, the constant fluctuation between hot and cold that either meant you were burning or freezing, the itch to move and exercise even when you felt like a sack of wet sand. the constant drooping of your eyes. and yet, no matter how many times they closed, you never slept.

the song ended. you rewinded it to listen to it again.

“‘m having trouble trying to sleep,” you mumbled along, finding yourself laughing at the lyrics. you closed the book and it landed on your chest. at this point, even the dumbest of things sent you into a fit. that’s just what sleep deprivation-induced delusion was.

“as time ticks by, still i try…”

the music was interrupted by three knocks on your door. you groaned, rolling your eyes. pushing yourself to stand up- and pausing for a moment as your head swam and dizzied- you opened the door.

“[y/n], what the hell are you doing?” vi asked in a slightly pissed whisper.

“uh, nothing?” you chuckled, having to look away. she looked so funny when she was tired and mad at the same time. like an annoyed kitten. “literally i’m doing nothing.”

“you’re doing something. you’re playing music so loud it woke me up.”

“that’s not really hard to do, though. i don’t get it, why are you here.”

“just turn it down so you don’t wake anyone else up. it’s like 3 in the morning.”

“holy shit, it is?” your expression turned especially confusing. shocked, almost horrified, upon learning that fact. time was just a vortex that you couldn’t understand anymore. suddenly you felt like you were a young child, confused at college-level math. your tiny brain couldn’t comprehend it.

vi was quiet for a moment.

“yeah… didn’t you know that? you literally have a clock in your room.”

“can’t… read it anymore…” you mumbled, pinching the bridge of your nose and squeezing your eyes shut. you didn’t even know when you had last slept at this point. “uhm, yeah, i’ll turn it down.”

vi stopped the door before you could close it, looking at you. her gaze was both intimidating and scrutinizing. even in the shitty light of the hall, and even though she was probably tired herself, it didn’t really take a genius to see the bags under your eyes. or the lack of real recognition they held. how your hair and clothes were frazzled from constantly tossing and turning, even though you had tried to smooth them.

“what’s wrong.”

it wasn’t a question, more of a demand.

“i have no clue what you’re talking about.”

“oh, don’t play dumb with me, cupcake. i know you inside and out, alright? and i know when you’re lying.” she put special emphasis on the last part, looking at you with slightly widened eyes. not that you had the strength to meet her gaze, anyway.

you huffed quietly. “i just- i just can’t sleep. okay? that’s all. you can go now.” you once again tried to shut the door, and once again she stopped it. you rolled your eyes, looking at her, your annoyance plastered plainly over your expression.

vi leaned against the doorframe, crossing her arms. you groaned. so she was planning to stay, hm? she was worried, but she wouldn’t let you see that. “when’s the last time you slept, darling?” she asked.

“i… i dunno. what does- what does that have to do with anything?”

“you don’t know the last time you slept?” worry alarms went off in her head. “you- you really don’t know?”

“i don’t, okay?!” you took a deep breath, quieting yourself. “leave me alone and maybe i can sleep again.” unlike vi, you didn’t even bother attempting to hide your irritation.

“nope. not happening, cupcake. i’m sorry. but you haven’t slept in like, five nights. sometimes you just pass out in class for like an hour, but i haven’t seen you sleep other than that, what the hell is going on?”

“how do you know the last time i slept?"

"well, first of all, i'm your fucking girlfriend. second of all, our dorms are right next to each other, so i know you're nonstop playing music and singing to it." vi explained rather curtly. she didn’t care to monitor her voice as much as you did. "you're damn lucky no one else heard it or you'd be having a very bad time with the dean. for the last time, what the hell is going on?"

"i don't know, okay? i don't know! nothin's stressing me out, but my body just- refuses to get tired! okay? you happy?"

vi didn't look annoyed at your barely-restrained volume. you could finally, plainly see the concern she had bubbling up inside. "that's… no, i'm not, honestly. of course i'm not. you don't look good, cupcake."

"thanks. i needed to hear that." you replied, deadpan.

"that's- that’s not what i meant and you know it."

"oh, do i?"

"i'm not gonna argue any more with you on this. move aside, i'm coming in."

your snarky ass didn’t have the opportunity to protest before she pushed past you, standing in the middle of your messy room. you heard her mumble a ‘geez’ beneath her breath. sometimes your living space was a little messy, so was hers so she couldn’t judge, but it looked about as frazzled and disordered as you were.

“seriously? what do you want, vi? i’m tired.”

“that’s the problem, you aren’t tired. you literally haven’t slept in days. i’m worried about you, okay?, this isn’t healthy.”

the door clicked closed. “i can talk to a doctor or something in the morning.”

“why haven’t you done so already?”

“i- i didn’t care to!”

she was quiet. her gaze felt stifling. instead of being angry, you found yourself now too scared to talk. too scared to look her in the eye, even when you hadn’t hesitated to seconds earlier.

“why not?”

“why waste the time of a doctor when i can just down a bottle of melatonin or something? it… it’s fine. i can deal with my own problems.”

“[y/n], this is exactly why we have doctors. when something goes wrong, big or small, they’re there to fix it. they are experts at fixing the human body.” vi’s voice softened. so did her expression, if you looked up to see it. “sometimes you have problems that you can’t solve on your own. that’s okay.”

this time, you were quiet. the more you talked, the less you understood. sounds mixed together in your mind. you walked over to the stereo, shutting it off. suddenly the silence made your head hurt. clutching it with one hand, you sighed. “i don’t… like… asking for help. why do you think i never told you about this? why do you think you found out on your own? i don’t like- i don’t like admitting something is wrong. i hate how it feels.”

“is it okay if i touch you, cupcake?”

after a moment, you nodded slightly. she rested one hand on your shoulder, the other cupping your cheek. you looked up at her, and to your honest surprise, she wasn’t frowning. she looked serious, but still worried. her eyes only seemed to say ‘i love you.’

“i know how it feels, too. i hated it so much, too. i always wanted to be the tough one, figuring out her own shit, being a role model. but there are just… some fights you can’t win on your own. and for those, asking for help isn’t just okay. it’s strong.” she paused for a moment, her thumb gently caressing your cheek. “your health is on the line. sleep is incredibly important. i understand why you didn’t ask sooner, but please, at least come to me next time something goes wrong. next time something doesn’t feel right.”

you leaned forward, resting your head against her chest. “you won’t judge me if i do, will you?”

“i know people say there are no dumb questions, but that’s a little dumb. i’ve never judged you, and i never will. i love you too much. simple as that.”

you snorted, laughing. it was a muffled sound. but vi smiled at the sound, wrapping her arms tight around you. you returned the hug as tight as you could. she swayed back and forth slightly.

“i didn’t hear you say it back, cupcake.”

“shh! lemme enjoy this moment!”

vi laughed softly. “what, i didn’t hear you.”

“vi!”

“i’m sorry, sweetie, i really can’t.”

“i love you too, damnit! now be quiet and hug me tighter!”

#vi arcane #arcane netflix #arcane #vi x y/n #vi x you #vi x reader #vi x gn reader #vi x gender neutral reader #vi x fem reader #vi x female reader

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etheriaaly · 3 years ago

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Just The Two Of Us [C! Tommyinnit x GN! Reader]

FLUFF TO ANGST (PLATONIC) WARNINGS: Mentions of suicide, suicidal thoughts, character death, cursing

Reader pronouns: They/them

A/N: Hi, this is my first DSMP fanfic so uhh I hope u enjoy lmao. There might be grammatical errors so pls do not mind it :D

ɴᴀᴠɪɢᴀᴛɪᴏɴ ∣ ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ

—

[Y/N] already lost count of all the pranks and chaos they made with Tommy. They didn't like causing havoc or pulling pranks on people but if Tommy asked them to tag along, they would. Tommy is their best friend after all. Plus, where's the fun in life without a little risk?

[Y/N] was just at their Cottage house, peacefully making the potions that Quackity ordered just hours ago. Since [Y/N] is a skilled witch, it was no shock when they owned a Potions business. Everyone in the SMP server knows about this and they usually come and buy their potions.

They were about to finish the last set of potions that Quackity ordered until they ran out of ingredients. "Dammit." [Y/N] muttered under their breath. They turned around and immediately went to find if they have any stock ingredients in their barrels or chests.

When they saw no stock ingredients, [Y/N] sighed and decided to do some last minute ingredients grinding. It was until they opened the door and saw Tommy standing in front of their house door.

[Y/N] knew that his presence is no good because that motherfucker is grinning ear to ear. They playfully groaned and asked, "What is it this time child?"

"Hey, I told you not to call me a child anymore!" Tommy suddenly protested, feeling insulted but went back to his sly grin and said, "Let's prank Skeppy and Bad."

"That's a horrible idea."

"Come on, bitch. It'll be fun."

And they did come with Tommy. A couple hours had passed and [Y/N] had already forgotten about the ingredients they were gonna get for Quackity's potions. Tommy said that Big Q's order can wait but the prank can't.

It wasn't long after Bad and Skeppy saw the two teenagers doing their little harmless prank on them.

[Y/N] caught sight of the two and immediately tugged on Tommy's shirt. "Fuck, Tommy we gotta go."

Tommy, unfazed and still focused on the prank, said, "Just a little longer."

[Y/N] nudged Tommy's side using her elbows as the two teenagers can now hear Skeppy and Bad's incoherent yelling drawing closer and closer to them.

"RUN!" [Y/N] yelled as they both left the things they used to try to prank BBH and Skeppy.

The two let out a laugh as they ran away. Tommy constantly turned his head back to see if Skeppy and Bad are still after them.

[Y/N] and Tommy continued to run even though Bad and Skeppy stopped coming after them. It wasn't until the two teenagers finally stopped running so that they could catch their breath.

"What now?" [Y/N] gasped, who is still out of breath from both running and laughing at the same time. They looked at Tommy.

Tommy grinned again and then grabbed their arm, "I have something pog to show you."

[Y/N] didn't question Tommy and just let him drag them to a mountain.

Once they have reached the destination, [Y/N] let out a 'wow'. The view is breathtaking and it is very peaceful. The mountain isn't that very far from the SMP but it looks like very few have come across this part.

"So, what do you think?" Tommy asked, looking at the view. The view consists of the calming ocean waves and a peaceful sunsetting with birds passing by.

[Y/N] turned to Tommy and smiled, "This could be our secret spot." They slowly walked towards the edge of the mountain cliff but were immediately stopped by Tommy.

"Oh, [Y/N] wait. Be careful, the edge of the cliff looks really faulty." Tommy warned.

[Y/N] immediately stepped back a little and took note of what Tommy said. But, they were still curious and looked down at the edge of the cliff, only to see the water from below.

If someone would fall from this cliff and took a heavy impact on the water, that person wouldn't survive due to how high the mountain cliff is.

[Y/N] then proposed, "You know, when things are stressful and stuff. We can just go here, sit in silence and look at the view as the wind or the waves takes away our problems for a while."

"Just the two of us." The blonde haired lad said and then they both stood in silence, admiring the view and beauty of the server.

Oh, if only you could turn back in time and relive this memory. If only things are still the same the way it was before.

It's been so long since [Y/N] had fun and peace. Probably so many months since Tommy first showed them their secret mountain hangout area.

[Y/N] currently stood still, gazing at the view that was once calm and peaceful but was now replaced with sounds of flying TNTs, fireworks and screams from the background.

They were in no state of mind as of the moment. They don't even know what to do anymore. A lot has changed ever since the wars, the exilation of Tommy.

[Y/N] sniffed, wiping their tears using their now mangy sleeves caused by the current chaotic event. They continued to stare at the ocean, a potion of poison glistening in their hands.

[Y/N] looked at the Potion of Poison that they were holding and pondered whether to drink it or not.

Maybe it's best to end it once and for all. They don't have anywhere to go anyways. They don't have any friends or family to turn back to since everyone is against them or thought badly of them now.

[Y/N] can't even go back to L’manberg as well since they're now a wanted criminal for breaking the laws and escaping from their house since they're supposed to be on house arrest for the crimes they didn't even do.

They opened the cork of the potion, but they didn't drink it yet. They let their mind wander for a while and process everything that has happened.

Maybe Dream was right. Maybe the people they loved never even cared for them at all. Maybe it was all just a lie. Maybe—

"[Y/N]." A familiar voice that they haven't heard in a while.

It was windy. The cool breeze of air touched their skins. But along with the wind, there are particles of TNT or fireworks dusts.

The [H/C] haired person turned around and saw their best friend for the first time in months.

"Tommy." [Y/N] replied. Their voice were hoarse and dry. "What are you- What are you doing here?"

"I could ask you the same thing." Tommy glared at them.

[Y/N] quietly groaned, closed their eyes for a while and pinched their nose bridge, still holding the potion on their other hand. "So, you believe all that shit?"

"Enough for me to believe the fact you tried to murder Tubbo, burn my invites and team up with Dream."

Tommy added, "Maybe they were right about you. You're Dream's sibling after all."

[Y/N] scoffed and threw their available hand around the air, "He may be my sibling, but we are never alike."

"Why, [Y/N]? Why did you do it?" Tommy asked, hands gripping tighter on his sword. "Did Dream finally get into your head for you to commit these crimes? Or did you just do it because it's in your blood?"

"You don't know a thing that happened," [Y/N] harshly spit back, completely trying to avoid the topic of Dream. "Of course you don't. You were exiled."

Tommy never understood why. Why had they turned like this? He felt rage and betrayal. During his exiled time, Tommy thought that they were gonna be that one person who would try to find him. Comfort him or even send him secret coded messages. But no, he received nothing.

It hurts. Hurts like hell to know your best friend turned their back on everyone. A best friend that he has known for years. A part of him wants to believe they didn't do it but the proofs are enough for him to believe it was really them.

"Well, you really can't blame me can you? You can only blame yourself," [Y/N] said. "This all started because of you and your stupid discs. All you ever care about is the FUCKING DISCS. Wars started, lives were lost, relationships were destroyed, all just because of those discs."

They had never done this before. This was their first time just being angry and shouting at each other. Although this might be new to each other, it was obvious that they have been bottling up their emotions way too long.

"You know what?! Things would be so much better if only you didn't exist." Tommy instantly regretted what he said as soon as he saw a potion glisten from [Y/N]'s hands.

He may not be an expert but he knew well enough of the potions due to him hanging out too much with them before. "What are you doing?" Tommy immediately asked. "Is that a potion of poison?"

"Nothing for you to care about." [Y/N] turned back towards the cliff and stared at the view once again.

"Just the two of us again here, huh?" They said as they pulled the potion towards their mouth, just inches away from the lips now until Tommy hurriedly ran towards [Y/N] and tackled them.

"What are you, an idiot?!" Tommy scolded as they both fought each other while trying not to fall from the cliff. He tried to pull the potion of poison away but it was hard since they kept gripping on it.

It wasn't until Tommy was finally able to remove the potion from [Y/N]'s grasps. He threw the potion far away as it got smashed on the ground.

The two of them were too busy fighting over the potion to notice that one of them is now standing on the faulty edge of the cliff.

[Y/N] was on the edge of the cliff and accidentally backed away from Tommy, thinking there was still space. A loud shriek came out of their mouth.

Tommy immediately ran towards the edge, scrambled on his feet and looked down. Luckily, [Y/N] was able to hold onto the edge but their hands are shaky and tired from all the things that just happened.

"I got you, I got you." Tommy frantically muttered, his breath increasing as to not knowing what will happen next.

[Y/N] grip is slowly failing. Once their hands slipped, Tommy instantly grabbed their hands and tried to pull them back up. But, he too was tired from everything that has been happening.

He tried to pull them up again but it was no use. Stress was adding up even more the moment they both felt the edge of the cliff shaking once more.

Tommy can't do it anymore. So, he let out all the tears he's been trying to fight back.

"It's gonna be okay, Tommy. Let me go."

The blonde haired teen's eyes widened at [Y/N]'s statement. He can't do it. He can't bear to lose another loved one in his life.

"I can't lose you too, [N/N]." Tommy croaked.

The two might've fought just minutes ago but this is now a life and death situation. Problems and angst aside, they still care for each other.

"You already did." Tommy's eyes widened in confusion and sadness. [Y/N] forced their hand to slip from his as Tommy tried to tighten it even more. [Y/N] had a few energies remaining, so they used it to push themselves off the cliff with their foot, making Tommy let go.

For Tommy, everything is going so fast that his mind almost stopped working.

But everything was in slow motion for [Y/N]. The fresh wind was so refreshing, almost making them forget what is currently happening to them.

They closed their eyes, not wanting to see anymore reactions from Tommy. This is their end. This was meant to be.

The moment [Y/N] chose to fall out from Tommy's grip, the blonde panicked and set aside all items he had with him. Without thinking properly, he lunged himself off the cliff. The only goal he had in mind was to save [Y/N] before it's too late.

But he was, indeed, late.

Everyone's communicator beeped. They all took at least some time to look at what the message could be on the communicator. As soon as everyone read the 2 words, their jaws dropped.

[Y/N] drowned.

#tommyinnit #tommyinnit x reader #platonic tommyinnit x reader #dreamsmp #dsmp #dreamsmp x reader #tommyinnit x you #tommyinnit x yn #angst #c!tommyinnit #dsmp x reader #mcyt x reader angst #platonic #tommy #gn!reader #tommyinnit imagine #tommyinnit fanfic #etheriaaly

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findingjoynweirdstuff · 3 years ago

Text

Dream SMP Recap (August 9/2021) - Ponk’s Outrage

When Ponk hears about what Foolish and Sam were up to yesterday, Foolish and Ponk meet at the Community House for a heated confrontation.

---

VOD LINKS:

Ponk

Philza

Captain Puffy

Michaelmcchill

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- Ponk visits Catye. Chat tells him that Phil renovated the magma house and he goes to see it

- Phil logs on and Ponk finds out about Sam and Foolish going on a date

- Ponk runs over to Foolish’s summer home and puts a sign down:

---

I CAN’T BELIEVE YOU I TRUSTED YOU :(

We used to be best buddies and now we’re not :(

Sadness will be the death of us all....

---

- Heartbroken, Ponk walks back to the main area. Foolish logs on

- Ponk leaves Phil a gift for the renovations in the basement of the Community House. Foolish comes running by

- Ponk faces Foolish on the Prime Path and they talk. Ponk asks him what he did yesterday

- As sad emotional music starts to play, Ponk gets attacked by an Enderman and explosions start going off

- They ask Phil to join the VC

Ponk: “Why is it raining in my eyes, Foolish? Why? Why is that? It is almost like a friend I trusted, I cared deeply about, that I — that I built lovely gifts for, betrayed my heart, betrayed my trust! Stabbed me in the back! Stabbed me in the back.”

(Metaphorically)

- Phil joins the call. They ask him for advice as he is wise. What would he do if a friend betrayed him? Phil says they wouldn’t be his friend anymore

Ponk: “That’s some good advice from a wise man. That is. You know a wise man also once told me, people change like the tides in the ocean! And it shows! It shows right now, Foolish, it does, it does! You betrayed me, you betrayed my trust, you betrayed the very foundation our friendship was laid on, Foolish!”

Foolish: “I didn’t do nothing, I am innocent!”

Ponk: “It was first the fridge, and now this?! You know I cared for him!”

Foolish: “I didn’t break the fridge!”

Ponk: “Yeah, but you allowed it to happen!”

- Phil awkwardly slips out of the call and watches from a distance instead as they continue shouting about the fridge

Ponk: “You know what else was a precious gift? Sam! Sam was a precious gift! We had our problems, yes--”

Foolish: “I thought you wanted to like, take Sam’s arm—”

Ponk: “—BUT DEEP DOWN, SAM WAS COOL! SAM WAS LOVELY! No, I don’t need to get over him! I need to get over you, Foolish! You have been a horrible friend to me! You’ve betrayed me, Foolish! You’ve betrayed my builds, you’ve betrayed my friendship, Foolish!”

Foolish: “You have it all wrong, Ponk.”

Ponk: “I ‘have it all wrong’ — I think I have it all right! I have it all right!”

- Foolish lights the piece of TNT that Ponk is standing on and they scream as the path blows up. Phil eats popcorn a little too loudly

Ponk: “YOU SEE HOW THIS SPECTACLE HAS HAPPENED? THE BRIDGE HAS BURNED! IT IS BURNED! And I will not be building this EVER again, Foolish! Ever again!”

Foolish: “Not a chance I do either.”

Ponk: “Not a chance. Foolish, this is where we say our goodbyes, okay? This is where we part! For this...this journey has come to and end. You know — you know — I thought the most important part of a journey, alright, was the actual journey itself! But now it’s just the destination! It’s heartbreak, it’s — it’s sadness, but it’s good sadness, Foolish! You know why? You know why? Your green eyes...I never liked them in the first place. They remind me of some green blob that’s stuck in prison, who’s done so much shit to this — to this world, Foolish! Unbelievable! Unbelievable, Foolish! Unforgivable as well. For you...this is all I have to say, Foolish, this is all I have to say...Goodbye. Goodbye.”

Foolish: “Goodbye, Ponk.”

- Ponk turns and walks away from Foolish

Foolish: One day our paths will cross again...

Ponk: Hopefully that day never comes....

- Foolish highfives Phil while Ponk visits Kanye the Ravager, who kicks him out

- Ponk retreats into a cave to become a hermit until they are ready to face the world again

- Phil does some terraforming in L’manhole. Ranboo is contained in the box

- He retrieves the gift from Ponk in the Community House

- Puffy does a therapy stream with an actual therapist!

---

Upcoming events remain the same.

#dream smp #dream smp recaps #long post #long posts

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oikadori · 4 years ago

Note

❥︎Hello Darling~

❥︎Can I have a headcanons when Oikawa's and Iwaizumi's s/o Knee injured in volleyball and can no longer move her leg and feel because of this pain but still wants to play volleyball

❥︎Sorry for my English

❥︎Thank you ~

REACTING TO THEIR S/O GETTING INJURED IN VOLLEYBALL

⇢ Includes : oikawa , iwaizumi , kita

⇢ Genre : angst , comfort , fem!reader

⇢ WC~ 1,3K

a/n : Yes ofc you can bby! Okay i got a little carried away with this one, thank u for requesting...I added Kita btw hope u don’t mind. lolz i had to investigate a bit about volleyball injuries uhm sorry if it is not very accurate tho

y’all look so sexc when u reblog <33

You forgot packing your knee pads in your sport bag, you were too

distracted by your boyfriend’s charms

It never crossed your mind that you would play your last match today.

Oikawa’s heart drops to the floor when he hears you hiccup through the phone

he vanishes from practice to meet you at your doctor’s appointment,

“Look at the bright side, we’ll be wearing matching knee suspenders now!”

He jokes but his smile quickly fades when you look away.

Your parents take you back to school and chat with oikawa for a few minutes.

The perfect moment for you to slip into the gym

“Y/n-chan! Are you here?” the echoes of the ball bouncing against the wooden floor hammers in his ears.

He freezes in the spot following your movements as he thinks of how to scold you next but the moment, he sees your leg faltering, his heart clenches.

“Shit!”

You curse, frustration mixed with pain swelling in your chest as you fail your serve the nth time. Your shoulders tense up, feeling two eyes piercing your back. But you quickly loosen up, the feeling too familiar to not recognize it.

“What are you doing?” Oikawa mumbles, taking wide steps towards you, head looking down

“what does it look like? I’m practicing”, you answer sharply, turning to face him.

Oikawa’s breathe itches and a dead silence settles between you two. You bite your lip, containing a hiss of pain, refusing to acknowledge your injure.

“Your knee can’t endure that!”, he snaps at you with glassy eyes, grabbing your wrists, noticing his own behavior in you

And it pains him.

“Don’t“

“You hear what the doctor said“

“Stop tooru!“

You squeeze your eyes in hopes it is bad dream, your bottom lip trembling too scared to face the truth.

“y/n-chan…”, he whispers, his hands loosing his grip to cup your cheeks so gently it has you looking up to him immediately “–you can’t play anymore”

He stares directly at you, using all his strength. Your hand travels to your chest, gripping harshly the fabric of your shirt, brows furrowed together as fat tears roll down your face.

“I-I just wanted to stay on the court for a little longer...”

“I know, pretty, i know”, his thumbs trace soft circles on your skin as you tear up. Your hold on his forearms is strong, feeling your body crumbling.

He feels tears forming on his eyes as your incontrollable sobs bounce against the walls of the gym.

Oikawa presses kisses on your wet face before pecking your lips softly stealing a slight smile out of you.

“We'll figure something out, i promise.”

losing a match was completely frustrating for you, so instead of going home you find yourself in the gym.

your ankle has been feeling weird for a time now, but you were good at hiding it.

so good in fact that your over-protective boyfriend hasn’t noticed it

the moment he finds you, he doesn’t waste time to scold you

“oi,y/n! you have to rest after a match! how many times do i have to tell you?”

his eyes pop out when your ankle makes a horrific sound, and you collapse on the ground.

the time stops except for iwaizumi, who is quickly lifting you bridal style.

“What do you mean by permanent damage?!”, you ask harsher than you intended to, Iwaizumi occupying the seat next you.

“I’m afraid you won’t be able to play anymore…Since when have you been pushing your ankle?” the nurse asks

Your boyfriend’s eyey widen, the new information. Suddenly he remembers all the times you slight limped during your jogs causing his jaw to clench

“Almost two moths ago…”

“That explains the amount of damage-” the woman sighs before heading to the door, “I’ll call your parents now, you two wait here”

After hearing the click of the door, Iwaizumi turns to face you, burning eyes scanning you but your mind is far away.

“Two fucking months?! Are you out of your mind?!” he grunts, anger printed on each of his words. He pinches the bridge of his nose, sighing.

“And I was too fucking blind to see it”

He curses to himself, an angry vein pulsating on his forehead as he rests his elbows on his knees, eyes locked with the white floor.

“Sorry…”

The soft mumble you let out makes Iwaizumi shiver. He gazes at you, his chest feeling heavier as he watches big tears glistening on your face

“I’m sorry!!”

He bites his lip, a big lump forming in his throat as your breath hitches.

“ No, I didn’t mean to– Fuck! I should have notice it” he reaches one of your hands, shutting his eyes, unable to look at you.

“I’m so sorry y/n!! I’m supposed to take care of you and-“

His eyelids feel heavy, squeezing it your small palm tightly. You wipe some tears with back of your free hand before placing it on top of his.

“You always take good care of me, Hajime. It is not your fault.”

Iwaizumi’s features soften before standing up. He pulls you into his chest, pressing the back of your head against him as his other hand lays on your small back, making soothing motions.

“I’m gonna make sure you get better, princess”

after a full week of training you find your way back to the gym, eager to see your boyfriend

and of course, the second years doesn’t waste the chance to practice some blocks with you

you land awkwardly from a jump and your knee makes a dreadful pop

everyone freaks out

kita returns from the lockers to find a total chaos.

his face remains calm but his heart is hammering against his chest

he gives a cold stare to the twins and they are quickly searching for help

next thing you know the whole team is carrying you out of the gym

“It says it is an ACL”

“A what??” you ask, laying on your back on the nursing’s bed

“Anterior cruciate ligament injury”, kita says, reading the papers in the folder the nurse gave him moments ago.

‘Are you family?’

Kita took a moment to think about the question. Finally, he looked at her, his heart spoking for him.

‘Not yet’

“I-Is it really bad?”, you ask, eyes flooding with fear.

“It says these injuries don’t heal”

The air around you turns incredibly thick, difficulting each of your breathes.

Kita feels a stab in his chest at the sight of your pale face and teary eyes. He unconsciously moves closer to your bed, mind deep in thought as he feet take heavy steps.

You sob loudly and hide your swollen eyes in the joint between your forearm and elbow.

“I’m finished.” You exhale before sealing your lips.

He stares at the ceiling for a couple of seconds and then he taps your shoulder. Keeping your position, you roll a to the side, making a space for him.

“Not at all”

He caresses your hair, staring at the wall. You look at him, confused.

“But I won’t be able to play again–“

“And?”

You blink, your parted lips open to protest but Kita resumes his train of thought.

“You can still be involved in volleyball outside the court.”, you tilt your head, waiting for him to continue, causing kita’s eye to soften as he continues rubbing your hair.

“You have many other qualities and–” he brings your hand to his lips, placing a warm kiss. Kita smiles as your breath slows doing as he had anticipated.

“– whatever you choose, I’m gonna be here for you”

Your feel like crying again, tears prickle on the corner of your eyes but Kita wipes them away. You hold his hand in that position, enjoying the warmth his palm offers, feeling safe in his touch.

“I love you Shin”

His heart lightens at your words. He gazes down at you, a tender look grazing his features as he leans to kiss your nose.

“Rest for now my love“

#haikyuu x reader #hq x reader #haikyuu scenarios #haikyuu headcanons #oikawa x reader #iwaizumi x you #oikawa x you #kita x you #kita x reader #iwaizumi x reader #haikyuu x y/n #haikyuu x you #oikawa tooru #iwaizumi hajime #kita shinsuke

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stellocchia · 4 years ago

Text

This is part 4 of the Comprehensive Analysis of c!Tommy and c!Dream’s relationship during the Exile Arc

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3

We’re here once more just to suffer... though be fair I did decide to do this to myself, so I can’t really complain there...

As always under the cut we will be exclusively be talking about the characters unless stated otherwise and we will be talking about some serious topics, so keep that in mind

We’re starting this off with the infamous Beach Party stream: Tommy Is Left ALONE at his Exile Party with Dream

Now, quick introduction to this vod, since we find out about some details later on: no-one, aside from Dream, shows up because Dream destroyed the invitations and also Ghostbur won’t be around any longer because Dream sent him away (knowing fully well that that could have killed him since he already heard directly from Ghostbur that rain melted him).

Basically at this point Dream is taking a step further into the manipulation process by not only making everyone else believe that Tommy didn’t want to see them but by also physically ensure they’d believe that. Also Tommy doesn’t start this one drowning either (perhaps because he was in high spirits the day prior?)

*creeper blows up* “Shit shit shit shit (...) I’m stupid I’m stupid I deserve that I deserve that. No no no no I didn’t I didn’t, today is gonna be a good day, today is gonna be a big day” (first response to anything negative has become taking on the blame, which we see later on with the Community House situation)

“Will Tubbo be there? Maybe! Myabe he will! Maybe he will!” (Tommy still very much missing his best friend)

“He [Tubbo] did boot me out... no no! you know what? I’m in the mood to reconcile!” (a big trait of Tommy’s has always been his loyalty to people, no matter how much they hurt him)

“It was definitely 8 pm GMT, 8 pm G-” *Dream joins the game* *Tommy pauses for a few moments on the Nether bridge completely still and then turns back* (I want to point out that the reaction any time Dream joined was one of absolute fear, for good reasons of course)

One thing that I’ve noticed is that Dream rarely comes from the Nether when visiting Tommy, opting instead for the objectively longer route through the water, which honestly seems to reinforce something he said early on, which was basically that even with the longer route it doesn’t take much effort to visit, and yet Dream is the only one willing to make that effort.

“Hello!” “H-hello?” “Hi!” “Hi ho-” “Where is everyone else?” “Oh... I don’t- I don’t know...” “I’m running a little late, I’m sorry”

Considering that we know that Dream was in fact the one who sabotaged the invites, therefore meaning he knew fully well that nobody would be there, does the fact that he came late seem like he really wanted Tommy to stew in his own loneliness for a while to anyone else? You know, to properly break his spirit. Also Tommy immediately after this goes to take off his armour (Tommy Slippers included) and weapons, but this is the one time Dream lets him keep it (which, once again, he’ll use as a point against him later on).

“Wilbur sent out the invites, didn’t he?” “Yeah, yeah no he sent them to everybody. He actually told Tubbo to his- like, he told him, he didn’t even need to give him an invite” “Really?!” “Yeah” (just want to point out that this is in fact not gaslighting, as some people seemed to think at the time, but it is still manipulation)

“I’m sure they said they’d be here by the day-” *watching the sun go down* “Time...” “I- I thought I was late so I’m surprised people aren’t here, but...” (turns out Dream was around 15 minutes late supposedly)

Tommy at this point takes out the cake, but he doesn’t eat any. I do think this is a good time to point out that the further we are into the exile the less we actually see Tommy eating (sometimes he straight up throws away any food he has in the inventory). He also sleeps less and less (or, at least, rests less, after all sleeping doesn’t necessarily mean being well rested afterwards) which we can deduce both from his comments on the subject and his rapidly deteriorating state.

“Dream, no-one’s here” “I don’t know why... guess I’m most surprised Tubbo isn’t ‘cause he said he was gonna be, but-” (once again harping on to the retoric that Tubbo specifically willingly abandoned Tommy)

“I figured, I mean I figured you’d probably care the least if I was here so I just- I didn’t mind being a little bit late because everyone else would be here, but...” (once again the idea here is: “even if I was late I still came, no-one else did”)

“No-one cares about me anymore!” “That’s not true...” “No-one cares about me!” *Tommy takes his armour off again* “Tommy...” “No-one cares- no-one cares about me!” *Tommy destroys the rest of the cake* “No no no *sigh*” “No-one cares, do they? No-one showed up to my party... and it was the one thing, THE ONE THING they had to do for me after exiling me and fucking me over and not one of them came with me. And... none of them care about me anymore... ‘cause I’m not in L’manburg anymore, ‘cause I’m not with- ‘cause I’m not the vice-president”

Okay, that was a long quote, but 2 things I want to point out here: Tommy had about half of his health here, he refused to eat, take of his armour and marched towards the Nether, which is again him acting with no regard for his own self-preservation. And also there is a bit of Wilbur retoric sprinkled in there, with the whole “people only care about you when you have power” mentality. That’s exactly what Wilbur tried to convince him of in the Pogtopia era and it looks like he’s seeing a confirmation of this through the party.

“If no-one is gonna put in any effort to come and see me, than I’ll make the effort harder to come and see me then, alright?”

At this point Tommy has borrowed Dream’s netherite pickaxe and he proceeds to destroy a chunk of the bridge he’s made in the Nether, swapping it out for a one block wide wooden bridge. Of course, it goes without saying that he is not acting rationally, he is hurt and angry at the moment and he wants to convince himself that if others don’t care about him then he won’t care about them, which is why he starts lashing out more after this. And this is the result of Dream’s direct actions by the way.

“What is everyone saying about Tubbo’s compass? What is that? What is it? Explain to me” “I- uh I’m pretty sure that he burned it or something... or he lost it, something like that” “Wha...?” “He doesn’t have it anymore”

Tommy, up until now, didn’t even fully believed that Tubbo had a compass, but with the official confirmation of it being paired with Tubbo possibly willingly burn it, it’s the last straw for Tommy who decides to do the same. Though he doesn’t end up actually burning it, he does goes to take it out of the enderchest and bring it to the Nether. I do want to point out that Tubbo did not, in fact, either loose it or burn it willingly. It was blown up by accident in a creeper explosion.

*Tommy holding his compass over a sea of lava* “He burnt it? On purpose?” “I- I think so” “You know what, wou know what? Y- you know what?!” “Why don’t you- why don’t you sleep on it Tommy? Just wait don’t do anything, you know? Anything you can’t take back and then...” “I don’t sleep anymore Dream...”

Pretty sad scene... also a confirmation of what we said before about Tommy sleeping less and less. Also I’m not entirely sure why Dream was suddenly against Tommy burning the compass when he didn’t seem to be at the start, though it could be because Tommy was so obviously hesitant about it, so he probably wouldn’t have done it either way. Which means that it was a good moment to get friendship points.

*Tommy standing in front of the portal in the main Nether hub* “I just want to go home... please can I go home...?” “Uhm, do you wanna see the Christmas tree for, like, 10 seconds?” “Can I stay?” “You can’t stay, but you can go look at it, I’ll let you out-” “Why can’t I stay?” “It’s not like they want you anyway Tommy” “wha...?” “Tommy, no-one showed up to your party and everyone was invited. Do you want to see the Christmas tree?” “I’ll just go back...”

This is the one single scene that is capable of making me emotional every single time. Just Tommy’s broken and small voice throughout it is something else... also Dream’s absolutely smug tone in all of it. But, the one thing, aside from the great acting, that I want to point out in all of this is how the reason for why Tommy can’t go back now has shifted from Dream killing him if he does to his old friends not wanting him around any longer. This way Dream gets to fully play the part of the magnanimous friend who still cares while everyone else is depicted as the enemy. Also I do find it interesting that in this scene Dream keeps insisting quite a bit for Tommy to go see the tree (in contrast to the first time where he refused for him to go back even for a few seconds), which almost looks like him testing how effective his conditioning was.

“That guy is gonna kill me, the little guy” *pointing at a baby piglin* “Oh” *Dream proceeds to get rid of it* (Tommy is by now basically dependent on Dream for his own safety)

“Do you need food?” “*sigh* No” (Tommy is literally on 3 hearts with 3 1/2 hunger bars and he is still refusing to eat)

They spend quite a bit of time after this by playing with Dream’s riptide trident and later also with the throwing one. Also Tommy changes his “girlfriend” hot girl for HOTTER girl (because I know you all deeply care for this kind of updates)

“I actually didn’t have a trident before and it took forever to come here, so I got a trident to come here quickly” “Oh thank you! You obviously care about me Dream” (Tommy feeling compelled to thank Dream for literally anything paired with Dream constantly showing off how much effort he is willing to put in)

“Let’s make a guest tent, let’s make a guest tent!” “That’s a... great idea” “In case any guest wanna- I mean maybe even- maybe you- we’ll make it here. It- it needs to be close to me because I’m- I’m really missing contact” (on top of everything else, Tommy was also canonically touch starved)

Dream and Tommy also make a guest tent together (and it’s implied a few times that maybe Dream will use it) before playing with tridents a bit more when it starts raining. Also Tommy builds a cobblestone smartphone were he keeps snapchat streaks with girls (this goes in the list of sentences I never thought I’d type).

“Hey thanks for letting me keep my armour today” “You’re welcome” “It was nice of you” “I just thought it’d be good for the party and everything” “I’m sorry it wasn’t that much of a party in the end” “Eh, we make it a party together, so” “Yeah”

So, once more I want to point out a couple of things: there is no reason, aside from Dream’s conditioning, for Tommy to feel grateful that Dream didn’t take away his means to defend himself, nor is there any reason for Tommy to be the one apologizing for the party turning out the way it did. But also one other thing I want to point out is Dream’s insistence over them having fun together, which he keeps saying even later on during the prison visits. And I want to point that out because I do really think that Dream believes that or that he, at the very least, does try to convince himself of it. I’m still not entirely sure on that point, but, by now, I’m fairly sure that Dream really does believe that him and Tommy are his warped and toxic version of what “friends” would be...

“I should have died and then- and then I didn’t! I should have died...” (suicidal thoughts)

*Tommy reaching the maximum height with the trident* “I’m alone...” (just a very famous scene here, but also keeping to the theme of loneliness even when other people are around, in this case Dream)

“Just- just build a guest tent Dream! You’re probably gonna be the one who stays in the most so... since you’re my guest”

*Dream standing inside the guest tent* “I’m in- I’m in my tent my tent” (the implications I mentioned before)

“Maybe I’m just gonna stay here, maybe I’m just gonna live here instead” (referring always to the guest tent and Logstedshire)

This all ends with Dream gifting Tommy the throwing trident (which he then puts in his enderchest) and Tommy also gains a zombie head from their mob hunting.

“Let me keep the other trident please” “What the one that you can throw?” “Yeah” “Okay Tommy, I’ll let you keep it” “Really?” “Yeah, as a gift, a beach party gift. You can remember our bonding experience from today” “Awww, thank you” (this is the conversation as a frame of reference)

“Listen Dream, what do we do now, then? If no-one is gonna come and visit me, what do I do?” “Nah, I’m visiting you!” (Dream really is convinced to me as much the center of Tommy’s universe as he is of his, huh?)

“Dream, as much as I’m feeling happy, I’m not. I’m not Dream. Where do we go from here?” “Uhm, I think that you will come around to liking it here, and you’ll build up your own ‘empire’ here, and you’ll be happy and maybe they’ll come and visit you- like you said! You said the thing about all, like, power right? You have no power and now they don’t visit you, maybe you’ll be- you’ll be back in power and then they’ll...” “I’ll always be exiled” “Yeah but that doesn’t mean you can’t become powerful, you can become powerful away from- away from them”

This is the closing conversation, that ends with Tommy entering the sea and disconnecting once he is on only one bubble of air left. Which, by the way, is a case of Tommy dissociating, which we know because he always later seems confused when logging in and finding himself in the water (meaning the confrontation with Jack at the hotel wasn’t the first case of him dissociating).

Also, while Dream is spewing all of this stuff about how “Tommy can still be powerful here” it’s obvious that that’s not the case. Tommy is not allowed armour or weapons and he is basically not allowed any allies (what with Dream sending Ghostbur away, intercepting Ranboo’s mail and making sure to keep away from Tommy as much as possible). Tommy is quite literally stuck in a position of powerlessness that he cannot escape from with someone who actually enjoys having him at his weakest.

I’ll leave it here for today, because this was literally one of the most intense streams so I had quite a lot to say and this became so damn long... I’ll probably condense the next two together.

#dreamwastaken #tommyinnit #dream smp #character analysis #relationship analysis #tw abuse #tw suicide #tw manipulation #exile arc #c!dream #long post #my post #this seriously came out really fucking long #oh well #pretty sure you guys are used to that from me by now!

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kashimos-hajime · 4 years ago

Text

sawdust and plastic | g.t.

summary: you learn two things from your first real fight with goro. 1) he apologizes through cooking. 2) he hates it when they argue.

WARNINGS: spoilers for the gimme danger main job, swearing, slight angst, theye just communicating pairing: goro takemura x fem!street-kid!v word count: 2.2k

a/n: written with a fem!street-kid v who used to be a corpo kid. also dont yell at me but i rearranged v's apartment so the couch goes on all 3 sides bc comfortable :^) crossposted on ao3! enjoy :)

part of the tales of a two-bit thief series

Sitting down on the couch, you kick up your feet for the first time in what you feel like has been ages. From Jackson Plains to reconnaissance on the Arasaka warehouse, you haven’t eaten shit besides the yakitori Takemura had ordered at that booth which already felt like ages ago. It’d been good—better than the trash you’ve eaten as a kid so you don’t really get picky—but you can’t help but recall the disgust on Takemura’s face when he had taken a single bite.

“Sawdust and plastic.”

You snort, running hands over your face and tilting your head back. Stupid fucking Japanese man with an endearing sense of dry-humour and… zero tolerance for your cheeky smiles.

Then he had to go ahead and bring up Jack.

His words, cold, callous, echo in your skull like a goddamn radio and you squeeze your eyes tight, raking your hands down your face and melting into the couch. No matter how much you wanna stop it, you can’t help hearing it over and over and over.

Grabbing the remote, you’re about to switch on a channel in hopes you catch something that cna take your mind off everything when there’s a knock on your door.

For a moment, you truly debate telling them to fuck off but then, there is a pause.

“V.”

Eyes widening, your body goes rigid at the sound of his voice.

“V, let me in before I look anymore foolish.”

In the back of your head, you tempt the idea of just leaving him out there, pretending like you’ve fallen asleep, but then you get up anyway against your better judgement. You drag your feet over the floor, picking up old takeout boxes you haven’t had time to clean up and tossing clothes into a hamper to make your apartment look more like an organized mess than the dumpster fire you know Takemura will scold you for.

When you reach the door, you let him in without a word and you note the bags he holds on, hoisting them over to your living room counter.

“What’s this?” you question wearily. “Goro, I’m not hungry.”

“I realized I must apologize for my harsh words.” Beginning to pull out the groceries, you walk over and peer inside the bag, frowning. All the stuff inside is cheap synth shit, nothing you haven’t eaten before, but you’re still confused as to what’s going on since you don’t exactly have a kitchen in your place, but then out of one of the thicker bags, Takemura pulls out a big box.

“For saying them?”

“Yes." He sets the box down before continuing with groceries. “Earlier, I told you if I had time and resources, I would cook onigiri.”

“With cod, or grilled salmon. Or umeboshi plums, because they were Saburo’s favourite,” you finish and he sends you a look that could’ve been a smile if his lips had curved more and his eyes meant it. “I remember.” Helping him with the big box, you cut it open and find a rice cooker within. Eyeing the contraption with an arched eyebrow, you can’t help but ask: “Where’d you find this stuff?”

“It was difficult. I had to lower my standards.”

“Lowering standards,” you echo dryly, unable to help your empty smile. “Yeah. We do that a lot in grand ole NC.” He doesn’t seem amused by you even trying to help as you sit down on the couch, twist to watch him work. “Are you sure you don’t want me to help?”

“I am cooking to apologize. It would not be honourable for you to help me,” he replies shortly and you nod to yourself, turning back around to watch the news. Nothing about a break-in with the floats, nothing at all indicating… anything.

For some reason, it makes you uneasy. The last time you snuck into an Arasaka building, everything went to shit and it made its mark. The lack of visible ripples makes you feel like nothing’s happened at all. Like it’s all been a fever dream, and you and Takemura didn’t sit on that roof for hours, watching the cat, just… talking.

Jesus, you need to get laid.

“Still don’t know why you bother cooking,” you say. Takemura noticeably stiffens and even though you don’t see it, you can almost feel the way he manipulates the air he stands in. He has that power—pure corpo power—and you clench your jaw. “Why waste time on someone so lazy as me?”

“V—"

“Nah, my bad. Arrogant. Hell, you probably see all the takeout around here and think I’m taking some easy route to food.” The bitterness is enough to puncture holes in steel as you stare blankly at the screen. “After all, I dirty my hands for money,” you quote. Your chest tightens as you hear his voice echo in yours, the way he had said it so coldly. Stomach turning, you shake your head. “Not in the name of some fucking principles.”

There’s a silence on his end and you close your eyes, swallowing through the bruising in your throat, a telltale sign you’re holding back tears. Just the mention of Jackie makes you want to spiral and you take a deep breath, trying not to react.

For the first time, you think Johnny might be right.

“Damn right, I am,” a voice says and you open your eyes, gaze fluttering to the side to see Johnny lounging against your couch. You turn around to see Takemura’s moved to the bathroom, probably to clean rice… however the fuck you make onigiri. You don’t know. You’re too tired to care about food, or feelings, or anything. “Never can trust a corpo. They all want one thing.”

“I don’t need to remind you that I was a corpo kid, do I?”

“Not anymore. It’s about principles.” Johnny’s tone is wry and you scowl at him. “What? If there’s one thing you might be able to relate to is that you both have ‘em. His might be wrong as shit, but…”

“Yeah, whatever.”

“Oh, don’t tell me you’re gonna forgive him. This guy’s got you wrong, V. You don’t waste time on people like that.”

“I don’t have time to stay angry with him,” you argue. “The fact is, I’m dying and he’s gonna be the only one who can save me.” Johnny sits up straight, leaning on his knees and you sigh, shaking your head. Resting your arm along the back of the couch, you fit your hand to your face, pinching the bridge of your nose. “Fuck.”

“Stop. Don’t do it, V. It’s not worth it,” Johnny warns, standing up and you wrench your gaze up as you shift your feet on the floor and lean forward, burying your face in your hands. “I can feel everything you are feeling, and if I have to deal with your indecisive debates on whether or not it’s worth it to become attached to this corp piece of shit, I’ll kill myself.”

“You’re already dead, Johnny.”

“Let me live a little.” He stands and edges around you as if he were real and you rest your chin in your palms, watching as his holographic imagine crosses you before glitching back into view again across the table. He sits down. “The truth is, you’re gonna have a hell of a problem.”

“I know.”

“So, stop.” Johnny says it like it’s so easy and you chew on your cheek as the faucet turns off and you turn around to see Takemura begin to leave your bathroom. His pale eyes catch yours and you turn around only to see your brain tumour’s gone and left you alone. It’s eerily quiet in your head and you stand, clearing your throat.

Takemura slips the clean rice into the rice cooker before closing it and you cross your arms below your breasts, squeezing yourself tightly. You feel bare in your clothes despite wearing your scuffed jacket. He regards you warily, and then he sighs, gesturing to the couch—a silent ask.

You nod, stepping back and letting him take where you were sitting earlier. You retreat across from him, where Johnny was sitting and he glances around your apartment. You wonder if he’s judging even more of you, but then he looks into his hands, swallowing visibly.

“V—"

“You’re not the only one with principles. Just because I kill for money don't mean I'd do anything for it,” you begin coldly, leaning back and studying him. “And nothing about my life has been easy. When I said you did what you had to do to keep food on the table, that wasn’t me judging you. That was me getting it, alright, Goro?” His eyes meet yours and you arch an eyebrow, scoffing. “Not my problem if you don’t believe me. Yeah, I oppose corps, because they ruined my life, and so many other people’s lives no one can count 'em, but that doesn't mean you're any better than me. You don’t get to make assumptions about me. You never get to make assumptions about Jackie.That is all I have to say.”

He nods, accepting your harsh tone and you bite your tongue, trying not to burn down the bridge anymore than you need to as you prop a foot up against the table. Takemura doesn't say anything for a hot moment and you think you've wasted your time. Your knee jiggles. He doesn't even look at you.

Then: “I must again say that we are both still grieving. We ache to lash out. That is why I said what I said, and why, I presume, you say what you say.” He steeples his fingers and regards you with those eyes, gorgeous in their own right. “I understand what I said was callous. You have been nothing but understanding to my own loss.”

“No shit.”

“And I understand Mr. Welles was your friend.”

“He was like my brother,” you correct icily. “He’s been there for me since the beginning, I—I can’t forgive you saying something like that about him so easily, Goro.”

He dips his head. “I understand. It is why I cook for you. It is how I best express myself." The corner of his mouth tugs up faintly in a mirthless facsimile of a smile before he exhales sharply through his nose, looking at you again. "I confess I have not had time recently to cook, but I will do my best.” Johnny’s link comes to life at the mention and your own stomach squirms silently. “We are in this together, V. I do not wish for you to be angry at me.”

“Don’t do it, V. Don’t take it.”

“Fuck off, Johnny. I’m starving.” Aloud, you say: “I’ll be angry for a while. Just… let me sleep on it and we'll see from there.” He nods and you let your arms fall to your sides as you sit up. “It’s been a long few days, so I just… I just want to not think about anything for a while, you know?”

“I understand.”

He says that a lot, you notice.

“Thank you for apologizing, at least,” you continue grudgingly. “Thanks.” You stand and gesture vaguely around the place. “Make yourself at home. I’m… I’m going to shower and scrub this grime off.” Dried blood, sweat, dirt, et cetera. He nods and stands as well, returning to the tiny cooking station he’s made for himself. You head to your closet, managing to pick out a clean shirt that’s a bit big and a jacket you ripped off a 6th Street goon a few weeks back. You just picked it up from the cleaners.

Heading for the bathroom, you set your crap on the toilet cover before poking your head out. Spotting Takemura sitting in front of the table, carefully sharpening a knife, you wait until he’s noticed you staring and he prompts you silently to ask.

“How’d you even know where I live, anyway?”

He turns his gaze back on the blade.

“Ms. Olszewski marked it in my map, should the need arise.”

“This was a need?” you ask, curiously sardonic. Takemura doesn’t smile back and again, you get that impression he either doesn’t know how or he doesn’t do it often enough to remember. For some reason, that makes you sad. "Could've left it well enough alone. You know that."

“Oh, come on, V,” Johnny murmurs in your ear. “Don’t wax poetics on this guy.”

You ignore him.

“I do not enjoy the thought of a rift between you and I,” admits Takemura. He sets down the knife and sighs, eyes flitting to you briefly. Your hand wraps around the doorframe and you press your lips into a faint frown. "I... I have grown used to you."

You nod despite the words punching into your chest. “I don’t like it when we fight either.” At least, that you don’t have to fight twice to figure out. Your expression eases and your shoulders drop. “I’ll just hop in. Help yourself to whatever you can find. Really.” He accepts your offer with another nod and you close the door. It locks and you press your back against the metal, tipping your head back.

“For the love of—“

“Shut it, Johnny. Just… just give me a second.”

And on one of the rare occassions that he listens to you, Silverhand says nothing about how your heart doesn’t feel like wrought iron anymore.

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bluejayblueskies · 4 years ago

Note

For the kiss prompt thing, could you do 34 and/or 66 with Jontim, please?

kiss prompt list!

34 - Returned from the dead kiss | 66 - Staring At The Other’s Lips, Trying Not To Kiss Them, Before Giving In

i did both! set in an au where tim survives the unknowing. additionally, in this au jon and tim were together in research and season one but then broke it off in season two for canon-typical reasons

cw for mentions of injury and grief, mentions of death, suicidal ideation (mild), mentions of hospitalization, mentions of paranoia and stalking, and swearing

Ao3 link in source!

Jon’s been awake for two weeks and three days when Tim finally works up the nerve to see him.

(He’s not nervous, he tells himself. It’s not nerves twisting his stomach and leaving a bitter taste in his mouth and making his hands shake ever so slightly where they grasp the doorknob on Jon’s office door. It might be guilt, but he dislikes the thought and discards it immediately. Hatred? That doesn’t feel right either. He’d shed that anger a few months prior, body still aching from being crushed underneath a building’s worth of brick and mortar and holding Martin while he cried at Jon’s bedside, hiccupping into the fabric of Tim’s shirt, He’s not waking up, Tim. He's never waking up.)

He opens the door and sees Jon sitting at his desk, hair pinned up in a haphazard topknot and a jumper that’s much too large swallowing his body whole. Jon looks up at him, his eyes widening a bit, and oh.

It’s relief.

Tim lets the door swing shut behind him and leans against the wall next to the doorframe, hands coming up to grip his elbows as he hugs his arms close to his chest. One arm is still mottled with angry red scars, spiraling patterns of shrapnel laced along his skin. He rubs a thumb over one of the larger scars near the crook of his elbow absently as he says, “Hey. I… I heard you’d woken up.”

Jon just stares at him for a moment, like he’s not quite sure what he’s looking at. Just as it’s bordering on the edge of annoying, Jon finally says, “Yes, I… I have. A- a few weeks ago.”

“Right.”

There’s another long moment of silence between them, this one tenser than the first. Jon’s avoiding Tim’s eyes, his face pinched and unhappy. His hands are fiddling with the cuffs of his jumper nervously, and something within Tim knocks loose at the sight. “I’m not here to yell at you, okay?”

Jon startles, his eyes finding Tim’s for a moment before darting away again. He’s never liked direct eye contact, Tim remembers, but this is something else. Tim gets the distinct feeling that it’s at least partially his fault. Maybe a bit more than partially. Then, quietly, Jon says, “Why not?”

Great. With a weary sigh, Tim steps away from the wall and drops himself into the ratty armchair that faces Jon’s desk. “Because it’s been six months, Jon. A lot has changed.” He makes a humorless noise. “I mean, it’s all the same shit—spooky monsters and fucked-up situations and a job I can’t get rid of. But, you know.” He rubs his thumb over the scar, shrugs his shoulders. “The Circus is gone. Thought I’d be gone with it, but I’m not. And you were gone, which made things easier for a while. Less complicated, because I didn’t have to look at you and feel—”

Tim makes a sharp, irritated noise. He doesn’t know how he felt. “But you were just… there. Dead or- or asleep or whatever, it didn’t really matter. You were there, and I was here, and we both know it was meant to be the other way around.”

“Tim—” Jon starts, the pity in his voice palpable.

“No,” Tim says, giving Jon a firm look. “I don’t want an apology or- or pity or whatever. That’s not the point of this.” He sits back in the chair, takes a deep breath, and says, “I don’t remember when I stopped feeling angry. I didn’t visit you at first, in the hospital, but when I did, I… I don’t know.” Tim shrugs and looks at the floor. “I guess I just decided that you wouldn’t have chosen that. To- to be half-dead and dreaming while the rest of us lived.”

Jon’s quiet for a long moment. Then, he makes a sound that might be a laugh if it weren’t so bitter. “No,” he says, voice rough around the edges. “I didn’t. But I did choose to wake up. I made a choice, and I- I think it was the wrong one.”

“What,” Tim says, “because you chose to live rather than to die?”

Jon shakes his head, just once. “Because I chose to be this.” He gestures at the desk, at the room around him. “The… the Archivist.”

Tim takes a moment to consider. Then, he says bluntly, “Fine. Let’s say you did. You chose to go full monster, give up the mantle of humanity entirely, and then—what?”

Jon blinks at him. “What?”

“What are you going to do now?”

Jon opens and closes his mouth a few times before finally saying, “I- I suppose I’ll just… work?”

Tim can’t help letting out a short, clipped laugh. “Yeah, that sounds about right.”

Jon makes an indignant noise. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing. I just—” Tim pauses, looks at his hands. There’s a worm scar between his middle and ring finger on his left hand that never healed quite right, that’s now a twisted knot of scar tissue. He focuses on it as he says, “You’re still you, you know? Even before, with all the shit you pulled—the stalking and the murder accusations and the questions—it was… it was still just you. And whether or not you’re still human, you’re still Jon.”

“Oh,” Jon says, the word empty and hollow. “Is… is that a good thing or a bad thing?”

Tim doesn’t know yet, not really. The relationship between them is still flayed open and raw, ripped apart by months of poor choices and hurtful words. But he meets Jon’s eyes, sees that familiar brown that he used to wake up to in the mornings, takes note of the small cluster of circular scars just beneath Jon’s temple, and decides that if it’s not good, it’s certainly on the way there. The thought leaves him feeling a bit weightless, and he realizes with an aching in his chest that he’s missed Jon. Not in the physical sense, because Jon’s always been here, conscious or not, and his presence has been burned into the back of Tim’s mind like a brand, an itch he can’t quite scratch. But still, there had been an empty space within him that he hadn’t been able to cover or fill, shaped like warm sunlit mornings and shared bottles of wine and kisses on foreheads and noses and lips. And it had ached, as much as Tim wished it hadn’t. That that Jon was gone and this Jon had taken his place. The resentment Tim felt at the fact was bitter and heavy and painful.

It’s still not the same Jon, sitting in front of him now and worrying his ring between his fingers in a familiar nervous tic. But he’s not the same Tim either. Affection doesn’t come easy for him anymore and everything hurts and there are so, so many things he can’t forgive Jon for. That he doesn’t know how to. But at some point, the blanket of revenge-fueled anger had melted away and he’d just been tired.

“I don’t know,” Tim says, because it’s true. But it’s also true when he continues, “But I want it to be good. It might take some time, and I- I can’t just forget about what’s happened between us, but…” Tim’s chest tightens, and his next words come out choked and a bit forced. “I missed you. And I’m glad you’re not dead, okay? I don’t know if you’ve convinced yourself that I wouldn’t be, but I am.” Quieter: “God knows I’ve already lost enough.”

“Oh,” Jon says again, barely more than a whisper. Then, hesitantly: “I… thank you, Tim. I’m also glad that you… that you’re still here. For what it’s worth.”

“You don’t have to…” Tim pinches the bridge of his nose, closes his eyes, lets out a long breath. “Never mind.”

“I know,” Jon says, something terribly vulnerable in his voice. When Tim opens his eyes, Jon’s looking at him, a faint ghost of a smile on his lips. Tim can’t stop looking at it. “But I want to. I… I still care about you, Tim. I always have, even if I- I didn’t always show it.”

The Tim of six months ago would probably have laughed at that. Would have said that it didn’t matter if he cared or not, or that if he really cared he wouldn’t have spent half a year tracking his every move and thinking that Tim was even remotely capable of killing him. (That bit had hit particularly hard. Tim had gone home afterward and scrubbed every reminder of Jon from his house, every picture and favorite mug and lingering jumper and that one souvenir from his trip to Spain that Jon had once rambled about for two hours. It had hurt, and when he was done, he’d felt hollowed out and empty. Enough room for the anger to begin to creep in, he supposes.)

Instead, Tim sighs and says, “You know, that was the worst part. The fact that after everything, even when I hated you, I still couldn’t stop myself from caring.” He digs his fingernails into the soft skin of the inside of his wrist. “It hurt to care, so I pretended like I didn’t. But all the shit that happened to you—Christ, Jon, I’m not so much of an asshole to think that you deserved to be tortured and kidnapped every other week. I don’t know if anyone ever told you that you didn’t deserve it, so there it is.”

Jon’s looking at him with wide eyes and lips slightly parted, and Tim feels something in his chest ache at the sight. “Don’t look at me like that.”

“Like- like what?”

“Like I’ve—” Like I’ve hung the fucking moon. “Look, that’s just basic human decency, okay?”

“Okay,” Jon echoes quietly. He’s still looking at Tim and his lips are still slightly parted and the ache in Tim’s chest amplifies until he can barely stand it. Somewhere, in the back of his mind, he’s reminded of the first time he asked Jon, standing halfway inside the doorframe of his house after their third date, if he could kiss him. How Jon had looked startled, all wide eyes and parted lips, and after a moment had nodded wordlessly. How Jon’s hair had been soft beneath his fingers as he’d cupped Jon’s cheek and how Jon’s lips had been warm against his and how Jon had inhaled slightly at the contact, like even though Tim had asked, he was still surprised that he’d followed through.

Tim looks at Jon, at the still-familiar shape of his lips save for a small circular scar near the left corner, and tries to convince himself, just for a moment, that he doesn’t want to kiss him.

He’s never been very good at self-control.

So he stands, braces one hand on Jon’s desk, and reaches forward with the other, stopping just shy of Jon’s face. When Jon doesn’t move away, he rests his palm lightly against Jon’s cheek, his thumb coming to rest just underneath Jon’s eye. “This doesn’t fix things,” Tim says quietly. “But I’d still like to kiss you. If you’re okay with that.”

Jon hesitates. Then, barely more than a whisper, he says, “Okay.”

“Okay.” Tim pauses a moment more before tilting Jon’s head slightly up, leaning forward, and kissing him.

It’s still as easy as breathing.

#tma #the magnus archives #jonathan sims #tim stoker #jontim #my writing #my fic

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not-me-simping-for-blasty · 4 years ago

Text

I Melt With You - Bakugou Katsuki

All Parts:

Part 6:

Truthfully, it’s been a long day. A really long day.

The weather’s begun to change, and people are coming in left and right riddled with the flu. Your entire day was spent running between rooms, administering medication, taking temperatures and, unfortunately, cleaning up puke. All in all, it was a terrible night, and it was only going to get worse when you still had to go grocery shopping afterwards.

Still, you tried to calm yourself, taking a deep breath as you pushed the door open. Your last patient of the night, was thankfully, not flu-ridden. From your chart she was old, and the only thing you would be doing is taking her vitals before she moves on to radiology.

“Hello!” You greet, trying your best to smile kindly. “I’ll be taking care if you today.”

The old lady greets you, smiling gently as you approach. She’s got one hand wrapped in a bandage, the other cradling it protectively. Her face is a little uneasy, no doubt in obvious pain, but she seems to try and smile through it.

“So, I take it you’re here for your wrist? To get an x-ray?” You say, pulling over the medical cart. She nods and you take the blood pressure cuff, wrapping it gently around her arm. You take her vitals and then step back. “Alright, do you think you could take off the bandages for me? I just need to see.”

“Of course, I understand.” She says, calmly removing the bandages.

When she removes them entirely, her wrist is a sickening shade of blue. It’s swollen and discolored and looks incredibly painful, if the look on her face wasn’t any indication. When you look a little closer there’s strange disfigurement to her palms, like healed over burn scars. You try not to look at them too long, especially when the woman seems to become more uncomfortable the more you study them. You wonder if she’s alright. Your fingers start itching in your gloves.

“Yeah, that does look pretty nasty, I can see why you came in.” You try to smile reassuringly, but something about the woman’s scared demeanor is making you uneasy. “But, that’s pretty much the extent of my duties before I send a radiologist to come get you.”

“Oh. Okay. Thank you.”

You’re about to walk out, about to turn away and finally go home, but then she sucks in a sharp breath. When you look at her, she’s wrapping her wrist up again, and her pain is written clearly across her face. Your fingers itch trails of fire, and you find the decision is made almost immediately. You’re nearing her again, smiling gently, and thanking the hospital for lettings you use your quirk entirely up to your own discretion.

“That must hurt pretty bad, doesn’t it?” You start softly, pulling your gloves off. You move to the sink, washing your hands before you address her again. “I can help- my quirk, it lets me relieve others of their pain. If you would like me to, I would be happy to provide you with at least a little relief.”

“No- I- an old woman like me isn’t worth the fuss. Really! Don’t feel like you have to trouble yourself!”

“It’s okay. I don’t mind.” You smile back at her, pulling up a stool and sitting on it. “This is my job after all, and I’d be happy to help. If you would like me to, all I have to do is touch your hand. It’ll be instantaneous.”

“You’re sure?” She asks, eyes crinkling a little unsurely. She’s trapping her injured wrist to her chest again, hope coloring her voice. “You really wouldn’t mind?”

“Absolutely not. It’d be my pleasure.”

The woman nods, holding her hand forward. You smile reassuringly again, reaching for her. You stop just a few inches away.

“I just wanted to let you know- a lot of previous patients have said that everything goes green when I help them. I’m not saying this to scare you, as I’ve actually been told it’s quite pleasant, but I just wanted to tell you beforehand.”

She nods, and you take her hand, closing your eyes as you focus.

You feel it immediately. An ache in your wrist that throbs with every beat of your heart. It’s familiar, you’ve felt a break like this before, but the feeling that swallow you up next isn’t. It’s a sickness coiling in your stomach, dripping through your veins and running viscous like a slow poison. It’s like you’re being boiled alive- all of your sinew and muscle falling apart and being sewn back together. All in the span of a second. It leaves you dizzy, reeling, sick and nauseous when you release her hand.

“My- that is some quirk.” The woman marvels, flexing the fingers on her injured wrist. She does so without pain, and looks at you, a wide smile across her face. “That is very impressive. And, you were right. Green. It’s all green.”

“I- Yeah.” You try to recover, hiding your breathlessness behind a hand itching at your chin. “Of course. Your very welcome.”

“You must be able to help so many people. You must be a very good nurse with that quirk.”

“I-I’d like to think so.”

“You know,” She says suddenly, and her tone is nearly devoid of all the meekness she had walked in with. She looks brighter, livelier. “My husband and I run a facility to help grow people like you.”

“People like me?”

“Yes, dear. Those with extrordinary potential who might just need a little push.” She smiles gently, grabbing her bag at her feet. Rifling through it with her good hand, she pulls out an index card. “I’m sure your quirk is plently strong all on it’s own, I’ve certainly seen that, but if you ever wanted a little help- well, we’d be more than happy to have you.”

Then she’s pressing a business card into your hand, turning to face the sound of the door as it opens. The radiologist walks in, gesturing for her and she follows behind him gracefully. The woman leaves behind her a trail of perfume, like lavender and lilies in your nose, and then door is then shut. It seems she is leaving you just as quickly as she’d arrived.

The card in your hand feels heavy, weighty as you flip it between your fingers.

Center for Quirk Advancement

You almost couldn’t believe your luck. You had just been talking about ways to strengthen your quirk, and, as it turns out, life really did decide to let you off the hook for once. You think it’s justly deserved- it did seem pretty intent on saddling you with Bakugou, after all. Maybe it’s a strange sort of cosmic reward?

Either way, you slide the card into your bag, smiling to yourself. A part of you still feels uneasy, still sick after what you’d experienced from her, but she seemed nice enough. It made the poisonous feeling almost a little too easy to brush off.

You pack up your things, and you can feel the exhaustion creeping in. By the time you’ve gone grocery shopping and have finally made it back home, your arms loaded up with bags, you feel dead on your feet. The familiar tiredness seeps into your bones, but you blink yourself awake, determined to put the groceries away before you pass out. You brace your head in your hands. If something didn’t wake you up soon, you really would be asleep in front of your fridge.

“Oi- shitty leech!” You hear screaming, knuckles against glass and an irritatingly familiar rasp. “Let me in! Shitty leech!”

Oh- joy. Seems like something did wake you up. What was that you were saying about a cosmic reward again?

When you turn around, Bakugou is standing on your balcony, shifting impatiently on his feet. His expression is skewed up something nasty as he taps on the glass once more. He’s shouting your name, well, nickname, clad in sweats and stomping dramatically just a few feet away- you think he’s almost better left outside. Then you recognize the goosebumps on his arms and the red of his cheeks. It’s cold outside, you know it, and you curse your own heart once more, trudging dutifully over to the door.

“Wow, only a week since I’ve last seen you. And you look awfully uninjured today, don’t you?” You say, yawning as you pull the door open a fraction. Just enough to peek your head out into the cool night air. “No blood or anything. Good on you, Bakugou.”

“Shut the fuck up, leech. I was bein’ nice for once.”

“Yes- because shouting ‘Oi- shitty leech’ at me from my balcony was nice.” You roll your eyes, pulling the door open enough for him to walk through. “But sure, come in, make yourself right at home.”

“Gladly.”

You just shake your head at his curt tone, turning back to the kitchen to resume putting away your things. You’re just barely organizing vegetables away in the fridge, when you hear him stomp up behind you.

“Fuck are you doing?”

“Groceries?”

“No, idiot, I meant why’re you doing it now?”

“Because this when I have time to do it? And I just went shopping?” You ask him, bewildered, and confused. You’re tired and his mind games really aren’t amusing you right now. “I’m sorry, I don’t think I understand the question.”

“Are you-“ Bakugou swears under his breath, turning his nose up at you. “Jesus you really are stupid. You’re so fucking stupid. Why the hell would you go grocery shopping at 1 AM?”

“Because that’s when my shift ends, you asshole. Actually, you know what, no- I absolutely do not have to defend myself to you!” You sneer right back, whirling around to face him. Suddenly you find you’re not very tired anymore. “It’s really none of your business why I do anything, let alone when I do it so if you think that maybe you want to open your mouth again to me- don’t. And I-“

“Not like that. God, you’re fuckin’ clueless. I don’t give a shit what you do, but you do realize you can’t outrun somebody with your arms full of groceries right?”

The stunted look on your face must frustrate him, because then he’s huffing, pinching the bridge of his nose for a moment before dragging his hand down his face.

“You seriously didn’t think about that? You fuckin’ kidding me? Jesus fuck I should’ve know, you’re so stupid.” He breathes out, rolling his eyes. “If I saw you fumbling around like an idiot, on a dark street, in the middle of the night? When you can’t outrun me because you’ve got all those shitty fuckin’ bags? Please, even I’d be attempted to attack you. You’re making it too fuckin’ easy for those weirdos, you moron.”

Is that- is that concern lacing his features? Bakugou’s brow is creased, and if you didn’t know any better you’d almost say he sounded more exasperated than outright angry with you- but you did know better. Of course you did. Believing that Bakugou regarded you with anything but begrudgingly familiarity would be foolish.

“Okay, well than you can take that argument up with my superiors.” You purse your lips, biting back another yawn. “Until then I guess I’ll just keep going out entirely defenseless and vulnerable. Lord knows that’s apparently how you see me.”

“Please, don’t flatter yourself, leech. I see everyone as defenseless and vulnerable. You’re not special.”

“Mhm, I’m sure I’m not.” You mutter, turning back to your fridge, to put more food away. “But, really, if you have such a problem, then you can figure out how to stop all the ‘weirdos’ before they get me. Isn’t that literally your job?”

Bakugou just sighs at your remark, looking very put-on. Then he clenches his fists up, eyes determined focused on the ground. “Just- fuckin’- just tell me when you’re going next time. Stupid idiot woman.”

Truthfully, you want to give him shit. You do, because there were so many nicer ways he could’ve shown concern-but you don’t. One look at his flushed face and insecure body language has you relenting. And being way nicer than he deserves. You are pretty tried after all.

“Yeah. Okay, but you’re carrying all the bags, Bakugou.”

“I’m not.”

“You are. Or I’ll just go without telling you, and then we can catch up when I’m bleeding out in the street.”

“That’s not funny.”

“Oh, it wasn’t a joke. It was an incentive.” You smile cheekily, then you point to the bags left on the counter. “Now be a dear and unbag those for me, would you?”

“Fuck you.”

Bakugou seethes but he moves anyway, unbagging all your groceries with an absolutely unnecessary amount of force. It’s like he’s picking a fight with each plastic bag, and you try to hide your giggles.

It’s a strange little domesticity, but as weird as it is, it’s nice too. You’re still tired but things are moving much faster now, with him handing you items relatively quietly. All things considered, Bakugou did seem to be in a good mood (well, a good mood for him) and, you supposed it was nice to see him uninjured. And would’ve been totally great, totally perfect- if you didn’t turn around to see him plucking a piece of paper out of your purse.

“Fuck is this shit?”

“Are you- stop. No. Don’t just go digging around in my stuff!” You huff tiredly, grabbing your purse from him with one hand snatching the card out of his grip with the other. “You’re being rude.”

“And you’re being fuckin’ evasive. So spill it, leech, the hell is it?”

“None of your business, that’s what!”

Bakugou just rolls his eyes, plucking the paper from out of your hand with little effort. You’d like to chalk up your loss to being surprised, but no, he really is just that strong.

“Hell is this?” He asks, grumbling as he flips the card over. “Center for Quirk Advancement?”

“Yeah. That’s what it says. Asshole.”

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why the hell do you have it?” He stares, squinting at you like you’re an idiot. “Looks fake as shit. Get rid of it.”

You can’t believe him. Seriously. You cannot believe him. There has never been one moment, in your entire life, that you would ever feel comfortable enough to dig through someone’s things- let alone ridicule them on the spot about it. It’s pure, unbridled insanity.

“I’m not- Bakugou, I’m not getting rid of something just because you said so!” You exhale, arms crossing around your stomach as you lean back against the counter. “It’s from that woman I saw today, alright? A patient.”

“Doesn’t smell right.”

“Doesn’t- What are you? A dog?”

“No. Fuck no.” He grumbles in defense, while simultaneously scrunching up his nose and barring his sharp canines. “I’m just saying, it doesn’t fuckin’ feel right.”

“Okay, well you weren’t there, so how would you know?”

“Because this company name is bullshit. It’s stupid as fuck and I’ve never heard of it before.”

“Okay? And? There’s a million stupid companies I’ve never head of before, and I don’t immediately think they’re fake!” You stride over to him, snatching the card back from his fingers. “And you know why? Because that’s paranoia. Blatant paranoia! The world doesn’t revolve around you and your knowledge, you know?”

“God, you’re so fucking dumb.” He laughs under his breath. “It’s killing me, leech. Can you really not see how shady that shit is?”

“No? Because it’s just a business card? A business card that was given to me by a kind old lady- and, why are you- no! Stop! Bakugou!”

He just rolls his eyes once more at your yell, tearing the business card in half easily. Apparently, he’s still not satisfied, because then he’s tearing those halves in half and tearing those fourths into eights, and shredding the paper entirely on your counter.

“Can’t call ‘em now, leech.” He says evenly.

You think you could scream, maybe even murder him right where he stands. Not necessarily in that order.

“Okay. No. No.” You reprimand, nearing him with determined steps. “You are not going to just walk in here and tear up things when you feel like it! That’s incredibly rude, for one, and-“

“What, so you were actually gonna call ‘em?”

“No! But that’s not even the point! The point is, you cannot just walk in here and feel free to do whatever you want! I don’t know how it is everywhere, but here, in my house, there are manners! Manners which I expect you to have, and that means you can’t just treat my things like that! It’s disrespectful and I will kick you out if you try it again. Understand? Play nice, Bakugou.”

He pinches his face into a scowl, squinting at you from just a few feet away. It looks like he’s sucked on a lemon. Then Bakugou’s scoffing, gathering the shreds of paper into his palms.

“Here. Take ‘em then, leech.” He growls, pressing them into your outstretched hand. “Since they mean so fuckin’ much to you.”

“It’s- oh my god. Oh my god, you really don’t understand what the problem here is do you?”

“No. It’s a piece of shitty paper. Who the fuck cares?”

“Me!” You nearly shriek, letting the paper fall through your fingers and back onto the countertop. “I care! It’s my house and all the things in here are my things! So, you either apologize, and I can be way more lenient than you deserve and forgive you, or you can walk yourself out.”

Bakugou leans forward, shoulders broad and intimdating as he stares down at you. You glare right back, unwilling to lose. He was in the wrong here- not you. A few seconds pass and then he’s throwing himself back against the, hands braced behind him.

“God, fuckin’ seriously? You want me to say sorry? For that shit?”

“Hmm, for walking into my house, in the middle of the night just to tear up my things?” You nearly screech at him. “Yeah! Yeah. I do.”

“You’re annoying. This is annoying. But fine. Whatever. I’m sorry. You happy now?”

“No, actually, not even a little bit.”

Then your stomping back to the remainder of your groceries, putting them away sloppily and not really caring much to organize them. You were tired before, exhausted from using your quirk, and now? With Bakugou needling you in your own kitchen? You were beat.

“What’s wrong with your face, leech?”

Spinning on your heels, you clenching your jaw tightly. You’re gonna throw him out. He’s just asking for it at this point.

Bakugou seems to pick up on your vexation, and he, to his credit, relents a little. By looking the slightest bit sheepish, for all of one second, before wiping it away into a scowl.

“I meant- why the hell do you look like that?” He grumbles, “All fuckin’ dead inside. You look terrible.”

“I- god, there are so many problems with that statement. So many. That I will not be getting into because it isn’t even worth the effort and I-“ You rant, red in the face before you take a calming breath.

It takes a second to center yourself, but you do- because cleaning up his blood would just further deplete your tank already running on empty.

“Okay- Bakugou, have had a long day, a long one. So if you have any other little mean comments you’d like to spew, don’t, alright? Because I swear to god I will euthanize you right where you stand if you open up your mouth one more time.”

He just blinks, once, twice, tilts his head to the side. Bakugou squints, rolling his shoulders back before a slow smile creeps across his face.

“Oi- you used your quirk, didn’t you? Shitty leech.” His tone is devoid of any real venom, slight amusement coloring his words. “I didn’t know it made you so fuckin’ cranky.”

“Are you making fun of me? Right now? After what I just said to you?”

Bakugou just shrugs, flicking all the lights off in your kitchen. He doesn’t even wait for the room to fall into darkness before he’s leaving, not even looking back to see if you would follow. Of course, you had to, because your bedroom was past the living room, but you almost wanted to stay rooted where you were. Just to see his frustration when you weren’t listening to him.

“You shouldn’t use your quirk just because someone tells you to.” Bakugou says, dropping himself onto your couch. “Shit’s weak. ‘s how you get burnt out.”

“Oh, whatever. And she didn’t tell me to do it.”

“So, what, you’re telling me you chose to do it? Knowing it’d wipe you the fuck out?”

“Yeah. She needed help.” You say softly, dropping down into the opposite side of the couch. You try not to get too comfortable, but you find yourself sinking into the cushions anyway. “I’m not done till I’m on the floor. Or unconscious. Kind of which ever comes first at this point.”

“Jesus. Somebody oughta put you on a fuckin’ leash. That’s stupid as shit.”

“Oh, like you’re one to talk.” You mock, eyes sliding lazily over to his. “Mr. ‘Let me kill myself without sleep for 3 weeks straight and then show up half dead at Y/n’s hou-“

“Y/n.”

“Yeah?”

“Your name is Y/n.”

“Yes? Did we not already know that?”

“No.”

You blink your eyes open entirely, flopping sideways to face him. Bakugou is smirking openingly, lips pulled back into something disarming and shit-eating.

“You fucker.” You seethe, scrunching your eyebrows together. “You’re telling me, this entire fucking whole time, that you didn’t know my name? My name! That’s my goddamn name, you shit! And you didn’t even think to ask? What the fuck?”

“Watch your mouth.”

“Excuse me?”

“Swearin’ a lot. It’s disrespectful as shit.”

“Me? I’m the one swearing? Fuck you! You swear all the time, and it’s really funny to me that you’re even running your mouth right now considering you didn’t know my name until a minute ago! You’ve slept on my couch! Multiple times! And you didn’t think, not even for a measly little second, to ask my name and- are you laughing right now?”

Bakugou is rested against the arm of your couch, one hand across his stomach and the other covering his chin. There’s no sound, he’s trying to keep quiet, but you can see his eyes. They’re crinkled up. Almost entirely closed into little slits. He’s laughing.

“Do you want to be kicked out? Seriously? Do you want to be kicked out on your ass right now? I’ll do it! I’ll fucking do it, I swear- try me again! Stop laughing, you jerk!”

“I’m not.” Bakugou tries, doing a horrible job of covering up that he is, in fact, laughing. “Ya get so fuckin’ mad, leech. Shit’s hilarious.”

“Wow, really, me? Mad? No- see,why would I be mad about you not knowing my name? After knowing each other for months. Why would I be mad about that?”

Bakugou eventually does sober, but you still he still looks a little brighter than you’ve ever seen him. It hits you then that the only color you’d ever seen in his cheeks, at least before then, was dripping blood.

““s fine. Doesn’t matter anyway.” He says, voice deceivingly light. “Your name’s leech. Don’t really give a shit what’s on your birth certificate.”

You just sit up, grabbing the pillow behind you and launching it at him. Bakugou catches it, because of course he does, and throws it right back. When it hits you it feels like you’ve been socked in the face. Because he is an asshole. An asshole who can’t play nice to save his life.

“Fuck you. Fuck you, Bakugou.” You say matter-of-factly, swiping the stray hairs from your face. You stand from the couch, glaring down at him. “I really hope you enjoy tossing and turning all night because I am not helping you.”

“Yes you will.”

“What? Making orders again? It didn’t work the first time and it’s not going to work now.”

“Nah. Don’t need to.” He says confidently, grabbing the blanket off the back of your couch. A smirk lies across his face, one you want to slap off. “You’ll help me. Because you’re too fuckin’ nice right?”

Then he’s flopping back against the pillow, sprawling his legs out and settling the blanket up to his shoulders. Bakugou looks at you expectantly, that same irritating grin still plastered on his mouth, and you want to hit him all over again.

Because he’s right. You are too nice, and you are too forgiving, and unfortunately the everything and everyone you care about includes him. It’ll always include him, even when he insists on being an exasperating child.

“Fine, go to sleep then.” You’re pulling a glove off, nearing the back of the couch with your own devious grin. “Go to sleep.”

You lean over him, bringing your hand down to flick his forehead. He catches you, of course he does, just like that fucking pillow. Bakugou traps your wrist in his grip, his grin only growing wider. You think it softens a little too- just a bit, but then again, the lighting in your living room wasn’t that great.

“Got you. Leech.” He goads lowly, tapping his thumb against the base of your wrist. “Should’ve been faster. Shit was fucking pathetic.”

“No, you’re just a freak, with weird reflexes.” You pull back, but he doesn’t seem to be letting go. Whatever it is he’s basking in, he looks a little too prideful for your liking. “Let me go- or I use my quirk on you.”

Then he’s throwing your wrist back in your face, applying so much force that you almost knock yourself out. You stumble back, grasping on to the back of the couch for stability. When you look down at him again, Bakugou is blushing but you’re not really sure why. You shake it off- it’s his problem not yours.

“Well, there, since you insisted on being a little shit, that’s all the skin-to-skin contact you’re getting from me.” You sniff, flicking off the light behind the couch. “Better pray it’s enough to send your impudent ass to sleep.”

“Stop swearin’.”

“I swear when I’m angry and-”

“I make you angry?”

“Yes!”

Bakugou just seems to almost- smile? It’s a tiny thing, curled up against the edge of his lip for all of a moment before he’s smoothing it out again. You’re about to turn away, to finally go to sleep, when he speaks again.

“Oi- shitty leach. You’re not gonna call ‘em right?” He slurs, voice raspy. “Right?”

“No? I wasn’t? But now I can’t because somebody tore up the paper.”

“Do it again if I fuckin’ have to.”

“Why’re you so concerned about it anyway?”

“None of your fuckin’ business.”

“Seriously?”

“Yep. Go to fuck to sleep.”

Then he’s out, giving into sleep and snoring into the cushions. His breathing is deep and even, mellow and relaxed, and you realize that’s all you’re getting from him tonight.

It’s not until you’re settling in bed, just on the verge of drifting, that you realize it. When Bakugou grabbed your wrist- no fire. Warmth and anger on the likes of which you’d never experienced before, sure, but no searing fire.

You wonder if he somehow forgot to put his angry pants on that day.

-/-

pls this is not edited i am so sorry ahahah

taglist: @fluffyviciousbunny @definitelynottrin @imsuperawkward @i-need-air @ahbeautifulexistence @brennabooz @jazzylove @flattykawadoorusmilkbread @katsuki-bakubabe @sorrythatspussynal @bakugouswh0r3 @cloudsgathering @un-limit-edd @thekatsukisimp @pollayra21 @the2ndl @officialtrashbusiness @waffleareniceandfluffy @monempathieetmoi @koiwoshinai @christianagrace9 @the2ndl @the-shota-king-masayuki @shy-panda02

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flowerwrites06 · 4 years ago

Text

break my mind’s eye II — jjk

Plot: Jungkook thinks marriage is the only way to seal a deal.

Pairing(s): Druglord!Jungkook x Fashion Designer!OC (Name: Belle)

Rating: G | PG | M | R 18+

Type: Drabble | Oneshot | Two Parter | Series

Word Count: 5k+

Genre: Mafia | Angst/Smut/Fluff

Tags & Warnings (for entire series): drug dealing, marriage through trickery, explicit smut, drug use, dubious consent, prostitution, miscarriage, lots of manipulation, impregnation through manipulation

“You’re…letting me go?” Belle stared at her manager Yeeun who, by her clear frown was not mistaken in her harsh words. The two stood in the others’ office with her rack of clothing standing hopelessly in the corner of the room.

“Do you have any idea how hard it is to book a venue for a designer with no prior backing?” She continued with her berating.

The younger female assumed it must have around an hour since she arrived and began the onslaught of scolding for missing her fashion show. Belle tried to explain that she needed to help her brother out in a personal situation but family commitment apparently to her was not deemed that important.

“I trusted you and you fucking humiliated me in front of fashion critics.” Yeeun gestured wildly before pinching the bridge of her nose. “You had so much potential too.”

Her heart dropped; slowly wishing that she would go back to just scolding her instead of reminding her of what could have been achieved if the fashion show went on. All the building blocks tirelessly built to get to this point now crumbling down. “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry isn’t going to bring back what you just threw away.” The older female spoke in brutal honesty as she usually did except it hit Belle harder than normal. “Go on. I can’t help you anymore. Not when there’re plenty of other designers who actually care enough to come to their first fashion show.”

Belle bit down her bottom lip, sun dipping outside casting a dull grey-ish light in the minimalistic office. Photos of all the different designers Yeeun represented now staring down at her in disappointment as she dragged her rack of clothes out of the office.

The morning welcomed sharp chills even through her coat and scarf adorned her body. She grabbed the two pieces of clothing hurriedly since her new wardrobe was organized by Nana who didn’t really know how the girl usually kept everything. Of course that led to a crap load of confusion in the morning when Belle tried to pair something decent and it turned out to be too thin for the temperature she struggled through now.

It didn’t help her situation when her lower belly still ached a little from last night and her head pounded from the lack of proper sleep.

Belle stopped short in front of the office building to see two men standing in front of her, one of them familiar enough for her to realize who they were for. “He’s having you follow me now?” She seethed.

“Master Jeon found out your car was still in the carpark and you took a train so he asked us to drive it here.” Jongho explained plainly, gesturing to the Camry behind them.

Who knew the mere sight of a vehicle could bring this much relaxation in the midst of this stress?

The female sighed pushing the rack towards the hood. “Thank you but please don’t call him ‘Master Jeon’ in front of me.” Belle kept her voice firm, opening the hood and placing all her clothes into an empty box she had with all her discarded designs.

“But we have to.” Jonghos’ brows furrowed, pouting a little; silently reminding that he wasn’t all the much older than any of them, perhaps even younger.

The other guard besides Jongho took the liberty of pushing the rack away in front of the office building.

Belle dared to take another look at the building again. Not too long ago, she walked into this very building with bright eyes and possibly an even brighter future. Memories of Yeeun smiling at her newest designs, approving them to a point where she even got her a chance at a fashion show. Three critics sat at the audience that night and every single one of them looked more important than the last. Unfortunately Belle had someone far more important than any fashion critic or opportunity. Whether that was a good thing or a bad thing grew harder and harder to determine.

“Out here, he’s Jungkook.” She spoke still looking up at the building with a more sour expression now at the sound of his name coming from her lips. “And I’m driving.”

Jongho didn’t protest much on the demand and gave her the keys.

“So what’s the real reason Jungkook sent you?” Belle asked as they drove through the city streets. The car had been pleasantly so much warmer than outside or in the train and she grew more thankful as the ice under her skin melted.

Jongho stammered lightly before sighing. “Master—” He cleared his throat. “D-Jungkook did get a little…suspicious that you might try to find a way to get out of the deal. It’s all still—fresh, I guess.”

The female scoffed, fingers tightening around the steering wheel. “He put my brothers’ life under threat and thinks I’m going to run away like some sorry bitch?” She spat pressing down the urge to stomp on the brakes and hopefully run over Jungkook accidently when they reached the mansion. “You’re both going home.” Belle finalized ignoring any stutter of disapproval from the two males.

“But he—”

“But nothing…if he’s so scared of me running away then he should come meet me himself instead of sending his men.” Past the bustling city, Belle drove into the familiar road towards the secluded mansion.

The last time she drove down this path her life was so much more different than it was now. How could it all just change in the span of a day? All because one man had too much power over others.

Then she stomped on the brakes, the shaking hand of the speed checker accelerating at a worrying rate up to the hundreds.

Muffled tire and engine sounds numbing her ears as her stomach jumped from the push across the slightly graveled road.

Heart pumping adrenaline, fueling the wildfire in her body, pushing away memories of his fucking hands on her skin, the disappointment she brought to everyone even herself.

“Ma’am!” A frightened voice called out from behind her, mentally slapping her back to reality.

Letting out deep breath Belle slowly braked the car again bringing them back down from the rush as the mansion now came into view. “Sorry.” She glanced over at Jongho who looked more concerned for the female compared to the guard at the back who feared for his life in a split second.

Into the courtyard she stared at the collection of guards who once again stood lined up the entrance of the mansion. An intense feeling of déjà vu flushed over her before turning to the two guards. “Alright, out you go. I need to get to work.” Going to the fashion-house now became the only thing that could make her day that little bit better.

“Master Jeon—he’ll be angry at us if we left you alone.”

Belle saw something oddly familiar in Jonghos’ eyes that she couldn’t shake off. Seeing the recognizable glint reminded her that Taehyung was not the only victim to Jungkooks’ power. “If Madame Saito sees two strange men with me, she’s going to try and call the police. I don’t want her involved in this whole mess.” She explained. “Is there any way you can keep yourself hidden so Jungkook at least knows that you were doing your job?” Both men nodded thankfully.

She rested back on the seat, closing her eyes as her body reminded her again of the anxiety burning her from the inside. “I need to get some warmer clothes anyway so stay here.”

Nana told Belle that Jungkook was out all morning and a little bit of the day on important business meetings around the city. Not that the younger female really gave a shit where he went but once again…common fucking courtesy.

The drive to the fashion-house was quiet aside from some light music playing on her radio.

They arrived at Madame Saitos’ fashion-house. An elegant slab of purple and gold with the monogram of the Japanese Kanji symbol that meant ‘elegant’. Belle remembered getting the job a few weeks before her parents passed away. It immediately turned from a dream job to the only thing keeping her from breaking down after Taehyung started going into a downward spiral.

Now more than ever she needed the sweet caress of fresh fabric under her fingers to calm her down, to prevent another incident like the one on the road from happening. As per her request, Jongho and the other guard who later introduced himself as Jisung, opted to walk into a nearby café.

Belle walked through the glass doors, all her worries seemingly melting away at the look of neatly organized clothes on the different shelves and stands. Her clothes fit warm and snug on her now and the level upstairs for designing awaited her arrival.

“Bella, darling!” She heard the familiar voice echo through the building.

Turning to the right Belle couldn’t help but smile seeing the bright woman walk over to her in a gorgeous purple pantsuit. She gave her a small bow which she waved away.

“How many times have I told you? You’re a fellow designer.” Saito tapped her chin which would have made her giggle.

But her stomach dropped when reality sunk in and she realized Saito was wrong. “I’m not a designer anymore.” Belle smiled sadly.

“And why is that?” She raised her own chin, deep purple lips looking more defined and her dark brows furrowed.

It was as if her mind opened up the millions of drawers she tried to lock up to help her survive the rest of the day but the younger female adorned a much smaller smile. “Yeeun let me go. I couldn’t go through the fashion show on a family emergency.”

Saito scoffed loudly before waving her hand. “Managers don’t make designers. Designers make designers.” She pressed hand over Belle’s heart. “She’s one manager, darling. Don’t let it get to you.”

If it were a less strange time than this, Belle would instantly be consoled by Saitos’ words but there was so much more. So many more things she wanted to talk about but she feared no one’s ears were understanding enough. Even she couldn’t hear herself talk about what happened. “Thank you.” She muttered forcing her mind to feel somewhat relaxed.

The older female smiled, patting her cheek. “I have to go personally deliver this to a client.” She rolled her eyes looking down at the cover hanging over her arm. “He’s this big businessman who wants a suit tonight and just needs to thank the designer in person.” She scoffed making Belle chuckle. “You’ll be in charge for the rest of the day, darling.”

Belle’s heart fluttered in excitement as she immediately nodded.

“Oh and…since you have more time on your hands without Yeeun pestering you. I was wondering if you wanted to work on a few designs for the Spring Line.” Saito smiled casually not entirely noticing that fireworks were going off in her mind in celebration.

She was getting a chance at another line. Another opportunity. Belle couldn’t help giggling a little but she quickly stopped herself. “You’re not joking?”

“Of course not. You’re the best designer I’ve had in years.” She patted her shoulder comfortingly. “One thing though, I’ll need four designs by tomorrow morning so we can be ahead of schedule. I’ve done six that you can look at to see what the concept is but let your wonderful mind run wild.”

A light hint of anxiety seeped through the thick elation bursting through her veins but Belle ignored it, merely smiling at the older female as she walked out of the building.

Sun dipped behind the skyscrapers, warm light shining through the glass giving the whole store a deep warm glow as Belle stood in front of the main counter. Hand ached a little from holding onto the pencil for too long. Grey scratches against the ecru paper of flowy trains and minimalistic patterns to symbolize re-birth in some way.

Something she admired about Saito was her excessive need to shy away from the norm of flowers and nature. Maybe thinking a little deeper into what spring meant and really bringing the art out of her fashion. Part of why despite their prices, people still walked in and out purchasing their numbers.

It was a breath of fresh air from the line of fashion and a wonder to behold during Fashion Week.

Unfortunately Belle’s little bubble of inspiration was rudely popped when the door opened with Jonghos’ voice echoing in the building.

“Ma’am…Master Jeon is asking for you at the mansion.” He tried to speak quietly but the walls resonated even the smallest of sounds.

Her brows furrowed, dropping the pencil on the table making her fingers cramp up ever so slightly. “What does he need me for?” Anger rose and burned through her eyes.

“He said it’s important.” Jongho shrugged.

The woman huffed averting her gaze before jumping off her chair. “Did he call you? Is he still on the phone?” Belle stomped over to the male who tried to back away a little but the glass door closed behind him. “What could he possibly want from me now that’s so damn important?” He already got everything else.

“I don’t know, ma’am…he—he didn’t say.”

“Well tell him that I have a lot of work to do and he can wait.” She glared at the young male even though truly he wasn’t the one she was angry at.

Eventually Jongho walked towards the car with slouched shoulders leaving Belle to go back to work on her counter. The scratches were a lot harsher due to her shaky fingers so she reminded herself to re-do some of these sketches again when it was time for coloring.

“Ma’am?” Jongho called out again in a much softer voice.

Belle’s pencil broke off making her fingers curl up into a fist but she forced herself to take a deep breath. “What is it, Jongho?”

“Master Jeon wants to speak with you.” He held out a phone walking towards the counter.

She glanced at the male before down at the phone, accepting it gently and putting it on her ear. “Yes?”

“Are you trying to be a fool?” Jungkooks’ tone took a dark turn from what Belle heard yesterday; more growly and deep like he had been yelling all day.

“I already said I’m working.” Belle muttered calmly. “What’s so important?”

“We need to go to an event. My aunt and uncle have invited me to come tonight and I need you to be there to get rid of any future suitor arrangements.” He explained with that same infuriating voice acting like she was doing something wrong trying to work.

“I need to some things done, Jungkook, can’t we re-schedule a meeting with your aunt and uncle?” Hands brushed away the pieces of led that broke off from her pencil.

“No we can’t.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t think you realize just what’s at stake if you piss me off too much.” He challenged.

“Your deal was that you’ll stay away from Taehyung if I stay with you.” She corrected.

“You should know that I can change deals in an instant.”

Belle gripped onto the phone suppressing the urge to throw it across the room as she gulped down a lump in her throat. Her dormant anxiousness now fully erupting through every limb in her body. “I’ll be there in ten minutes.” She stated before hanging up not wanting to hear his voice anymore as she gave it over to Jongho.

Angrily packing up her stuff, she decided to let Jongho drive this time to prevent any incidents on the road from her heated up mind.

So much for fucking freedom. He couldn’t even re-schedule a meeting to let her work. Maybe it was an overreaction but looking at the situation, Belle thought that being livid and frustrated was called for.

The sky turned purple by the time they reached the mansion and Belle barely waited for the car to stop before she climbed out. Grabbing her things, she walked through the entrance ignoring any attempt at the guards trying to hold the bags.

“Finally her Majesty has arrived, what took you so long?” Jungkook, already dressed up in a black suit with a white shirt slightly unbuttoned, jabbed at the female right as she walked through the archway.

Belle merely glared at the male walking past him up the stairs while Nana followed her helplessly. The older female almost wanted to apologize for him but couldn’t find the time as she chased her.

In their shared room, Belle placed the bags of her work next to her side of the bed. Tears of frustration flooded in her eyes a little which she tried her best to hide when she saw Nana come up behind her.

“Dear…” She muttered comfortingly but the younger female shook her head.

“It’s okay, please. I’ll get ready myself.” Belle smiled through teary eyes before walking past her.

Ankle length daffodil-yellow dress adorned her freshly showered body, long curls with the top half clipped away from her face and some shoes to match. As she coated her lashes her mind tried to organize how she was going to rush to the event and then come back to finish all the designs. The deeper the thoughts moved, the more anxiety bubbled inside her almost making her makeup application a little dodgy but decent enough.

“Dear, Master Jeon is calling for you.” Nana spoke gently as if knowing that the sound of his name stroke a nerve in her constantly.

“I’m done, I’m coming.” Belle answered, hands leaning against the edge of the vanity table in the walk-in wardrobe trying to calm down her breathing. I hope you’re okay, Taehyung. It was only the first day and she could feel the weight of it all bearing down on her body. For the first time since yesterday, the woman almost wanted to admit that she may be lot more vulnerable than she thought.

Shaking her head roughly she stared at herself in the mirror. Dusty rose lips mimicking the light hint of colour on her cheeks and a glimmering eyes mostly from the illusion in the shimmery eyeshadow. At least she looked put together. Her body and mind were a whole different story.

Nana held onto her hand as they walked down the stairs, Belle held onto the dress to ensure she didn’t trip and make her stressful day even worse. Little bits of her hair dropped over her face but it was only when she reached the end.

Her eyes slowly trailed up to see Jungkook staring at her up and down the way he did the first time they met.

“What’s wrong?” She looked down at her outfit for a moment, seeing absolutely nothing wrong but Jungkook must have had something to say.

The man stayed silent for a few minutes shifting in his position. “Nothing. Let’s go.” He muttered coldly walking to the exit with three of his guards already walking behind him like robots.

Belle followed the trail, gripping at her clutch purse.

Dull blue hue adorned the sky when they were outside. The guards dispersed to the sides giving Belle way to move forward where she saw Jungkook looking over his shoulder as if he was searching for someone.

Not a word uttered, Jungkook raised an arm and let it hover over her back as they walked towards the luxurious black Sedan shining even in this grey-ish light.

Throughout the car ride, Belle tried to ask Jungkook what the event was for and what they would be doing for the rest of the night. All her questions answered with detached replies that gave her no explanation whatsoever making it highly difficult to keep her patience.

“At least tell me how long it’s going to be?” She asked in a much softer tone now.

“An hour or something, alright? Now just keep quiet and don’t embarrass me.” Jungkook snapped before looking out the window.

Belle wanted to be shocked at the sudden change in behavior from the dashing and charming man she saw yesterday but this just served as a good reminder. This was all a fucking joke. She was dressing up to play pretend with a scum of a man who had no care for anyone but his own needs and reputation.

The momentary silence broke by muffled sounds of flashing cameras and people calling out or yelling at the glimmering bodies on the carpet.

Jungkook had the car door opened for him and the second he walked out, he could hear the people growing more restless and the cameras going wild.

Belle shifted towards his side now keeping her clutch purse on her chest.

He held his hand out and she accepted it to keep up appearances, adorning an elegant smile on her rosy lips. Their fingers intertwined with one another as they walked past them with their personal line of guards on each side.

Sounds of violins made her ears prick up and the smell of chocolate touched her nostrils, her stomach rumbling a little. Thankfully the incessant noise from every corner was able to conceal it.

The event hall shone in golden light with a crystal chandelier centering the ceiling, buffet standing on the far left, slow dancing in the middle and a sitting area on the far right. People were crowded but nothing like a bustling city. Instead of strangers pressing against each other in trains or trying to push past to get to work, people kindly slithered through crowds or made pleasant conversation before they moved onto the next group.

Though Belle despised the reasoning for being here, for years this was an event she has always wanted to attend. The class, the culture, the clothes; all of it surrounded her like a welcoming hug and she didn’t really protest when Jungkook led her further into the hall.

Fake elegant smile now melted into something more genuine as she curiously peered over at the performers in gold satin dresses dancing in the middle of the hall. On her left, a vast selection of foods, some she didn’t even recognize but the chocolate fountain wasn’t hard to detect and her stomach shouted again.

“Auntie!” Jungkook called out, his usual sour mood moved to a smile as he leaned to press a kiss on an older womans’ cheek.

The lady looked as elegant and bright as the hall they were in, wearing a white dress with golden hair pins in her neat bun while the man next to her—Jungkook’s uncle wore the same simple suit his nephew did. Except he had a bow on unlike her ‘partners’ more unkept look. “I’m so happy you could be here!” His aunt cheered softly, her wide smile showing off all the lines on her face.

“Why would I not? Your events are always my favorite.” He smiled again almost to a point where Belle almost suspected it may have been fake.

“There’s someone I want you to meet.” His aunt nodded at the younger male whose lips twitched a little making him grin wider.

This one looking a lot more obviously forced.

His aunt turned to the side and called someone over. A woman who looked around their age, tall and slender with long black hair flowing past her lower back and her body adorning an azure dress, loosely stitched rhinestones in large clusters. All of that topped up with some bright red lipstick and shimmering blue eyeshadow to match the clothes. She gave Jungkook a big, advertisement smile.

Belle felt Jungkooks’ hand leave her and immediately hold his out towards the woman which she accepted happily. She introduced herself as Suyeon, only side-glancing her before fixating her gaze on the man instead.

“It’s very nice to meet you, Suyeon.” His charming tone sounded all too familiar.

“I think you two would hit it off really well.” Her aunt declared already off of a two second conversation. Finally the older woman managed to look over at her. “And who’s this?”

Jungkook hummed in question before looking at Belle. “Right this is—” He paused for a moment staring at the woman as if he was already starting to have second thoughts. “This is a friend…Belle.”

Belle smiled at the three new people even though her heart burned with anger at how quickly he changed his mind.

“Of course.” His aunt smiled.

The four elites dived into deep conversation as Belle quietly smiled and admired the performances instead; hoping they would distract her somehow. None of them really cared about her presence here which didn’t help her fury towards Jungkook.

Ah Jungkook.

He who conveniently shifted on the other side of her so he could stand next to Suyeon instead, conversing with her pleasantly. Everything about their deal now seemed long forgotten leaving Belle to worry about the fate of her brother.

“So…uh—” Suyeon spoke towards her now.

“Belle.” She answered softly, keeping up with that smile tiresomely.

“I’ve never seen you in these kinds of parties before.”

“This is my first time.”

“Ah—” Suyeon gave her a fake smile. “Makes sense.” She eyed her up and down as the other three of them laughed.

Even Jungkook didn’t seem to stop finding it funny.

“I mean…no offense, darling but yellow isn’t really a nice color for these events. They look a little—childish.” Venom flowed from her tongue when she spewed those words.

Whatever anxiety burning Belle from the inside now was momentarily pushed down as the fashion lover inside her scurried up. “It’s called daffodil…not yellow.” She emphasized the word making it sound like an uncouth description to use. “If we are talking about childish, perhaps you could take a closer look at the plastic rhinestones on your dress hanging on for dear life on a single thread.” She looked at her up and down this time. “I highly doubt that’s Louis Vuitton work.”

Her words silenced the four of them immediately. Suyeons’ photo-worthy smile now turned into an ugly frown, the aunts’ brows were raised in intrigue and Jungkook stared at her in shock. Belle merely smiled as the older woman of the group tried to change the topic now into something more lighthearted.

Once the confidence drowned out, anxiety kicked in again wanting to walk out of this vicinity right now and never look back. The four of them dispersed a little but Jungkook walked straight to her, holding her arm and bringing her close. “Behave yourself, alright? There’s no need to be rude.”

Belle scoffed yanking out of his grip and walking towards the buffet hoping that some food would help her mood. The clip in her hair began to prick at her aching head and her shoes felt like they were tighter by the minute. Nothing felt right about this night.

“Oh Belle…” She heard a drawling, sickly sweet voice.

Just her luck. Looking over to her side, she gave Suyeon a similar grin trying to look as friendly as possible even though their previous interaction was anything but that. “Suyeon—”

“I hope there’s no hard feelings about my comment.” There was no genuine nature in her tone in the slightest but Belle played along, once again playing pretend that everything was going swell.

“It’s all forgotten.” She shook her head.

“I also hope you could give me some more fashion advice.”

Belle turned to look at the female and a dampening chill trailed all the way down from her chest to her torso, body stepping back in shock. She looked down at her daffodil dress now stained with red almost forming into an orangish color. Gasps echoed throughout the room and she could feel the stares on her. Staring up at Suyeon, she was holding out an empty glass with a sinister smirk on her face.

“What color is that, little rat?”

“Suyeon!”

Belle could’ve sworn she heard Jungkooks’ aunts’ yelling but she was already heading for the bathroom, the whole day picked at her final straw.

If in a better mood, her eyes would have been shining in glee at the gorgeous white marble bathroom with bright gold detail. But right now they were flooding with hot tears that stained down her cheeks. Body shivering a little from the harsh chill on her entire front, some pieces of her hair completely damp and the skin on her chest reddened as well.

Belle whined lightly under her breath, lips quivering as she grabbed some tissues and dabbed off the excess liquid not wanting to face the crowd outside.

She heard a woman squeal a little when the door opened but she couldn’t care less to look.

Her head was numb, her body flushing from hot to cold and her body too stubborn to stop shaking from the cold and anxiety.

Finally her eyes flickered to the mirror to see a familiar figure standing next to her. The mere sight of him caused her to sigh in elevated frustration. “If you’re just going to yell at me—” Belle spoke in a cracked voice.

“I saw what she did.” Jungkook immediately replied in a mutter.

Belle sniffled washing off the liquid from the ends of her hair, feeling her clothes now sticking to her dampened skin.

The male padded closer reaching out to touch her shoulder.

“Don’t touch me.” She backed away as one hand held onto the dripping hair. “You chose your wife, now leave me alone.” Belle hated that Jungkooks’ previous behavior created a lump in her throat, fresh tears arriving at the brim of her eyes.

A sigh passed his lips as he lowered his head, leaning against the edge of the counter. “Her joke wasn’t funny.” Jungkook murmured. “I just laughed for the sake of my aunt, she stares at my every move when I make conversation with these suitors. I can never seem to gain the courage to upset her.” He shifted in his position. “Truth be told, you were the most beautiful one here.”

Belle shook her head, another tear dropping down her cheek even after touching up her makeup. “I just wanna go home…” She tried to hug herself but it only made the clothes on her front more uncomfortable. “Please.”

Jungkook searched the womans’ expression finding nothing but distress and discomfort in her whole being. He nodded before shrugging off his coat with a sigh. “Here.” He held his coat out.

She hesitated for a moment glancing up at the man before caving as she draped the coat on. Thankfully it was big enough to cover up most of her dress. Once again his hand hovered over her back as they walked out of the bathroom.

Most of the people were back to their own conversations save for Jungkooks’ aunt who still looked worriedly at the two.

“I didn’t know she was going to behave like that, sweetie.” His aunt genuinely looked like she regretted inviting the menace to the event. “I’m so sorry, are you okay?” She rubbed her shoulder a little.

Belle smiled at her and nodded. “Thank you.”

“We’ll talk to you at a better time, auntie.” Jungkook kissed her cheek again before they walked out of the hall in silence.

Trying their best to ignore the paparazzi, the two were led into their car and were driven home in silence. Belle scooched on the far side on the back seat looking out the window hoping that this day would end. But it couldn’t.

Heat flushed at the back of her neck when she looked at the time. Her work tomorrow would start at around nine after she paid a visit to Taehyung in the rehab center. So that left only a few hours with no sleep to finish the rest of her designs for the spring line. Right up until they reached the mansion, her head began planning all the ways she would keep herself awake and finish the job she was set.

“What happened, mistress?” Nana asked and Belle just replied that a snake got a hold of a wine glass before they walked upstairs.

Jungkook walked over to the bar the last time she glimpsed back only for a second.

Forcing herself to have a cold shower, she put on simple pair of grey sweatpants and a matching sweater with her hair up in a ponytail. Her body million times more comfortable now in dry and warm clothing while her dress was being soaked. Annoyance washed over thinking of the possibility that she might not be able to take the stain off.

Belle sat on the floor of the walk-in wardrobe, the perfect place to lay out all her designs and begin her sketching session.

Jungkook walked into the room when she was figuring out where to add details on one of her dresses. He paused a little looking at her deeply engrossed in her work.

She merely glanced at the male before going back to her tasks. Talking to him or even looking at him would only remind her of the time he stole away and for what? Humiliation and a wine stain on one of her favourite dresses? Belle even physically shook her head at the thought. The fact he even threatened to break the deal for this shit only worsened the fury.

But she couldn’t break any more pencils over her anger. Now Belle had to work. If anything needed to go well, it was this. So as the hours kept ticking away, the woman did nothing but do what she did best.

While Jungkook giving one last glance at her, fell fast asleep on the bed assuming she might just come there when she’s ready.

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#jungkook #bts imagines #jungkook imagines #bts angst #jungkook fanfic #bts fanfic #jungkook angst #bts mafia au #jungkook mafia au

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kevindayisafrog · 3 years ago

Text

Part 3 of the Kevneil thing (IB @knandersonart on IG)

TW - torture, detailed injury and physical abuse, verbal abuse, blood

“That was quite a show back there”, Riko’s lips curled cruelly as he took a step into the bathroom, letting the door slam shut behind him and his men, “making me seem inferior to show off to your little foxes”. Kevin swallowed a lump and stepped back to press himself against the bathroom wall, “I wasn’t showing off, I was just telling the truth. We’ll beat you and you know it”. Kevin’s heart was thumping loudly in his ears as Riko slowly closed the space between them. “Oh, do I? Do you really think that you’ve ever been in a position to say what I know? A pet like you?”, Riko laughed then scowled, his voice like gravel, “don’t make me laugh”. He raised his hand and in one quick movement full of practice, knocked Kevin to the floor. Kevin exhaled sharply as a shooting pain exploded across his jaw, rattling his teeth. “I’ve missed this”, Riko smiled and kicked Kevin in the ribs, breathing in a delirious gasp before kicking Kevin until his foot hurt. “Have you met my boys?”, Riko clicked his fingers and crouched down, stroking Kevin’s swollen jaw lightly as the two men stood over him, “it’s a shame, Kevin, we could’ve gotten along really well if you weren’t such a push over”. Kevin spat onto Riko’s cheek and winced at the sharp pain it caused across his mouth, “fuck you”, he groaned through clenched teeth. “I wish you could”, Riko wiped the spit off with his thumb and gouged it into Kevin’s eye, “right boys, it’s your turn”. Riko stood up and turned to leave the room, shouting for the men not to kill Kevin before leaving the room with a slam of the door. “You know that you’re just dogs to him, he’ll kill you too when you’re not useful anymore”, Kevin glared at the men and tried to keep his voice even despite the fear crawling up his throat. “Shut up and bite this”, the tallest man leaned down and shoved a ball of cloth into Kevin’s mouth, “we can’t risk people hearing your screams as we tear you apart”. Kevin whimpered and made to sit up and get away as the other man pulled a knife from his blazer pocket. He shook his head in a pleading no and screamed when the knife ripped down his side, blood spilling down to the front of his once pristine white shirt. The man with the knife inspected his handiwork with a small smile and kneeled out of the way as the taller one shoved Kevin onto his front. His heavy knee was pressed between Kevin’s shoulder blades while his hand pressed Kevin’s head forcibly down onto the cold tile floor. The knife was brought back to Kevin’s skin, leaving little lines across each dip of his spine. “What shall we carve?”, the man holding Kevin down asked with a smile in his voice, “how about your owner’s name?” Kevin screamed and attempted to thrash about as he felt Riko’s name being carved through his blazer into his skin. “Make sure he doesn’t bleed out”, one of the men grunted, shoving his free hand onto the torn skin in an attempt to stop the blood from spilling over onto the tiles. Kevin felt as bile tore up his throat, burning his mouth as it stay trapped behind the make shift gag. Kevin squeezed his eyes shut and screamed as his tears began to fall, causing the two men to laugh. “No wonder you’re the pet, you’re such a coward”, the man with the knife laughed before slamming his elbow into the side of Kevin’s head. He stood up and stared down at the blood covering the floor, sniffing before nodding in satisfaction, “let him go”. The man lifted his knee cautiously from Kevin’s back and stood up, stretching his legs before laughing at the mess of Kevin’s limp body. “Take the gag out and let’s go, we can’t let anyone see us”, the tall man nodded to the shorter one who walked over and pulled the gag out, grimacing at the damp bile lining the back of it. They both stared down at Kevin before leaving silently, this time not letting the door slam behind them. Kevin let out a shaky breath and pushed his head harder onto the floor, letting the pain in his head replace the burning in his back.

“Kevin? Shit”. Kevin opened his eyes groggily as he felt hands grip his shoulders. He sat up quickly and cowered away before remembering the pain and collapsing back onto the floor, accepting whatever beating he was about to get. Except the next touch he felt was a gentle brush of his hair and a thumb stroking his cheek as Nicky leaned down and whispered reassurances into his ear. “Don’t worry, Matt’s gone to get Coach, you’ll be okay”, Nicky’s voice wavered as he tried to swallow down his fear at the sight of all the blood. Kevin squeezed his eyes shut and attempted to sit up, grateful for Nicky’s gentle help. “Tell them not to worry, I’ll be okay. I’ve played with worse injuries”, Kevin grunted as he tried to roll his shoulder despite the blinding pain. “Can you not think about Exy for one fucking minute? You should be thankful that you can’t see what you look like”, Nicky had the back of his hand pressed against his mouth, quiet tears rolling down his cheeks. “Kevin!”, the bathroom door smacked open as Wymack barged in with Abby and Matt close behind, “fuck’s sake, what did I say? I said to come to me if he-fuck”. Wymack turned away and swore before turning back and dropping to his knees next to Kevin, “you kids are gonna be the death of me”. Kevin smiled sadly and dropped his head onto his father’s shoulder, fantasizing for a bleak moment that circumstances were different and Coach was supporting him out of love, not duty. “There’s too much blood, I don’t know where it’s coming from”, Abby kneeled on the other side of Kevin and began to pull off his blazer, “I’m sorry, I know it hurts, I know”. She peeled his blood soaked blazer and shirt off, whimpering at the sight of the deep cuts and dark bruises. “Matt, take Nicky out and get the others on the bus, don’t you fucking dare let anyone out of your sight”, Wymack rubbed a hand down his face and sighed tiredly. Matt nodded and pulled Nicky off the floor, dragging him out of the bathroom with an arm over his shoulder. “Did Riko do this?”, Wymack asked as Abby began working on the long tear down Kevin’s side. “Is Neil okay?”, Kevin whispered, closing his eyes and clenching his fists in his lap. “Neil? Who the fu-the Wesninski kid? Do I want to know why you need that information?”, Wymack placed a hand on the back of Kevin’s head and grabbed a fistful of hair, pulling on it protectively. “I just need to know he’s okay”, Kevin looked up at his dad and frowned, “please”. Wymack glared at Kevin before sighing and standing up, “I won’t be long, don’t you fucking dare move”. Kevin gestured to Abby who began stitching his side back up with a deadpan expression and watched as Wymack left the room. “I hate seeing you kids hurt, why would anyone want to do this to my foxes?”, Abby cut the last of the stitches off with small scissors and stared down at her handiwork. “I’m sorry”, Kevin whispered, unable to look her in the eye. Abby leaned over and placed a gentle kiss onto Kevin’s forehead before slowly turning him to check his back and, by her choked gasp, it was a mess. “Kevin”, she whispered, sorrow weighing her words down and making Kevin feel guilty for hurting her. “I’m sorry”, he whispered again, slowly pulling his legs to his chest with a wince and resting his head on his knees.

“The Wesninski kid is ‘fine’ apparently, but he wouldn’t let me go back to you without him coming along”, Wymack sighed as he pushed open the door and led Neil and Andrew into the room, “this blonde one threatened me with a fucking knife”. Neil took one look at Kevin and turned to leave the room only to be stopped as Wymack grabbed him by the shoulders and pushed him away from the door, “we’re not having anymore injuries today, do you fucking hear me?” Neil snorted and tried to shake him off, “you’re not my Coach”. Wymack pushed Neil away and gave a warning look over his shoulder to Andrew, “congratulations, I don’t care”. Neil sighed in frustration and dropped down to Kevin, cupping his face in his hands, “I shouldn’t have fucking left you”. Kevin pushed his hands off weakly and dropped their foreheads together, placing a small kiss against Neil’s lips, “it’s not your fault so shut up and come back with me”. He didn’t open his eyes to see Neil’s reaction, but by the sound of Neil’s sigh he guessed that he finally won the argument. “Yay, we’re coming home with you, big guy”, Andrew kicked the back of Wymack’s foot and walked over to Kevin, “you look like shit”. Kevin huffed a tired laugh and pulled his head away from Neil’s. “I didn’t invite you two to come back with us”, Wymack grunted, but he called Matt to warn the others of the new arrivals anyway. “There you go”, Abby whispered as she finished stitching Kevin’s back, “that’s going to leave quite the scar, but we’ll cross that bridge when we get to it”. She helped Kevin back into his blazer, balling up the torn shirt in her hands and shoving it into the provided bin in the corner of the bathroom. She turned and watched as Andrew and Neil helped Kevin up with a small smile, “welcome to the team, boys”.

#aftg #aftg trilogy #nora sakavic #tfc #all for the game #kevin day #neil josten #kevneil #aftg textpost #kevaaron #aaron minyard #andrew minyard #matt boyd #the foxhole court #nicky hemmick

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your-turn-to-role · 4 years ago

Note

While Trent doesn't seem to want Caleb dead, that could mean horrible things are in store for Jester and Veth. Caleb is very protective of Veth, and thinks the world of Jester. So the bargain might be Caleb now works for Trent, or his friends suffer the consequences. They may be forced to explain the issue of the tombtakers, at which point Trent can profess confusion over why Caleb didn't just ask for help from his once mentor. Surely this unpleasantness could have been avoided? Tsk, tsk child.

okay, i was thinking of the bargain as a whole group decision but if it’s just caleb? yeah, for sure, he has a bunch of ways he could mess with him

and that’s definitely one of them! trent wants caleb back but he doesn’t give a fuck about the rest of the nein, they’re disposable

i will say, threatening the nein isn’t a sustainable plan? if he wants caleb back for good, he’s going to need to get caleb to a point where he believes in the cause again, otherwise he’s always going to be dealing with the possibility of caleb running away, and he’d definitely never be able to trust caleb to go out on missions. it’s also just making caleb distracted in thinking of ways to free his friends

it would be a good plan to find out exactly what dunamancy caleb knows, because that’s a major piece of information he has that trent doesn’t, and trent doesn’t like that. trent also trains torturers, interrogators, assassins, he knows how to leverage something like that to get exactly what he wants out of caleb, so in the short term, the direct threat may be very valuable

(also, you know, if they waste too long here lucien wins so who knows how that’s going to go, but for the sake of the rest of this post im assuming it gets dealt with relatively safely by someone)

but in the long term, trent’s more subtle than that. and he’s also got the title of exandria’s most prolific child abuser under his belt, like, he knows how this shit works, and thanks to 110 we know caleb’s not immune to his bullshit. caleb hates him, for sure, he’s never going to look up to trent again, but trent doesn’t need that, he just needs caleb to do what he wants him to. so you isolate him from his friends, not by killing them, that’s too direct, but rather, get caleb away from them, keep his friends from getting to him, and convince him they hate him now, it’s not like there’s no evidence, veth called him a murderer twice, look at the bloodbath he caused in here, he put everyone in danger, and for what? and what did you really do here, anyway, your dispel magics didn’t work, you killed all those people, did that really need to happen? or, better yet, use caleb’s hatred of trent, look how powerful you are, the guards here didn’t stand a chance, i knew you had the potential to be my best student, you’ve always been my favourite. your friends could learn a thing or two from you.

i can’t think of any way to get caleb feeling horrified over what he did quicker than that. and if worst comes to worst trent still has a modify memory to drive the point home. convince him that the nein can’t stand to see his face again, and you’ve gotten rid of one of his major supports. and without the nein, who does he have left? there’s essek, who’d understand, but do you really think you can get to essek without leading trent to him? trent who has plenty of reasons to want essek dead, and the means to kill him? going to essek will end with essek dead, and surely even you aren’t that despicable, right? yussa doesn’t want to get involved with the cerberus. allura would be horrified by what you’ve done, after she trusted you. all your other allies are friends and family of the rest of the nein, you lost those connections when you lost them. what family do you have, bren? you burned those bridges rather literally, i think.

so now you’ve got a caleb who won’t leave, because he has nowhere else to go, and he’s scared of what you’ll do to those he cares about if he escapes. but your only leverage right now is still just the nein as hostages, and that only works for so long. so your next chess pieces? astrid and wulf. they don’t even need to be willingly going along with it, trent’s proven he’s just as willing to manipulate them as caleb. but caleb still has hope for them, he’s not optimistic they can be saved, but he wants it, he cares for them a lot and knows they deserve better than this.

what happens if you punish astrid for helping them? if you’ve captured caleb, you certainly know by now she did. yet another thing that’s caleb’s fault, but this is an old familiar dynamic. you tell trent only what you have to, you keep each other safe, and look, she didn’t rat you out to him, she helped you, you know she’s done evil things but so have you and you got her hurt. she still cares about you, and god you still care about her, and wulf. trent may be keeping you prisoner here but they’re not complicit in it, they’re just as trapped. and they don’t trust you and you don’t trust them but it’s a light in the dark. people who are still on your side, after everything. you know they’ll never judge you because none of you have a leg to stand on in that argument so you put it aside and do your duty to the empire.

that duty’s changed, since caleb was a teenager, he knows it isn’t serving trent anymore. he wants to cut out everything corrupt from his nation and keep it safe. but how do you do that, on your own? how do you do that without the access to the cobalt soul you were hoping to rely on. you didn’t particularly want to change the system from the inside, because you’re terrified of that, but now you’re stuck in this situation so what else do you do? and astrid’s too ambitious, you’re scared she’ll turn into trent, but right now she’s at least a better option, she’s on your side, she’s a means to an end. you can go along with this some of the way, at least while you figure out your next step. and while i’m sure caleb in this situation would try and revert back to the time travel plan, his resources are limited and his activities are monitored. any progress caleb makes from out of the box thinking, trent can use. every step caleb takes to help his former friends breaks down another of his moral boundaries, and that trent can use. if he can keep putting those scenarios in front of the trio, where if they take the job he wins and if they don’t take the job he wins, then what do they do about that? every day that goes by caleb gets a bit less sure of his footing, gets more willing to take morally grey paths to an end, gets easier to push in a direction. you can’t break someone and rebuild them overnight, but you sure can slowly mold them into a shape of your choosing. transactional thinking, the darker it gets the more caleb can justify more of those deals, go with what trent says on this one because it’ll get him something he wants, keep working on an abstract goal of his own while he makes concrete steps towards trent’s

it’s a flawless plan, if not for the fact that the nein keep throwing spanners in the works. and all this relies on keeping them away. if they can fight their way back to caleb, there goes most of trent’s power, and he may lose more than expected, because i don’t see a scenario where the m9 forcibly break caleb away from that and astrid and wulf don’t go with him

#i don't actually think the latter is likely to be actually played out on the show #(though the deal for dunamancy secrets might)#but looking at this just from a character perspective #yeah that's a thing trent could do #abuse tw #probably a necessary tag there #cr2 #cr spoilers #caleb widogast #trent ikithon #astrid beck #eodwulf grieve #cr thoughts #text #meta #ask #Anonymous

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mercy-burning · 4 years ago

Text

A Fire I Can’t Put Out (Songbird Chapter 2)

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader Summary: One week later, a chance encounter leads Reader and Spencer to each other once again. Rating: 18+ Warnings: Smut (exhibitionism, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, creampie, thigh riding, male masturbation, fingering, oral sex - male and female receiving, multiple orgasms), Language Word Count: 10k (I got really carried away lol)

SERIES MASTERLIST SERIES PLAYLIST (new songs added with the release of each chapter)

NOTE: Alas! Our first inkling of fluff! While this chapter is very spicy (you get 2 smut scenes 😉), there’s also a very cute, fluffy moment at the piano that I hope you all enjoy! (Just thinking about it makes me all warm and fuzzy inside...) See you on Valentine’s Day for Chapter 3! 🥰

(Also, everyone should listen to the song I added to the end, it’s BEAUTIFUL and I changed the song/title of the chapter to match it last minute, because I just discovered it and it was too perfect not to use lol)

***

The note felt like it was burning a hole in my pocket. It may have one time been a crumpled receipt, but now it was a searing reminder of the one time in my life that I'd broken my own rule and allowed a man to stay. It hummed ferociously, screaming at me to do everything in my power to find him again and finally learn his name at the very least.

Because that was the thing that bugged me the most. I thought that by refusing to learn his name that night, I would save myself the potential attachment, but it turns out all that did was make me even more attached to him.

I tried to convince myself over and over that it was just because he fucked me so good I thought I hurdled through space and time, and not because he was incredibly gorgeous, respectful, and pretty much downright perfect. Maybe it was all of those things rolled into one perfect, blissful night that was meant to be just that—a one-night stand. The one-night stand, if you will.

But no matter what I tried to tell myself, my thoughts always drifted back to him. S...

What could his name be? Steven? Sam? Scott? Sonny? Saxon?

I didn't want to think about it anymore. Maybe his name didn't even start with S... Maybe he meant it to mean Stranger. That was possible, right?

That was probably it. That had to be it, otherwise I was going to lose my mind trying to figure it out when there was a high chance I was never even going to see him again.

My fingers drifted over the piano keys and tried to play anything, anything from memory, anything from scratch? God, just play something... And when I finally did feel my fingers press down into the keys, I didn't register what the song was until I was singing the words.

"Say you'll remember me..."

"No!" I slammed my hands on the keys and then leaned forward on my elbows, resting my head in my hands as the loud array of notes faded into the bright, morning air. I took a deep breath and started to laugh to myself. "What the hell, Y/N..."

He wanted to be remembered, right? He wanted me to remember him. And by leaving the first letter of his name—and a note in the first place—that surely meant that he hoped I'd see him again, right? Or that I'd try to find him? Maybe that was his subtle way of telling me he'd be at the bar for the next open mic night, just in case I decided to show up again.

Or, maybe he was just being a decent human being, Y/N, you know shit like that doesn't happen in real life. Don't fucking fall for it.

I sighed and hit random keys on the piano again before getting up and deciding to take a drive.

When even music didn't take my mind off anything—which was almost never—driving always seemed to do the trick. Sure, there was usually more room for thinking when it came to driving, but for me, it was almost panic-inducing if I wasn't giving the road my full, undivided attention. It's not that I was bad at driving, but I certainly wasn't great at paying attention unless I was fully committed. Since I didn't want to seriously injure myself or die in a car wreck, I found that the best option to get my mind off of anything that was troubling me was to just drive.

It hadn't failed me yet, but maybe this would be the thing that finally sent me flying off a bridge and into a river.

I promptly decided not to think about that.

While I was going out I figured I'd stop by the coffee shop on my way out of town, that way I'd at least have a nice iced coffee to indulge in while I just wandered around. I made sure my driving playlist was downloaded to my phone before also grabbing my bag and keys, and then leaving the apartment.

***

"Hi, I'll take a large vanilla iced coffee, please."

"Will that be all?"

I smiled at the barista, whose nametag read Reyna. "Yes."

"Okay, your total is $3.50."

After handing her a five-dollar bill and putting the change in the tip jar, I stood on the other side of the counter to wait for my order and scrolled through my phone as the next person came up and ordered. It didn't take long, which I was more or less thankful for, but when I turned around, I ran right into someone's back and almost dropped my coffee.

"Whoa! I'm so sorry!"

I instinctively looked down to make sure I didn't spill anything, or that the person I ran into didn't spill anything, and when I finally looked up to apologize to their face, I froze and almost dropped my coffee anyway.

There was no fucking way.

"Hey, Stranger," he said almost nervously, his cheeks flushed.

I wasn't sure when I actually answered, but it seemed like forever because I was just so shocked that I actually fucking saw him again. I truly didn't think in a million years I would live in a moment like this, but there I was, taking in this man in all his beautiful glory.

He was more dressed up than the last time I saw him, maybe for work, or maybe that's just how he dressed sometimes. Whatever the case, I didn't give a shit because it was hot as hell. The color of his corduroy jacket was the same as his eyes, which now that I could see him in better lighting were lighter than I remembered. Under it was a white dress shirt and some type of olive green vest. His hair was still messy and downright tug-able, light curls framing parts of his face. Which was currently in the process of taking me in as well.

I smiled at him, though I wasn't sure if it was coming off as too excited, revealing myself to him, or if it was underwhelming. Or maybe it was just right?

Oh, who cares, Y/N, just fucking say something back!

"Hey, yourself. I... can't believe I ran into you again."

My stomach flipped at the way he smiled back at me, like he was almost nervous to be in my presence. Like I would have shooed him away rather than acknowledge him. He was fucking nervous and I found it incredibly endearing. It was such a contrast to... that night. Once he gained confidence, he was really something... But even now he still was really something, just in a different way, as he visibly tried to find the right words to say.

Finally, he settled on, "Yeah, I... I didn't think I'd see you again. It's... a nice surprise."

Understatement of the century, I thought as I waited for him to speak again. His voice was so... I didn't know how to describe it, other than to say it was so fitting for him, and therefore it was perfect.

Was that weird? Was I being weird?

"Do, um... Do you want to sit down?" I offered, gesturing to the tables on the other side of the café.

"Oh, I don't want to keep you if you're busy, I—"

"Nah, I had nothing going on today, trust me." I gave him a wink as we started making our way to the sitting area. "Besides, Stranger, if we're gonna keep meeting like this, I'm gonna need to at least know your name, don't you think?"

He laughed a little before shrugging, waiting until we sat down across from each other to respond. "I don't know, I... I think I like hearing you call me Stranger. It has a nice ring to it."

We both took a sip from our drinks, our eyes never losing their contact. By the way his face turned even redder, I would have thought he'd look away first, but he didn't. I had to wonder if he didn't look away because he didn't want to, or if he couldn't. Either way, I liked it.

"So, Stranger, tell me..." I said, setting my drink down and folding my hands over the table. "You been thinking about me as much as I've been thinking about you lately?"

I could tell he hadn't been expecting that question, because for a second it looked like he was choking on his drink. He coughed before setting it down, though his hand never left the cup. "I— Y—you've been thinking about me?"

Suddenly remembering the note in my pocket, I scrambled to get it out. And as he looked at me, still shocked but a little puzzled now, too, I started to wonder if maybe it was a stupid idea. But there was no stopping it, now, because that would have been even more puzzling, not to mention embarrassing on my part.

I un-crumpled the note and held it in my hands, outward so he could see his handwriting. "I've been staring at this thing and carrying it around with me everywhere in my pocket for the past week, dude."

It looked like he was trying to hide a smile, and failing miserably at it. "So... Leaving the note was a good idea, then, huh?"

I smiled, though trying to hide it wasn't even an option. "Well, it certainly got me thinking about putting a name to the face... and the body... But in all honesty I think I would have been thinking about you regardless."

He studied me for a moment, and an unfamiliar feeling in my stomach just about sucker-punched me at the way he did it, his face softening and just getting lost in thought. Or me, though I didn't want to flatter myself. Even still, the thought of him being completely lost in my presence, in my just being here, discussing our brief past, was enough to tighten the knot in my stomach.

I couldn't tell if I liked that feeling or not.

Because while my body certainly seemed to like this uncharted territory, something tugged at the pant leg of my brain like a small child, looking up at me and saying with sad eyes that they wanted to leave and go home, back to the comfort and safety of what they already knew. And who was I to deny that?

But at the same time, I couldn't for the life of me let this man go. I wanted, ached to know more about him.

I was intoxicated, and it scared the ever-loving fuck out of me.

"Can I tell you my name?" His voice almost made me jump.

I considered it for a moment, before ultimately deciding that it would be a good small step to take. "Yes."

"Will you tell me your name?"

"Maybe."

We both smiled at each other for a few seconds before an idea came to my mind. He was about to tell me his name right then I think, but I held up my hand and leaned forward, tilting my chin up a little. "You know what... Before you tell me, I wanna know something... Have you ever fucked anyone in a public restroom?"

If he'd had any coffee in his mouth, it surely would have been all over the place right then. Instantly his eyes widened and he looked around the room as his cheeks flushed redder than I'd ever seen them. "What are you doing?" he gushed out really fast, almost refusing to look me in the eye.

"Giving you a deal. No one uses the restrooms here because people are always rushing in and out to grab coffee, or there's hardly anyone here to use them anyway. Bottom line is: we can easily be inconspicuous. So here's what I'm offering."

"This isn't a good idea—"

"You don't have to agree, obviously, but hear me out."

I waited for further resistance, but he just blinked at me, and I took that as my cue. "I'm gonna get up and walk to the women's room. You'll follow me after about a minute, and if you can make me cum twice then we can exchange names and numbers."

"We... We can do that without the exhibitionism, though, you know that, right?" He spoke as if anyone would be able to hear him if he wasn't quiet enough.

"Of course. But... I really haven't been able to stop thinking about you, and judging by the way you're shifting in your seat I can tell you're strongly considering taking me up on my offer. Because you haven't been able to stop thinking about me, either. And you really want to fuck me again, probably almost as much as I want to fuck you again. So what do you say?"

He still didn't speak, only stared at me, which left me to wonder what he was thinking. If anything, he almost looked a little petrified, so last minute I decided to take a little pity on him.

"Okay, new plan. I'm still going to go into the bathroom and wait a minute for you, two tops. I am gonna give you this, though..." I grabbed a napkin, a pen from my bag, and wrote my number down on it before sliding it to his side of the table. "I'll wait for you. If you don't want to go through with this, you can leave. But then you're gonna call me later, and we'll set a date to meet up if you want. How's that sound?"

I think he was completely overwhelmed by my ultimatum, because he still didn't say anything. Though this time he seemed... awed. Not necessarily as embarrassed as he was before, but more enchanted with the idea of what I was offering, the way I presented everything to him.

Figuring that was a good sign, I winked at him and made it a point to walk to the bathroom as seductively as I could without being too obvious.

Though, the further I got, and the longer I waited in the bathroom, the more I wondered if he'd already left the café. And then it started to dawn on me that I might have acted like an asshole, giving ultimatums to a man who was just trying to tell me his name. Why couldn't I have just let him tell me? We were right there, and I had to go ahead and turn it into a fucking game... And for what? So I could get laid? The thing is, I was so sure he liked me enough that after he told me his name we probably could have gone somewhere private and—

The door opened, and I was about to yell at whoever it was that someone was in the room already, but then I saw his face and felt myself relax.

"Hey, I'm... I'm sorry if I pressured you into doing this," I said sincerely, as he locked the door behind him. "We really don't have to if you don't want, I was... I was just trying to... I don't know, be mysterious or something? Which, I guess I can be, but I promise I'm not usually like this, and—"

"Hey, it's alright. I promise. Now... I don't mean to change the subject so quickly, but I do believe I owe you two orgasms. And I don't want us to get caught, so I'd like to get to it if you don't mind."

Holy fucking shit..

"You really know how to get a girl to shut up, Stranger," I said, grabbing him by the jacket and pulling him to me. I looked up into his eyes and smirked, walking us backwards until I hit the counter, just beside the sink. "How fast do you think you can get me there?"

A small smirk twitched at his lips before he surprisingly lifted me up and promptly sat me on the counter. "Depends... You gonna keep talking or are you going to let me do my job?"

The low tone in his voice was unlike anything I'd heard from him thus far, and it lit this fire in me that I didn't know I had. With a small, involuntary moan, I spread my legs wide and let him stand between them. He pulled me in for a long, hot kiss before dropping to the ground and wiggling me out of my pants. He ended up taking off my shoes, too, so he could slip my pants and underwear off my body completely. No sooner than they hit the floor did he get to work, his hands coming up to spread my legs once again, propping my heels up on his shoulders.

Unfortunately I couldn't keep myself from moaning out as he worked my pussy with his mouth, each long, wet drag of his tongue adding fuel to the fire he'd already kindled within me. I tried to bite my fist, hoping it would muffle some of the sounds, but it wasn't working.

I was thinking about calling the whole thing off and going somewhere we wouldn't get in trouble, when he seemed to have another idea.

Before I knew what was happening, my panties were shoved in my mouth, and my eyes were rolling to the back of my head as he slipped a finger inside of me with ease. In no time I felt my orgasm creeping up on me, every pump of his fingers and every quick, meticulous flick of his tongue on my clit getting faster and faster with each passing second. I shrieked into the ball of fabric as quietly as I could manage as I started to fall, clenching and shaking around him in record time.

Once I relaxed, he pulled himself away from me and stood up, licking his fingers clean and working at his belt as I stared at him with pleading eyes. I wanted to take the panties out of my mouth, but I knew that if I did I probably wouldn't be able to keep quiet. And the fact that he'd put them there in the first place, after so clearly being flustered at my suggestion to go have a quick fuck in a public restroom, completely turned me on and made me want him even more.

I did manage a pretty decent moan when he finally came forward and lined himself up with my waiting pussy. He smiled a little before leaning forward, never entering me but running his dick over it, coating himself with my arousal. He leaned his head in and brushed my hair from my neck before kissing it, and even softly biting me. If it was going to leave bruises, I didn't care. I welcomed every kiss, every lick and bite, and every slow, excruciating drag of his cock along my pussy.

He slid the tip of himself into me for a second before pulling out and moving my face with his hand, gripping my jaw and making me look at him. I whimpered at the loss of contact where I was clenching around nothing, patiently waiting for him, and also at the gain of our eye contact. I genuinely had no idea what he was going to do next, but I hoped it involved some semblance of a repeat of last time.

But once again, he surprised me, leaning forward and bringing his mouth to mine, ripping the panties from my mouth using his own. He leaned back, the pale blue fabric hanging from his teeth, and the sight drove me absolutely wild. It didn't help that he kept them in his mouth as he slapped my clit with his dick, and it took everything I had not to moan obscenely. He could tell, too, because he brought a hand to cover my mouth right as he pushed into me and held himself there.

He tossed his head to the side and dropped my panties on the ground, then ran his hands along the insides of my legs and rested them on my thighs. "I'll keep going as long as you keep quiet."

"You probably should have kept the panties in my mouth, then," I breathed, clenching myself around him and feeling him grip my skin tighter.

"Guess you'll just have to try and be quiet like a good girl, then, won't you?"

The whimper that escaped me was utterly pathetic. And I loved it.

Needing this to get going now, I reached forward and grabbed his hips, urging him to start moving, and thankfully he did. It was slow at first as we both just savored the feeling of being together like this again.

But in a matter of seconds all pleasantries were thrown out the window, and he slid his hands up to grip my waist as he pounded into me as quietly as he could. To ensure the skin-on-skin slapping wasn't too loud, he kept his thrusts short and staccato, but incredibly deep, setting my insides on fire and making me clutch onto the back of his ass for dear life. I tried so hard not to yell out that I was pretty sure my nails broke through his skin. He hissed out sharply, confirming that I was hurting him, so I let him go and opted to for gripping his shirt instead. I drew him closer, that way I could kiss him and feel all of him at once.

I might have also needed to find some way to keep myself quiet.

I moaned into his mouth as he kissed me back, every swipe of his tongue somehow managing to perfectly find a rhythm in tandem with his thrusts, despite how rushed and sloppy we were being.

It wasn't long before I felt myself start to fall apart, my hands clutching onto his jacket for dear life as my stomach started to knot. "Gonna cum, gonna cum," I murmured into his mouth, and he pulled away to kiss my neck.

My arms wrapped around him and pulled him as close to me as room would allow, right as my eyes squeezed shut and I saw stars, my second orgasm quick and intense. I mumbled little 'uh-huh's into his mouth as he fucked me through it, and when I was done, he pulled out, leaving me dazed but also confused.

It looked like it pained him to pull his pants up and tuck his still-hard dick away, so I reached out. "Why didn't you finish? We're in a bathroom, I can clean up just fine..."

"My orgasm wasn't part of the deal," he stated simply, straightening his clothes and trying to get comfortable.

"So, what, you're just going to walk around town with a boner?"

"No. It'll go away soon, I'll be fine." Once his clothes were all the way on, he reached into his jacket pocket, handed me a slip of paper—a business card it looked like—and kissed me quickly one more time. "Besides, the next time I cum inside you, I'd like to hear you saying my name."

And then he walked out of the bathroom without another word, grabbing my panties and shoving them in his jacket pocket as an afterthought before he disappeared.

I don't think I moved for a good minute or two before I finally looked down at the card and read his note. He must have written it down before he came in here.

Y/N, I heard them call your name at open mic night, and that's when I knew. I'm free tomorrow night. I hope you'll call. —Stranger

I turned the card over and saw his number, followed by his name.

Dr. Spencer Reid.

***

The second I got home, I ran to the bathroom and fixed my... problem... I wanted so badly back in the café to finish what I started, but I'd meant what I told her. I'd sighed her name out as I touched myself the few times since I'd met her, and I could only imagine what it would finally sound like to hear her say my name. I knew she could already tear me apart at her touch, but I wanted desperately to know if my name on her tongue would have the same effect.

I was almost positive it would, but I just needed to know.

It surprisingly didn't take long for me to finish, just the mere thought of her face and the way she looked at me as I shoved her underwear in her mouth enough to take me to the edge. And finally, when I felt them practically bruning a hole in my pocket, I tensed and sighed out her name, cum spilling out over my hand and into the toilet.

The orgasm should have calmed me down, should have relaxed me, but instead, as I cleaned up and changed into different clothes, I wondered if she would actually call me.

First of all, it was a wonder I'd ran into her at all. Truthfully, I didn't think I was ever going to see her again, and when I heard her voice call out an apology for bumping into me, I really thought I was dreaming. And yet, there she was, right in front of me in all her beautiful glory.

So when she offered to sit down with me, I couldn't say no. And when she asked, You been thinking about me as much as I've been thinking about you lately? ... I was pretty sure I couldn't breathe. I didn't tend to think of myself as the type of guy who would leave that good of an impression, so hearing her of all people say that sent my heart—and stomach—into a mess of flutters.

And though the confidence I had in my ability to flirt with women in any capacity was very slim, I must have done something right. Because when I picked up the phone later that night and heard a low, "Hey, Stranger," through the speaker, I couldn't stop smiling. "Or should I call you Doctor?"

***

"YN... I'm really glad you called."

Hearing him say my name for the first time did something to me I couldn't explain. The way he said it was innocent enough, but it still made me beam with excitement.

I was curled up on my couch, wrapped in a robe after my shower and having been contemplating whether or not to call all afternoon.

I didn't want to wait too long in case he ended up making other plans or something, but I was also apprehensive. Because as much as I wanted to keep seeing Spencer, I wasn't sure I could handle breaking his heart. That's what always happened, didn't it? I started seeing someone, things would be great for the first few months, and then as they fell more in love with me I fell more out of love with them. But even then I wasn't sure I could call it that, because I never fell in love with them in the first place. Not even gotten close to it.

Would... Spencer be different? It was hard to tell. He'd already made me feel things I'd never felt before, so maybe this time would be different.

Or maybe that would just make it hurt even more when I inevitably pushed him away.

But I didn't want to think about that. All I knew in the moment was that he intrigued me, and for the first time in my life I actually wanted to to be near him almost every second of the day. Even when I wasn't thinking about him, my body was buzzing with the aftermath of him. His entire being was so magnetic that I couldn't help but be drawn to him. Even if, ultimately, I knew it would end with one or both of us in shambles, I wanted it. I wanted him more than anything, to be with him, to see him smile, to hear him talk...

That little kid that was tugging on my pant leg earlier, warning me that it was time to go home, was screaming now. Scared for its life and begging for me to turn back.

And for some reason, against my better judgement, I ignored it.

"You really knew my name the whole time and didn't tell me?"

From the pause on the other end of the line, I could tell he must have been nervous. I could see him in my head, looking down at his twitching hands as he tried to find some explanation. "Um... Well, you said you didn't want to know names, so I... thought I'd keep quiet. I hope you're not mad about that..."

I smiled. "No, I'm not mad. It was nice of you." I paused a beat before changing the subject. "So, uh... Tomorrow night..."

"Oh... Yeah, I travel quite a bit for work, and I don't get many days off, but tomorrow night is the only time I'm free for a while. So I guess it was a good thing I ran into you when I did."

"Hmm... I guess you're right. In that case, I should probably take it easy on you. Wouldn't want to wear you out or anything."

He laughed a little, and warmth bloomed in my chest at the sound. I imagined seeing him smile, which made it fully blossom. "No need. You... You could wear me out any day."

"Careful what you wish for, Stranger. Time and place?"

"I can be by your place at 6? I'll even bring food if you want."

I paused, suddenly reminded of the screaming child again. This time it was yelling, "It's not safe! Don't let him in, please!"

But God damn it, I wanted to so bad...

"Uh, sure," I finally answered, playing with the hem of my robe anxiously. "You... remember where it is? As I recall, you were pretty nervous the last time you were here, and kind of occupied with... other things."

"Oh, I—I remember everything, pretty much. I know where to go, it's okay."

He didn't elaborate. I kind of wanted him to, but figured the less I knew about him the better. I was invested in him enough already, and knowing more would just plunge me in deeper than I was comfortable with. So, I told him, "Alright. If you need directions or anything though, let me know. Should I be... wearing anything in particular when you get here, Doctor?"

The line was silent, and I could picture that little shocked expression on his face, the one he got every time I said something suggestive that he wasn't expecting. It was cute. "A—Anything you want will be fine..."

I laughed and bit my lip, leaning back into the couch. "Okay... See you later then. Tomorrow night, 6PM."

"Tomorrow night. 6PM. Goodnight, Y/N."

My face felt warm and my stomach fluttered as I curled into myself and smiled into the phone. "Goodnight, Spencer."

What surprised me most about that night was that I didn't hang up right after. I waited. And waited, until he hung up, just in case he said anything else. And I think he was in the same mindset, because we sat in silence for a good fifteen seconds before I finally hung up, shaking my head and wondering if he thought that was weird.

As it turns out, he didn't.

About ten minutes later, as I was getting into bed, I got a text message that read: I hope you know that I always have your song stuck in my head. The one from the bar. I hope you'll sing to me again one day.

I promptly sent back: If you're a good boy for me tomorrow, I just might, and set my phone on my dresser, ignoring the way my heart swelled at his sentiment.

Sleep didn't come easily that night. And when I did finally drift off, my dreams were about Spencer.

***

Usually I was decently confident when it came to my 'date' outfits. I knew what looked good on me, and I knew what made other people go, "Holy shit," under their breath when they saw me, so it should have been easy. And to some degree it was, but with all these weird feelings I was having lately, I was second-guessing myself.

But no matter how badly I second-guessed my decision, I stuck with what I knew best, wearing a thin black long-sleeved shirt with a low neckline and form-fitting jeans that flared at the bottom. A necklace with a silver diamond that matched my belly-button ring sat nicely at my chest, right above my cleavage. I opted to leave my hair down in long, loose curls that curled away from my face, and framed my eyes with simple black eyeliner and mascara, leaving my lips alone with a peppermint chap stick. Remembering how Spencer had complimented and basically worshipped my hands, I accented them with a deep purple nail polish that almost looked black if there wasn't any light shining on them. I put on a few rings that matched my other body jewelry and wore a thin, braided rope bracelet that my sister made me for my thirteenth birthday. Since I didn't think we were going anywhere, I only wore black ankle-length socks, but kept a pair of simple black heeled boots by the door in case we did decide to leave.

As for my... undergarments, I chose a nice black lace set that I only brought out on rare occasions, and I felt like it fit. The material was sheer and lacy, and that was about it. It was simple, but sexy, and that's what I loved about it. And if I knew Spencer's taste as well as I thought I did, I was pretty sure he would love it, too.

And that fact alone was enough to snap me out of my worry.

Kind of. I mean, he was still coming to my apartment, and I was almost certain that he was going to look around and probably ask some questions about things. Which, normally wouldn't be a bad thing, and in a way it really wasn't, but it still made me nervous...

I just hoped that I could keep him occupied enough so that I wouldn't have to deal with it too much.

There was a knock at my door, and I was thankful, finally pulled out of my head and into the world around me. I got up and opened the door with a smile, leaning against it slightly and taking him in.

"Hey, Stranger," I drawled, giving him a wink as I stepped aside to let him in.

But he didn't come in. Not until he was done taking me in, of course. "You... Wow, uh, hi," he stammered, holding out a bag that had to be takeout. "You look great."

As he walked in, I shut the door behind him and looked at his backside before he turned around. "Speak for yourself."

He took off his shoes, which revealed one red striped sock and one purple and blue polkadotted one, which made me smile. He wore simple grey corduroy pants and a purple sweater that matched my nail polish almost perfectly. His hair was just as perfect as it was the last two times I saw him, rightfully messy and curly that made me want to skip dinner all together and get right to dessert.

I even told him as much.

"You're kinda making me want to skip dinner."

"Oh, we... We can eat after if you want to, I don't mind," he offered kindly. It was sweet.

I laughed and walked up to him, bringing my right hand up to run my fingers through his hair. Then I leaned up and kissed him hotly on the lips for a few seconds before pulling away and letting out a low 'hmmm'. "Probably a good idea, but I'm starving."

I turned and started to the kitchen, throwing back over my shoulder, "That okay with you?"

"Y—Yeah, of course."

I turned on the light above the table before pulling out a chair for him with a smile. "I didn't really eat much today, so takeout sounded really good. I hope you didn't have to go too far out of your way to grab it, otherwise I could have made something here."

He sat down and I went to the other side of the kitchen to grab forks and plates. "Oh! No, it was alright, it was on the way over. Plus, I guess I don't really mind the travel, since I already do so much of it."

"Right, you mentioned that," I confirmed, taking a seat across from him. My dining room table was small, since my apartment wasn't that big. Even sitting across from one another, if Spencer and I reached our arms out across the table, we would have been able to reach each other's shoulders.

"Hey, do you want anything to drink?" I asked. "I've got some white whine in the fridge, otherwise I also have water, milk, and I think some Sprite."

"Oh, uh... Water is fine, thank you."

As I got up to get it, he got out the food. "Not a drinker?" I wondered aloud, grabbing glasses and the pitcher of water from the fridge.

"Not really. I'll have one on occasion, but if I'm driving I like to steer clear."

So, he wasn't planning on staying the night, then... Ultimately that was a good thing, but a small part of me admittedly felt disappointed. Regardless, I didn't let it show. "Makes sense. I don't drink a lot either, but I've been known to have a good time occasionally. And I always need white wine in the house, that's a rule of mine."

I didn't see his smile, but I could feel it. Was that weird? Feeling a smile? I'd never been able to tell, never noticed that before, but right then I just knew it was there.

But maybe it was just the way he said, "Fair enough," that made me certain.

Whatever the case, I shook the feeling and made my way back to the table with full glasses of water.

We ate with few words between us, though occasionally Spencer would throw out a random fact about the origins of the food we ate, or we exchanged small stories of both of our inabilities to use chopsticks. It was nice, being able to eat with him and not have to talk about where I was from or what my family was like. I never liked sharing that much of myself with someone that soon, let alone at all, so I was thankful for the ease our conversation carried.

Though, at one point he asked, "So, you're a musician? Is it full-time?" And it stopped me in my tracks a little. I loved music, and I was definitely passionate about it, but again, it was so personal to me that for some reason my brain kept sending me signals to turn around and change the subject.

But it was an innocent question. And I used music to my advantage all the time, it wasn't a secret that I was good at it, so I could give him an answer. And I knew that I didn't have to tell him anything I didn't want to, so I just needed to get my shit together and stop worrying. I had to remind myself that not everyone was going to use the things I tell them to hurt me. Truthfully I don't know why I was so paranoid by that, because it never happened, but I chalked it up to just looking for any excuse to keep myself closed off.

I brushed off all the discomfort and doubt I had, and took a drink of water before answering truthfully. "It's not full-time, but I think I'd like it to be. I definitely love it enough, but whether I could handle the stress of being a full-time musician or not is... well, it has yet to be seen."

"Do you write your own songs?"

"Mhm. Have been since I could talk, really. But whenever I perform it's usually covers that everyone knows. Easier to get them excited, anyway."

Spencer smiled, leaning forward a little. "You know, actually I'd never heard the song you sang at the bar that night... That was a cover?"

"Yeah. You don't listen to the radio?"

"Not really. If it all sounds like that, I may have to start, though I'm pretty sure it's not."

I laughed a little. "You'd be right about that... Still, the radio has its merits. I'm a fan of more independent stuff myself, but I keep up to date with what's new. Kinda have to."

"Why's that?"

I chewed my lip for a moment before answering. "Well, I don't do it full-time since I have a day job, but on the side I've helped with writing and producing other peoples' stuff, and a lot of it is what you hear on the radio, so..."

"Oh, that's really cool," he mused, and his eyes gave away that he genuinely seemed impressed. I almost blushed at the sight. "Y'know, I'm sure if you did decide that you could handle the stress of being a full-time musician, everyone would love you."

I laughed again. "You've never even heard my stuff."

"I don't need to," he answered truthfully. "I've heard you sing, you're incredible. And you know how to produce and write music. And, if it's good enough to be on the radio, then I know you've got nothing to worry about."

He could have just been saying that to be nice, and if it wasn't so clearly written on his face that he really believed what he was telling me, I would have thought so. Heat crept up to my cheeks, and I smiled, telling him, "Thank you," before taking another drink of water to cool myself off.

We spent the rest of the meal talking about some of our favorite music, which was a nice way to end it. We had a decent discussion about classical music (He was surprised and I think a little turned on by the fact that I knew a lot of what he was talking about in that department), and as we cleaned up the dishes he happily told me about the story behind one of my favorite classical pieces (which I didn't know and was more than glad to learn).

And while we were on the subject of music, I took him over to my piano when we finished cleaning up, which sat under the only window in the main room of the apartment. The sun was setting, casting a soft orange glow over the sleek black of the piano. Since it was a small apartment, I couldn't have a 'fancy' piano like I wanted, so it was an electric one with a few settings to change the sound. I never messed around with it though, unless I was working on something for someone else. But even then, I did that work with other people in the studio, and not at home.

"Here, sit next to me," I said, patting the small space on the bench.

We barely fit together, but it gave us an excuse to be close to each other, which I think he liked. I know I liked it, at least.

"Are you gonna play something?" he asked. "I mean, you don't have to of course, I don't want to make you or put pressure on you or anything, but..."

"I wouldn't have brought you here if I wasn't going to play you something, Stranger," I said with a laugh, turning the piano on and nudging him with my shoulder. "Though, if you don't want me to, I can think of a few other things I could do for you instead..."

I looked up at him to see his face in a flush, and I smiled, my stomach knotting in that unfamiliar way again.

"Um... Maybe when you're done playing," he said finally, reaching out to ghost over the keys with his fingers.

"Do you play?" I asked, suddenly very warm, and turned on at the idea of watching his hands work around a piano.

"A little. I... I don't know much, but I'm a fast learner."

With a small smile, I grabbed his hand and placed his fingers over certain keys to make a chord. "There. Press all of those together," I told him.

He did, and a smile broke out on his face.

"C Minor," I said. "My favorite chord."

"You have a favorite chord?"

"What, you don't?"

"I... never really thought about it."

We laughed together for a few seconds before he played the chord again, this time tapping the pedal underneath to make it ring out longer. I looked up at him with a smile, right as he looked down at me with an even bigger one. And if I didn't know any better, I'd say we got closer, even though that was impossible unless I'd sat on him. Which I didn't do. Not right then at least.

No, I cleared my throat and messed around with a few keys, trying to decide what to play. Spencer removed his hands from the keyboard as I did it, and I could feel his eyes watching my movements. The thought sent more warmth through me, and I decided to go with something familiar.

My fingers settled on the right keys and started playing the chords to Wildest Dreams. And when I started singing, I swear I felt him melt beside me. It was different from the guitar performance, because at the piano I made it sweeter. My vocals weren't as strong, and I slowed it down to make sure I got everything perfect, but made it a point to look over to him occasionally, winking as I sang some rather sultry lyrics.

When I was done, I couldn't tell what he was thinking. He looked down at me, his eyes studying my face like he was going to kiss me, but he leaned away from me, like he was deciding against it. Finally though, he spoke.

"While I appreciate the performance, it completely juxtaposes the text you sent me last night."

I really didn't know what to say, mostly because I was having a hard time remembering what I texted. I would have been able to remember any other time, but in the moment I was just too entranced by his presence and the way he was staring at me. "W—What did I say?"

My hand was still on the piano, but I felt his reach out and lightly brush over it, caressing the lengths of my fingers. "You said you might sing for me if I was good for you... We haven't done anything yet, and you still sang for me anyway."

Oh, that...

I smiled, sliding my hand out from under his and dragging my middle finger along his own, up and then back down, over and over again. "Didn't you know that I can see the future?"

He looked amused. "Oh, really?"

"Mhmm..." I kept drawing lines up his middle finger, but leaned in closer to him. "And just before you got here, I saw that you made me cum three times."

He took a moment before leaning in closer and responding, his voice barely above a whisper. "You and your ultimatums..."

"It wasn't an ultimatum. It was the future."

Our faces got closer...

"Oh, okay. I believe you."

...And closer...

"Good."

My eyes fluttered closed as he kissed me, gently and with a care that was practically butterfly-inducing. I leaned into him further, finally moving my hand up his arm and snaking up to grab his hair. As his lips parted and his tongue gently swiped over my bottom lip, I climbed up onto his lap, placing my hands around his head to anchor myself to him. He used his to grab the piano in front of him, pushing us forward a little so we wouldn't fall off the bench. The mess of notes rung out loudly in the air, much like they had the day before, right before I went to the café and ran into him.

The coincidence of it all almost made me laugh, but the humor quickly dissipated before I could, because Spencer brought one of his hands to my lower back and groaned softly into my mouth.

I moaned right back, shifting my hips slightly so that I was straddling one of his legs. He spread them wider to give me more room, and I settled nicely, grinding down and almost whining at how little friction there was between the corduroy that adorned his leg and the denim that adorned mine. That didn't stop me, though. I rode his thigh as well as I could, relishing in the way his hand pushed me further into him and his kisses got deeper and more desperate.

Eventually, though, I had enough. I pulled my mouth away from his and clumsily got off of him, standing up and unbuttoning my jeans. He turned around and reached out to help, but I put a hand on his chest and pushed him back. "Stay right there. I'm gonna finish what I started, but I need to get these damn pants off first."

He didn't argue. I held eye contact with him up until I slowly tugged my pants down and stepped out of them, lifting up my shirt a little so he could see the underwear I was wearing. As expected, his eyes wandered south, and I could have sworn I saw his pupils dilate.

But I didn't give him a lot of time to take them in. I made good on my promise and climbed up on his lap again, wrapping my arms around his neck and biting my lip as I started to ride his thigh once more. I started off slow, pressing my forehead to his and enjoying how it felt when his hands firmly grabbed onto my ass. Our lips met again, slowly and yet, also just as desperate as they had before. And with each antagonizing slow roll of my hips, his kisses got bolder, and his hands kneaded my ass, urging me to go faster.

Thankfully for him, I was feeling just as desperate as he was. So I quickened my movements on his thigh and kissed him harder, taking his bottom lip in between my teeth and tugging it before tilting my head to the other side and kissing him again. Meanwhile I could feel that burning in my lower stomach that signaled a fast-approaching orgasm. So I ground myself onto him even harder and whined in his mouth, just before pulling away to speak.

"Fuck, I'm gonna cum already," I breathed, pressing small kisses to his jaw.

Spencer squeezed my ass and leaned into my touch. "Go ahead, Y/N..."

It wasn't like he was giving me permission, but just hearing him say my name regardless sent me over the edge, and in no time I was shaking around his leg, clenching my own around him and clinging to his neck for dear life.

Once I came down, I sighed and smiled into his neck, kissing it and moving up to his ear. "Two more to go."

What he said next threw me completely off guard.

"No."

It wasn't a command, or a threat. It was a matter-of-fact statement. I pulled away and looked at him, puzzled. "What?"

He only smirked. "You said I was going to make you cum three times... You did that one all on your own."

The sultry, cocky way he said it made me melt, and I knew then that I was in some serious trouble.

The first time he made me cum was right there on the piano bench. He insisted that I sit down while he eat me out, and I wasn't one to complain. However, he did drag it out so long that by the time I actually came, it felt like I'd done it a thousand times over.

So, to give myself a little break, I returned the favor, and we made it to the kitchen before I couldn't wait any longer and promptly decided to suck him off while he leaned back against the counter. I took the same courtesy he had in dragging it out, pulling off of him completely right as he was about to cum, and I absolutely melted into a pile of nothing upon hearing how he whined and panted while I did it.

I did that in about five long, excruciating cycles before he told me it was my turn and dragged me into my bedroom.

The second time I came, he fucked me against the door, one of my legs standing on the ground while the other lifted and rested on my dresser. He didn't waste any time, just pushing my panties aside and fucking me hard and fast. And fast it was. It only took about a minute before I was convulsing around him, every nerve I had set on fire.

He let me have one more break, laying me down on the bed and taking his time stripping off the rest of my clothes. He must have spent a solid half hour just licking, biting, and teasing my breasts, his hand occasionally reaching down to graze my clit for a few strokes before returning to touch the rest of me. All the while, he slowly rutted against my thigh, moaning into my skin when he got close and stopping his movements all together for about a minute before continuing.

But I was growing impatient and squirmy. So I grabbed his face, pulled him up to kiss me, and wrapped my legs around his waist.

"Fuck me, Spencer, please," I begged, kissing his jaw and shivering at the way he whimpered hearing his name fall from my lips.

He adjusted us for a moment before sliding into me slowly, and we both let out some of the most filthy sounds I'd ever heard. Every movement and sound we made from then on was frantic, desperate, and so full of need that I was almost positive I wasn't even alive anymore. Was I even ever alive at all? Did life exist?

"I can't... I'm go—gonna..."

Spencer suddenly coming to a halt and coming inside me was all I could feel, and it brought me back to my senses. I breathed out his name as he continued emptying everything he had into me, just like he'd admitted to me that he wanted back in the coffee shop. I was close myself, but with his halted movements, I didn't get there.

As I moved one of my hands down to rub my clit, he grabbed my wrist and pinned it above my head, pulling out and then plunging back into me, causing me to gasp.

"That's my job, angel," he murmured sweetly, just as he began slowly fucking his cum into me.

If I wasn't already in trouble, that would have destroyed me.

It didn't take long before I was crying out his name and orgasming for the fourth time that night. It was the most powerful one I'd had... well, ever, if I was being honest. My back gradually lifted off the bed and my eyes were screwed so tightly it felt like they were bruising.

But God be damned if I didn't want to experience that whole feeling over and over again for the rest of my life.

He stayed there for a moment, leaning over me and brushing the softest kisses to my temple as we caught our breaths. Eventually, though, and I wasn't sure how long exactly we'd been wrapped up in each other, he pulled out and laid beside me. And if it wasn't for his cum dripping out of me, I would have probably fallen asleep right there and been happy.

As if he was able to read my mind, Spencer sat up and brushed some of the hair from my face. "I'll go get something to clean you up real quick. Don't move."

I giggled, feeling light-headed and completely blissful as I caught him in our afterglow, taking in his beauty and basking in it like the sun. "I wouldn't go anywhere even if I could."

It wasn't until he came back and started cleaning between my legs with a warm washcloth that I realized what I said.

It took even longer for me to realize that he'd grabbed and put back on his underwear and pants.

As he tossed the washcloth into the laundry basket in the corner of my room, I sat up and reached for his sweater, slipping it on before he could say otherwise. It smelled like him and fit just right, which made me feel all warm and happy.

"Did you, um... want me to stay?" he asked softly not stepping any closer.

Yes.

"It, uh... would probably be better if you left. But... You can stay for an hour or two before you go home?"

Of course it was only a suggestion, because I couldn't make him do anything. But I asked it like a question, because I really wanted him to stay, just for a little bit longer if he couldn't stay the whole night.

Spencer nodded, smiling, and looking a little relieved if I was reading him right. "You should try to go to the bathroom first. Urination after sex is essential to prevent UTIs."

Smiling, I got up from the bed and kissed him on the cheek before grabbing a pair of clean underwear from my drawer and walking to the bathroom.

When I came back with a freshly washed face, my jewelry discarded, and feeling refreshed and ready to fall asleep, he was laying on my bed with his eyes closed and his arms crossed over his bare chest. Thinking better of it, I took off his sweater and threw it at him before rummaging through my drawers for a night shirt of my own.

"You could have kept it on," he said quietly, even as he put the shirt back on himself.

I shrugged, slipping on a large brown tee-shirt and climbing into bed under the covers. "You can't go home without a shirt."

"Right..." He sounded a little sad, but maybe I was just imagining it.

I rolled over on my side and looked at him, already feeling myself start to drift off. But I forced my eyes open and reached out to brush my fingertips through his hair. "Will you stay until I fall asleep?"

"Of course," was all he said, a small smile adorning his lips.

I hummed and nestled in closer to him, and his hand came down to rub the inside of my arm.

And as much as I tried to stay awake, just so he would stay longer, inevitably I fell asleep, hearing Spencer humming the melody to my favorite classical piece.

***

My arms stretched out, seeking his warmth even though I knew it wouldn't be there. I told him, made it a point to make sure he knew he had to leave after I fell asleep.

So why did I feel saddened by his disappearance?

I groaned into my pillow and stretched my body, already feeling it ache from all that... strenuous activity from the night before. When I opened my eyes and turned my head, I saw just a glimpse of the sun peeking through the curtains in my bedroom, illuminating what looked like a piece of paper on the other pillow next to me.

I slowly sat up and grabbed it, rubbing my eyes to will myself to read it. I already figured it would be another note from Spencer, but my hear fluttered when I read it nonetheless.

Not sure when I'll be free to meet again, but I'd like to keep in touch— As much as I love when you call me Stranger, I'd prefer to be anything but.

Sweet dreams, — Stranger Spencer

Yeah. I was definitely in trouble.

***

“All my pleasure choked by pain Since I let you get away. I should’ve tied you to the bed When I had you in the flesh. Now I’m chained to the memories.

How the music played loud. How my hair came down. How you kissed my mouth With a fire I can’t put out.

Why does it feel like torture Not to have your skin on mine?”

—Liz Longley, Torture

SERIES TAGLIST: @bluesunrise02 @meowiemari @teenwolfgirl90

PERMANENT TAGLIST: @elldell1204 @muffin-cup @calm-and-doctor @slutforthegubes

(Please let me know if you’d like to be added to either taglist! Thank you!)

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#spencer reid x reader #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds smut #spencer reid smut #criminal minds #spencer reid #songbird

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amiwritesthings · 3 years ago

Note

Established deanjohn. The argument that leads to Sam leaving to Stamford were he ends up screaming at John that he knows about his relationship with Dean. Dean tries to explain but Sam starts accusing him too and John kicks him out. Cue afterwards either soft deanjohn scene or them starting fighting, leading then to a more rough scene

so i said i wasn't gonna fill this prompt BUT- here we are. just a warning, sam is, well, let's say harsh

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

Dean pinches the bridge of his nose, trying to stave off the headache he can feel coming on from hearing his father and his brother yell over his head for a solid half hour. He had given up trying to referee a few minutes ago, hovering uselessly in the middle as a buffer, just in case things turned physical.

“I’m disappointed in you, Sammy. Family comes first. Thought we raised you better than that,” John says, almost eerily calm now, and Sam bristles at the words, fists clenching tightly at his sides. Dean straightens just as a precaution, grounds his stance.

“It’s Sam, I’m not a fucking child anymore! And you really think you have a fucking leg to stand on here? Father of the year, right here, huh? Neglecting one son while fucking the other.”

Dean freezes for a second, more from the shock of Sam knowing than the actual words, his eyes, wide, unsure, flickering to Sam, who’s curled so tight Dean’s afraid he’s going to explode any second. Dean instinctively takes a step closer to his father.

“What, you think I don’t know about that fucked-up twisted thing between you two? You haven’t exactly been hiding it well, not for a long time!” Sam rages and behind him, Dean hears John draw in a breath, feels his father's body tensing, and Dean gives him a short look, silent communication – let me handle this -, before turning his attention back to Sam, stepping closer.

“Sammy-,” Dean starts but then doesn’t continue when Sam huffs, a whole-body thing, his shoulders rising, his chest puffing out, eyebrows drawing together as he narrows his eyes.

“Sam,” he corrects, ignoring the sting in his heart at being forced to do so, “whatever you think you know, it’s not-“

“It’s not what, huh, Dean?” Sam interrupts, nostrils flaring. “He’s got his dick so far up your ass, you don’t even know right from wrong anymore! You know there’s more to life than following orders and bending over, right?”

Dean reels back, feels more than sees John move behind him, only manages to turn and bring a hand up to John’s chest in the last second.

“Don’t Dad,” he tries, but John’s eyes are firmly fixed on Sam over Dean’s shoulder, furious, jaw ticking with anger, muscles tense beneath Dean's palm.

“Don’t do something you’ll regret, please, John?” Dean tries again, quieter, putting some pressure into his touch, and John finally tears his gaze away from Sam, eyes softening just a little as looks at Dean.

“Oh, it’s John, now, is it? God, I don’t know who’s more deluded, him for thinking this is okay or you for thinking you actually want this! I’m so sick of both of you!”

Dean recoils at the words, from John, from Sam, and when he finally turns to face his brother, hurt in his eyes, and says ‘c’mon Sammy, you don’t mean that’, so quietly, Sam almost – almost – seems to feel bad, his scowl softening, eyes going wide. It has the opposite effect on John, though, anger flaring, shoulder squaring, as he bellows “You wanna leave so fuckin’ bad, boy? Take your shit and go. Go to Stanford, live a normal life. But you leave now, you don’t come back, you hear me?”

Dean tries his hardest not to flinch, at the words, at the sudden determination in Sam’s eyes.

“Fine by me! You just keep living your backwater hillbilly fantasy, ruin him some more, tell yourself it’s okay. See if I fuckin’ care,” Sam yells back as he shoulders his duffel, slings his backpack over the other shoulder.

“Sam, c’mon,” Dean tries again, hovering uncertainly, itching to stop his brother from leaving but not quite daring to move.

“Sam,” Dean implores when Sam reaches for the door handle and while there’s a slight halt in the movement, it doesn’t stop his brother from opening the door. Dean tenses when fingers curl around his wrist, John’s voice low in his ear a moment later. “Let him go, son. He made his choice.”

Sam doesn’t look back when he walks out, the door falling shut behind him with a heavy thud. The silence feels suffocating, makes Dean swallow against the lump in his throat. John’s fingers are still on his wrist, a light touch that should ground him, would ground him in any other situation, the slight stroke of thumb against his pulse point.

He wrenches his hand free, rubs at the skin as if he could chase John’s touch away. He’s feeling untethered, his whole life upended with the slam of the door, a constant removed, just like that.

“Dean.”

“I need a minute,” Dean manages to choke out, stumbling over the words, stumbling away from the looming presence of his father and out into the dark.

Part of him hopes to find Sam still outside, sitting on the porch, on the curb, but there’s only darkness and rain, cold and damp, and God, he wishes they weren’t staying in this god-forsaken residential area with nothing around them for miles, wishes he was at a motel, a truck stop, somewhere with a bar around.

But here, there’s nothing, no people, no bar, no Sam. Just trees, a rotting porch and darkness. He sinks down on the steps of the porch, the rain only hitting his shoes and legs, fat drops that soak through his jeans.

He couldn’t care less.

He takes a deep breath, releases it again in a shudder, his breath forming a cloud in the cold. He wonders if Sam really meant it, if he’s really sick of them to the point where he can’t even stand being around them anymore. If the boy he’d raised, the boy he’d carried out of their burning home on unsteady feet, can’t look him in the eye anymore, can’t accept what living this life has made of their family.

And Dean knows he should feel bad about what he's doing with John, for loving his father too much, that it’s dirtybadwrong for anyone who doesn’t know this life, their circumstances, how Dean has always been more of a partner than a son.

Sam knows all of this, first hand, and he still doesn’t understand. Doesn’t want to understand.

It hurts more than anything ever has, claws at his insides, makes him feel raw and ripped open and he quickly runs a hand over his face when his eyes well up. He’s not going to cry, not over this.

Fuck Sam and his high and mighty attitude, he thinks, and his brain cheers, but his heart keeps aching regardless.

The door opens, closes softly, heavy footsteps that stop just behind him.

“It’s raining,” John says as he sinks down beside Dean on the steps, the old wood creaking ominously under their combined weight.

“Yeah,” Dean mutters, keeping his eyes on the ground, the patchy grass in the front yard, the muddy puddles forming in the spaces between.

They sit in silence for a while and Dean lets John’s presence soothe his nerves, lets his warmth seep into him where their shoulders touch. He’s thankful, for once, that they don’t talk about shit like feelings. They are Winchesters after all, stoic and focused, with no room for something as pesky as emotions.

Dean releases a shaky breath when a big hand settles heavily at the back of his neck, squeezing softly. He bites his lip against the tears surging up again, the sharp point of pain enough to keep them at bay. “C’mon, back inside.” The low rumble of John’s voice is comforting, something that bypasses his brain and goes straight to relaxing his body.

“Yeah,” he breathes, soft, as he follows John in rising, grimacing at the feel of wet jeans sticking to his legs. It’s uncomfortable, like the whole evening has been. And he’s so ready for it to be over, for all of this to be over, for John and him to get into the Impala and just drive, hunting whatever comes their way and forget about Sam.

Not tonight though. John has been drinking, he can smell it on him when he follows him inside, their shit isn’t packed and it’s coming down in sheets outside. Tonight, they are not going anywhere. Tonight, they are stuck here, in this ramshackle house with the memory of Sam haunting the space.

“We’ll leave in the morning,” John says, as if reading his mind, and Dean is glad he doesn’t need to ask for this, doesn’t need to ask to get away from this place.

He follows John up the stairs, to the bedrooms, where they each had their own, a rare luxury. John doesn’t say anything when Dean hovers in the door to his room, doesn’t ask for him to join him in John’s, doesn’t push.

“Night,” is the only thing he says, quietly, before he disappears into the bedroom, leaving Dean alone in the hall. Dean’s eyes linger on the door across from his, the room where Sam slee- used to sleep, and his teeth dig into his lip again, the flesh already sore, the pain a welcome distraction.

His bedroom is dark safe for a sliver of moonlight through the curtain, finding its way between heavy cloud as the rain momentarily lets up. He sinks onto the edge of the bed with a sigh, toes off his boots, then peels the wet jeans down his legs. His calves are clammy, cold, and he shivers in the cool air, mind still whirling.

Did Sam really hate him that much for finding comfort, love in his life? Did he really think he-

Dean clamps down on the thought, forces it back. Fuck Sam. The thought is foreign, forced, leaves a bad taste in his mouth.

He strips out of the rest of his clothes, slips into his sleep shirt, one of John’s old USMC shirts that still hangs long on his frame.

He eyes his bed, the lumpy pillow, the ugly comforter with the stupid roses.

It’s not even a conscious decision to leave his room, pad down the hall to the door that’s left slightly ajar. “Dad?”

There’s rustling in the dark, like John’s turning over to face the door.

“C’mere,” John says, one hand lifting the sheets for Dean to climb in. Dean hovers for just a second before crossing the distance and sliding under the sheets, fitting himself to John’s body until he can’t tell anymore when one ends and the other begins.

It reminds him of simpler times, when he was just a boy, climbing into his dad’s bed to escape a bad dream, letting his father hold him until his mind quieted down.

There’s a hand softly running through his hair now, the other resting just lightly on his belly. It’s warm and comfortable and familiar and for the first time since Sam had whipped out that stupid envelope, Dean begins to relax.

“Do you really think he hates-,” Dean starts after a while, not even sure if John is still awake, letting his words trail off into the dark. John tightens the arm around him, presses a kiss to the back of his neck. “No,” he answers, a puff of warm air against Dean’s skin, and he sounds so sure that Dean can almost believe it.

#angst #deanjohn #johndean #sam knows #writing #asks #ami answers #ami writes #sorry this took so long #hope you like it #liddellhart #why do y'all always hit me with the angst

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