#like please shake ur brain around to get it working enough to realize what u sound like when ur saying that | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

nctsworld · 4 years ago

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two nights, one you

✩‌ jaemin ‌x‌ ‌reader‌ ‌|‌ fuckboy!jaemin | strangers (who f*ck) to (brief) enemies to lovers | ‌10.9k

SUMMARY‌ ‌⇾‌ a last-minute one night stand gone awry is extended into two nights when you’re snowed in at the cute (but rude) stranger’s apartment on christmas eve. [loosely based on the movie, two night stand] // part of the x-mas in ncity collection GENRES ⇾ crack | smut | fluff WARNINGS‌ ‌⇾‌ ‌lots of bickering and dialogue, smut, oral s*x (f and m receiving), fingering, mentions of alcohol/drinking, swearing, bit of angst before the end, jaemin’s an asshole... or is he? RATING‌ ‌⇾‌ explicit TAGLIST ⇾‌ @infnteen

AUTHOR’S NOTE ⇾ it’s late (and long fsldkm), srysry but here it is! i hope the humour comes out in this and look away if falls flat zzz fingers crossed that i can finish the last two installments for this collection asap!

⇾ gif created by me, please don’t repost or share without credit!

Maybe it’s because it’s the evening of Christmas Eve Eve and you’re feeling more lonely than usual.

Maybe it’s due to the two glasses of wine you guzzled down in the span of fifteen minutes that get you buzzed.

Maybe it’s your prominent six-month dry spell and you’re in desperate need for some much needed rain in your drought.

Or maybe it’s just pure impulsiveness.

Regardless of the reasons, you’re aiming to get laid tonight.

It’s 9:45pm as you make the rounds on Tinder. You’ve used it in the past, searching for a relationship in vain, but haven’t used it much since you broke up with your last partner. Bringing the app alive again, you’re already bombarded by distasteful messages, off-putting one-liners and jokes, and swiping left more than you’d like.

You haven’t had a one-night stand before, but isn’t there anyone on here that is just a little bit attractive, nearby where you are, around your age, and is somewhat chivalrous about the topic besides saying DTF? Maybe you need to lower your standards if you want to get dicked down tonight.

But then, you land on him.

One Na Jaemin, 20 years old, and only four miles away from you.

Scrolling through his profile pictures and Instagram feed, you assume that he’s into photography, is on the athletic side from the various hobbies he partakes in, and he must be at least half-aware of his beauty because there’s the occasional pic that shows off his lean, toned arms, which, if you can be frank, is more flattering than the shirtless ones you constantly see. Oh, and he attends the same university as you.

The cherry on top? His bio is simple and upfront:

“Not up for anything serious, but always down for a good time ;)”

You swipe right without hesitation.

“It’s a Match!” flashes instantly at you. Your mouth swings open in disbelief.

Usually, you’d wait for your matches to message you and play hard-to-get, but not tonight. Tonight, you’re initiating and leading all the conversations, completely driven by your thirst.

Messaging Jaemin is a breeze. He types with more than half a brain, and he flirts, but it isn’t overwhelming or repulsive. Segueing the current topic, you drag your bottom lip upward as you send the following message:

so, hypothetically... if one were to have good time with you would tonight work?

Not even twenty seconds later and he replies with:

-wow, dont you go straight to the point -im impressed -but yeah -tonight works ;)

He’s quick to send his address.

-let me know when ur here and ill come get you out front!

Smacking your lips together, you squeal to yourself in the comfort of your home, excited to meet with him, but then a thought hangs over you—this feels a little too good to be true. Horrible scenarios run through your head, so your fingers dash across your phone’s keyboard:

tbh i haven’t really done this b4 so im kinda new to this is it ok if we video call or smth? gotta make sure you’re real and not a serial killer i’m sure you understand 😛

-for sure for sure -totally get it -ive had my fair share of fake girls and serial killers so i feel u 😛

Grateful for his consideration, you rush to rearrange your hair after you send him a Zoom link, hoping you look decent enough to not have him back off from his initial offer. He appears in the video call on his phone with the front-facing camera on a few seconds after you connect.

“Hi,” you chirp.

A corner of his mouth lifts. “Hey.”

Okay, he’s definitely cuter in real-time than in his pictures.

“You know, I’m not gonna lie, but I lowkey expected to see a dick or something,” you joke in an attempt to dispel your nervousness.

“Same,” he chuckles, running a hand through his black hair.

Oh God, he’s not just cute—he’s devastatingly gorgeous.

“So, this is my place...”

Jaemin moves around with his apartment in the background, revealing his living room first. Envy prods you as you note the brick walls, high ceiling windows, and well-appointed furnishings.

Recalling his address, you ask, “How’d you get a place in the heart of the city?”

“Lucked out,” he shrugs. His phone shakes a bit as he’s still moving. “My friend slash roommate—who is at his girlfriend’s place tonight, so we have the place all to ourselves—his parents own the condo and they gave me a friend discount on the rent.”

He finally stands in one place and turns the light on to reveal a room. “And this is my bedroom.”

Nothing out of the ordinary. A desk table with a gaming set-up, in tow with a gamer chair, and a decently-sized bed beside a nightstand.

“Oh, and here’s my closet.” Jaemin’s on the move again as he opens his closet doors. “Just to make sure you don’t think I hide the skins of my past one-nighters in here.”

A bubbly laugh rises from you. “Okay, I didn’t think of that before, but now you’ve planted the seed in my head. Maybe you hide them in the other rooms.”

“Nah, my roommate would kill me if I did.”

Both of you laugh in unison, and you bob your head with puffed cheeks.

“Okay, it all seems very promising. I’m going to get ready and I’ll guess I’ll see you in a bit, Jaemin.”

“Sounds good,” Jaemin nods, then winks. Although you’re sitting down, he’s still able to get you weak in the knees. “See you soon.”

You end the call and rush to bundle up for the snow starting to come down outside. A twenty-minute train ride later, you’re at the front door of a rustic, industrial apartment complex. After informing Jaemin you’re outside, you glance up at the snowflakes falling from the dark pink-grey sky, anticipating for what comes next.

Sex with a hot guy, what can go wrong?

So, you must’ve jinxed it because the sex is...

Unsatisfying. Finished faster than you’d like it to be. Sadly, overall disappointing. If you had to rate it, three out of five stars, at best.

But hey, he came, and you sort of did, and it wasn’t the worst sex you’ve ever had. It half-quenched your dry spell.

And enough happened that it tired you out, leaving you passed out in the handsome stranger’s bed until morning.

In the morning, your eyes slowly flicker, unused to the foreign, sweet scent engulfing you in your bed. Correction: Jaemin’s bed.

Your eyes flicker faster as you glance through the almost wall-sized window. The snow hasn’t let up from last night. On the contrary, it seems like it’s snowing non-stop. You groan at the thought of going home in this weather.

The bed is without Jaemin’s presence as you reach for your phone on the nightstand. 10:36AM and a few notifications greet you. You rub your eyes and start combing through them, rising upward to sit up on the bed.

“Morning. You’re finally up.”

Peering up from your device, Jaemin’s standing by the door with folded arms. His plain sweater and sweatpants match the colour of his hair. The dazzling smile he gives is so contagious, you’re not even conscious of catching one too.

“Out you go.”

You blink.

Once, twice, and then you tilt your head as you stare blankly at him, uncertain if you heard him correctly.

After a few moments, because you’re not moving an inch, his smile dissipates and he cocks an eyebrow in expectancy. A serious expression rolls over his face.

Suddenly, Jaemin strolls to the side of the bed and hitches his thumb towards the door.

You definitely heard him right.

And he’s dead-serious.

You replay the video call from last night, dissecting how you thought he was nice and funny and—

Realization dawns on you.

Why would you expect anything more from a two-faced fuck boy?

Still awestruck by the situation, you’re still solid as a statue, so Jaemin takes matters into his own hands and grasps you by your elbow, casually dragging you from his bed like he’s taking out the trash.

“What the fuck?!” you screech.

“C’mon, let’s go. Out out.”

“My clothes, though!” you protest in the middle of the hallway. He sighs in frustration, scurries to the bedroom, and returns with a small pile in his arms, then continues to drag you to the front door.

“Are you always this pleasant with your guests the morning after?” you rage, putting on the rest of your clothes by the door. “You don’t even have the decency to offer me tea or coffee?”

“This was a one-night stand, not a bed and breakfast, sunshine,” he says as he watches you put your shoes on. He’s folding his arms again and leaning against the wall, his attitude dripping with smug. If he wasn’t a stranger, you’d punch it off his face. “You weren’t kidding when you said you were new to this, huh?”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?!”

“It means you’re a borderline virgin who needs to toodle-loo, get going and gone because you’re overstaying your welcome as we speak.”

Finishing putting on your coat, you’re fuming as your jaw hangs at the personal jab over your skills in bed. Jaemin swings the door open and shoves you through it.

“But I’ll admit, it was still nice having sex with you!” he chimes with a sickening grin and a hand on the door.

“Aw, thanks asshole, wish I could say the same,” you sarcastically reply, resting a palm upon your chest.

He scoffs. “From what I heard last night, I think I can confidently say that you had a great time.”

Flashbacks replay in your mind of your screaming fest from underneath him. Little did Jaemin actually know—

“You know, for someone who I assume has many one-night stands,” you spit with squinted eyes. “I’m surprised you can’t tell when girls fake it.”

You must’ve hit a sore spot because he grinds his teeth and you could almost see the steam coming out of his ears.

Oh yeah, you’re definitely the winner in this fight.

“Okay, you know what, Merry Christmas and fuck you. Have a great life!”

“Fuck you, dickface. Wishing you a miserable Christmas!”

With a bitter smile, you flip him off as he slams the door in your face.

Carrying a basket filled with dirty clothes, Jaemin’s on the way down to the laundry room in the basement of his apartment with his shoulder scrunched up, squeezing his phone to his ear.

“Bro, she had the audacity to say that I didn’t make her come when she was screaming my God damn ear off—”

As he steps down the short flight of stairs and passes by the foyer area by the main entrance to the building, he notices you’re still here.

“Shit, uh, Jeno,” he mumbles. “I’m gonna have to call you back.”

He stuffs his phone into the pocket of his sweats and calls out to you as he strides closer. “Are you resorting to stalking me by my front door now?”

With crossed arms, you peer over your shoulder, eyes full of bitterness.

“Like I wanna be anywhere near you right now,” you grumble. You jerk your head towards the thick, wooden door. “It’s jammed from the snow.”

The laundry carrier shakes his head and places the basket onto the floor. “A little snow never hurt anyone. You’re probably just too weak.”

Stepping aside and holding out an arm, you signal for him to give it a try.

Jaemin twists the handle and, lo and behold, it doesn’t open. His forehead crinkles as he tries again and again, using more force each time.

Glancing through one of the partially frosted windows adjacent to the sides of the door, he notices the snow has piled enormously high, almost to the height of his chest.

“Well, shit.”

Reluctantly, Jaemin brings you back to his apartment. You’re technically his guest and if he left you in the foyer to freeze, trouble would surely come his way, whether it be in the form of his landlords (also known as his roommate’s parents) or the police.

Without a word, he settles a spoon in a bowl, a carton of milk, and a box of cereal onto the small kitchen table.

At first, you stare at it venomously in rejection, thinking you can easily last a day without any hand-outs from this son of a bitch, but your stomach roars ferociously three seconds later.

As you chew across from him, you enjoy the company of your phone over him, while he does the same but with a cup of coffee in hand.

After finishing your food, you adamantly place your phone down and lean back into the chair, boring holes into his head.

“Why are you such an asshole?” you seethe observantly.

“Why are you such a bitch?” he retorts, not pulling his gaze away from his phone.

“Because you started it,” you say slowly, stating the obvious.

“No, you.”

You sigh defeatedly at his childish behaviour. The weather apps predict the snow will (hopefully) die down by tomorrow morning, thus you’re officially stuck with him for the next twenty-four hours or so. Your hands rake through your hair.

“Whether we like it or not, the snow isn’t going away until tomorrow. Merry Christmas Eve to us, I guess.”

He’s still glued to his phone. You exhale another sigh.

“Since we’re not getting out of this until then, can we just...” You soften your voice. “Start over?”

His eyes are still on the screen, but from the way his shoulders tense and how he stops scrolling, you know he’s considering your proposition.

“At least call a stalemate over this.” You drift your hand in the air, gesturing between you and him.

Blowing out air and shaking his head, he rests his phone onto the table.

“Fine.”

He crosses his arms, imitating you, and the two of you sit there, staring at each other in a long silence.

One minute, to be exact.

You’re the one to break the silence game by running your hands over your face, letting out a hybrid of a groan and laugh.

“God, the fact that we had sex makes this kinda awkward, huh?”

Jaemin’s exterior melts slightly, letting out a snicker. He shrugs, “Then let’s just pretend that we didn’t have sex.”

“We can’t just pretend that we didn’t have sex,” you say, holding two upturned palms near your face.

“We did it, it’s done. I’ve seen your penis, you kicked me out, and you labelled me a prude—” You dart a finger towards him. “—which I am far from, by the way. All of those are pretty huge things.”

One of the corners of his mouth raises high. “Are you saying my penis is huge?”

“No, the implication of said penis is huge. Wipe that smirk off your face.”

He stretches an arm, holding an imaginary microphone to your face. “Do you deny that my penis is huge?”

Rolling your eyes, you swat his fist away. “What am I, on trial here?”

“Do you plead the fifth then?”

Annoyed, you roll your eyes again. Why do you get the feeling that you’re probably going to be doing this a lot more today? Another feeling tells you that if you don’t answer his question, he’ll probably pester you until you do.

You tilt your head side to side. “It’s... decently sized.”

“Bigger or smaller than average?”

“Perfect...” His eyes light up. “...ly average.” And a frown rolls over.

He squints his eyes accusingly at your sneer. “Are you lying like you did before about faking it?”

You scoff. “I wasn’t lying about faking it, and I’m not lying now about your average sized dick.”

Jaemin releases a disgruntled grumble and lifts his cup to his face. You notice he likes to take his coffee black and bitter, presumably like his heart.

“So, Miss I’m-Not-A-Prude-and-I’ve-Definitely-Had-Sex-Before.” His eyebrows perk up on the word definitely. “What’s your story? Why the last minute one-night stand?”

Shrugging your shoulders to your ears, you reply, “Haven’t had sex in a while.”

“When’s the last time you had sex?” he asks mid-sip.

“Half a year ago,” you respond nonchalantly, perching your chin into your palms.

Jaemin immediately chokes, almost spraying the coffee through his nose.

“Half a year?!” he gasps. It takes him a few hits to his chest to dispel the coughing. “Six months?!”

“Wow, you can count!” you exclaim in a condescending tone. You change the position of your hands so that your chin is now atop of the back of your curled fingers and tilt your head. “Can you also spell?”

“As a premed student, I can assure you that I am capable of doing both,” he says with a slight strain due to the coughing fit. The humble brag brings on another eye roll. Of course he’s a premed student with the attitude he wears.

“It’s just—” He clears his throat and swallows the last bit of coffee stuck in his windpipe. “—The last time I had a dry spell was for like, a month, tops.”

So the fuckboy gets laid way more on the daily than you expect. You’re torn between being envious over how much action he gets in comparison to you, or remorseful, since you’re now just one of the many notches on his bedpost.

No matter, sarcasm is always the best defence mechanism.

“Good for you, Jaemin. I’m sure you’re very proud of that.”

There’s an awkward beat. His head hangs for a moment while his thumbs stroke the sides of his cup. A strange pinch of guilt occurs. Did you overstep an unspoken line? But then he drags himself back to reality in a heartbeat.

Jaemin brings the cup to his mouth again, mumbling, “At least the sex on your part makes more sense now; you’re rusty as fuck.”

Completely aware of what he said, you trash your guilt entirely and narrow your eyes. “What did you just say?”

Following a long sip, he hums, “Mmm, nothing.” Soon after, he stands up with his cup.

“I’m gonna go game now. Feel free to watch Netflix on the TV and stay in the living room.”

As if you had anywhere else to go...

He begins to walk towards his room as you mutter under your breath, “I’m not a dog.”

“Says the bitch,” he pipes up, taking you by surprise.

“Thought we had a stalemate?!” you shout, leaning your head forward as you watch him entering his room.

“Doesn’t mean we’re on peaceful terms!” he sing-shouts.

The flinging of the closed door echoes throughout the apartment.

Regret surges through you. You just had to choose a fuckboy fluent in assholery and end up incidentally being isolated with him during a snow storm on Christmas Eve.

You wonder if you can handle being around him for the next twenty-four hours without killing him first.

During the afternoon, you’re on the living room couch, playing a show as mostly background noise while you’re on your phone. At one point, your phone unsurprisingly begins to die and you tread over to Jaemin’s door to ask for a charger and if you can also take a shower. He’s still annoyed by your existence, but at least he hands you a charger and lets you know where the extra towels are.

Stepping into the living room with the towel in your hand as you dry your hair off, you peer out the large living room window and see nothing but white engulfing the streets and buildings as far as the eye can see.

You pray the snow will eventually stop as soon as possible so you can head back home.

By the middle of the afternoon, Jaemin emerges from his bedroom and shocks you by plopping down on the opposite end of the living room couch from where you’re sitting.

“Bored?” you ask, eyes fixated on the TV screen.

“Nope,” he replies, popping the p as he says it. His slings his arm around the top of the couch.

“Gotta keep an eye on you in case you do something.” Turning away from the screen, he faces you and motions circles with his hand. “You’ve got a little crazy in you, I can feel it.”

You quickly glance over at him, but try to refocus on the TV. “Need I remind you that you’re the crazy one, dragging me out of the apartment right as I woke up.”

That compels him to turn his whole body towards you. “Well, you’re the one who wanted a last-minute one-night stand.”

You match his stance. “As if I’m the first girl in your bed to stay in the morning?”

“Actually, yeah.” He aggressively tilts his head to one side. “Most girls leave before I even get up. The other percentage don’t fight me when I ask for them to go, so it looks like you’re the odd one out.”

You press your lips together, refusing to admit that maybe he has a point, under the assumption that he’s telling the truth.

Jaemin twists his body back to the screen and adds, “I make it very clear on my profile that I don’t do morning afters, sweetheart.”

And you agree that his profile is clear about his intentions, but that doesn’t mean you can condone his shitty behaviour.

“Well, sorry that I expected just an ounce of respect instead of getting kicked to the curb after you stuck your dick in me,” you grumble, shifting back to the show and crossing your arms.

“Morning afters lead to attachments, and attachments lead to feelings, and feelings lead to relationships,” he says the string of words clinically, as if it’s a mantra that he lives by.

Your eyebrows knit together as you whip your head towards him once more, studying him.

“And what’s so wrong with that?”

Deliberately averting your gaze, Jaemin grates his tongue between his teeth, a slight tsk audibly heard, and his chin juts out. There’s definitely a story behind his ways. He huffs and changes the subject.

“Seriously?” He holds a hand out. “You’re watching this trashy show?”

Squinting your eyes at him, you could probably interrogate him further, but you decide otherwise.

“It may be trashy,” you concur, looking at the TV. “But it’s my trashy comfort show.”

Following an over-the-top acted out scene between the show’s main love interests, Jaemin shoots up from the couch.

“Yeah, no, I can’t handle this. Can we either put on something else or game or something?”

“Why don’t you go back to your room to game, Mr. I’m-Not-Bored?”

“Like I said, I gotta keep an eye on you,” he says while bending over in front of the TV, already setting up the Playstation. He tosses you a controller as he strides to his side of the couch again.

He mumbles to himself, “Need to make sure you don’t go crazy from the lack of human interaction.”

Either Jaemin is selfish and only looking out for himself, or he wants to make sure you’re not feeling lonely in a stranger’s home.

Likely the first reason, you deduce—because why would a guy like Jaemin care about a mere one-night stand?

Admittedly, you’re not the best at games, especially at fighting ones. You can comprehend the move lists, but you like to live by button smashing the controller and repeating moves over and over.

So it’s hilarious when you beat Jaemin every round with your surprisingly fruitful technique.

“Okay, this is bullshit,” Jaemin complains, sticking his tongue out in irritation. His ass is currently being handed to him on a plate again since you’re almost done killing his character off. “You must be lying to me; you have to be a pro player or some shit.”

Jaemin’s health bar is dangerously low as your character jabs his with a sword. He winces out loud and you snicker.

“Why do you think I always lie about everything?! Dude, you have serious trust issues,” you joke before you steal the opportunity to slice his character. One more hit and he’s done for.

“I do not! I just—nooo!”

You rise to your feet and pump your arms in the air, turning in circles in joy over yet another win.

Sulking, Jaemin eyes your little dance from his end on the couch, but as he watches you more, a feeling balloons in his chest. Something he hasn’t felt in a long time.

Finally coming down from your post-win high, you spot an emerging grin from the corner of your eye, making you pause.

“What?” you eye him suspiciously.

Your suspicion pops the sensation in his chest and, like a fish out of water, his eyes widen and his grin melts away.

“Nothing, uhm.” He ruffles his eyebrows and palms the back of his neck, quickly facing the TV. “Let’s go one more round and then we can switch to another game—”

Suddenly, the TV and surrounding lights switch off. Both of you waver your eyes, anticipating for them to come back on, but they unfortunately don’t.

Jaemin rushes over to the window. When he swivels his head towards you, his face darkens.

“Looks like it’s at least the whole block. The streetlights are out too.”

Without another word, he dashes to the linen closet and brings back several blankets. He calmly explains that there won’t be heat since it’s connected to the electricity, so it’d be best to keep warm with the extra layers.

Not wanting to scare you, he doesn’t add the fact that due to the huge windows in the apartment, more unnecessary cold air will come in, but you’re already cognizant of it from your own logic and since the remaining heat dissolves rapidly.

You groan and retreat into the massive blanket over your shoulders, turtling your head.

You can’t believe you’re going to fucking die in this asshole’s apartment on Christmas Eve.

On the ends of the couch in your makeshift blanket jackets, both of you attend to your phones for a while.

From what people and the news outlets are saying, it’s not just the block, but the whole city grid is out. You frantically text your friends, giving updates on how you are and half-jokingly telling them that you’re going to die with your dreadful one-night stand. Some time passes and Jaemin tosses his phone off to one side.

“Well, since there’s nothing else to do and we should probably conserve our phone batteries—” You glance up at him from your phone and pout. Slowly nodding in agreement, you toss it aside too. “—why don’t we play a game of ‘I’ll-Give-You-Pointers-on-How-to-be-Better-in-Bed’?”

A smile burgeons on his irritatingly handsome face and your eyes roll. At this point, you wonder if the reaction is conditioned into you. “It’ll be my early Christmas gift to you.”

“Wow, so thoughtful, how could I ever thank you?” You drag the blanket closer to your chest in false gratitude.

You think for a serious moment if you really want to go through with this. Hearing Jaemin run his mouth on you unwarranted is already painful, but to give him the go-ahead to do so? Especially criticizing your skills in bed?

You blow out a sigh, noting the slightly visible cloud. You’re grateful Jaemin has thick, downy blankets.

Well, if you’re going to die, may as well know what went wrong, right?

“Fine, but if we’re playing this game, we have to say everything honestly and take the criticism we get.” You point a stern finger. “No rebuttals, just acceptance.”

“Wait.” Jaemin crinkles his face in genuine confusion as his hand peeks out from his blanket.

“You have things to criticize about me in bed?”

Your lips tremble before you burst into laughter. Displeasure is on Jaemin’s tight-lipped face as you laugh for a while, almost keeling over in your blanket ball onto the hardwood floor. “How conceited are you, oh, my fucking God?”

He slices his hand through the air. “I’ve never had any complaints—”

“Because you’re too busy focusing on your own orgasm, you selfish dickwad,” you say as your laughter dies down.

He sits in his snit for a few more moments until he gets over it.

“Fine, fine,” he huffs. Jaemin knows he’s not going to enjoy this, but he’s the one who suggested it. He can’t back out now. “Let’s just get this over with, you go first.”

With your blanket held by your chest, you hop off your end of the couch and shuffle over in front of him where he’s seated. Beaming, you begin.

“Let’s start with foreplay.” Jaemin’s eyes light up with confidence, thinking he’s at least decent with that. You crush his expression as your lips purse and you shake your head.

“Non-existent.”

“What do you mean?! I kissed you as you took off your clothes.”

You stick your free hand out from your blanket, extending your index finger.

“One: you only kissed my lips. You know, there are other parts of me to kiss, like, I don’t know, my neck, my arms, my shoulders.”

You extend another finger. “And, two: it’s weird to not help someone take off their clothes. Like you’re in a super rush to get somewhere or something—”

“We’re fucking!” he cuts in sharply. “This is a one-night stand, not a relationship.”

Closing your eyes and dropping your head, you pinch the bridge of your nose. You sigh in exaggeration.

“Thought we agreed no rebuttals...” you softly sing-say.

Jaemin’s head sinks a little into his blanket. “Sorry.”

Removing your hand, you shrug. “Maybe there’s some rule that I don’t know about one-night stands, so this could be on me.”

You start to aimlessly tread back and forth in front of him, dragging the blanket along too. “But fuck, foreplay is foreplay for a reason. You work your way up to the heat of the moment and it makes sex much better, regardless if you’re in a relationship with the person or not.”

“Next point.” You stop walking and direct your focus on him. Pointing your finger and looking him dead in the eye, you ask, “Do you know what a vagina is?”

He snorts with a simper. “Uhhh, is this a rhetorical question?”

“No, I’m legit asking,” you say with a raised eyebrow and snarky smile. “Because when you went down on me, all you flicked your tongue at was the outside of it, also called the labia if you didn’t know.”

“I’m premed, of course I—”

“Which is great! But you didn’t go any deeper nor did you go near my clit.”

You thrust your finger again. “Do you also know what that is?”

“Yes...” he groans with the flickering eyelids.

You swipe your arm through the air. “Maybe make use of it, and not only when you go down on girls. Even during sex, touching it is great.”

“And lastly,” you continue. “I’ll be honest here, you have a decent dick.”

Jaemin waggles his finger. “So you were lying before—”

“I wasn’t lying,” you retort firmly. “But anyways, you’ve got the stuff, but why don’t you put it to better use?”

With the following words, you attempt to gesture with your body and execute moves as graphic visuals. Jaemin giggles at the sight.

“Vary the speeds and the angle, don’t just slam it in me and go crazy fast from the get-go. Build up to the climax. Jesus, I couldn’t even get close to coming because you’re like a jackhammer from start to finish.”

When you finally finish, Jaemin’s giggles morph into hollow laughs. Frustration is blatant on your face, pondering if he even absorbed a single word you said.

After he calms down, he asks, “Are you done?”

You mumble, “Yeah, I think so.”

The two of you switch places. He shuffles onto his feet with his blanket while you sit back on the couch.

Jaemin pulls the blanket across the floor as he ambles. “Okay, your head game is decent—”

“Excuse you, my head game is strong.”

“Uh-uh, rebuttal,” he points out.

You sigh. Pinching your fingers together, you drag the invisible zipper across your mouth, then wave your hand, allowing him to resume.

“Your head game is decent. You definitely can deepthroat, but—” He mirrors you from before and extends his index finger.

“One: this happened only a few times, but your teeth scraped against my dick, which is why I assumed you were a borderline virgin.”

You fume silently at the accusation, attempting to not speak up with a heap of rebuttals. But he wasn’t wrong—if you teethed on his dick, that’s a classic virgin move.

“But that’s okay, because we already established that you’re just rusty.” Jaemin flashes you a fake comforting smile as he continues to pace. You flash him one back.

“And two—” He holds another finger out. “Don’t be scared to use your hands and stroke me. Give my dick some love. If it’s too wet, just wipe your hands on the bed or something.”

“Okay, duly noted,” you hum. “Next.”

“Don’t be scared to touch me.”

“I touched you so much during—”

He shoots you a glare. You roll your mouth inward, your lips disappearing instantly.

“Your hands were mostly on the sheets, which is hot, but guys like to be felt up too.”

The attractive individual peers up for a second, thinking to himself. “Even hotter when a girl feels herself up during the fucking, but that’s beside the point. Baby steps, just remember to touch the other person.”

Jaemin does a full-stop and faces you.

“And just... don’t fake it.” Distress is evident in his pout. You hate to admit it, but it’s a little cute. He raises an arm and jerks it in the air. “Why do girls fake it?”

“Because guys with egos like you can’t handle criticism,” you reply bluntly.

“What are we doing, having this conversation, hm?”

“We wouldn’t be having this conversation if it didn’t snow in and keep us here together.” You peel a hand away and gesture to the window. “If I walked out of here this morning, you would’ve just fucked the next girl the same.”

He defends himself, “Faking it just feeds our egos.”

“Yeah, well, if I told you afterwards that I didn’t come, what would you do?”

“Try to make you come in other ways?”

Shaking your head, you scoff. “Guys like you aren’t that considerate.”

“You’re right.” He assents, holding his pointer finger against his chest. “Because guys like me aim to please.”

A brilliant thought leaps in his mind and Jaemin gasps. You can only assume bad things from the wicked smile he sends your way.

“Why don’t we try it again?”

Perplexed, you squint at him.

“Try what again...?”

“Sex,” he says enthusiastically.

You blankly stare at him.

“You’ve gotta be joking,” you deadpan.

“I mean, there’s nothing else to do and it’ll keep us warm.”

You continue to stare at him until you groan.

“Oh, my God...” Your blanket droops a bit off your shoulders as you drag your palms across your face. “I cannot believe I’m stuck in this snowstorm with you out of all people...”

Sitting next to you, Jaemin persistently reasons with you. “Think of it also as another learning experience for the future partners we’ll have.”

“Yeah, if we don’t die first!” you shriek.

“We’re not going to die,” Jaemin replies in a mocking tone and a dart of his tongue.

Outside the window, the snow seems to have slowed down, but not by much.

God, Jaemin better be fucking right because you want to live to see another day.

“Fine,” you mutter and match his gaze. “But we have to be vocal throughout the whole thing. Say whatever’s on our mind.”

“Fine,” he agrees to your terms. He produces the same wicked smile again. “But can we film it then? So we can study it after?”

You fire him a death glare that melts his face off, even in the frigid atmosphere.

“I’m joking, I’m joking,” he says, waving his hand.

They say that jokes are half-meant true, but you think Jaemin fully meant it. Still in your blanket jackets, Jaemin snags your free hand and leads you to his room.

“You gotta give me credit for trying, though.”

“No.” You shake your head with an unwilling smile creeping on the edge of your lips. On second thought, maybe the joke was a little funny, but you still stand by your opinion that he’s the most annoying person in the world. “I don’t think I will.”

“Thank God Chenle has so many scented candles...”

On the edge of Jaemin’s bed, huddled by the blanket, you watch him light up several large jars, placing them on his nightstand and desk in hopes to brighten the room. It’s already late afternoon, but one could mistaken it for nighttime with the muddy sky due to the snow.

“Is Chenle your roommate?”

“Yeah,” Jaemin answers with a slight shiver, igniting the last candle near the bedside. He removed his blanket when he went to nab the matches and candles. “His girlfriend gets free ones from work, so she always gives him a shit ton, even though he never uses them.”

With a glowing hue against his face, he blows out the match. He makes his way to you, a cocky grin plastered on him, as he says, “Guess we’re making use of them now, though.”

Before you can even respond, Jaemin gets right down to business—sitting beside you on the mattress, he palms your face and drags you in for a kiss. You softly yelp, but immediately reciprocate.

The cover falls off your body as you reach to touch him, fingers drifting over his solid arms.

You don’t want to stroke his large ego, and maybe it’s because you haven’t had anyone else on you in a while, but Jaemin’s kisses are something else.

The cushiony pair of lips always executes enough pressure against your mouth, increasing and decreasing on command in perfect tandem and timing. His hands hover over your waist and the nape of your neck, fingers sinking into your hot skin.

His mouth trails downward the side of your neck. You crane your head back, indulging in his caresses as soft moans trickle out.

He gently signals for you to recline back and lay onto the mattress, moving the sea of blankets aside. Inclined on his elbow, almost atop of you, his cool fingers glide under your top layers, his thumb stroking against your stomach.

Pulling away from your body, he tugs on the ends of your clothes. You rise from the bed to better the angle for him to discard of them.

The hairs on your skin are standing on end from the frigid air, but you’re too focused on Jaemin’s mouth migrating over your upper arm and your bra-covered chest to care. Without notice, he stuffs a cup of the bra to one side and takes your bosom into his mouth.

Air’s seized from your lungs and your core contracts from the pleasure. Your fingers tug on Jaemin’s luscious locks and his free hand squeezes your unoccupied breast.

After a few twirls of his tongue and a gentle drawing of his teeth on the pointed tip, he mumbles hotly into your chest while he thumbs your other nipple, “Foreplay still non-existent?”

“It’s better, I guess,” you sigh with fluttering eyes. His chuckling reverberates against your cleavage, a sign of amusement from your obstinacy. A gasp pierces the room as Jaemin repeats his actions onto the other breast.

He aids you in taking off the rest of your clothes and, obviously aware of your goosebumps and shuddering, tells you to get underneath the blankets while he strips himself.

Under the toasty ocean of layers, despite how both of you are bare-boned and how easy it is to jump into the main act, Jaemin purposefully continues to prolong the foreplay. Side by side, your lips meld endlessly; your legs and hands are intertwined in an amorous pretzel.

Jaemin ensures he doesn’t leave any part of you untouched—the pads of fingers virtually graze over every inch of your body. Each grip and drag of his digits sends you in a frenzy. Your chest is pressed into him and your eyes are blinded with desire.

In the back of your mind, you think about how you were right about foreplay working up to the heat of the moment—literally, because you’re dripping, he’s hard, and you two have embraced so much that you don’t need the blankets anymore.

On the other hand, you wonder if Jaemin was right about skipping foreplay, because with every whisper of each other’s name, the intimacy rises immensely. You don’t know him, and neither him with you, but you’re both freely drowning in one another in a plane beyond the lust.

Although the room’s beginning to smell of a mix of all the scented candles, Jaemin hones in and drinks in your sweet aroma and your entirety behind his hazy eyes and already tousled hair. All of a sudden, one drag of his fingers over a particular sensitive spot on your body makes you giggle.

“I’m ticklish over there.”

“You mean right—” He drums his fingers over the area again. “—here?”

With a toothy grin, he generates more suffering from you and you begin to lively howl. Soon enough, you beg him to stop.

“You’re such an asshat, c’mon, let me live!”

When he ceases, his head hangs over yours and your gazes connect.

The same feeling blooms in his chest from before in the living room.

He gulps as his eyes waver over your face, unknowingly tracing your beautiful features and etching them into his memory.

Your starry eyes. Your glowing aura. Your everything.

You barely register the change in his expression because he quickly tramples on his moment of weakness by kissing you passionately.

Jaemin whips the blankets aside as he lowers himself between your legs. Your eyes are fixated on him, matching his stare, until he starts to devour you by swiping against your lustrous folds. Your back bows, and, following a few more licks, Jaemin makes a point of his knowledge of the vagina by spreading your lips and ravishing your pussy, tongue penetrating deeply.

Rippled moans release in harmony with your undulating chest. You swear you’re getting more wet, too wet, likely making it overwhelming for Jaemin, but he’s eagerly lapping every drop up.

“How’s that?” he inquires with a grin, hovering over your trembling nether lips. His mouth is evidently glossy, even under the dim lighting.

“Good,” you pant in the most nonchalant tone you can muster up. “Very good-ahhh—”

Jaemin kindly interrupts you by tonguing your clit as he fingers your sex deeply, shattering your fake indifference.

“Move your tongue up more,” you direct, creasing your eyebrows in despair. He follows your direction, and droning moans ensue.

Jaemin’s immersed in your pleasure, but also adding to his own. The more he laps up your wetness, the more he grinds his length against the bed, aching to be inside of you.

Your desire pulses faster, contracting tighter against his fingers, body winding tensely by the second.

“Fuck, Jaemin,” you whine, leaning your head to one side with a parted mouth. “I’m close.”

He draws back and temporarily replaces his tongue with his thumb.

“Good,” he pants, cocking his head to one side. His eyes are filled with determination. “Because I’m not stopping until you come at least two more times tonight.”

You exhale a light laugh. “That’s ambiti-ohgodohgod—”

His tongue works wonders on your clit once more, so much that he has to brace your bucking hips.

Okay, maybe Jaemin did learn a thing or two and actually listened to what you said during your critique.

But now it’s time to demonstrate to him what you’ve learned.

You don’t need much of a break to catch your breath, nor do you want to immediately freeze due to inactivity, so you pull Jaemin in for an intense kiss, tongue dipping into the remnants of your own nectar, then beckon for him to take your former place on the bed.

Perched on the bottom of your feet, you’re on one side of Jaemin, lackadaisically fisting his prominence. After a few strokes, you gradually swallow his inches, keeping in mind to relax your jaw and to not rush in order to avoid any potential teething. You do this to prove yourself worthy of giving head, but also in spite, because you absolutely do not need Jaemin to brand you a virgin again.

You read his quiet groans and his long fingers running lazily through your hair as a positive sign and advance further.

Carefully, you rest your tongue beneath the underside of his cock and bob your head, licking him until he’s sopping with your saliva. His grip in your hair grows in strength as his length reaches the end of your throat, his groans becoming more and more drawn-out.

A needy whimper leaves him as you suddenly withdraw. Dribbles of your spit follow, and you wipe it off with the back of your hand.

“How am I doing?” you glow in a pant, lazily stroking the doused shaft.

He simply nods with half-lidded eyes, barely able to look at you. “Yeah.”

You snicker at him in his breathless position, a prickle of pride running through your spine over the fact that you blew his mind as much as you blew his dick.

“Use your words, Jaemin.”

Teasingly, your fingers curl around his blunt head, soothing the sensitive tip and sending jolts throughout him.

“Fuck—” he pulls his bottom lip upward. “Awesome. You’re doing awesome.”

“Anything to critique?”

“Mm-mm,” he shakes his head restlessly. You revel a bit more in having the upper hand on him a little while longer. You grip him tighter and hasten your speed, leaving him gasping for air.

“Am I still rusty?”

“Nope, nope,” he croaks, voice rising to a whine. “Definitely not rusty.”

“You sure?” His cockiness has transferred over to you.

“Yes, yes—fuck, slow down, please,” Jaemin begs.

Granting his wish, you abate your rhythm and free his inches from your touch.

You wipe your hands on the sides of the bed while Jaemin rummages through the drawer of his nightstand and hastily rolls over the rubber over himself before he prepares to enter the body beneath his.

Recalling your advice, Jaemin mindfully starts off slow. You sigh blissfully in sync to his thrusts. He adjust himself, attempting another angle, and you draw in air between your teeth.

“There, there—“

Jaemin’s quick-witted and keeps at it, plunging a bit more vigorously. Out of habit, your hands grasp onto the bedsheets, but you wittingly attach them to his frame. Hands grazing his neck, his firm pecs, and his taut muscles.

“Touch-touch my stomach,” he orders in a hush.

You hands follow through and feel up the flexed valley of his abs. Feeling up evolves into desperate gripping and even the slight dragging of your nails.

“Your abs are so fucking hot,” you state thoughtlessly, eyes eating up the view alongside his cock disappearing in and out of you. “Jesus, fuck.”

“Yeah?” he rasps with that devilish smirk of his. God, you want to smack it off him, but not right now—not when you’re reaching euphoria. “You’re not just saying that?”

Oh, you’ve definitely stroked his ego now, but there’s no turning back. Truth spills from you on a whim.

“You’re a fucking masterpiece,” you gasp acutely.

You’re starting to wither away, yet, as if they have a life of their own, your hands drift away from him and find a new home atop your breasts.

“You make me feel so good, Jaemin...”

Jaemin’s eyes go wide. His mouth hangs at the lewdness of you touching yourself.

“Fuck, holy shit.”

His gaze doesn’t leave your ecstatic face or humming body for a second as you knead your breasts and tweak your nipples between your fingers. Your back arches further when Jaemin deepens his sweet, fulfilling thrusts. He’s holding himself back, not wanting to end this beautiful deed just yet.

The stimulation bursts over your body, both from your own doing and Jaemin’s.

You plead, “Faster, please, faster.”

And he complies, but he also rubs your bundle of nerves, causing a tight knot in you to build up and your shallow moans transform into heavy screams. You clasp onto his back and claw at the protruding shoulder blades.

“I’m-I’m—”

You clench, both with your core and your nails digging into him, but Jaemin’s unrelenting, capturing your second peak for the evening.

Instead of coming after you, he shockingly veers lower and closer to you and curbs his pace.

“Was that real?”

You respond with an exhausted nod. Oddly, the smile he shows this time isn’t arrogant, but warm and teetering the line of tenderness. His lips fuse with yours before they stray towards your neck. The passion stews as he sucks your tits, all the while lunging laxly into you.

With an obscene pop!, Jaemin removes himself from your nubs.

“Ready for the last round?”

His fast thrusts, hitting you precisely in the best spot, cloud your already weakened logic, deterring you from making any response.

Perspiration is blatant on both individuals. For him, his forehead glistens gorgeously with his damp hair. For you, the back of your bent knees are gluing together. Your bodies are about to pass out, but you both persevere until the end.

As you convulse and perish together in beautiful agony, coincidentally enough, the bulbs in the room and in the streets leap to radiance.

Together, you collapse onto the bed side by side, panting heavily and laughing.

“Told you we weren’t going to die.”

You turn your head to see Jaemin looking at you with a cheeky grin. In retaliation, you stick your tongue out.

By nighttime, it’s finally stopped snowing outside. However, the streets won’t be cleared until morning, at the very least.

But... you’re surprisingly okay with that.

In a turn of events, the sex inexplicably makes the two of you warm up to each other. There still is targeted banter and tension between you, lingering from before, but it’s less hostile and more playful.

During a fancy Christmas Eve dinner of microwavable pizzas, you poke fun at each other’s majors and discuss your respective hobbies in depth, especially his love for photography. Jaemin even asks if he can take a picture of you, claiming that the kitchen lighting actually looks nice on someone for once.

“Is that how you collect the memory of your one-night stands? Instead of hanging their skins in your closet, you sweet-talk your way and keep all the photos of them?” you joke, referring to the video call from yesterday night. It feels like an eternity ago, but snowstorms tend to do that.

He chuckles behind the camera as he snaps a photo of you scrunching your face cutely.

“Yeah, but you’re the first one who has clothes on,” he says, glancing down at the photo on the camera roll.

“Ugh, gross,” you cringe and take a sip of tea.

Jaemin doesn’t add anything further. He leaves out the fact that he never keeps any traces of his one-night stands, that you’re the first girl he’s taken a picture of in a while.

After a few hours of more talking and even some gaming with one another, sleep is much needed. Jaemin offers an extra toothbrush and a sweater and pair of sweats to sleep in. You’re facing each other on his bed, noses almost touching.

“It’s been a while since I haven’t had sex with a girl before I slept next to them,” he whispers, adjusting himself comfortably. The side of his face rests on his piled hands. “It’s kinda nice.”

You cover your mouth as you yawn, then lay your hand back under your head, reflecting the same position as Jaemin.

“You know, it might be my sleepiness talking, but maybe you’re not the worst person in the world to be stuck with during a snowstorm.”

A lovely chuckle echoes in your ear. “I’m glad you’ve had a change of heart.”

After a few moments, your eyes are fluttering to a close until he softly calls out your name.

“Hm?” you stir awake, but not by much.

“Do you...?”

Jaemin doesn’t know what’s gotten to him, doesn’t quite understand why the defences he built for so long are crumbling down in only a day of knowing you.

And yet, something urges him to give it a chance.

Blowing out a shaky sigh, he anxiously intertwines his fingers with yours. You hum softly at the action and a small smile blooms on your face.

“Do you want to go on a date with me sometime?”

“Hm?” His question doesn’t take you aback as much as you would be if you were fully awake. But even in your drowsy state, you have quips in hand. “Jaemin, the notorious fuckboy and serial one-night stander, wants to go on a date?”

“Yeah,” he replies gently, brushing your loose hair out of your face.

Another yawn. “I thought you said you don’t want feelings and relationships and all that shit.”

His fingers trace your pretty jawline and shrugs. “One date doesn’t mean we’re going to be in a relationship, I’m sure you know that.”

You pause for a good two seconds, but the two seconds feel like forever for Jaemin.

“Mmm, fine. One date, just one.” You barely hold up your pointer finger. “And only because it’s Christmas tomorrow. ‘Tis the season to be giving...”

Relief washes over Jaemin in the form of a smile. Embracing the blatant feeling in his chest this time, he plants a light kiss on your nose and wishes you sweet dreams, even though you’ve already fallen soundly asleep.

Sunlight pours over your eyes on Christmas morning.

Déjà vu peculiarly creeps up on you, but the only thing that’s the same as yesterday is waking up in Jaemin’s bed.

He’s next to you this time, deep in his peaceful slumber, instead of waiting for you to leave by his doorframe. The snow has finally stopped, and you think you hear the faint noises of snow plows outside. You inhale deeply and also notice the faded aroma from all the scented candles from last night.

The scenes of yesterday flicker across your mind. The incredible sex. The talking. The dinner. The interlocking of his fingers with yours.

The date he asked you out on.

You stare at him, watching him sleep with a sense of content.

Turning your body, you routinely check your phone, which is charging beside his. You have a slew of Merry Christmas texts from several chats and a few private messages from your friends.

Your attention falls on Jaemin’s phone when it lights up with a notification, likely texts from his friends and family too.

But that’s not what you’re focusing on.

Your heart sinks at the sight of his lockscreen.

It’s a picture of him and a girl kissing.

A twinge emerges in your chest and twists harder and harder.

Jaemin being a fuckboy, you can respect. People can do whatever they want with their lives.

But to cheat?

That’s unforgivable, and a true sin if there ever was one.

You scramble to dash out of there, careful not to make any noises in fear of waking Jaemin up. However, Jaemin’s sensitive to the sounds of the front door, so he rouses awake. His eyes flit open, noticing how you’re gone. He then sees his phone blowing up and adds two and two together.

With his phone in hand, Jaemin rushes to get on a coat and stuffs his feet into his boots, not giving a shit that he’s wearing his thin pajamas in the coldness. He’s bounding down the flight of stairs and onto the bright, white wonderland of the streets.

He swivels his head and catches sight of you almost past down the block, slowly trekking through the thick snow. Jaemin sprints, as much as he can, and hops towards you.

He yells your name, making others on the street turn, but you don’t. You continue forward without looking back.

“Wait! I can explain!”

You’re trying to gain speed, but cardio isn’t your friend. Thankfully for Jaemin, it’s a close friend for him.

“I don’t wanna fucking hear it, Jaemin,” you grunt, hearing the rapid crunching of his shoes coming closer. “Get lost.”

“No, listen to me for a second.”

The boyish man grasps you by the arm and turns you around. You throw his arm away from you and he holds his hands in the air, letting you know that he respects your space. He drops his hands and sees that you’re seething, even worse than you were when he kicked you out yesterday.

“How are you going to explain your lockscreen with you kissing your fucking girlfriend?! Hm?”

“Ex,” he pants in clarification. “Ex-girlfriend.”

Your eyebrows mesh together in utter confusion.

“Okay? That doesn’t make me feel any better, knowing that you’re still hung up on your ex.”

Jaemin shakes his head and rakes a hand through his hair. You note the large clouds he exhales and how he’s barely wearing any clothes. A tinge of sympathy passes through you, wanting to give him some of your clothes for extra layers, but you smother that quickly in your state of rage.

“I’m not hung up on her. Remember you asked me yesterday why I don’t want girls to stay the next morning?”

You cock your head impatiently, as if saying, “Yeah.”

“Well, I don’t want to attach myself to girls. I can’t. I...”

He lowers his head to one side. Shutting his eyes, a long puff emits from his mouth.

“She cheated on me.”

The snow plows in the distance can’t compare to the pumping of your heart in your ears. All the feelings you felt in the last day, but especially in the last fifteen minutes, jumble together in your head, making you feel uneasy and unsure of what to exactly feel or comprehend of the situation.

But you do know one thing, despite the fact that you two barely know each other, the pained look on his face is real—that this is the untold story behind his ways.

Jaemin lifts his head and holds out his phone for emphasis. “The lockscreen serves as a constant reminder that dating and feelings will and can fuck me up.”

Carefully, he steps a little closer to you and slowly cups your face in his shaking hands. You don’t pull away nor is there the same anger from moments before, so he daintily runs his thumbs over your cheeks.

“Until you showed me yesterday that maybe I’m willing to give it all another shot. Risk it all for fuck knows what, but you make it look like it’s worth it.”

He continues his ramble after adjusting some of your hair from the ongoing breeze.

“Sure, it’s Christmas today, but I don’t want you to say yes to going on a date with me just because it is. I want you to say yes because maybe you like spending time with me just as much as I like to spend it with you.”

You’re completely disoriented—your eyes are shifting everywhere but his eyes and your lips are quivering with no words coming out. He sighs understandingly.

“Look, I know you’re probably having second thoughts and you don’t have to give me an answer right now. Think on it for as much time as you need, but I want you to know that I genuinely like you and I want to go on an actual date with you.”

He peels his hand away from your face and raises it into the air as if taking an oath.

“I, Na Jaemin, the notorious fuckboy and serial one-night stander, will devote to monogamy once again if it means I can date you.”

His hands grab yours, kisses the back of them, and then he presses one kiss onto your icy cheek prior to walking away.

“Merry Christmas,” he says with a sad smile. “You know where to find me if you change your mind.”

Later that evening at your large family’s Christmas party, you take another dreadful gulp of your wine.

It’s the happy holiday season, but why does everyone feel the need to stick their nose in your dating life? Well, really, a lack there of.

“Why are you still single?” Layers of their voices resound the same question in your head. You take another swig.

Potential unsaid answers that you kept to yourself fly around as you swish the drink in your glass.

Because you choose to be.

Okay, not really, but it’s the easiest answer.

Because you haven’t found the right guy to get you back in the game.

What does that even mean? What makes the right guy even right?

The right guy? It’s someone who makes you laugh, someone who gives as good as they can take it, someone who wants you just as much as you do.

The cogs move in your head as you take one more sip before you finally come to the conclusion—

Because you didn’t find the right guy until last night.

Despite the mess of today and yesterday morning, you realize that Jaemin is... actually sort of sweet. Annoying, yes, but he keeps you on your toes. It’s a plus that he’s easy on the eyes, but it’s a bigger plus that he’s even easier to talk to.

And if he can find it in his scorched heart to trust you, you can find it in your heart to trust him too.

You quickly say your good-byes to your family and let them know you have other plans with friends tonight.

As the Uber rolls up to his apartment building, you realize you probably should’ve messaged him on Tinder, but it’s worth a shot to see if he’s home. Anyways, impulsiveness is a controlling entity, as evident from your Christmas Eve Eve’s adventure.

And in retrospect, perhaps Jaemin was the perfect pick of the crop after all.

Someone’s entering the building and lets you in behind them. You take the stairs two at a time and hear booming music coming from his floor. At first, you assume it’s from other apartments, but it’s all coming from one—his.

Without a thought, your knuckle taps the door.

A handsome figure that’s definitely not Jaemin opens the door. Behind him, you see a group of young men scattered around the living room, and some have a few girls tucked under their arms.

The man eyes you up and down with a spark in his eye. He’s not Jaemin, but he surely reminds you of him.

“And who might you be?” he asks.

“Who’s at the door, Jeno?” An unknown male voice hollers in a high pitch from the couch. He’s one of the guys with a girl attached to him.

You blink. “Uhm, I’m—”

“She’s with me!” Jaemin shoves the flirty stranger aside and tugs you by your wrist, making headway to his bedroom. He flips the light switch on and the door clicks shut.

“What are you doing h—”

You cut him off with a kiss.

An innocent one, at first, with hints of alcohol on each other’s lips. Your arms wrap around the other and the passion increases with the mingling of your tongues, each party tasting and confirming the specific drinks you both consumed tonight.

Jaemin forces himself to pull away and presses his forehead against yours. “Did you just come all the way here to kiss me, or...?”

“Maybe I came over to ask... if I can stay with you for another night?” you playfully ask, fingers intertwining behind the nape of his neck.

He chuckles heartily. His fingers sink into the sides of your waist. “Is my dick that great? The sex with me that amazing?”

“Mmm, that’s definitely a benefit,” you agree, fluttering your nose against his. “But I want more than that—“ You poke a finger to his chest. “—I want the man behind the dick.”

Your gazes converge, bringing you together as one.

“I want to go on that date with you. I want you, Jaemin.”

He flashes a megawatt smile that could compete with a million Christmas lights, but it fades suddenly and you’re unsure why he seems like he’s about to bawl his eyes out.

“That’s so beautiful, I might cry.” He brings a finger to his eye, pretending to shed a tear.

Oh, yeah—you’re definitely going to need to hire someone to constantly shove your eyeballs back into your sockets if you’re going to date Jaemin.

“Oh, shut up,” you whisper, yanking him in for another kiss.

Three dates later, including a memorable New Year’s Eve, you finally decide to rid of the Tinder app for good.

With his arm around you on his living room couch, Jaemin glances over your shoulder.

“Really? You’re finally deleting your Tinder?”

You snort in disbelief. “That’s gold, coming from the King of Tinder himself. When did you delete?”

He turns to face the television and shrugs coolly.

“Maybe I didn’t.”

“Wouldn’t put it past you,” you nod, eyes still on your phone.

“Nah, I’m kidding, I did.”

You sharply turn your head.

“No way. When?” you press with narrow eyes.

A shy smile emerges on Jaemin’s face as he picks his pants over his thighs.

“On the night of Christmas Eve, after you agreed to go on a date with me.”

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frogtanii · 4 years ago

Text

“alright everyone, thank you for sticking around. please take care of yourselves and i’ll see you next time.” with a fake smile and a couple of clicks, kenma’s stream was turned off and computer powered down.

he let out a deep sigh before looking at the clock. it read 7:23am. he’d streamed all night. again. kuroo was going to have his head.

standing up with a groan, kenma ruffled his hair and adjusted his hoodie before making his way to the kitchen for an early morning drink before going to sleep for the rest of the day.

he shuffled along the wooden floors, his fuzzy kitty socks making little to no noise as he made his way to the five-star kitchen iwaizumi had managed to get for them.

kenma was a little confused as to who the kitchen was for — sure osamu used it for his videos but most nights, the house members ordered out or meiko cooked them a big dinner.

granted, he’d never actually seen meiko cook anything before but she took credit for it every time and she had no reason to lie. she was just that kind.

just the thought of meiko brought a small smile to kenma’s face. she was the one person who he felt understood him and cared for him like no other. she cleaned the house, she cooked for everyone, and she wasn’t stingy with her love.

although kenma was never one who liked sharing, he was willing to try for her. the others were equally enamored with meiko, willing to do almost anything for her and he didn’t blame them. the only thing was, he hadn’t hung out with her in so long and judging by the murmurs throughout the house, no one else had either.

oh well. he just needed to get her alone and ask if she wanted to watch him stream. he would ask if she wanted to actually play with him but she hated video games and would throw a fit if he asked so instead he would play and she would sit on his bed on her phone.

as much as kenma would’ve liked for his s/o to have something in common with him, he knew beggars couldn’t exactly be choosers — meiko reminded him of that fact every time he bothered requesting that they did something he wanted to do for date night.

the more his mind raced, the further his smile dropped as his eyebrows furrowed in disappointment. he knew she was busy but would it kill her to spend just a little time with him? was he really that disgusting? that repulsive?

kenma was jolted out of his thoughts at the sound of atsumu’s loud voice echoing throughout the kitchen. his golden eyes narrowed in suspicion — atsumu was never up early unless he was planning a prank which immediately put kenma on defense.

that was until he heard a light snort coming from room that he knew couldn’t have come from anyone but you.

slowly, kenma scooted forward to peek around the corner where his eyes met a scene that made his stomach churn and his heart twist in his chest.

you were dressed in some kind of apron and fluffy skirt combination while making a pot of really expensive coffee as atsumu hovered around you, teasing you clad in a massive hoodie (looked like samucooks merch) and gray sweats.

“tsum, leave me alone!” you laughed, shoving him out the way with your hip, skating around the kitchen as though you’d been in there thousands of times before.

that left kenma furrowing his brows in confusion. meiko always said you never cooked so why did you know exactly where the creme and sugar was? not even meiko remembered that but she played it off as her being a little forgetful. (would she lie?)

“go to bed atsumu,” your playful voice brought kenma back into the present, his golden eyes peeping you giving the blonde miya a tight hug and a slap on the butt, sending him back up the stairs and to his room.

kenma couldn’t help the feeling of jealousy that crept up his spine. he wanted this with meiko — a clearly loving but playful relationship where both parties were open with their affection for one another. he had no idea if you and atsumu were actually dating but your relationship was something he aspired to have.

“kenma?” god, kenma needed to stop getting lost in his thoughts, your hesitant voice pulling him out the shadows. you gave him a soft smile before waving him over to which he tentatively obliged.

he kept his distance from you, meiko’s warnings ringing throughout his brain as he took a seat at the counter across from you.

kenma noticed how your smile dropped a little at the corners at his blatant avoidance but you quickly plastered on a fake one, moving to pull out a cup and pour him his favorite sleepytime concoction of akaashi’s special chamomile tea and 4.5 drops of melatonin.

when he sent you a look of distrust, you just shrugged, saying, “i know what everyone drinks,” before turning back to pour your own thermos full of coffee.

he watched you as you worked, not missing the tenseness of your shoulders at his presence but you never once alluded that you wanted him gone.

kenma supposed that’s what gave him the confidence to ask, “do you make coffee every morning?” his voice was gravelly with the lack of sleep but you paid it no mind. “pretty much. i usually need this cup to get through the day at work and then recording at home.” you waved your colorful cup in the air for emphasis.

“work?” you nodded. “yeah, i work at the gaming cafe by the university? i have to wear cat ears but it pays pretty decently.” heat flooded through kenma’s cheeks as he briefly imagined you decked out in a full cat-maid outfit before shaking his head, guilt oozing from his pores. (he belonged to meiko...)

the room fell silent after that, the only sounds being kenma’s small sips of his tea and your brewing of another pot of coffee to leave for the house.

“ah shit, i gotta go. i guess i’ll... see you later?” you asked awkwardly while pulling a cardigan over your apron and skirt uniform. kenma just nodded, watching you race out the door to catch the bus to work.

finishing off his mug, he placed it in the sink, his blush back in full force as he realized what you had absentmindedly done — kenma had never told you he’d been up all night and was in need of sleeping assistance but yet you prepared him exactly what he’d needed.

kenma knew for sure that meiko had no idea about his insomnia and his favorite remedy and he didn’t know if that made him feel better or worse. he wouldn’t want to worry her but a part of him wished she cared enough to know. (but that was selfish... don’t be selfish kenma...)

staring at the base of the sink, he smiled to himself at the thought of your kind words and careful hands before physically shaking the thoughts off.

no. he was with meiko and he was happy (was he?). but that didn’t mean he couldn’t just say...

“thank you.”

℗ poker face

a crack in the facade

series masterlist

(●’◡’●)ﾉ

an - MORE LORE MORE LORE :0 yall i’m proud of this ch, u see kenma changinggggg (ur welcome kenma simps hehe) FEED ME <3

taglist - if your name is in bold, i cannot tag you

@boosyboo9206 • @geektastic84 • @elianetsantana • @trashy-simp • @infinitebells • @6mattsun9 • @suhkusa • @vhskenma • @kotarosbabygirl • @fucktheworlddude • @insomniacwreck • @calumsfringe • @saltylettuce • @chai-blu • @al3x1ss • @hawksyoongi • @syndellwins • @jooleuuh • @amberalisa • @kissungjae • @liberhoe • @tetsurocore • @animeoverdosee • @duhsies • @saikishairclip • @afire24 • @premiyagi • @kit-kat428 • @doctorspencereid • @daphnxy • @kyomihann • @maer-333 • @sinoflust19 • @peteunderoos • @peachiikichu • @iidanotlida • @yongboxerrr • @kac-chowsballs • @tanakaslastbraincell • @memorableminds • @ris-illustration • @starry-magicshop • @sugavwara • @smuttyanimeslut • @kiwibirbs-library • @haijkk • @airybnb • @babierin • @iwaisa • @decaffinatedtealover • @notameera • @kawaii-angelanne • @rintarovibes • @urlocalsimp

the rest of the tags will be in the replies!!

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fangurk · 4 years ago

Text

She’s Always There (Paul Lahote x Reader)

Key:

Y/n: Your Name

Y/l/n: Your Last Name

Y/n/n: Your Nickname

Y/e/c: Your Eye Color

Y/h/c: Your Hair Color

Prompt Given To Me By @ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhghhhh.tumblr.com: hey!! so the reason I'm messaging is because I wanted to request something but can't fit it all into an ask lmao. anyways could i please request a Paul Lahote x reader where the reader has been super close to the whole pack for years and has been Paul's imprint but doesn't know it (bc Sam thought it would be best to keep u away from it all) and they decide to finally tell you about being shapeshifters and being Paul's imprint and you're so mad about them not telling u earlier and there's a huge argument and they and Paul tries to calm you down but you say stuff like 'leave me alone' and things like that and it sounds like you're rejecting him/the bond in ur angry breakdown. anyways Paul is heartbroken and can't get out of bed or eat or anything so the guys finally convince you to come back bc they and Paul need you and it's just the reader cuddling with him and getting him out of bed to take a shower and eat and he realizes that you're not going anywhere and it's just like healing the imprint bond? sorry for this WALL of text, I've just had this idea stuck in my head for a while lol. if you don't want to do it, that's completely fine!! thank you for your time ♡

ok so my guy,, bc this fic has been stuck in my head for a bit, some scenes have developed? so idk i hope this isn't too much, but if u do write it, would u be willing to add like some angst to it, obvi, and maybe a scene/part lol where when the reader tries to get him to shower (bc the misinterpreted rejection made him like super depressed and he just felt low about himself) he won't shower, because he doesn't want to come out and the reader is gone. so either they shower together (not smutty just angst&fluff) or she sits like in the bathroom while he showers LOL. and when he feels a bit better, they go down to eat and he's touching some part of her at all times. if this is too much to like,, include then that's a-okay. i just need to get this OUT of my MIND ugh lmao!/!

Reader Gender: Female

Summary: The Reader has been friends with most of the pack members for her whole life. Which is why, after months of silence and strange changes, she was willing to let them back into her life— until she finds out she’s been told lies that leave her in danger, of course. After a big freak out and two weeks of avoiding them, the boys come begging for her help; it turns out that Paul has some wolf-y claim on her, and whatever she said to him has left him worse for wear...

Warnings: Mentions of Depression, Nudity, Angst, and Cursing.

A/n: this is literally like a whole novel I’m so sorry I got carried away. this is kinda based on a lot of fics I read where the imprint has the potential to really hurt people and I named Paul’s dad.

Word Count: 2.9k+

“The legends are real!?”

Y/n Y/l/n hasn’t ever been so disturbed in her entire life.

After weeks of radio silence, Sam Uley’s little ‘gang’, mostly consisting of people she’d known since childhood, had slowly trickled back into her life. What started as a grocery run with Paul or a movie with Jared had turned into big bonfire parties including Jacob Black and his gaggle.

But that was months ago. Months. And now, as she sits by a fire, surrounded on either side by them, they decide to tell her their little secret?

“Y/n.” Sam says as she abruptly stands, eyes stern and hand raised placatingly.

His actions only served to upset her more and her skin bristles with irritation. Sam was acting as if she, a human surrounded by shape shifters, was the unstable one. As if she could do any damage to things built to kill vampires.

“Don’t you dare, Sam.” She clenches her fists, glaring right back at him. “It’s been months- months- and you’re telling me now?”

“It’s not exactly an easy thing to bring up.” He reasons, voice a little less demanding. “We all wanted to be sure that you were ready to know.”

“Ready?!” Y/n laughs mirthlessly, y/e/c eyes wide with disbelief, “When was I supposed to be ready Sam? W-when one of you gored me? When a cold one ripped me apart?”

Her hands shake as she puts them on her forehead, blinking back tears. Growing up all she’d ever heard were stories of humans getting dragged into fights between wolf and vampire, and she couldn’t bring herself to look Emily in the eye because it was suddenly apparent that wolves alone could hurt people too.

It was so bad, whatever happened to Emily, that they said a bear mauled her— Y/n didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

“It’s not like that, Y/n/n.” Embry chimes in, reaching out to grab his friend's arm.

She yanks her body out of the way and gathers her belongings quickly.

“What is it like then, Call?” She holds her bag to her heaving chest, “because it seems to me that you all have the ability to turn into giant, slobbery freaks that are built for killing vampires and, after completely dropping me for weeks, you decided to keep it secret from me for months. Did it even occur to you that I would’ve been better off knowing right off the bat?!”

No one says anything. Eight shifters and two of their girlfriends sit there, just staring at her like she was speaking a different language.

“You know,” Y/n has to clear her throat to steady her wavering voice, “had you guys really been souped-up on drugs like everyone says, maybe I could’ve handled the lying. But my life was clearly potentially in danger, and you let me hang around without saying anything. I- God I don’t want to see you people right now.”

She leaves with that, stepping over logs and storming back down the beach with determination. Faintly over the roar of her heartbeat, she can hear someone scrambling to stand behind her.

“Wait!— shit, sorry-” Paul grunts, jogging to catch up with her- “Y/n-“

With an unusual gentleness, his warm hand wrapped around her forearm. For a moment, deep in the back of her mind, a foreign feeling tells her to stop, to listen; but that small voice is quickly smothered by the rational part of her brain, and she wrenches her arm from his grip.

“Don’t touch me!” She snaps, lowering her voice, “Leave me alone- I need to be alone.”

Paul stands there, dumbstruck, an unreadable look in his eyes as she walks away. And he’d continue to stand there, looking like a kicked puppy long after her retreating form became a blur amongst the darkness of the beach.

“Paul?” Sam is hesitant, hand hovering over the younger boy’s shoulder a minute before he touches him, “You okay?”

Shrugging his leader’s arm off his shoulder, Paul sighs. “No...I...I’m just gonna head home.”

Instead of going in the directions of the cars, the wolf stalks off toward the woods; Emily stands from her seat, wrapping her sweater more around herself as she watches Paul leave. Concern is written all over her features.

“He’ll be fine, Em,” He pulls her in for a hug, “it’ll all work out eventually.”

ஓ๑♡๑ஓ

Y/n does a good job of avoiding them for a while.

She turns her phone off a few days in and avoids going to First Beach, even when Washington gets a rare, warm summer feel. Books that have sat long forgotten on her shelves get read and TV shows she’s always meant to catch up on get watched; it’s boring and she runs out of options, at one point thinking of dying her hair y/f/c just to spice things up, but it allows her to think. (Or at least it allows this strange little voice in the back of her head to tell her that she needs to go back to them.)

The next time she sees any of the boys is exactly two weeks after the bonfire incident.

She’s curled up on her couch, picking at some of the Clearwaters’ fish fry and barely watching an episode of ANTM, when a fist comes banging down on her door. Turning off the TV, she tiptoes to the window, peeking under the curtain as carefully as she can.

As she expected, Jared Cameron and Embry Call are on her porch, the former standing in front of her door with his hip cocked, the other rooting around in her mother’s plants for something. Cringing, she hopes if she’s quiet enough that they’ll just go away.

Her front door opens within minutes, however, and she realizes her hoping is fruitless.

Should’ve known you can’t hide from wolves, she can’t help but think bitterly.

“Y/n?” Jared calls out through the house, “we know you’re here.”

“Yeah, and you guys should probably move your spare key,” Embry tacks on, flicking the light switch to the living room up, “I've known you forever and it’s still in the same place.”

From her spot by the window, the y/h/c haired girl glares at the two boys, arms crossed over her chest. Embry gives her a lopsided grin and holds the key out to her, his bud plopping down on the couch and pulling her abandoned plate into his lap.

Y/n extends a hand to take the key.

“Has it really been in the same place?” She sounds a little more defeated than she’d like.

“Yeah, it’s always been in your mother’s cornflower pot.”

“That’s...kinda sad.” She wrinkles her nose, pocketing the key with the intention to hide it better later, “but uh, I’ve been ignoring you for two weeks for a reason. Peacefully breaking into my house kinda furthers my need for space.”

Embry scratches the back of his neck.

“Well,” He says, “we need you to come back, man. Paul won’t talk to anyone- Sam doesn’t know if he’s eating, and he won’t even get out of bed for patrol! He needs his imprint-”

“His what?” She cocks her head to the side and Jared snorts from the couch.

“She left before we got there, nimrod,” Jared mocks through a mouthful of food, “she doesn’t know what an imprint is.”

He lets out an indignant “Hey!” as Y/n walks by, snatching her plate back from him on her way to the kitchen. Embry chases after her, a grumpy Jared jumping up from the couch to follow.

“You’re his imprint— you’re basically his soulmate!”

“Really?” She says warily, sealing the fish and putting it back in the fridge.

Both boys nod clumsily.

“You remember a few weeks ago when you saw each other for the first time again and he kinda just stood there like an idiot while you talked?”

“Yeah? Oh!-” She brings her hands up to her mouth, brows furrowed as she recalls.

It was exactly Jared had said. She and Paul had seen one another for the first time in a long time and the minute her y/e/c eyes looked into his, it was like he’d been struck dumb.

Embry gives her an encouraging look, “An imprint is...It's not like love at first sight, really. It's more like… gravity moves… suddenly. It's not the earth holding you here anymore, she does… You become whatever she needs you to be, whether that's a protector, or a lover, or a friend. When you snapped at him last week he thought you were rejecting him….”

A part of her thought about how absurd it was that he knew that whole speech. But the bigger part of her came to a realization that made her stomach churn.

“So he's all depressed… because… of me?” She whispers, leaning back on the counter.

Embry, always a rather sympathetic person, opens his mouth to comfort her, but Jared cuts him off.

“Basically. So are you going to come with us so we can help Paul or are you going to continue being petty?”

In any other circumstance, Y/n probably would’ve thrown something at her for calling her petty. She felt she was completely justified in her actions. A part of her wonders if she can really believe them— they’d spent months lying to her after all. But a larger part thinks about Paul, curled up in his bed, slowly desecrating because he thinks she rejected him.

If it were really all some ploy to get her to listen to them, then she’d at least be the person who chose the well-being of her friend over a petty disagreement.

“I’m coming.” She affirms, pushing herself off the counter, and letting the boys lead her to the car.

ஓ๑♡๑ஓ

Jared and Embry drop her off in front of the Lahote household. They tell her something but she can’t really hear them over her heartbeat, she doesn’t even know they’re gone until it’s too late to turn back.

Getting into the house wasn’t the hard part. Paul’s father, Cyrus, had been leaving as she arrived, and, after he watched her stare at the house with a fearful expression for a few minutes, he happily let her in. The hard part was willing her legs to take her up the stairs to Paul’s room, and then it was opening his bedroom door.

Y/n has known Paul since they were eight, but she was afraid of him until they were eleven. He wasn’t mean, per se, but his anger made him do mean things; she wasn’t entirely happy with puberty and it’s monthly gifts, but whatever it did to make her suddenly un-afraid of him she was grateful for. But now, standing in front of his bedroom door, she had a nagging fear that Paul would revert to that eight year old boy who threw lunch boxes and twisted arms behind backs until people cried.

The door creaks slightly as she struggles to push it open.

His room is almost completely dark except for the light coming from the hallway behind her. Trash and dirty clothes have formed a compact layer on his bedroom floor, foot sized holes leading up to the twin sized bed in the corner. On the bed, amongst the blankets she’s sure he doesn’t need, is Paul— or at least, a Paul sized lump.

As gross as it is, she’s kind of relieved he’s been eating.

“Paul?” She whispers tentatively, stepping toward the bed.

The lump flinches and turns toward her.

“Y/n?”

If the room and the description of his state weren’t heartbreaking enough, his voice definitely was. Hollow, rough, and small, everything it never was, everything Paul wasn’t.

“Is that you?”

“Yeah...it’s me..”

She carefully steps over to the bed, and Paul slowly sits up, pushing his blankets to the side. There’s a beat of silence as she stands between his legs, his reluctant hands coming to rest on her waist after a minute. Y/n let’s him have another to gather his thoughts.

“You really came…” Tears well up in his eyes and loops his arms around her back.

She runs a hand through his hair. “I did, and I’m so sorry, if I had known—”

Paul nuzzles her stomach, “S’fine, you didn’t know, and you’re here now.”

There’s a sort of cute, euphoria lacing his voice and he’s visibly much more relaxed.

“Just don’t ever say that again…”

“I won’t, I promise.”

She’s surprised when he manhandles her into his lap, but she doesn’t really mind. He’s warm and strangely familiar and something about it just— clicks.

“When was the last time you spent, I dunno, a minute or two out of your room?” Y/n asks softly, y/e/c eyes glancing about the room.

The shifter’s only response is a shrug, too busy nosing around her neck with vigor. When he finds a certain spot, it makes her squeak, and this seems to excite him like a puppy finding out its favorite toy makes noise.

“You need to bathe, eat something substantial,” She intertwines their fingers, “and the...pack...they’re really worried about you— are you even listening to me?”

He looks up at her then and flashes her a sheepish smile, answering her question. Pursing her lips, she pulls his arms from around her.

“C’mon, Paul.” She stands up and takes his hand. “We’re gonna get you cleaned up.”

She moves toward the door, urging him forward, only to be jerked to a stop as he stays put. He looks a little distressed when she turns back to him, brows furrowed, almost like he’s in pain.

“Paul?”

He grunts, jaw clenched as the cogs turn in his head. Y/n cocks her head and reaches out for his other hand. It felt like some sort of supernatural intuition, one she’ll blame on the imprint and ask Emily about later.

“Paul, hon, why won’t you come shower?”

“I’m afraid you'll leave,” He says bashfully, “it’s stupid, I know, but part of me is afraid you’ll leave while I’m in the shower.”

Y/n couldn’t help but feel a little heartbroken at his confession. Paul was part wolf, and part of being part wolf was imprinting— she almost wishes she’d have stayed long enough to listen, or been able to focus as the boys debriefed her on the ride over because only being able to speculate how much she’d actually hurt him was eating her alive. He wouldn’t even shower, something he desperately needed to do, because of what she’d said.

Taking a deep breath, she barely registers the words she’s about to say.

“I’ll wait with you, I’ll sit on the toilet, you’ll see me there.”

And true to her word, Y/n does sit on the toilet while Paul showers, reading the information on soap bottles to distract herself from the fact that he was there next to her, very naked. Occasionally he asks her what she’s doing, and she reads the ingredients out loud to the best of her ability, and he laughs a little— she tries to hide her smile, but she was too happy he was laughing.

She closes her eyes when he gets out, letting him dry himself off and pull on some clean shorts. He throws the wet towel at her when he’s done, eliciting a “Hey!” that makes him laugh again.

Now that he’s clean, the two of them descend into his quiet house. Y/n navigates the kitchen, her wolf attached to her hip and being less than helpful, and makes them both something to eat— he doesn’t do much more than stand behind her, wrapped around her, making her life more difficult.

“I’m so happy you came back.” He says, watching her work.

“I was always going to.” Y/n responds, her voice sure and steady.

They talk as they eat, sitting across from one another at the too big table in the Lahote household. Talk about how this was going to work, admitting feelings that always lingered, and everything in between; she hooks her leg around his, watching him scarf down his meal with a wrinkled nose and fondness glittering in her y/e/c eyes.

He’s...gross...but he’s hers, she’s kind of stuck with him.

A date is planned. An actual date.

Paul promises to take her to the local diner (and to wear a shirt, for once.)

“I’ve been saving up for something like this.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, and you can get that dessert you like.”

Y/n laughs softly, but heat spreads up her neck and settles in her ears and cheeks. It’d been a long time since that had been her favorite food, but it was the thought that counted...

When Cyrus Lahote returns from work later that night his son and the Y/l/n girl are awkwardly situated on his couch— him on his back, snoring, her lying on top of him, face tucked into his neck, also fast asleep. The older man turns off the TV and tosses a blanket over the pair, ascending up the stairs with a smile on his face.

Y/n Y/l/n was trustworthy. She’s always there when Paul is in a rut too big for him to handle...

#paul lahote #paul lahote imagine #paul lahote x reader #twilight wolf pack imagine #twilight wolf pack #twilight fanfiction #eclipse #twilight wolf imagines #embry call #jared cameron #sam uley

1K notes · View notes

noteguk · 4 years ago

Note

Taehyung fingering u while ur in zoom class,,,,this came to me as i spaced out in class

— contents and warnings: small praising kink, fingering, boyfriend!taehyung, pwp

— words; 1.6k

Thank you for your request, baby!!

You were quick to check if your microphone was still off when your boyfriend walked into the bedroom.

“I’m in class,” you mumbled, your voice a bit more bitter than you’d like. You were sprawled on the bed with your laptop heated and resting against your stomach, the screen lowered so you could pretend to pay attention to whatever it was that your professor was saying. You were in class, yes, but it certainly didn’t look like it.

Taehyung laughed at your position, and started walking towards the other side of the bed. “That explains your delightful mood.”

You hummed, eyes still stuck to the small squares on your screen. Every once in a while, you sat up on the bed and turned your camera back on (since your professor almost popped a vein every time he saw that someone had turned it off) but, for the time being, he was too focused on his explanation to care about that. You were off the hook for maybe twenty more minutes, and no one had to see your zombified face for now.

Your sleeping schedule had been absolute chaos since the beginning of the pandemic and the responsibility of an early class wouldn’t make a difference at that point — so, that night, you went to sleep at four knowing fully well that you’d have to be up at seven, and it worked just as well as anyone with a half functioning brain cell would expect. You were awake, but only physically.

The voice of your professor was a monotone, flat and repetitive melody to your ears. Absent-minded, your eyes darted from the screen and towards your boyfriend when Taehyung threw himself on the bed next to you. With interest, he placed his head on your shoulder and looked at the screen, trying to piece together the information on the slideshow.

“This looks really boring,” he commented, fumbling close to you. If your camera had been on, everyone else would think you were in an earthquake, from how much the bed was shaking under his movements. He turned to you. “And you look really annoyed.”

You sneered. “I’m glad it’s obvious. Too much emotional energy is wasted in these calls,” you complained. You did not know how your colleges managed to keep such neutral faces during online classes, it seemed like it took everything in you to look remotely pleasant and fight against your resting bitch face. “I’ll be free in twenty minutes, then I’ll help you with lunch.”

“I was thinking that maybe today we could order something,” Taehyung said, his hand finding its place on your hip bone. A bit of sleep left your body at the contact, his warmth radiating through your thin sweatshorts. “From that restaurant you like from down the street.”

Your mouth salivated at the thought. “That’d be wonderful, actually.”

He hummed, burying his face on your neck. His hot breath sent shivers up and down your skin, his voice vibrating against your flesh as he spoke. “I don’t like when you’re down,” he told you. “I’m just trying to cheer you up.”

It took everything in you not to moan at the feeling. Taehyung knew very well how much your neck was sensitive, and the little demon was doing it on purpose. “I appreciate it,” you managed to say, even if your voice wasn’t as firm as you’d like.

“There’s other ways that I could try and make you feel better.” His hand slithered closer to your center, and stopped right underneath your belly button. With your computer placed in front of you, you could only feel as he made his way down, brushing against the thick fabric of your shorts. “If you want, of course.”

Another glimpse to check if the camera and the microphone were off and you already had your answer. “I’d love that.”

With a wicked smirk, Taehyung shuffled closer so he could place kisses on your neck — hot, wet, open-mouthed kisses that made your legs weak. You bit your lip as his hand moved underneath the hem of your pants, placing itself between your shorts and your underwear.

A wave of heat ran through your body when his middle finger pressed down against your clit and started to trace small circles on it, faint motions that made your head spin. The fabric numbed the sensation a bit, but it was enough to make the first shocks of pleasure and anticipation appear.

“Don’t tease,” you asked, already a bit breathless.

You were a bit embarrassed to say it out loud — even though you were sure that your boyfriend already knew it — but you were already wet just by having his mouth on your neck, reddening your skin with every tender suck. He didn’t need much effort down there.

You made a mental note to cover your neck with your hair if you had to turn the camera back on.

Taehyung chuckled, his breath coming out hot against your neck. “Baby, I already am. Sorry.” His finger worked at a turtle pace, pressing down just right to make your hips buckle up, fighting for more contact. “Do you want me to keep going?”

You swallowed hard. “Yes, please.”

Since Taehyung wasn’t planning to make you even more irritated with his prolonged provocations, he was merciful and pulled your panties to the side, his digits traveling downwards. He moaned in delight when his index found your entrance, soaking him with your juices.

“Such a good girl, always so wet for me,” he praised, his voice deep and velvety. It was driving you crazy. “Pay attention to class while I finger you, baby.”

You had almost forgotten you even were in a zoom class and, when Taehyung sunk two of his fingers inside you, you forgot about it all over again. Overwhelmed, your eyes fluttered shut at the feeling of his long, slender feelings spreading you open, digging inside you and curving just at the right spot that made you see stars. Taehyung had done that enough times to know where your body reacted the most, where he had to touch and press to have you a whining mess beneath him.

A hoarse grunt vibrated in his throat as he started pumping his fingers in and out of you, imagining how it would feel to have you clenching around his cock instead. But that morning wasn’t about him, and Taehyung was patient enough to wait until after lunch to have you bent over and crying to be fucked. That morning, he only wanted to make you cum.

“Feels good, baby?” He asked, merciless with his movements. His hands were so big that his thumb didn’t have any problem finding your clit, putting some pressure on it as he continued to finger your pussy.

You whimpered and moaned, rolling your hips against his hand in a faithless prayer for more. At his question, you only found the force within you to desperately nod.

“You’re so pretty… and you feel so good, baby…” he mumbled to himself, his eyes closing at the feeling of your walls tightening around him. Inside his pants, his cock was hard and aching to be surrounded by your wetness; throbbing and leaking. “You’re such a good girl. Such a pretty little thing.”

“Taehyung,” you called his name and, for a moment, you didn’t know what you wanted to say. The pressure on your lower back was building up at every new thrust of his fingers inside you, and the sounds of your wetness erased your thoughts for a second. “I’m so close.”

“Wanna cum around my fingers, baby?” Taehyung’s voice was hoarse, vibrating against your skin as his mouth relentlessly marked your neck. Your class had long been forgotten, and you couldn’t even open your eyes and look at the screen. Not that you wanted to. You wanted to succumb to him. “Uh? Want to make a pretty mess on my fingers for me?”

You gasped at his words, your thighs already shaking with your upcoming release. His fingers were so big, they felt so good inside you that you could barely think straight. “Yes, please, Taehyung.”

“That’s my girl,” he said, adding a bit more pressure against your clit. The movement made your hips perk up, and your computer almost fell from your chest. “Let it go, baby. Relax. I got you.”

And you did as he said. You came around his fingers as your hand flew to your mouth, muffling your blissful cries as your pussy clenched around him, lower body buckling up and rolling against his final pumps in an attempt to prolong your pleasure. Taehyung grunted in satisfaction, his cock throbbing at the feeling of you soaking his fingers, and he waited for your breaths to settle before he spoke up.

“Better?” He asked, placing a final pec against the skin of your neck, which now blossomed in purples and reds after his attack.

Your eyes opened lazily and for a second you didn’t find your voice. “So much better. That was great.”

Taehyung leaned in and placed a soft kiss against your lips. “I like to see my girl happy,” he said tenderly. His hand slithered out of your underwear, making you feel awfully empty, and he sat up in bed. “Now, you enjoy those final minutes of your class. I’m gonna get us some food.”

“Thanks, baby,” you said, like you would ever be able to think about any subject after that. “You know my order, right?”

He rolled out of the bed with a swift movement. “Yes, Miss.” Taehyung pointed at your computer. “Now, pay attention. Your tuition isn’t cheap.”

You giggled, and your eyes followed him as he left the bedroom.

When Taehyung arrived at the corridor, he looked down at the tent in his pants and realized he might need to make a quick stop in the bathroom before he could even think about ordering food.

#Taehyung #bts smut #Taehyung smut #Taehyung x you #Taehyung x reader #bts x you #bts x reader #smut #reader insert #Kim Taehyung #bts #x reader #x you #pwp #Taehyung pwp #bts pwp

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pips-fics · 3 years ago

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ask: Hi 👉👈 if it’s okay can I request a hyunjin centric fic? where he’s feverish and emotional nd the others give him lots of affection and comfort 🥺🥺 I love your blog so much it’s so soft and feels safe and ahhh it makes me happy 👉👈 thank you and it’s okay if you don’t feel up to it !!

ask: hello! how are you? i just wanted to say that this is my all time fave blog :) i’m kinda new to tumblr so i’m not sure if that’s how u say it tho hahaha. are u down for requested atm? if yes, could i request a sick hyunjinnie with any caretaker (preferably bangchan). if u are not taking requests atm, then carry on with ur day 🌸✨💜

tw: vomiting, fainting

let us break ––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––

all idols are trained actors. a lot of people don’t realize it, maybe, but they had to be, to some extent. even before debuting, they learned by observation how to fake health, confidence, and calm - and beyond debut, it was happiness all the time. once, hyunjin found out that one of his best childhood friends was in the hospital, and then sang and smiled through a fansign without blinking an eye an hour later. he knew other idols who had endured much worse.

so yes, while hyunjin might not be entirely comfortable playing a role in a movie or a show, he was quite capable of faking it. maybe that’s why he was able to convince his group mates that he was okay right up until he collapsed.

he hadn’t expected things to get so bad. at first, he was just a bit congested - nothing he couldn’t pass off as allergies, really. once he’d gotten wrapped up in practicing, it had been easy to brush anything else off - like sweating, achy muscles, even nausea - as an effect of intense exercise. too easy, maybe, because hyunjin was not at all prepared for his vision to flicker with darkness or for his legs to entirely give up in the middle of dancing.

fortunately, he retained consciousness, but he wasn’t able to stand quickly enough to dodge minho as he moved to their next formation. the older boy tripped over hyunjin and tumbled to the ground with an “oof,” which was then followed by the chaos of everyone trying to figure out what had happened at once.

it was way too much for hyunjin’s fevered brain to process. he shut down, the sounds blurring into something entirely nonsensical, so hyunjin tuned it all out until a gentle hand on his back made him jump.

“hyunjinnie?” it was chan, wiping tears away. “can you tell me what’s wrong?”

hyunjin shook his head. “minho-hyung–”

“he’s okay,” chan said. “don’t worry.”

shuffling his feet awkwardly, minho nodded. “i know how to fall safely. it happens to the best of us.”

with the greatest of his greatest fears alleviated, hyunjin took a few deep breaths and looked around the room. besides minho, who was still standing nearby looking moderately uncomfortable, and chan, who was rubbing comforting circles on hyunjin’s back, the rest of the members were hanging out near the benches on the other side of the practice room. jisung was talking to their dance teacher while jeongin and changbin were messing with felix in what was probably a deliberate attempt at creating a distraction. seungmin was quietly observing hyunjin from a distance, concern written all over his face. distractions didn’t tend to work as well on him. hyunjin managed a smile in an attempt to be reassuring, but it didn’t seem to have the intended effect.

rather than relaxing, seungmin’s frown deepened, and he stood up and walked over, arms crossed. “don’t act like you’re okay,” he said, and hyunjin suddenly understood. he waved his arms around placatingly.

“i won’t - i’ll take today off, okay?” hyunjin caved easily. next to him, chan looked shocked, and not without reason.

three years ago, things would have gone down quite differently. things had gone down quite differently when hyunjin had been a trainee, and he’d woken up in the hospital with a very rattled seungmin at his bedside. hyunjin wouldn’t make that mistake again any time soon if he could help it.

that didn’t make it easy.

somehow the tears started up again of their own accord as hyunjin relented. “i’m sorry,” he said. “i– i’ll make it up to you all later, i know i’m behind with the dance, it’s just–”

this got the attention of the rest of the group, eliciting a scoff from changbin. “please don’t - if you do that, i’ll be even more behind than i already am.”

“give us a chance to catch up!” jisung added.

hyunjin shook his head. “but i’m supposed to be a dancer.”

felix bounded over and latched on to hyunjin’s arm. “you’re ahead of me, too. i think the only one you’re not ahead of is minho-hyung, and he made half of the choreography.”

minho nodded solemnly. “i cheated.”

hyunjin was too tired to feel better about himself, but too miserable to argue, so he just shrugged and avoided eye contact with everyone.

chan put a hand to hyunjin’s forehead, and nodded as if confirming something. “i’ll come back to the dorm with you, then - i could use a rest day, too, i think.”

with no room for argument, hyunjin decided not to bother trying, despite his misgivings about taking up chan’s time. also, out of all of them, hyunjin thought that chan could use the extra rest the most. by the time they arrived at the dorm, the guilt in hyunjin’s stomach was more or less consumed by an overwhelming sense of loneliness and fear.

he settled in to the living room, sinking into the couch and trying to repress his body’s violent shivering by wrapping himself in a blanket, though it wasn’t very effective. hyunjin was relieved when chan sat next to him, pulling out his laptop - as expected, not really taking a break after all, but hyunjin didn’t mind. he knew chan was busy, and liked to feel productive as often as possible. people relaxed in different ways, anyway. just like that, despite the growing ache in his stomach, hyunjin began to relax and drift off to sleep.

it wasn’t until chan moved to get up that hyunjin snapped back awake. he immediately latched on to chan’s arm.

“hyung, don’t leave me.”

the words were out of his mouth before hyunjin had a chance to consider them, and he immediately hid his face in the couch cushions in embarrassment.

“hyunjinnie,” chan said gently, brushing a hand through hyunjin’s hair. he didn’t sound annoyed, so hyunjin peeked up at him, and found him smiling fondly. “i wasn’t going to leave, just going to get some water. you want anything?”

hyunjin felt his cheeks redden, and let go of chan’s arm. he shook his head. “sorry, hyung.”

“nothing to worry about,” chan said.

being alone even briefly was unsettling to hyunjin, feeling as bad as he was. it meant being forced to take stock of his body, which meant confronting that he felt, somehow, even worse than before. his head was pounding, everything hurt, and his stomach–

his stomach flipped very violently, and hyunjin retched, leaning over the couch, a bit stunned. he swallowed back the vile substance that rushed up his throat with a whimper and scrambled to his feet.

he made it to the toilet just in time for his body to rebel again. this time, hyunjin was hopeless to stop it, and it wasn’t long before tears were rolling down his cheeks. his hair was sticking to his face, matted down with sweat and in some places vomit. hyunjin tried to push it out of his way, but his hands were shaking terribly, and the nausea was so overwhelming, it was hard to focus on anything else.

chan found hyunjin with his cheek on the toilet seat, expression vacant, past the point of caring about a mess. when he saw chan, his face scrunched up into a sad pout.

“hyung… i’m sorry…”

chan chuckled and shook his head. “don’t apologize,” he said quietly, moving to hyunjin’s side just as the younger man began heaving again. chan held hyunjin’s hair and rubbed his shoulder blades, wishing he could do more. he couldn’t help but wince at the way hyunjin’s muscles tensed beneath his fingers.

it took quite a while for hyunjin’s stomach to settle. for about 10 minutes, it was on-and-off puking, half his time spent bent over the toilet, and the other half bonelessly slumped against chan. by the end, he was so exhausted that chan was considering bringing a mixing bowl into the bathroom, just so that hyunjin didn’t have to put so much effort into moving.

finally, hyunjin let out a shuddering sigh - or maybe a sob - and curled up in chan’s lap.

“can i sleep here?” hyunjin mumbled, words slurred with exhaustion. some of the sick in his hair was beginning to dry.

“soon, jinnie. for now, let’s get you cleaned up.”

chan opted to give hyunjin a warm bath, and was pleased when hyunjin relaxed into it, half-asleep. he figured it was okay for the younger man to take a quick nap under chan’s supervision. by the time hyunjin was clean, chan was reluctant to wake him. just as he was about to, hyunjin’s face scrunched up, and he whimpered.

“hyunjin?”

“‘m sorry,” he mumbled, fresh tears slipping down his cheeks. “i’ll do better…”

chan shook him gently, and hyunjin’s eyes flew open. “i’m sorry, i–” he cut himself off with a gasp, taking in his surroundings slowly. “channie-hyung?”

“hey, buddy,” he said, speaking softly. “you okay?”

hyunjin was breathing in short, quick gasps. his eyes darted around the small room, as though searching for something. he blinked quickly, and looked back at chan, who offer a smile.

“it’s just us, you know?”

drinking air as though its supply was dangerously limited, hyunjin nodded. “i know, yeah, i just… hyung, i’m ruining your day off.”

chan shook his head immediately. “what are you talking about, jinnie? you know i’m here because i want to be, right?”

hyunjin bit his lip, trying not to cry. his fevered brain was not being kind to him. chan’s words were too genuine to deny, though, so he nodded, eyes closed. he felt chan’s arms wrap around him, hesitant until hyunjin hugged him back.

“jinnie, you’re allowed to be human. you’re allowed to hurt. it’s okay.”

something there caught him off guard. something broke, something that had been built up, something that had protected hyunjin for a long time. a little snap. it hurt, realizing he’d closed himself off without realizing it, and holding back tears was a lost cause, but then - that was kind of chan’s point.

why hide them?

so hyunjin cried, broken a bit, but held together by one of his best friends - his family. he let himself break a bit more - just as much as he needed - and didn’t flinch when the rest of the members came home. he let them in through a little crack of a doorway, let him hold him and remind him of who he was, and he began to heal.

——

no reader survey this time, too tired and my computer is breaking but please feel free to send in any thoughts you’d like to share, about the fic or otherwise!

——

feel free to send more asks! / rules

#tw vomit #tw throwing up #kpop emeto #tw emeto #emeto tw #vomit tw #vomiting #skz #skz sickfic #kpop sickfic #sickfic #sick hyunjin #hwang hyunjin #bang chan #kpop boys

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jackrrabbit · 4 years ago

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it will come back [pt. 2] /// Yandere Shigaraki x f!Reader

Summary: You have a bad habit of picking up strays, and the half-dead villain you find bleeding out in a dumpster is no exception. [Part 1] [Part 3]

A/N: Title from the Hozier song—“don’t let it in with no intention to keep it / jesus christ, don’t be kind to it / oh honey don’t feed it / it will come back.”

Tags/warnings: yandere, violence (not directed toward reader), crying, Shiggy REALLY likes you, reader needs a friend and a good night’s sleep, non-explicit sexual content. [In later parts: 18+, sex, other stuff]

He—Tomura—keeps visiting.

At first you think it’s because of the free medical care, and you wish you had the spine to tell him to suck it up and go see a professional. After a couple weeks turn into a couple months and his wounds fade into ragged purple scars, though, you start to think differently.

Within a short time Tomura has figured out your work schedule, and he does a decent job of not showing up after your long shifts. The unavoidable consequence of this is that he ends up monopolizing your precious days off, but you come to the realization about a month and a half in that you don’t actually mind. You like it. It’s like spending time with a friend.

Mostly you guys talk. It doesn’t seem like Tomura really has anyone to talk to the way the two of you do, but that’s probably just you projecting. It’s usually shallow stuff—TV shows you like, video games he plays, funny stories from patients you treated. Sometimes when you’re cooking for yourself, you make extra for him. (It happens a lot, actually, and at one point you bring up how much his appetite is costing you and the next time you see him he brings a bag of rice and makes you a porridge that crunches between your teeth when you try to eat it. You can’t finish yours, but he eats an entire bowl and insists that you’re being picky.)

Sometimes he sleeps over on the couch, but he’s always gone when you wake up.

The two of you skirt around the heavier stuff, and you know it’s intentional on his part. You have to resist the urge to ask him about being a villain—he’s all but confirmed it for you, and it’s human nature to be curious, isn’t it? In the same way you can’t help looking at a car crash, you want to poke and prod and find out what it is, exactly, that Tomura does for a living. That part of his life is suspiciously absent from your discussions—if you didn’t know better, you’d think he spends all of his time sleeping and playing games and breaking into your place.

On the other hand, you don’t want to know. Plausible deniability. You can accept criminality in the abstract, but you’ve treated too many victims of the bullshit hero–villain battle to be comfortable really knowing why Tomura avoids public places.

So you don’t ask about it, and Tomura doesn’t tell, and you don’t look up his name. And it’s easy. It’s nice. You’d forgotten what it’s like to come back to a home that isn’t empty.

And then one day when you get off a few hours early from your shift, you stop by a convenience store to pick up some snacks for yourself (hey, you’ve been working hard, you’re entitled to binge a little on foods that you’re afraid to look at the fat content for), and you think, Hm, I wonder if Tomura wants some.

[You: 7:49 PM] > Are you coming over today? [T: 7:49 PM] > Yeah why [You: 7:51 PM] > Getting snacks > Want some? [T: 7:51 PM] > No

[T: 8:12 PM] > When r u coming back to ur place

[T: 8:58 PM] > Hey where are you

[T: 9:39 PM] > (Y/N)?

There’s a man with a gun in the convenience store.

It takes you a second to process at first. You’re standing in the snack food aisle seeking out Oreos and debating the merits of Double Stuf vs. Mega when you catch the mumbled demand and the metallic clicking noise you’ve only ever heard in movies before. It’s a gun—you know that, but your mind dismisses it because it’s ridiculous. Guns are rare in hero society. People don’t go around robbing bodegas at gunpoint anymore.

(You should know better. You work in a goddamn ER. But you compartmentalize, and the crimes you see written across your patients’ bodies stay out of the realm of your personal life because you need them to.)

It’s only when you see the muzzle of a hunting rifle pushed up to the cashier’s sweaty neck that you really understand what’s happening.

You drop to the ground immediately, looking toward the exit but it’s shut and there’s some kind of metal…thing holding the door closed. The cashier mumbles a denial and you can hear him fumble around with the cash drawer for what feels like ages.

It’s real. This is real. You’re in the middle of a robbery. Where are the heroes? Why isn’t anyone doing anything?

God, you’re a hypocrite, cowering behind the aisle divider and waiting for someone to step up while the robber’s demands get increasingly louder and more frantic. He wants money, and the cashier (who, you remember, is a man in his sixties with hands that shake with Parkinson’s when he holds out your receipt) isn’t being fast enough.

“That’s it? There’s no more? Are you fucking kidding me, there’s gotta be a safe or something—“

“No! No, p-please, I’m sorry, this is all I have!”

You cringe, crushing your eyes closed as if that will make it go away. You’re surprised you can hear at all over the sound of your blood rushing in your ears.

“Don’t fuck with me old man, I know there’s more! Show me the safe or I’ll blow your goddamn brains out!”

No! You have to do something. You can’t just sit here. You’ve heard plenty of death threats from your patients (not to mention that one from Tomura), and you know the difference between a bluff and a serious warning. Maybe you can catch the robber off guard, try to pull the gun away? You stand up quickly, hoping against hope that you won’t regret this, but in a split second you see that the cashier has the same idea and he’s trying to pull the rifle out of the robber’s hand and—

BANG.

Something warm and wet splatters across your face.

///

Tomura is angry when you get back to the apartment. As soon as he hears your key in the lock he rises from your couch so he can grab your collar with three fingers, jerking your head up to force you to look at him. “Where have you been? Do you know how long I’ve been waiting—“

But he cuts short in the middle of his sentence. Maybe because he sees the look on your face. Or maybe he just notices the traces of blood you haven’t been able to wipe off.

“What happened,” Tomura says. It’s not a question. He adjusts his grip slightly so it’s not quite as punishing, but you hold still anyway.

You have to force your mouth open in order to speak, but when your voice comes out it’s more steady than you thought it would be. “It’s not my blood. There was a robbery at the store. The cashier got shot.”

“Oh.” He releases you and frowns. “That’s it?”

“Fuck you.” You push past him into the kitchen to get yourself a drink with trembling hands. Pantry’s out of shōchū, whiskey will just make you sicker—ahh, there it is. Baijiu. The glug glug glug of the liquor into the glass does nothing to put your nerves at ease, but you pour yourself a double anyway.

“Wait—wait.” Tomura’s hands twitch and rub over his arms like he’s trying to stop himself from grabbing you by the shoulders and shaking you. “Calm down. Why are you so upset? Don’t you see this stuff every day?”

You do. You’re an ER nurse. There’s no injury you haven’t seen. But it’s not about the blood. “I...I knew him. The cashier. He was nice. He had a grandkid on the way. I—“ You bite your lip and down the baijiu in one gulp. It burns.

Tomura clearly doesn’t know how to comfort you; probably doesn’t even really know why you need to be comforted. What does it mean that death is so meaningless to him? you wonder. But you need someone to listen to you, clueless or not, and Tomura will have to do.

The baijiu is still bitter and hot down your throat when you speak again. “You know something? Know what they asked me when the heroes finally showed up and pulled us out of there, me and the corpse?”

“…What?” Tomura asks warily.

“They stuck a camera in my face and asked me if there was anything I wanted to say to the hero who saved me. Any words of gratitude I wanted to share,” you spit. Now it’s your turn to feel your hands making fists at your sides. Your fingernails scratch into your palms like the pain can be an outlet for the sudden overwhelming fury spilling over you. “They didn’t save him. They were too late.”

Tomura’s eyes widen, and through your curtain of anger you can tell he’s looking at you in a way he’s never looked at you before. It’s unlike him to even look directly at you, and when he does it’s usually in disinterest or half-sincere irritation. This, though…this is different. He’s watching you like a believer watches a prophet. You can tell—or at least some deep, ugly part of you that you hope is wrong can tell—that he’s trying not to smile.

“I hate this,” you say, and the first tear drips out of your eye and runs down your cheek. It’s awful. You don’t want to cry in front of Tomura. You don’t want to show him how weak you are. But before you can wipe it away, Tomura’s hand comes up and does it for you, smearing the tear over your cheek in a gesture that—for him—is oddly tender.

Then he hugs you.

It’s stiff and awkward, like he’s forgotten how to do it, but the intention is clear. His arms fold around your back, pulling you into his chest while his chin makes its way to rest on your shoulder. He’s leaning into you so deeply that your spine is arched back, and you stagger away from him only for him to step closer again to make up the distance.

“It’s not fair, hm,” he murmurs into your hair. His tone is the closest thing to sympathy you’ve ever heard from him, but there’s an undercurrent of excitement you can’t ignore. “They’re always too late, aren’t they? The heroes… And everyone will watch that video of you thanking the heroes, and they’ll think they’re safe too. They’ll keep going about their lives and think that nothing bad can happen to them because a hero will always be around to save them…but you and I know that’s a lie.”

It takes you a second to recognize the emotion that’s raising goosebumps over your arms while Tomura rubs circles into your back, but when it clicks you shiver because it’s fear. You’ve never really been afraid of Tomura before, even when you should’ve been. Does he realize he’s backing you up with how forcefully he’s pushing himself into you? The backs of your knees hit the arm of your couch and you topple onto it with Tomura following.

He holds himself above you on his hands, legs tangled with yours. His eyes are wild and he’s not even trying to suppress his grin now. You’re trapped lying on your back under him—pinned like a butterfly under glass.

“Get off of me,” you say as calmly as you can.

“It’s all a lie, all of it…” A hand comes up and strokes your cheek, rubbing with two fingers at a stray fleck of blood on your neck. “I’m sorry it had to be like this, but I’m so glad you understand…��

“Let me up now, Tomura.”

He holds still for a long moment—waiting, thinking, considering—and then sits up, still straddling you but loosely enough that you can scramble back away from him on the couch. Your heart is racing, but you try to slow your breaths so he doesn’t pick up on how scared you are.

“Don’t freak out. You’re no fun,” Tomura says, and you exhale a sigh of relief at how normal he sounds. You never thought you’d be so happy about him looking at you like you’re nothing.

“I think you should go,” you say carefully.

He rocks back on his heels and runs a hand through his hair. “Are you mad? I thought I could stay here tonight, like usual. Since I waited for so long.”

“I’m not mad. I just…want to be alone.”

“I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to be alone tonight. Not after what you’ve been through.”

Oh, now you care. “Fine. Okay? Fine. You can sleep on the couch.” You’re too tired to argue any more, and you’ve never really been good at convincing Tomura to do anything he doesn’t want to. It’s a miracle he listened to you when you told him to get off you. Considering how often he breaks into your apartment, it’s not like you could keep him out anyway.

So he stays the night. He doesn’t bother you when you take a shower and go to bed, he just lies on the couch in his street clothes. When you wake up in the morning he’s disappeared like he always does, and for the first time since you met him you’re truly relieved that he’s gone.

///

You always thought it would take some level of courage you don’t possess to actually bite the bullet and look Tomura up. To do so would mean saying goodbye to whatever strange relationship the two of you have built over the months, and you’re just not brave enough to risk it.

Turns out it’s not courage that makes you type his name into the search bar. It’s cowardice. You’re lying in bed under the covers when you do it, and the blue-white screen of your laptop is the only light in the room. Your comforter is pulled up almost over your head like it’s a wall that can block out reality.

“tomura”, you enter into the search bar, but you don’t hit return. Instead, you look at the search suggestions.

> tomura shigaraki > tomura shigaraki league of villains > tomura shigaraki decay

Something about it sounds familiar. But you’re not ready. Still, after everything, you’d rather keep your eyes closed. You backspace and snap your laptop shut, and when you do your room is so dark that you think the emptiness might swallow you up.

///

[T: 5:52 PM] > Are u going to be at home tn

[T: 6:14 PM] > Hey check ur phone

[T: 6:42 PM] > Stop ignoring me > (Y/N) > (Y/N) > (Y/N) > (Y/N) > (Y/N)

[T: 6:46 PM] 3 MISSED CALLS [You: 6:50 PM] > I’m at work [T: 6:50 PM] > Don’t lie > you finished an hour ago

[T: 7:13 PM] 1 MISSED CALL [T: 7:14 PM] > You said you werent mad [You: 7:15 PM] > I’m not [T: 7:15 PM] > Then stop being a brat > im coming over > ill bring takeout

You’re nervous about seeing him, but in the two weeks since he pushed you down on the couch you’ve found yourself…missing him. Like it or not, he’s made himself a fixture in your life. So when you get home you’re brimming with anticipation, wondering who you’ll get when you open the door—the normal Tomura you’ve come to like over the past few months, or the one from that night. The villain.

But it’s just him. Good old Tomura, laden with plastic bags and containers of greasy fast food for the two of you to gorge yourselves on. You tease him for being cheap and he argues that you’re just a snob and everything seems so normal that you can almost forget the look in his red eyes when he told you that you understood.

Almost.

///

You probably have no idea how good you look when you’re crying.

Of the couple thousand views on the news channel video of your “rescue” from the convenience store robber, at least a tenth are from Tomura. Eventually he just downloads the video onto his computer so he doesn’t have to read the inane comments that the other viewers leave on the webpage. It seems like everyone but him thinks you should feel lucky that you were saved by a hero before the robber could get to you, too.

As always, the public are a bunch of shit-soaked morons. Reading the comments makes him angry, so angry he’s tempted to look into a few of these brainless sheep and see how lucky they feel when they’ve caught the attention of a violent criminal. But that wouldn’t be productive, so he saves the video externally and leaves the news website alone. It’s for the best. Besides, seeing the “views” counter on the website tick up and up by the dozen every time he refreshes is just another reminder that other people are watching this; other people are seeing how delicate and vulnerable and pretty you are with tears spilling out of your eyes and the cashier’s blood sprayed over your clothing.

Thousands of useless fucking NPCs are looking at you just like Tomura is. They’re probably thinking about how sweet you look, just like he is. And they’re probably imagining all the ways they can take advantage of your fragile emotional state, just like him.

You’re too trusting for your own good. Tomura used to think it was a virtue, and it is, but only when it comes to him. Whenever he thinks about how your face is slapped over a dozen different news websites for the whole world to see, he has to dig his fingernails into his neck to keep calm. It’s better when he can just watch the video and pretend he’s the only one seeing it.

And it’s not like not watching the video is an option. Tomura can’t resist your crying face. There’s a point around the three minute mark where your voice breaks in the middle of your statement, and sometimes Tomura skips there in the video just so he can hear that pathetic little sob and replay it over and over and over. Maybe it’s sappy, but Tomura really does feel his heart skip a beat at the way your eyes and nose are rubbed red from your misery.

How fucked up is it that he gets off watching you cry?

Would you be angry if you knew? You probably would, but you put up with so much from him already. Maybe you’d be okay with it if he told you he really and truly tried to hold out. The first dozen times Tomura watched the video, he refused to touch himself no matter how tight his pants got while you choked out your stilted answers to the reporters’ questions, but at this point he barely has to click “play” on the video before he gets hard and takes matters into his own hands.

At the end of the day, it’s your fault. Everything about you is so erotic, from your shaky voice to your pouty, bitten-red lips. Isn’t it completely normal to be aroused while looking at the person you like? And Tomura likes you, he really likes you. He doesn’t have any pictures of you, and with the high definition of the news channel’s video he can see every perfect contour of your cheekbones, every pore in your skin, every glistening wet eyelash.

It’s not that Tomura doesn’t feel sympathy for how upset you are in the video. He does! Not even just sympathy, even—he’s empathetic. He knows exactly how it feels to be let down by the heroes. How dare they tell you you need to be grateful while you’re still trying to wipe brain matter off your shirt? Always too little, too late. It’s not fair.

But if he’s being honest? As miserable as you are, Tomura is happy that you were in the store when that robber came in and that you had to watch a man you knew get his brains blown out in front of you. You need a wake-up call to lose faith in hero society. If you have to suffer some emotional trauma in the process, that seems like a fair price to pay.

And the fact that Tomura gets to jerk off to it? It’s almost like destiny.

➠ [Part 3]

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miizpah · 4 years ago

Text

mine | sakusa kiyoomi

anon asks : listen to this!!! being sakusa bimbo wife, ur so fucking beautiful that whenever ur both at social events for vball, there’s always someone coming up and hitting on u. mr sakusa doesn’t like that ::))) and he can’t wait to get home to punish his wife silly and leave marks that will defo show everyone that she’s taken :):):):)

post timeskip ‼️

tw. degrading, consensual roughhousing, a bit of manipulation.

author note : i am simp for sakusa !! this ask for me hyperventilating into orbit. girl, y/n a little too brave in this one, like miss girl gon ahead and sit down we all know who dom here. and not how there’s only a small part of smut in this, yo, i’m sorry it’s not longer but my motivation for this fic went whoosh. and not me being in the middle of changing up my theme 🙄 and struggling at that.

“Omi-”

One second you had been nodding along to a conversation being held by one of the team’s older PRs, the next second you were being guided away by your husband’s tight grip, your wrist exploding in dull pain as all you could do was follow after him. Praying you don’t trip over your satin gown.

You didn’t understand what exactly caused him to snap, he was always respectful and polite when attending events such as these. They were public appearances the entirety of MSBY had to attend, and he was already tittering on the edge becuase of the sheer number of people and crowds. But, he’d never left an event early, and he never blatantly disrespectful to a staff on his team.

The underground parking lot was empty as you both entered, in search for his car. “How dare you let his filthy hands touch you?”

It made sense then, your mind wandering back to the entire conversation. You had been sipping on a glass of wine with Atsumu and Shouyo by your sides, since Kiyoomi tended to stay away from the crowds, you were the one who would mingle around in his stead. Atsumu had promised to keep an eye on you, like always, and by extension, Shouyo gladly tagged along.

Now, you began to understand the glare Atsumu was giving the PR, and the worried looks Shouyo casted over his shoulders. Now, it made complete and total sense. The man had been flirting with you. You hadn’t notice, your mind was a bit clogged up with Kiyoomi and the way his suit fit him too perfectly, you hadn’t even noticed when he had touched your shoulder.

You barely had enough time to register your surroundings before your harshly pressed against his sleek black car, his hand around your throat and his eyes dangerous. The mere look sent bouts of pleasure and fear coiling around your body, and you only tighten your thighs around the knee pressed between you.

“Omi, you’re hurting me,” You whimper softly, pathetically, tears prickling at your eyes.

“I asked you a question, dumb bitch. I expect an answer.” He spat, eyes glaring angrily into yours. His grip tighten a bit, just enough to tease your airway.

“I’m sorry, Omi! I didn’t realize it, I promise!” You cry, hands coming up and grabbing at his arm. He didn’t move for a moment, eyes boring into your watery ones.

He sighed under his mask, loosen his grip. “Hm, you’re right, my little wife never realizes it.” His hand removes from your throat and cards through your hair softly, he kisses your forehead through his mask. “This is why I have to protect you, too dumb and pretty for your own good. You know that, right?”

“Only for you, Omi.” You mutter, wet eyes staring up at him with a doe like express. “Only pretty and dumb for you.”

He smirked, though unseen. “Yes, you are. Come, let’s get you into the car.”

“Ack! Eight, ‘m sorry Omi.” You whimper, trying to keep as still as possible as Kiyoomi rubs almost lovingly at your burning ass cheek. If you’d thought you were getting away for being a little dumb bitch and not noticing that filthy man’s hand on you, you were wrong. Kiyoomi was clear when it came to you, his beautiful ditzy wife, that no one was allowed to touch you. Not unless he’s permitted it.

“N-Nine! ‘m sorry Omi,” your hands clench the bedsheets in a tight grip, eyes squeezing close as the harsh pain spread around your bottom.

“Ah! Ten, ‘m sorry Omi.” You cried out, happy to finally be done with this punishment. You just wanted to shower, take off your makeup, comb through your hair, and sleep. But the moment you both had entered the house, he’d chased you down the hallway and sprayed you over his knees, bunching your expensive satin dress up to your waist and dealt his punishment.

You stood then, dress falling around your bare ass and legs. You couldn’t walk away, not when Kiyoomi’s large hand yanked you forward. “Did I tell you to stand, hm?”

“I wanna shower,” you whine, trying to pull your arm free. But, he only rose a brow at you. The way he looked at you, as if he knew that you didn’t want to shower, sparked a small amount of anger in your veins. And as a serious as you could, you shot him a nasty glare. “Let me go, Kiyoomi. I want to shower.”

“Watch your tone, angel.”

“Not unless you let me go.”

“Oh? Baby trying to argue?”

You huff in annoyance, trying to yanking your arm his tight grip. “Let me go, Sakusa!” You yell angrily, arm finally breaking free and you walked away then, mumbling angrily to yourself.

If there was one thing you’ve never learned when being with Kiyoomi, is to never turn your back on him when fighting. Not only is he going to get angry, but it will lead to some pretty hard fucking, and your ability to walk tomorrow is gone. But, you never learn, you’re a bit dumb, it’s okay. You both get what you want in the end.

You didn’t have enough time to prepare yourself before you find yourself against the bedroom wall, his large hand entangled in your hair, exposing your neck to the wall. “Who do you think you’re talking too, Y/N?”

“I’m talking to Sakusa Kiyoomi, who else?” Brave? No. Smart mouthing? Yes. Is that a good idea? No. Ten out ten would recommend if you’re looking for good sex. But, right now, you were not looking for good sex, right now, you wanted to shower, you wanted to sleep.

“Your mouth is going to get you into some trouble, baby.” His breath was warm against your ear, and you struggled to hold in the shiver of pleasure. “I’m going to ask you again, and you better answer me correctly. Who do you think you’re talking to?”

You swallow, eyes flickering up and meeting his. The defiance in your eyes were clear. “You.”

He chuckled, “my silly little wife.” He backed away, turning you around then. “I can see that you’re not in the playing mood, right now.”

You stare at him in momentary confusion, this was a new reaction. “W-what?”

He looked at you, “what?”

“But, s-sex?”

“You want to shower, no?”

Yes, you wanted to shower. You wanted sleep. Not sex. That’s what your brain wanted of course, your body wanted Kiyoomi. “No...?”

“No?” His smirk widen almost cruelly. “Too bad, I’m not fucking you after that disgusting man touched you.”

“Omi?!”

“What happened to Sakusa?”

“I-I... No, touch me, please!”

He shook his head, backing away and sitting on the bed. “Sorry, I’m not touching you until you shower.”

Why were you complaining? You wanted this. You wanted to shower, not have sex. Why were you practically begging him to fuck you?

Huffing, you nod firmly. “Fine, I’m showering. And we’re not having sex for a month!”

“Ditzy wife.”

“Two months!”

Obviously, Kiyoomi was a man that knew how to get his way. It always his way or the highway. That had been the biggest deal breaker when you first met the man. He was too... much for you. Too clean, too big, and too mean for someone like you. Admittedly, you weren’t the smartest person in the word, you passed high school but wasn’t smart enough to get into college, but that was okay.

Your mother always said that you should be grateful that you were beautiful, you could find yourself a rich man and be taken cared of. That had been exactly what you did, you ound a man, who was rich, who was handsome, and you thought yourself clever enough to play him. You had been wrong. God, he was mean, so mean, and cruel, but he had emotions, and it was rare to see them, but they were there, and he was taking care of you.

It didn’t take long for you to actually fall in love with the man. And him, loving you. Your family hated him, though. He was a famous, professional athletic. Your parents didn’t believe that to be a good enough job. Your mother wanted you to find a rich, old ceo old to marry, cause lord knows you’ll only ever work at a restaurant or club if you had to fend for yourself, that way when he died, and everything was left in your name, you would be rich, and a ceo.

Even you knew it didn’t work that way. You didn’t care that they didn’t like Kiyoomi, you loved him, and he accepted you, as you accepted him, and that was all that mattered.

But, as you said. Kiyoomi was a man who knew how to get what he wanted.

And, right now, he wanted his dumb little wife folded in a mating press as he fucked into you mercilessly. Your mouth stuffed with his fingers, and your legs shaking as the pleasure rack through your body.

Your moans were muffled, and Kiyoomi stared at you in amusement and lust. “My ditzy wife looks so pretty with my fingers done your throat, and your cunt stuffed full of my cock.” He pushed his fingers down further, and you choke, hands gripping at his biceps in a death grip.

He pulled his fingers away, holding your mouth open before leaning down and spitting directly inside your mouth. “Hold it there, whore. You swallow and you’ll get punished.”

His arms formed pillars around you, his cock dragging against your gummy, fluttering walls in quick strokes. “You’re mine, my wife, my whore. No one else’s, you hear me?” You could only nod, eyes fluttering close. “No one is allowed to touch you, fuck your messy little holes but me, got it?” Your moan is muffled.

“Swallow,” he demanded, and you did as told, swallowing and opening your mouth so he could see. “Good girl,” he hummed, quickening his pace.

Your body was covered in marks, ones that had did the moment he jumped into the shower with you. He left them on your neck, your breasts, your tummy, and thighs, he’d even bitten into your wrist. He didn’t plan to stop until all of your limbs had at least two marks on them.

“Ah, ah, ah, ah!” You moan, hands moving to his back and nails scratching shallowly at his skin. “Omi!” With each thrust, you could feel your stomach tightening and your walls fluttering. The pleasure coursed throughout your body rapidly, his warm breath against your cheek causing shivers.

“C-cumming!” You announce sharply, nails digging into his back as your thighs tense. “P-pull out, I’ll make — ngh! — make a mess!”

Kiyoomi didn’t listen, leaning back and hooking his hands underneath your thighs. His eyes zeroed in on your sopping cunt, watching the way you stretch around him. Your warnings about making a mess went through one ear and out there other.

Your moans grew louder, head turning into the pillows to muffle them. You try to close your legs, anything to minimize the forthcoming of your squirting release. But, Kiyoomi’s hand were strong and he held your legs open as you release over him.

Immediately, you feel a sense of dread forcing your high away. Your mouth formed the words, but your throat gave away when a hard pressure was placed there. Opening your eyes, you were met with Kiyoomi’s dark ones, looking at you as if you were the best damn meal he’d ever had.

He pressed a kiss to your cheek, then your lips before uttering, “keep still, angel, I’m doing this again.”

note — i hate this, i hate this, i hate this, i hate this. i’m literally in the middle of trying to change my theme and writing style and i’m throwing up?? pls, anon, don’t hate me, i tried with this. it’s not a long piece of smut bc i didn’t know if u wanted it, :(

#sakusa kiyoomi #sakusa smut #haikyuu smut #haikyuu #haikyuu x reader #✨.requests.#🌚.dirty #sakusa #tw.degradation #tw.manipulation

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mashiraostail · 4 years ago

Note

Hi! Can I please get, Hizashi, Aizawa, Midnight and Toshinori comforting an S/O who had a really REALLY bad day? Maybe S/O comes home the door closes and they just start sobbing? How would our babes comfort them (Gender Neutral S/O please!!)

yeah!! I hope ur day wasn’t bad when u sent this omg hopefully this is helpful! ): under the cut!

Hizashi- You were just exhausted, it was one stupid mishap after another, and you were so miserable it made you physically sore. All you wanted to do was go home and go to sleep, you knew you should shower, clean up a little, you assumed like you looked as awful as you felt. But you couldn’t, it was so much all at once and all you could think about was letting it fester in bed alone in the dark where nothing could annoy or bother you for the foreseeable future. Though you forgot about one variable, and are reminded of it the moment you open your front door. Hizashi. He’s just lounging around the living room, it was probably a rather quiet Thursday night to everyone but you and he seemed to be enjoying the tranquility. He was sitting on the floor by the table, he had a little keyboard synth resting in his lap, and headphones haphazardly over his ears. He looked content and comfortable and so very in his element that you realized you’d been so upset all day that you’d forgotten about him. Now all you wanted to do was lay in the dark with him. Listen to his voice, let him comfort you, be close to him. If anyone could make you feel better it was him. Honestly, you don’t know why you start crying. But you feel the tears welling up the minute he looks up at you. “Hey hot-...stuff.” He’s standing up and bridging the space between you the second he realizes you’re crying. Of course he’d call you some stupid silly nickname, of course he’d just be normal Hizashi, of course he would. “Babe, what’s up?” He’s standing nervously in front of you, jittery to the point of hilarity, he clearly wanted to touch you but didn’t want to upset you more, you could tell in his face that he didn’t know if it was him you were upset with, or something else entirely. You rub at your eyes, trying and failing to ebb the flow of tears down your cheeks and when you finally look at him you actually feel sort of guilty at how upset he looks on your behalf, like his whole heart just broke. “Zashi, please, can I just have a hug?” The pride that had been dwindling at his uncertainty of the cause of your tears seemed to instantly swell back up again. “Yeah! Yes! Come on! Get in here babe!” He pulls you in tight, pressing your wet face into his neck. The way you hold onto him, the tightness, the hand in the back of his hair, all of it makes him wobble with affection. But for you, it just made the dam crack. You felt safe, and warm, and surrounded by him, and that comfort turned what was previously a few exhausted tears turned into full-body wracking sobs. “Jeeze baby did you miss me that much?” He’s squeezing you, tight, pressing scattered kisses to the side of your head, face, temple and ear, whatever he can reach, the arms around his neck, your hair, it didn’t matter as long as it was kissable and to him all of you was kissable. He can feel the big blobs of salty tears against his neck and shirt collar, he can feel them smear against him as you nod, wet exhausted laughter slipping out of you. “I did.” “You’ll blow up my ego babe.” He warns you as he presses his nose into your hair, “I hope you didn’t really miss me so much that it made you this upset...I’m always a phone call away babe.” He pulls you out of the crook of his neck and wipes off your face with his palm, “you looked like a kicked puppy.” His eyebrows twitch up desperately, “please babe you’re breaking my heart here. What’s wrong?” You shake your head, “I’ve just had the most...awful day. I was so miserable, and it was just one thing after another, I couldn’t catch a break, even on my break something went wrong somehow.” He’s nodding along with you, ever intent. “All I could think about all day was coming home and just going to bed. I’d been so worthless all day that I didn’t even think about how nice it would be to see you, and when I finally did and you were just sitting there and you looked so comfortable and I just wanted to be with you. I wanted to be close to you and all at once it was like I went from wanting to lock myself up alone in bed to I just wanted to be near you.” You shake your head again, harder this time, “and then when you hugged me it was just so...I was so relieved. I’ve wanted to cry like this all day but I didn’t feel like I could and now-” “You’re gonna make me cry please-” He’s squeezing your face, “you’re so sweet. You look exhausted.” He’s pulling your face up to his peppering a few kisses to your lips. You just sigh, relieved, it felt good. “What do you want me to do?” He holds your arms, “more hugs? Kisses? We could watch a movie?” His hand goes back up to your face, wiping away the tears again, “you shouldn’t cry so much you’ll get sick, and your eyes will be all puffy and sore tomorrow.” He’s squeezing your face again, “you look cute when you cry though. Like a sweet little baby-” “Shut up.” You snort, shoving his chest. He looks so relieved to have just made you laugh a little. “Can you just go back to what you were doing?” You ask, hands landing on his chest. “It wasn’t anything very interesting.” He insists, “we can shower and call it an early night if you want-” “No it’s okay, I just wanna sit with you.” He looks like he’s gonna explode. “Of course..” He starts taking off your clothes though. “Zashi I-” “I know, I know.” He shushes you and keeps going until you’re standing in the middle of the living room in your underwear. “Was that fun for you?” You cross your arms to cover yourself up. Though it doesn’t last long since he shucks his own teeshirt off and pulls it over your head, “isn’t this better? Come on let's go sit down.” You spend about an hour sitting behind him, arms wrapped around his abdomen, cheek resting against his back as he tinkered with the synth before him. When you ask to go to bed he doesn’t protest, he just says of course, you go ahead he’ll be there in a minute.

Aizawa- Nothing else could go wrong, honestly, the last thing that could get fucked up would just be you dropping dead right there. You were supposed to be home hours ago and you were sure your trashed phone had more than a few missed calls and texts from Shouta who’d probably waited up for you. The thought of seeing him now felt like the best thing in the world. He’d listen to you talk about your shitty day for hours and just agree with you he’d just hum and nod when you said you felt like the only person walking around with a brain sometimes. What you didn’t expect though is to feel so thoroughly relieved the moment you stepped foot inside, and finally caught sight of the man. It was like a thousand pound weight just dropped off your shoulders, like for the first time all day your lungs could expand and take in a good full breath. There was a pile of papers beside Shouta, and he was looking over them with minimal interest, long hair pulled away from his neck, a pencil sticking out of it, holding the dark mass in place miraculously. Even the way he sat was inviting to you, like every time he shifted or moved it just an invitation for you to curl up and get close. “Hey, welcome back.” He pulls the back of the pen away from his lips as he looks up at you, “You’re really late today is everything-” When he gets a good look at you though he doesn’t feel the need to finish his question. “Yeah. I’m sorry I’m late.” You don’t know why you’re biting back tears, he wouldn’t care if you cried, he’s seen it before. “It’s okay.” He waves you over and moves the pile of papers out of the way. “You look like you were really busy.” He could see the tears welling up in your eyes, he knew the helpful thing right now would probably be to get the dam to break, you look like you really needed to cry. “You’ve got a twig in your hair.” He reaches over and pulls it out. “Thanks-” Your voice breaks and you take deep shaky breath. He can tell he’s just about there. He can practically see your foundation creaking. “You... don’t look like you feel very good.” He squeezes your shoulders, “talk to me. Tell me what’s wrong so I can fix it.” Yeah, that does it. There you go. Crying like a baby. He’s kind of proud of himself and how quickly he gets you to let down that wall. You practically tackle him but he accepts it, he sees it coming a mile away. “Bad day?” His hand on the back of your head just makes you cry more. He honestly was expecting a little cry, the exhausted maybe a little petulant, ‘I just want today to be over’ sort of crying, but what he got instead was full-on bawling. He was sort of taken aback. “Bad day feels like an understatement.” He amends and you just nod ferociously into him, the harsh scruff on his jaw was a grounding comfort whenever it scratched your skin. “I just had a really...terrible day.” You shake your head, arms coming tighter around him, “a really really terrible day. Everything just kept going wrong and it feels like it’s all always my fault like I should have known-” “you shouldn’t blame yourself for the mistakes of other people.” He reminds you, a comforting hand between your shoulder blades, “mistakes are just mistakes anyways. There’s rarely a problem that can’t be fixed.” “I just want to be helpf-” “I know you do. And you are.” He promises, feeling your hand fist in the back of his shirt, “you don’t give yourself enough credit, I’m sure without you around today would have been a lot worse for your colleagues. You always pick up so much slack. You work so hard just to turn a blind eye to all your effort.” “I could have done more, I wasn’t even the last person to leave today I-” “I bet you were the first person there.” You’re silent to that. “I’m proud of you for working so hard, you’re going to accomplish some really great things, even if you don’t feel that way right now. But you need to give yourself more credit if you beat yourself up so much all the time you’ll stop feeling passionate about your work.” You knew he was right, he was always so level headed, he always made perfect sense, he always knew what needed to be said. “Either way though, it’s over now. The terrible day from hell can stay outside in the hall. It’s not allowed in here.” You laugh a little bit at that and the ebbing of tears is a bit of a reprieve to him. “What can I do to make you feel better?” “I already feel a little better Sho, really.” You pull away and wipe your face off, he’s looking down at you sympathetically. “You look miserable.” He leans down to your lips anyways, and it’s a nice kiss, relaxing, tender and soft, it’s the kind of kiss that makes you drowsy. “It’s pretty late already. To be honest I was worried when it started getting dark out and I still hadn’t heard from you. Why don’t we call it a night? I can grade this stuff later, it’s not like they’d be looking for it, and I’m pretty sure they wouldn’t notice if I never returned it.” You chuckle at that too, “I think you underestimate them sometimes.” He hums at that, “no not where it counts.” He takes your face in his hands, “how about a hot shower, some water, and a lot of sleep?” You nod at that, “that sounds good.” “You look exhausted. He picks a leaf out of your hair, “jeez, what kind of trouble did you get yourself into today?” “You don’t wanna know.” You groan and he replies to it with a breathy chuckle, “let’s just get you cleaned up, I bet just that alone will make you feel 100x better.” And he was right. It did, it felt like all the shitty things from today swirled down into the shower drain with the soap and all the dirt it’d washed away. It felt like you were getting a new start. He seems pretty proud of how quickly he’d gotten you to bounce back. He sends you off to bed and promises to be there as soon as he finishes cleaning up his stuff in the living room, but by the time he gets into bed you’re already fast asleep.

Nemuri- You had to be the only intelligent life on the planet. That’s what you were saying to yourself as you jammed your key into your front door. It was like no other being you’d crossed today even possess the capability for though and your workload practically quadrupled from it. You had no idea how you were meant to get all of this done and all you wanted to do was go home and never have to think about anyone you’d seen today again. Your inability to say no just preceded you and it felt like everyone had taken advantage like all people ever did was take advantage. It was equal parts infuriating and disheartening. You wanted to be good and helpful but people just took advantage, played dumb, and pawned all the work off to you. It was like no one on the whole planet even appreciated a single thing you did and- “Well there you are angel, I was starting to worry you got kidnapped or something.” Nemuri is grinning at you, “you’re never this late, honestly I was starting to miss you. Are you okay? It’s not normal for you to be so late-” Nemuri did, Nemuri appreciated everything you did and she always missed you when you were apart and she sent you all sorts of funny texts and voicemails when you couldn’t see each other and Nemuri would never treat you like that. The relief of that makes your heart feel ten times lighter in your chest and all you can do is cry about it. “You’re right..silly question.” She swings her legs off the couch and waves you over to her side, of course, you go wiping the tears as they stream down your face. “What’s wrong? Was it something I said?” She frowns at you and you just shake your head and wave her off. “No not you... it’s..” You whine into your hands and she hums at you sympathetically, putting a hand on either of your arms. “You had a bad day then? Or something else?” “A really...really bad day.” You hiccup and let her pull you forward, she wraps her arms securely around you. “That makes me sad.” She rests her cheek in your hair, “is it salvageable?” She rubs your back, “can we fix it?” She wonders, “would talking about it help?” “it’s just so unfair, I want to be nice, I want to help but I always take on an unfair amount and everyone takes advantage of me. I’m terrible at saying no, but why can’t people be mindful of that? I’m so mindful of everyone else I don’t see why they can’t extend the courtesy to my weakness-” She hums along and nods every few words, you feel her shift against you. “You can’t help being a big softie can you?” She squeezes you, “you’re so cute. I just adore you.” That shouldn’t make you cry any harder but it does. You felt sort of stupid, childish even, you knew Nemuri didn’t see you like that, she’d had her fair share of bad days since meeting you and she’s acted similarly, but still. “Oh angel I think you just need to cry it out for a little don’t you?” You just nod into her shirt. “Okay then. I’ll stay right here while you do.” You feel her lips against your head and she leans back onto the cushions of the couch. “I could talk about something else?” She offers, “do you wanna hear about my day?” You nod again, “yeah..that might- help-” You’re hiccuping helplessly and normally she’d find it to be sort of cute, but in your current state, she found it a little distressing. Either way, she talked quietly into your hair about whatever came to mind from today, some of her students, the papers they’d handed in, one of her student’s continued inability to spell ‘democracy’. After a few minutes the tears prattled off, and all you were left with was a massive headache and a puffy red face. When you finally do pick yourself up Nemuri isn’t sure if she wants to scream, cry, kiss you, or do all three in an indiscriminate order. “You're so cute.” She takes your face in her hands, “do you feel a little better now?” Her thumbs are wiping over the wet skin, “look at you, you even look good when you’re crying. It’s like in a movie or something-” “I’m probably a ballon-” Your laugh is quiet and tired but it’s a laugh at least. “A very cute ballon.” Nemuri clicks her tongue at you. “It’s late isn’t it?” She reaches behind you and procures a bottle of water, though it seems like she’s taken a few sips from it and it’s not freshly cold. “You should drink some water, it’ll help your headache.” You do as she suggests because she was right, and now all you wanted was for the dull throbbing behind your eyes to stop. “Go get into bed.” Nemuri kisses you when you pull the bottle away from your lips and you hum into it appreciatively, “I’ll bring in some aspirin for you.” She pulls back and you nod, you didn’t have it in you to protest that it wasn’t actually that late, still hardly 11. “I’ll take extra good care of you tonight.” She assures you as she stands, she takes your wrists and pulls you up, “that way when you have to go back tomorrow you won’t feel so overwhelmed.” She squeezes your face in her hands, “there’s still a whole hour left of today, I bet I can salvage it for you.”

Toshinori- Exhausted was the understatement of the millennia. You could drop dead where you stood if you stopped thinking about staying alive, you were sure of it. You even slipped out early because you couldn’t tolerate staying any longer. You slump against the door as you close it, just being home alone was enough to make you feel a million times safer and you can already feel the tears welling up in your eyes. You were so focused on your shifting emotions you didn’t even notice Toshinori sitting on the couch until he spoke. “Hey.” He’s sitting up straighter at the sight of you, you’re sure you look as terrible as you feel and Toshinori was always good at picking up on your feelings. He’s standing up, crossing the room to get to you. “Toshi-” You’ve never been so happy to see someone, to have someone pull you into the chest, he encased you in his warmth, his presence wrapped around you just like his arms did. It takes a moment, the warmth and comfort of him accosted your icy emotions, but once the two touched you felt like you were melting away, It came out in your tears. “What’s wrong?” His voice is so quiet, and soft, physically soft, it hits you like a pillowcase full of feathers. “You look so upset.” The way you fist up the back of his teeshirt in your hands like you were desperate to just be closer, begging him to come as close as he could, to wrap you up and melt away all the ice, like warm spring sunshine hitting a frozen pond, you wanted him to surround you like sunlight did every time you stepped outside. And he could tell, he could feel it. “I’m right here, hey, I’m right here with you. I’m here now.” He’s holding the back of your hand with one large hand and cupping the small of your back with the other. “Whatever it is is over now. It can’t bother you anymore. I’m here. Please don’t be upset. Tell me how I can help.” “You’re perfect-” Your voice wobbles with your tears, “Toshi please-” You warble and can’t help rubbing your face into his shirt. “Please what?” His thumb rubs the base of your skull affectionately, “whatever you want. What do you need?” “Just stay-” You voice cracks and you feel him lean into you at that. “Of course I’ll stay with you...let’s sit down okay?” He pulls you away and takes your jaw in his hands, tilting your head up to see you better. “I know you’re upset, but try not to cry so hard okay? You’ll get sick..” He leans down enough to press a kiss to your forehead, “and seeing you cry so hard makes me really upset, that’s probably selfish of me to say but I can’t help it. I just wanna help you feel better.” He walks you to the couch and you’re more than happy to fall into his lap. “I just had a really bad day.” You scrub your face, “terrible, long, awful day.” One of your hands absently curls a few blonde strands around your finger and Toshinori hums at your explanation. “Well it’s over now.” He holds the base of your skull when he kisses your forehead, “it’s just me and you.” You were holding his free hands with yours and you nod. “Do you wanna talk about it?” He offers, murmuring it into your forehead. You shake your head, “it was just a bad day..” “Why don’t you get comfy here and go to sleep for a little?” He pulls you into closer still and you wrap your arms around him, maybe you will. Exhaustion was seeping into your vision and the kiss he leans down into doesn’t do anything to help. It makes your stomach and chest buzz warm, all you want is to get closer and then even closer, to kiss and kiss and kiss until you couldn’t open your eyes in between them and you dozed off into a comfortable sleep against him. He was happy to oblige you.

#hizashi yamada x reader #present mic x reader #present mic #hizashi yamada #aizawa shouta x reader #aizawa x reader #eraser head x reader #eraser head #nemuri kayama x reader #nemuri kayama #midnight x reader #yagi toshinori x reader #yagi toshinori #all might x reader #All Might #bnha x reader #bnha #bnha request #gender neutral reader

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pseudofaux · 4 years ago

Note

1/2 Pseu, the last couple Slings I rq’ed some dirty talk & MA’AM did u deliver. But I realized I never thanked/gave feedback like a dummy so here I am! They were so so SO good (fenrir esp & SIRIUS?! 😳 woof), pls dont doubt ur DT writing skills bc they were all so hot, /very/ in character (I could practically hear Kyles!) & beautifully written to boot. Ur prose has so much personality, it is such a joy to read <3 & I have def read those pieces. many. times. I just want to thank u & apologize for asking u 2 go out of ur comfort zone. When I get the chance I will def tip u for the trouble (& commission if im brave enough lol)

Thank you so, so much for this! I really appreciate hearing that the dirty talk worked for you, that’s the best. When other writers do that right it GETS ME FEELING, so knowing that might be true outward as well is!!! a lot and very cool! But if you are this nice to me I will CRY. 🥺💙💙💙 SO LET’S GET TO THE GOOD SH*T, I am so glad you asked for this because Faust is one of the best characters to get n a s t y with, the holier the man, the, uh... holier our holes? Something like that? ANYWAY:

CW: degrading language (”whore”, “slut”), sadism, some sacrilegious thinking regarding Jesus’ crucifixion (this is quick and about related imagery, but I’m putting it in the warnings just in case), depravity in a church. If any of the stuff in the ask squicks you out, keep yourself safe and turn away. 💙

(Requests are open through May 1 if you would like to get one in, dear reader!)

“A whore in my chapel,” he muses. It’s so soft, his voice is so very soft, it makes the words feel funny in her head. She knows they are lashes but they feel like petals, and when her eyes close it is not to hide from the words but to shut out everything except his voice so she does not miss any others. She wants everything he has to say. She wants anything he has to give her. All the thorns of the crown, every scrape of the doubter’s spear slicing through the flesh of her belly. Simply knowing him—as though there were anything simple about it— has warped her. That’s why she stepped through the doors into the dim chapel, lit more by moonlight than the sparse candles at the altar.

He tilts his head as he considers her. She is just beyond the threshold and she is just deciding she should beg him to let her stay when he moves closer.

“Open,” he says, but he is pulling at her mouth with one gloved finger as he begins talking so she has no chance to obey on her own. She wants to! Why is he taking that from her? She leans forward as though it will help her anticipate his next request sooner.

She is not prepared at all for him to grab her by the chin or come so close. Her heart knows the joy of an entire flock of freed birds when she thinks he is going to kiss her. There has never been a time when she blinked so fast in her life—

He comes close enough for warmth, but not touch. He spits between her open lips. “Move that around with your tongue. Get the filth out of your sluttish mouth,” he tells her. She is beyond shocked but she does as he says. It should be revolting to have someone else’s saliva in her mouth like this, but she is so gone for him she doesn’t even want to swallow, wants to keep that piece of him mixing with her, safe and warm. When he takes a step back and lets go, she falls to her knees with her palms up like some kind of penitent. She doesn’t mean to. It just feels right.

She could be in a comfortable bed right now, instead of on the unswept floor of a chapel, all her worshipful inclination aimed away from the altar and toward a very dangerous man. Will her foolishness mean they find her in a ditch somewhere... Will they find her at all? Or will he send her back on unsteady feet with her own juice tickling her legs as it travels from her core to the ground? She can’t fathom what will seem most cruel to him, what he’s most likely to do.

That’s not really a part of her interest. She’s not sure she could explain the interest if she tried, but it is the full shape of her heart now, and directs her nighttime steps to him no matter what her brain tells her otherwise. If she knew where he was during the day, she would try to find him then, too. Her comfortable bed is nice but it does not make her blood sing like he does. The pain he gives, and his presence, those are things she has come to need.

And he fulfills those needs. He’s generous with pain and he is always there when he gives it to her. She nearly swoons to the floor thinking about it, and only the thought that she might lose out on time with him keeps her upright and dutifully swirling his spit in her mouth.

“Get up, imbecile,” he says, and he points further into the chapel! She is being invited even more inside! She could weep! “Lean back against that pew. You’re not even worthy of kneeling in this place.”

She’s not. Somewhere in her there is a heart that is kind and good, and a person who tries to do her best, but the moment she left the mansion to come here she was guided only by selfish lust. It’s what makes her stand up so fast. She doesn’t even know what he will do if she manages to please him... so far she has only experienced his sharpness, and it has worked to hook her as surely as a fish.

Her feet are moving but she is lost in an imagining that he is piercing the side of her mouth when he shouts “Swallow already!” at her, and it makes her jump. It also makes her so, so happy that he was paying so much attention. Every echo of his rage is like choir music. She swallows immediately. In her rush her throat betrays her and she feels like she will choke, but before she can stop herself she coughs and then keeps trying to clear her windpipe. His hand is on her upper arm and he shakes her like a rag doll. It does not help, but it feels like a dance.

Faust grits out “Get. Over there.” and she gets, still coughing. It is uncomfortable and her eyes are watering but she longs for him more than air and he let go of her arm when he pushed her toward the pews. So her steps are sad ones.

She puts her back and her hands onto the curve of the pew. It’s wide, smooth wood beneath her. The sturdiness brings her head down from the clouds in time to hear the slide of the book bundle he has kicked toward her, just in time to move her ankle out of the way. He laughs and mutters something she can’t hear. She tries very, very hard not to pout about it.

“I don’t have all night,” he says flatly. “Put your foot up and show your sin to me.”

It’s a scramble to comply-- should she hold up her skirt first or put a foot on the books and then raise the fabric?-- but her body just moves, eager to comply. This is why she’s here. As much as for him, she is in this chapel for what only he can do.

He rolls his eyes as she wads up her skirt in her hands. Her stockings can’t be clean after that time on the chapel floor, and there is no way her underwear is without a telltale patch of lust, not with the way all his power has been pooling between her legs since before she even touched the other side of the chapel doors. When he steps close she can actually feel a tiny but undeniable gush of arousal slipping out of her so easily it might as well be her self-control. It’s mortifying. She hopes he sees.

Then he is close, close enough for one of his hands to slip behind the leg that goes straight to the ground and stroke it, which makes her bite back a moan. She has to clench her teeth shut just to withstand the gentle contact without falling over. When he pulls her leg up, her knee rests beside his hip and she begins to shudder so hard she fears she will convulse.

“Stop that this instant,” he hisses, and his fingers dig into the back of her thigh so hard all that gently-stroked flesh is too stupid to feel the hurt right away. It comes to her quickly, though. She bites back another sound, something more vulnerable.

He watches her, then leans in beside her ear. “You put your foot on a stack of bibles in a church,” he whispers to her, every syllable touching his teeth the way she wishes he would touch her. “And you spread your legs like you think someone wants to see your mess.” He makes the most derisive, delicious noise, and her eyes roll so far back into her head it nearly hurts. More words, more words, please...

He takes her by the chin again, and when he lets go of her leg she knows she needs to keep it exactly where it was, no matter how precarious this makes her balance, while his hand comes up to slap her face. “You don’t tell me one wretched thing, slut,” he enunciates carefully. She did not even realize her thoughts had become words. She quickly tries to apologize and he slaps her other cheek.

“Shut up,” he says, syrup sweet, and slides his hand back under her thigh. It’s the exact tone of a bully. She shuts up. She shudders, too, from the way it seeps into her and makes her warm all over.

He lets go of her chin and pulls the front of her underwear into his fist. He keeps pulling until the soft, well-laundered muslin digs at the back of her hips and her sex at the same time, right up against the tender flesh of her holes, and makes her yelp. He must have measured his strength exactly, she hears the snap of two threads but the fabric holds. He could rip it from her with ease. Why is he not doing that? He gives the muslin just a little slack, then pulls it even tighter and she feels like a marionette, all her limbs out of her own control. Were it not for her hands on the back of the pew, she would be a mess on the floor instead of a mess barely standing

Faust growls, “Be still, sinner-- and keep this leg up-- or I’ll make it so much worse.”

She keeps the leg up without his hand beneath it. She will never again doubt the existence of miracles.

He pulls the soaked fabric aside, pulls back his newly freed hand, and slaps her right on her slit without any preamble. The shock of the hit is gold and white-blue behind her eyes, and her sob is ugly, an animal’s sound in a place meant for prayerful people. He says nothing as she whimpers through the hurt of every little ripple of post-pain, the way the tingles stay focused on the flesh that took the hit. It feels like a scorch on both sides of her sex that she cannot escape; how appropriate that inescapable he put that feeling on her, in her.

Belatedly she realizes that she did stay still, and that calms her spirit, strokes her in time with his thumbs on the inside of each thigh. High like heaven. Soft as a dream. He may even be shushing her tenderly instead of telling her to be silent, but she is so delirious she cannot be sure. She can feel the way she is even more wet, because the slickness makes the burn better. Not in a healing way, in a way that clarifies the precious, god-given sharpness he provides. She is sinful and filthy and so far below worthy of his touch, but he does touch her, he talks to her and touches her, and when Faust does those things she feels very holy. There is a silence in her soul that makes it a little easier to ignore the way her body is screaming from pain and desperate want.

The slap hurts. It takes her a long time to come down from the pain and the heat. But when she is silent, he sneers and stops stroking her thighs, and then he does it again.

#ikevamp faust #ikevam faust #ikevamp fanfiction #ikevam fanfiction #dt nonny (bless you)#WHEW OKAY i do not smoke but I may need to go chew some gum

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revelaare · 4 years ago

Text

Shit said in the Crimson Discord & VC, taken out of context part 2, (the sequel)

Big NSFW warning, probably

his meat slid off and then slid right back on

[PRONOUN] can punch me in my uterus and make a hammock out of my ovaries

it’s one of the worst fucking things i’ve ever heard, and i’ve heard someone literally shit their pants

they tagged me and my ass clenched

this man just said “I want to eat ur ass and then kiss you” ok buddy

a man with a plan

my grandpa is texting his hoes from his flip phone

god my lawyer was a hit but idk if she will be the chosen one or not

hello give me your toenails

i'll touch you in a non-weird way

he was in that movie with the people, he was the human.

i want her to brush my hair

If we have dick glasses they have to be of the highest quality for the best experience

i don't wanna watch that white nonsense

i would throat him like a fine wine

these millenials can't live without ac? back in my day we lived on the sun

yall better put those goats on a wheel, tell them to start running

he looks like a bitch

yes or no, u wud punch the light bulb out of thomas edisons wrinkly pruned hand and asked him if he believed in god

still has skin and a working body

i needed to wait until my voice changes

you thought i was snacking on joe biden’s savory meat stick

barack guckin oglizzy, oguckma, barack osugma, Joe choden, OglchnnngggHHHYynnUUUnnghhma

why did i have a dream that i was taking the lid off my car

false gods require wine, real gods require coochiefice

fettucine wet ass pussy

that was all you sent me. the picture of a raccoon and then nothing

it isn’t hate, it is ‘continuously let down by’.

i never went to school who science

i’m gunna go peer pressure my mum into a shot

thank you for furthering my career at hot topic

i will suck the ingrown hair off of him

it has huge jackman in it

i chomped on this eggshell, got my calcium in for the day

i will take you to touch the mango

i want to see all the big things

[PRONOUN] has collar bones so deep you could hook a clothing hanger into it

no asscheeks in fucking family chat you animals

he will eat you alive and suck out your intestines like its a spaghetti noodle

[NAMES]’s Tiggle Biddie’s

dropped acid, cried the whole night.

my stomach is hooping and hollering, i’m about to eat some sleep

you want my throatsac ??

please dont know me as the toenail eater

you have to keep the skin on one side while you eat the other, thats basic mango physics

i mean he is some good sasuage

calm down dick Hannibal

respectfully, what the fuck is this

tbf i only eat my steaks where they need tampons

you committed acts of culinary terrorism

does your refrigerator whimper and cower in the corner when you approach it. that's your fridge trying to use echo location to locate a safe space

thundercuck

i almost met Jesus, I almost got an autograph. Almost got a greatest hits signed album.

respectfully, are you smoking fucking crack?

my left testicle could play better than you

i’ll eat him with ketchup

son of a biscuit eating bulldog!

now it’s back to me sucking, all is right in the world.

holy fuck weasels.

holy fuck, weasels!

why does the bad guy look like the Statue of Liberty?

this is a man that sometimes willingly dresses like a lumberjack

and me, being an emotional cripple, must make jokes about this.

hey my name is [NAME] i'm **definitely** who i say i am

[NAME OR PRONOUN] offered a back massage by calling it the “tickle thing”

i love a man who puts his parents in a nursing home.

my brain is going to take a hot shower

wait have u seen steve harvey's coochie

if it were me i would simply not be pregnant

look im not about to be out here saying i love [NAME OR PRONOUN] feet, but i am about to be out here saying that their feet are some of the nicest feet i've seen in a long time

i named my cloyster renesmee

[NAME] was texting me from the bathtub

you’re pregnant? That’s unfortunate.

do I say dumb shit? Perhaps. Do I take ownership? Perhaps.

i pay for things in blissful ignorance

i am an emotional vagrant

i am an emotional fragrance

to make a long motherfucking story short...

this enchilada tastes like asshole and sadness

you are not an ugly bitch, you’re just a bitch

that’s not a nut shot, buddy.

i’m sad because i sucked the meat off of this pumpkin spice latte

i want to make a blanket out of his eyebrows

what are you disgracing my Christian eyes for?

he be looking at that dick like why does it go so much to the left?

I want her to record an audio book for me so I can fall asleep listening to her voice.

Can I lick you like an ice cream cone? Asking for science.

like you're out to lunch with your bromie and you're eating some rubens or something and you wistfully look over the rim of your sunglasses and just: You ever buss 2 fast

my accent is flaccid

timotay chalamaymay’s sweet ass

on the bright side mcallister’s gave me 3 pickle spears. Almost enough to make a whole pickle.

you think they came from the same mommy pickle?

HIS DOODLE IS OUT

i thot that meant [NAME] wanted to...doodle his noodle

i don’t use commas, i don't respect u enough, fuck ur reading comprehension.

does australia have seasons

i want someone to embalm my body with mcdonalds sprite

his hermione grangina

purrrr my last email

its lore locked beneath 30 layers. u can only understand it if uve had a near death experience

LET'S GET FUCKY

i wanna have the heart of a stoner

his man titties look like little tattooed pillows

SWIGGITY SWOOTY COMIN FOR THAT BOOTY

there were no cheeks to shake. nothing to clap. no noise to be had from her literal slices of wonderbread

u ever just fuck around and ur tits fart

put a lil mint leaf on it for authenticity

alright brother god bless may u be fertile

i feel like im being advocated for something i shouldnt be advocating for

and i am adam with my fat pendulous balls lol

i’m making whuppie with whoopie godberg

theodore tits fart rex

yeah man do u also have the third toe on ur shoulder

the green spaghetti monster is coming for me and i can't blame him

today i learned starfish do not poop

that was nothing compared to some other things I saw

listen I'd willingly watch [NAME/PRONOUN] in a cell for 24 hours. Imagine that sounded less creepy

i'd lick a dirty flip flop off her abs

i’m tempted to show you all the gravity defining boobs, maybe tomorrow

my brain is on vacation

good morning! i ate breakfast and im ready to go to bed

tape the titty in

ive unironically had nightmares with [NAME] in them

the peanut in the auditory canal

so far this feel all comfortable, does this all make sense?

i know it's kind of a schlep to get through

nail polish or no nail polish for the shower?

and then he saw those big tt honkerz... and it all went down hill from there

can y’all stop chanting curses in the chat my furniture is stuck on the ceiling

EH?! CIAO? HELLO??

in Russia this is not ok

i can’t buy pants here on Sunday either

IT'S LIKE TWELVE THOUSAND DOLLARS TO EAT ON A SOGGY PANCAKE

imagine me going up to [NAME/PRONOUN] and being like i love the way ur flesh smells

in a supermarket. The sickly blue light where humans congregate. Animal human masses. Nameless faces. Whole lives boiled into generalized categories like "asshole who definitely does need 4 boxes of cheerios". Yout hink and realize while stabding in line u didnt grab the bag of frozen peas...but its 2 late

its truly the only picture that gives me pure joy

are weasels real

my work mum just messaged me the phrase "use your booty call wisely" with no context

"let's bring u to the mustache chair"

If you’re not doing coke under the coke sign what is the point?

#⋆ ˚｡⋆˚ meme day #HERE U GO U SINNERS.#THE SEQUEL.

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themilky-way · 5 years ago

Text

Tired Mornings {t.h}

gif credit: tomhollandcouk on tumblr!

pairing: tom holland x female!reader

summary: you walk into a coffee shop near your apartment to get some breakfast, but you end up walking out of it with more than just a coffee.

warnings: um not really except this is purely fictional so please don’t actually hand out your personal information to ANY stranger it’s for ur own safety

author’s note: my brain cells are going through cell division and I am busting out new fics left and right and I’m so proud! thank u for all the love on my last fic and my motivation levels are thru the rOOF right now so enjoy this. this has also been done before so I did not come up with this fic idea, credit to the lovely person who did!

----------

waking up late didn’t always have its benefits. the immediate hunger you would feel as soon as you opened your eyes in the morning would show itself in a very loud grumbling noise in your stomach. the sun that somehow made its way through the tiny openings of your curtain didn’t help the situation, either.

you struggled to lift your head up from your pillow but eventually you did, gaining the sufficient amount of energy to get up, fold your blankets, and rearrange your pillows together. you grabbed the silky red string that you always used to tie the curtain together and folded a simple knot when you had gathered it all up. beginning to feel like your normal self once again, you walked over to your closet and selected a dark red knitted sweater with some black jeans to accompany it. you tucked your sweater in once both items were fully adjusted and slipped your everyday sneakers into your feet when done.

after your attire for the morning was complete, you parted your hair into two sections and proceeded to braid it, ending up with two neat French braids in the end. you didn't look bad, you thought to yourself as you gave your appearance one more glance in the mirror. for someone who’s apparently starving, you did a pretty great job at getting ready in a slight rush.

deciding that you were better off getting breakfast at a nearby coffee shop, you grabbed your apartment keys and started your journey through the now very crowded streets. you were fully awake now, feeling the fresh morning air flow around you giving you the boost you needed to reach the shop. the light jingle of the bell on the top of the door let the employee who was working quietly behind the counter know that you had entered. since you had rehearsed your order countless of times on your way there, you knew everything word by word with no trouble. walking up to the friendly girl who was ready to type in your order, you told her your desired breakfast.

“Hi what can I get for you today?”

“Hey there, can I get one medium hot chocolate with some extra marshmallows on top and one chocolate chip muffin, please?”

“of course! your total will be six dollars and eighty-seven cents,” the cashier announced. you gathered up the bills and coins you needed and handed the cash to her. once she had returned a couple cents back into your own hand, she motioned for you to wait on the pick up here side of the counter. you both mutually wished each other a good day and you walked over to sit in one of the free chairs they had. you plucked your phone out of your pocket so you could scroll through media while you waited, soon finding yourself enthralled the different posts you found.

a smooth voice broke you out of your thoughts and you looked up to see someone, a man, standing in front of you. his eyes were fixated on your own and it took you a couple of seconds before you realized he was waiting for a response.

you blinked a couple of times while shaking your head as if breaking out of concentration before speaking. “I’m sorry, I didn’t quite catch that. could you repeat it for me one more time, please?” you asked. your voice was light and softer than he had expected it to be.

“Oh yeah, of course. I was just saying how you must be craving a lot of chocolate this morning, ya know, since you ordered everything with chocolate in it,” he repeated. it came off as more of a ramble, something he soon realized because he started rubbing the back of his neck a little awkwardly.

he thought he had ruined it, made you think he was a weirdo for paying very close attention to your order. he looked at you and he noticed you were staring at him, eyeing him up and down lightly. is she checking me out? he thought. he decided he needed to break this perplexing moment and stuck out his hand in a handshake.

“I’m Tom, by the way. my apologies if that was a little weird but I couldn’t help to overhear you.”

you relaxed a little, and your eyes stopped at his again before a genuine smile formed on your lips. you reached out and locked your hand in his to complete the handshake. “I’m (y/n). and yeah, chocolate was the only thing that sounded appetizing this morning. no worries, I didn’t think anything bad about you, tom.”

tom, from your perspective, was rather attractive. he was toned and not short or tall, either, but the perfect height for a guy in his early twenties (at least you assumed so). his voice was gentle and not too rough like almost everyone out there, a British accent also adding itself into the description. you shook hands thoroughly and tom could see things were starting to fall into place now that you both had introduced each other.

“oh thank goodness, I don’t want to be make you uncomfortable,” tom replies as he places a hand over his chest in relief. you laughed gently and you reassured him you were not uncomfortable but instead taken aback. with all the confusion cleared up, you motioned for tom to have a seat in the chair in front of you, to which he happily obliged. soon enough, a steady and pleasant conversation was created between you and tom. so pleasant that you almost didn't hear your name being called out for your order.

you got up from your seat and excused yourself to go get your items, giving the barista a “thank you” before heading back to tom. as you were walking back, tom stood up and walked a few steps to greet you on the way, evident that your original plan was not to stay since you got a to-go cup. standing a little to close to one another, you looked at him while trying to figure out something to say.

you wanted to see him again, without a doubt in your mind. the only question was, did he? you found yourself attracted to him, intrigued by him in more ways than one. you finally figured out a sentence, one that would hint at another possible meet-up, when he broke your thoughts.

“by the looks of your cup, I assume you don’t plan on staying like I am,” he states. his voice is shaking a little bit and he doesn’t understand the full concept of that yet. it’s never happened before with anyone. “although it was quite short, the time I spent with you this morning was highly enjoyable. very entertaining, actually. so I was wondering if you would like to go out somewhere and get to know each other some more. only if you feel comfortable, obviously.”

he added the last part fairly quickly, his way of telling you that you had the right to reject him if you wanted to. of course, you didn’t plan on rejecting him and you let him know that when you answered his question.

“I would love to go out with you, tom. and if I didn’t feel comfortable, you wouldn't have gotten this far, so stop worrying about that.” you chuckled lightly which caused tom to let out a hearty laugh, eventually dialing down to a soft grin. he nodded his head while looking down at his shoes momentarily and let you know that he would stop worrying, eventually asking you if he could pass you his phone number.

you agreed and you handed him your phone so he could add himself to your contacts. you told him you would text him later in the day as soon as you would finish your daily duties. you and tom both said your goodbyes after that and gave him a soft smile before completely walking out of the warm coffee shop. you left tom with a grin on his face and a rosy hue creeping up on his cheeks while he, in return, left you walking with a skip to your step.

perhaps waking up late this morning wasn’t so bad as it seemed.

#tom holland imagine #tom holland x reader #tom holland #peter parker #peter parker x reader #peter parker imagine #spider-man #Spider Man: Homecoming

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veganmikehanlon · 5 years ago

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10 and 25 for hanbrough if you please! otherwise any pairing will do ♥

you know that thing where u can’t even search ur own blog for something you /literally/ tagged? this was something like…idk something but it reminded me of something i already wrote so i Really have no reason for not posting it sooner other than procrastination being my middle name so anyways, this:

Mike doesn’t mean to start writing a sex scene while sitting in a Starbucks, but he’d tried writing at home, well it’s just his parents house now, and his mom kept walking in trying to talk to him. So he left the old farmhouse and drove into his newly modernized hometown of good ol’ Derry, Maine.

It’d started with a piece of his story inspiring a memory from his own sex life. Something he’d done forever ago with an ex. Secretly, in a tent. Surrounded by friends. Not their most shining moment but it was hot and applicable to his current story.

He’s in the middle of writing about tongues sliding together when his eyes are drawn to the sound of the shop door opening. He almost chokes when he sees who it is walking in. Well, daydream about sex with your ex and he shall appear. Mike ducks behind his things to hide because he’s panicking.

Mike watches Bill walk to the counter, he observes the broad lines of his shoulders move under familiar flannel; and how the end of his short blond french braid, mostly held together by multi-colored bobby-pins, brushes the collar in a physical reminder of how long it’s been since they’ve seen each other.

He walks through the room with the same gentle confidence that he always had, and it still draws the same admiring gazes from those around him. Mike’s eyes flicker between Bill and his computer screen, the incriminating words screaming at him, and then he catches sight of Bills’ smile and the perfect adjective pops into his head.

Just like that he’s writing again, more caught up in his story than he’s been in the last 30 minutes. Words stream from his fingertips and a scene unfolds, bits and pieces of Mike’s past slipping through, and just as he’s writing a description of how exciting it is to make someone moan as loud as you can make them laugh, he’s interrupted.

“Hi,” a soft voice calls, startling Mike from his head making him jump and hit his knees against the table, a move that almost sends his coffee toppling, but two pairs of hands shoot out to catch the wobbling cup. Bills’ hand settles warmly over Mike’s before he draws it back with an awkward chuckle.

A shiver runs through Mike as Bill’s fingers brush over his knuckles, and he looks up at the man before him with wide eyes. “Hi,” he squeaks, this entire situation sending him careening out of his comfort zone. Bill clears his throat before speaking (an old habit) “sorry, didn’t mean to scare you,” he says with a wince.

Mike chuckles nervously, his voice coming out a bit high and strained, “it’s okay I was just, um, writing.” This might be the most uncomfortable he’s ever been in his life. But Bill looks excited and he falls into the chair opposite Mike, setting his coffee and a notebook down on the open space.

“You’re writing?” He asks, a smile spreading across his face, and Mike has to smile back because oh yeah, they’d once shared everything with each other and Bill knows all about Mikes’ commitment-phobia to writing.

Mike quickly switches programs, an attempt at putting the niggling guilt in his chest away. “Yeah, just this story for this thing,” he answers vaguely, and they pause for an awkward second before Bill starts to ramble. “I’ve been working on drawing (a sentence that makes Mike proud too), I’m in a portrait class right now at school, and I came here to people watch and I saw you, and I was wondering if you’d mind if I practiced drawing you?”

Mike gasps softly in surprise at the request, “uh, what? You want to draw me?” The words fall from his mouth without his input, any functional part of his brain currently caught in a dumpster fire, set by this stupid story that is making an already uncomfortable situation of running into an ex just that much worse!

And then Bill is talking again, “well my art style has changed and I thought it’d be cool to get a comparison, you know, a then and now? It’s cool if you don’t want me to, no biggie, just thought I’d ask, but actually? Never mind,” he starts gathering his things into his arms, “sorry for bothering you, it was nice seeing you, bye!”

He starts to get up but stops when Mike bursts out laughing, his cheeks reddening, and he stays frozen uncomfortably. And Mike doesn’t mean to, but seeing Bill so obviously out of his comfort zone has him cracking up, the situation making him feel hysterical, and he can’t quite stop the laughter bubbling out.

Mike manages enough words to get Bill to settle back down. “Hey man it’s cool, it’s good seeing you too, you know me, I love to help.” Bill settles back into the seat and flips his sketchbook open with an eye roll. Mike can’t help but tease him, he starts shifting through different dramatic poses, making Bill laugh loudly. A hand behind his head, his bicep bulging, Thinking Man pose, his smile barely suppressed-

And Mike ends his display by lewdly flicking his tongue between his fingers. “Jesus Mike!” Bill sputters out between laughs and Mike raises his hands in an innocent gesture, his own laughs ringing out through the space between them. “Sorry, I’m done!” He surrenders with an amused snort.

Bill sticks his tongue out childishly at him and flips the pages of his notebook to a blank page, “just go back to what you were doing weirdo,” he says softly and Mike lets out another laugh before following his directions. Well, not exactly since he’d literally been writing about his and Bill’s sex life. Oops.

He fucks around on his computer for a bit, opening and closing a few homework assignments (yeah right like he’d be able to concentrate right now), editing bits and pieces in other stories, he even plays a couple rounds of solitaire. But his attention is scattered after three lattes (that’s 2…4…6 espresso shots) and the adrenaline rushing through him from Bill sitting across from him drawing him which requires Bill to look at him with his blue as fuck eyes-

“Hey you wanna go somewhere?” The question bursts from Mike and he cringes at the abruptness. “Wait, you’re drawing, never mind,” Mike amends with a shake of his head. But Bill just flips his book closed with a simple “yep,” and starts chugging the last bit of his coffee.

Mike packs up quickly and, swinging his backpack over his shoulders, follows Bill out of the shop.

“Holy shit, is that Silver?” Mike exclaims incredulously when they walk outside. Bill laughs and leads the way to the old bike where it’s locked up by the building. “Yeah, Georgie didn’t wanna give up the car, so I’m stuck with her.” Bill explains. Mike runs a hand over the handlebars with a small smile, “seems smaller than she used to,” he comments, nostalgia rushing through him. Bill hums in agreement, “easier to handle too,” he comments steadily belaying the nervous shake in his next words, “and still big e-e-enough to ruh-ride double.”

Mike grins excitedly, “why Mr. Denbrough, are you going to show me a good time around town?” Bill’s face lights up with a wide grin and giggling, he unlocks his bike quickly, “it’d be my puh-pleasure, Mr. Hanlon.” They drop their things in Mike’s truck before racing recklessly out of the parking lot, Bill pedaling frantically and Mike hanging on tight to his waist, praying he doesn’t go flying off the back of the bike.

It’s weird spending all day with an ex, but they’d been best friends for just as long as they dated, and it’s as easy as it’s always been. They ride through the streets of Derry just like when they were kids, taking turns too fast and speeding over bumps. Mike’s teeth click together but it barely registers over the barrage of other sensations. The softness of Bill’s waist under his hands, the warmth between his back and Mike’s chest, the soft blond hairs flying into his face where they come loose from the braid and bobby pins.

It’s a lot of old and new sensations that has Mike’s head spinning.

They ride until Bill complains of shin splints, his face red and a little sweaty. Mike totally doesn’t think of licking the sweat from his brow because that would be weird. They ride back to Starbucks and load Silver into Mike’s truck. They sit in the cab, unsure where to go from here. They decide to live out the nostalgia further, and head to the barrens.

“Can you help me get all these out?” Bill asks gesturing to the many bobby-pins in his hair. Mike pats the spot on the truck bed next to him and Bill sighs a “thank you” as he sits with his back turned to him. Mike begins to gently pull the clips from his hair, doing his best not to pull knowing full well Bill is tender-headed.

He brushes the hair out with his fingers as it’s freed in sections until all the pins are out and Bill’s hair is a wild mane framing his face. Bill had shifted to face him when Mike got to the sections held back in the front, and Mike watches his face carefully. His eyes are closed and his face is relaxed in contentment. He’s always liked having his hair played with, no doubt part of the inspiration to grow it out.

Mike finds himself fiddling with the ends of his hair, carefully brushing it back from his face. He’s too distracted watching the soft strands fall through his fingers to notice Bills’ eyes have opened to watch him.

They used to lay in bed together, Bill on Mike’s chest, while Mike would drag a hand through Bill’s hair while they cooled down. Sometimes they would talk and other times they would lay in silence, just letting themselves feel the moment.

Lost in his thoughts Mike doesn’t notice Bill moving his face slowly closer, or how his hand has ceased it’s ministrations running through soft blond hair to rest gently on his cheek, he doesn’t realize he’s guiding Bill’s lips to his own until they’re barely a breath apart. And then soft lips land on his and awareness comes crashing over him.

They both freeze for a second, they’re mouths held stiff against the other, and then Mike opens his mouth slightly to pull Bills’ bottom lip in between his. And with that Bill is pushing forward and Mike unfolds his legs so he can slot in-between his knees. They kiss desperately, mouths moving together hot and slick. Mike moans softly at the feeling.

And then he’s pushing away because holy shit, “did you-“ he pants and Bill moves to kiss his neck at the interruption, unwilling to stop whatever this is. Mike is totally okay with that but, “you didn’t eat meat today did you?”

Bill stops his traveling lips, body going stiff in the not fun way. It may have been something they used to argue about when they were dating, Mike thought it was gross to kiss Bill after he’d eaten meat, and Bill didn’t get what the big deal was. Mike thinks maybe he ruined the moment but then Bill is grinding his hips down into him and he drag his lips up Mike’s neck to his ear, making him keen at the sensations, his own hips stuttering to meet the boy’s above him.

“Not yet,” Bill whispers grinding down into the v of Mike’s hips harshly, drawing a groan from the man that quickly turns into laughter. Throwing his head back Mike giggles loud and uncontrollably. “Seriously?” He laughs breathlessly, Bill sucking a mark on his neck. He pulls back to look into Mike’s eyes. “Seriously. Your nagging finally got through my thick skull.” Bill says with an eye roll followed by a wink.

“Wow, fuck, that was such a fucking turn on.” Mike says drawing Bill closer with a hand on the back of his neck and kisses him passionately.

#veganmo #writing prompt #hanbrough #bill denbrough #mike hanlon #it fic #bill x mike

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veryangryhedgehog · 7 years ago

Video

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“The Personal History of Mr. Lucius Marcell

Part I: In which he acquires a New TA”

By Hedgehog

There is one sentence that nearly every child grows to loath. The utter hate and disgust behind the specific way these words are phrased becomes so engrained into the very soul that even years later, the mere mention can send shivers running full tilt down the spine. The phrase I am referring to is of course: “So, how was school today?”

See, it worked. Isn’t it funny how four tiny little words can leave such an impact? It may not even be what the sentence implies that causes the body to convulse with revolt: that remembrance of drab halls, graffiti-crusted bathrooms, and the feeling that absolutely no one wants to be there. Rather, I would argue that it is the prospect of actually answering the question at all. How is one supposed to respond? “Absolutely terrible. I’m bored, no one likes me, and I feel very much alone”? Clearly, the truth will not suffice. This merely invites further probing. No, there is only one way to field such a question. Observe.

“So, how was school?” Ms. Miller asked her children from across the rotisserie chicken that she had purchased from the supermarket earlier that evening. When no one responded—Mike taking a massive bite out of a leg to keep his mouth busy while Cindy looked down at her plate—she let out a small huff of indignation and glared at each of them in turn. “Cynthia?” She dug.

Said teenage daughter shrugged in response. “Fine,” she said.

“Just ‘fine’?” her mother asked. “Honey, it’s your first day of senior year, the best year of your life.”

“Sure. Whatever.” Cindy turned back to her food. The last time she’d given half a damn about school had been a full two years ago. Sophomore Cynthia had been a straight A, 4.0 student, a two-time runner up at state for track, and president of the student council. One nervous breakdown later, and here she was: a B average student with not a lot else to do. What had triggered such a breakdown of her essential personality? Stress mostly, but it didn’t really matter. The point was that she was over her delusions of grandeur and overall a much better person. At least she thought so.

Ms. Miller pouted once she realized that she was getting nothing else out of the older child, but quickly turned to her son instead. “Mike?” she asked. “How about you?”

Sure he would reply much the same way as she had, so that the interrogation could end and they could get on with their lives, Cindy turned her thoughts elsewhere. Needless to say, it took her a second to get over her brain fart when Mike said something completely unexpected.

“It was...” he began. “Kinda weird.”

Mike no! The inside of her head screamed. You were the chosen one! You’ve doomed us all!

Looking pleased, Ms. Miller proceeded with her questioning. “Weird?” she tilted her head. “What do you mean?”

“Well,” he began, “it was all pretty normal, but then after lunch I had—” Mike paused for a split second, narrowing his eyes slightly as if he didn’t quite believe what he had seen. “I had history with that Marcell guy.”

If there had been one word to bring her out of her blue screen of death and into a whole other level of panic, it was that one. Cindy stared a hole into her brother, trying to telepathically yell at him to stop talking.

But it was much too late. “Cynthia,” her mother turned back to her, “didn’t you have Mr. Marcell when you were a sophomore?”

“Yes,” she sighed. “He’s a little... eccentric.”

Mike opened his mouth to say something, but closed it again just as quickly. It appeared he had come to the same conclusion as Cindy had two years ago. The thought had just taken a little longer to pierce his skull. It was simple really: if he told his mother about Marcell, she would never believe him. Not about the darkened room due to his “rare skin condition”, not about the unit on Atlantis, and least of all about his habit of yelling at the textbook whenever it disagreed with him.

Marcell had rarely been mean, and never creepy, but he was kind of a weirdo. Except you never came upon this revelation until after the fact. When you were in his classroom, you were the weirdo. At least, that’s what it had always felt like to Cindy, though that could have just been sophomore Cynthia’s appalling lack of self-esteem.

The rest of dinner passed quickly enough; the courtroom adjourned once Ms. Miller realized that neither of her children really wanted to talk about Marcell and his odd demeanor, and Cindy nearly forgot about the whole thing. She had essays to write, and more importantly, time to waste on the internet.

So, it was almost unexpected when she got the text from Mike the next day in the middle of sixth period: Might have left my lunchbox in Marcells. But hes really creepy. Will u plz get it for me? Ill do ur chores for a month!!! And this was the captain of the sophomore soccer team. What a little wuss. But the offer was tempting. She hated cleaning the toilet.

2 and uve got urself a deal, she typed back under the desk.

There was a long pause, and then the answer came. Fine. Thx!

Cindy groaned. She never imagined ever having to set foot in that classroom again. The space still seemed to exist on an entirely different plane of existence, one filled with AP tests and sore feet from hours of running, stress about grades and boys you didn’t really like. Yet far too soon, the final bell rang and she found herself making her way down that old, familiar hallway, procrastinating in any way she could.

And then, suddenly and without warning, she was at the door. It was ajar, and beyond it lay the soft blue of not-quite darkness. Peering inside, the classroom seemed empty, and Cindy’s eyes darted back and forth before landing on the red lunchbox that sat on the dirty tile floor, just beside the hard seat of a desk.

She darted in, intending to snatch the lunchbox and make a quick escape, but the instant her fingers brushed the handle of the lunchbox, she froze.

“That’s not yours, is it,” said a voice. It was not a question.

Firmly gripping the box, Cindy turned to find a figure sitting with his feet propped on the teacher’s desk, smirking. Ah yes, she’d nearly forgotten about his habit of appearing out of nowhere when you weren’t looking. This time, she was sure he hadn’t been there a second before.

“It’s my brother’s,” she attempted an innocent smile.

He didn’t seem to recognize her. It had been two years, after all, and she had changed a lot since then. “So he chickens out and makes you get it, huh? I didn’t think I was quite that terrifying.” He laughed, sitting up now. “Which one is he?”

“Mike Miller,” she sighed. “And I think he thought since I survived a whole year with you...”

Marcell frowned, eyebrows knitted closely as he held up a finger. “You took my class?” He asked. “Miller... Miller... wait!” He finally remembered, then shook his head. “No. Cynthia?” His brown, almost red eyes widened incredulously.

She nodded, embarrassed. “Though most people call me Cindy these days, if they bother to talk to me at all.”

“You’ve certainly changed.” He stood from the swivel chair and leaned against the front of the desk. “You cut your hair.”

“And that’s the first thing you notice?” she laughed, shaking her head.

“Of course,” he said. “You had the very distinct habit of flipping it to the side when you were about to start arguing with me.”

Cindy felt herself blush a little. She had been such a little bitch. “I probably wasn’t the most pleasant student.”

“On the contrary,” he countered, “it was certainly better than the silence I get from most kids. At least you kept me on my toes.”

“I just couldn’t believe you were teaching a whole unit on a city that doesn’t exist.”

“Ah,” he grinned, revealing sharp, white teeth. “Atlantis.”

“Which I will never forget was actually a city on the lost continent of Lemuria, thank you very much.”

Marcell crossed his arms over his chest. “Was it that strange?” He seemed bemused.

“It wasn’t strange, it was just...” she shook her head, “different. You were different.”

A moment of silence ensued, in which Marcell seemed to be considering something.

“Well,” Cindy shook herself. “I should get going.” She waved, turning to leave. “It was nice talking to—“

“Would you like to know why?” He asked suddenly, the final syllable seeming to float around the room. “Why I’m so... different, as you put it.” He added when she paused.

A second passed, then two. Then five. Cindy wasn’t really thinking about what she would say, it was just that she never expected the offer to just suddenly give up all the secrets that made him eccentric Mr. Marcell. She’d tried the whole year to figure out his deal, and now he was just going to tell her?

“Yes,” she said finally, definitely, turning back towards him.

“What if I told you I was two-thousand years old?” he asked, face completely straight. “Would you say I was crazy?”

She raised an eyebrow. “I’d say you were pulling my leg.”

“Then I don’t suppose it’d be any more plausible if I were a two-thousand year-old vampire.”

“Absolutely not.”

Marcell sighed, looking positively done. “I’m a two-thousand year-old vampire.”

“Uh huh.”

“I know most people think we’re only legends, and more recently, fictional teen heart-throbs.” He ran through the line as if he had rehearsed it many times. “But—“

“Don’t get me wrong.” Cindy interrupted, to which he looked surprised. “It’s not that I don’t believe vampires exist, I just find it hard to believe that my mild-mannered history teacher is a ‘creature of the night’.”

He blinked. “That was... not the response I was expecting.”

“Welcome to Ede Valley,” she chuckled, approaching the far window that somehow managed to be even more broken than when she’d last seen it. “Where we’re all just a little bit... strange.” On the last word she yanked the chain, which miraculously pulled up the shade just enough that the fading light from outside landed on Marcell’s face.

He seemed merely miffed as smoke began to rise from his nose and the tips of his ears.

Nodding, satisfied, Cindy shut the shade and strode back across the room, grabbing a loose chair and plopping it in front of Marcell’s desk. “Alright,” she said. “I believe you.”

“You know that could’ve killed me, right?” He attempted to frown, though the corners of his mouth twitched upwards.

She waved the question off. “You would have stopped me first.” Glancing back at him, Cindy put her chin in her hands and waited. They sat like that for a solid minute as the clock ticked quietly in the corner. “So, are you gonna tell me or what?” she asked finally.

“What?” He replied.

“How it happened, how you became a ��Creature of the Night’” she gestured sarcastically. “Well you can’t just tell me you’re a vampire and then leave me hanging like that.”

Marcell looked a little surprised. “You really want me to tell you? It’s... a long story. Don’t you have student council or track or something?”

“Nah, I quit both of those a long time ago,” she shook her head. “I’ve got nowhere to be. So spill. Just who are you, Marcell?”

“Where to begin...?” Marcell sighed, looking up at the ceiling.

Cindy sat back. “How about at the beginning. That’s where stories usually start, right?”

“The beginning...” He nodded slowly. “Now that was a very long time ago.” He took another deep breath, and Cindy waiting patiently for him to begin,

“I was born in 67 BCE, in Britain. Of course, it was usually referred to as Albion back then.”

“Wait, wait,” Cindy interrupted. “67 BCE? You’re telling me you’re sixty-seven years older than Jesus.”

“Yes,” he said, a little impatiently. “Now do you want to hear or not?”

Cindy stuck her hands up in surrender, and Marcell continued.

“I lived in a small village near the coast, up on the top of a series of hills. My uncle was the Smith, at that time a highly secretive and valued trade, so my life was more comfortable than most. We had three rooms in our hovel.” He had to pause as Cindy chuckled.

“But anyway, my father, uncle, brother, and I all lived in a small house. Well I say house, it was more like a hut than anything. Thatch roof, walls that could blow over with a slight breeze, the works.”

“What about your mother?” Cindy asked.

Marcell smiled, though the expression didn’t quite reach his eyes. “She died shortly after my brother was born, which was a sadly common occurrence in those days.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” He shook his head. “I don’t remember her. And there wasn’t really time to think about things like that. My brother was learning to be a Smith under my uncle, so it was up to my father and me to put food on the table. I remember the old woods, so filled with spirits and gods, the only sound the bending of my bow. Those were... carefree times.”

“And something tells me they didn’t last,” Cindy said.

Marcell nodded. “One morning, while my father and I were hunting near the beach, we heard something strange: voices. But they weren’t speaking in any tongue that we knew. Cautiously, we peered out from the trees to see a whole battalion of men with tan skin and golden, shining armor. ‘Who were they?’ We wondered. ‘Where had they come from?’ Then we saw their boats, though we weren’t sure if we could even call them that. They were enormous, towering over the men on the beach, more like dragons than vessels with which to tame the water. That was when we realized that they must have come from over the ocean.”

“Who were they?” Cindy asked, leaning forward.

“The Romans, of course. Didn’t you pay any attention in my class? The Romans invaded the southern tip of Britain in 55 BCE.”

Blinking, Cindy shook her head. “Oh, right. I remember. Sorry, it’s just hard to connect you and... 55 BCE. Anyway, keep going.”

“And then...” Marcell winced, as if he was watching a character in a book or a movie about to make a horrible mistake. “Just when we were about to turn around and get out of there, I stepped on a branch, the loudest branch in the world, it seemed. And the Romans heard. They turned towards the woods, looking for us. I remember my father gripping my shoulder so tightly, his eyes wide. These men were clearly warriors, with thick armor and sharp spears. We didn’t know what they would do if they found us.

“One of them called something to the trees in their strange language. At the time I thought he was probably asking if anyone was there. I thought we were safe. But a second later, another Roman called in response from directly behind me, and I felt a spear tip poking at my back. The Romans were in the woods as well.

“My father leaned over to me and whispered: ‘Run. Get back to the village, get your uncle.’ I paused, frozen in fear as the Roman began to prod us towards the beach. But my father had given me an order, you didn’t disobey your elders in those days. I nodded, just enough for him to see, and without warning the Roman, turned and streaked back through the trees.

“From behind me came shouting, and then the crash of an army running through the woods. I panicked a little then. They were following me. There was no way I could outrun full grown warriors. But I knew the forest far better than they did, and within a few minutes, I had reached the village.”

“Hold on,” Cindy interrupted. “I don’t mean to question your father, but isn’t it a terrible idea to lead your enemy back to your village?”

Marcell nodded, thinking for a second. “By modern, or even Roman standards, maybe, but you have to understand that back then, the people of Britain weren’t so much kingdoms or even cities as tribes. We hadn’t experienced the art of organized warfare before. Everyone over the age of ten knew how to wield a sword, so leading a raid of disorganized warriors back to your village meant you’d probably outnumber them and probably win. But we were not prepared for the Romans.

“As soon as the first huts appeared through the trees, I began to shout. ‘Help! Help! Uncle, anyone! There’s a raid!’

“Of course, as soon as they heard this, the people of the village, men, women, anyone who could fight began grabbing weapons. My uncle ran out of his workshop and grabbed me by the shoulders. ‘Who is it?’ He demanded, shaking me so much I could barely talk.

“‘I don’t know,’ I shouted over the growing confusion. ‘Strangers, from over the sea!’

“But I didn’t have time to say more, because by then the first of the Romans were emerging from the trees.”

“And you fought back, right?” Cindy asked.

Marcell nodded. “Of course we did. Killed a few, too. I remember hitting one of them, a boy who couldn’t have been much older than I was, square between the eyes with an arrow. The blood just poured down his face before his eyes crossed and he collapsed, almost on top of me. But...” He sighed, looking off to the far wall. “We were slaughtered.

“See, whenever we had warred with our neighbors, the battles had been relatively small, but uncontrolled. The easiest thing was to let the warriors go wild and rely on numbers to win. But the Romans had strategy, formations and the like. They didn’t act as a jumbled mess of warriors but as a single unit.

“Though we fought valiantly, once my uncle, our leader, was killed with a spear to the chest, it was all over. The Romans cut through almost all of us, I watched my brother die right in front of me, and I almost followed him. My bow had been broken in the confusion, and as my eyes were glued upon the still body of my brother, his killer raised a sword to kill me too. But then, another soldier, an older man with watery, blue eyes, put a hand on his shoulder and said something to him.

“I didn’t know the words, but they stuck with me until I eventually learned what they meant.”

Cindy raised an eyebrow in question.

“‘Nonne huic,’ he said. ‘Not this one.’”

“Not this one...” Cindy repeated under her breath, thinking. “Wait. Didn’t you tell us that the Romans enslaved the people they conquered? The one’s they didn’t kill, at least?”

Nodding, Marcell smiled. But he was not happy. “That is correct.”

“So this Roman man spared you because he thought you would make a good slave?” Cindy’s heart dropped a little as Marcell nodded again, and then a little more as he held up his arm, and Cindy could see a faint, red discolored line running around his wrist that she’d never noticed before. “Why you?” She asked, her voice suddenly very small. “What made you special?”

“I have an idea,” Marcell admitted. “But he never told me himself.

“More importantly,” he continued, “that was the first time I saw her.”

“Her?” Cindy frowned, confused.

“In the old Celtic tradition, there are many legends of the Morrigan, the goddess of death. She is said to appear on the greatest battlefields, driving men to madness with her laughter. And there, right as the Roman raised his sword to end my life, there she was, skin pale as death and cloak of crow feathers blowing in the breeze as she guided his hand. At least until the blue-eyed Roman stopped him. I blinked, and the Morrigan was gone. For years afterward, I thought I had been seeing things.”

“But you weren’t, were you?” Leaning forward, Cindy’s eyes narrowed. Part of her remained skeptical, but she of all people knew that there were strange things in this world.

Marcell tilted his head, surprised. “What makes you say that?”

“Because you wouldn’t have mentioned it otherwise.”

“Very astute.” He nodded. “I’ll come to that later.

“After the battle, almost everyone I knew and loved was dead. There were maybe four or five of us left, mostly young, the leftovers who for whatever reason hadn’t been killed outright. I think one of us fought, but I was so numb and confused that I don’t remember that much after that.

“The Romans dragged us back through the forest, all of us tied together by one long rope. But reaching the beach only numbed my head more when I saw my father lying in a bloody pile at the edge of the woods. I should have felt sad or angry but I just felt... nothing. None of it seemed real to me. I let the blue-eyed Roman guide me onto one of their huge boats and into the dark below with all the rowers.

"It wasn't until they actually started rowing that I realized what was happening. They were sailing away, back across the ocean, and were taking me with them. That was when I finally broke out of my trance and started screaming: ‘Stop! Turn the boat around! I want to go home!’ But of course no one could understand me. This was the first time the Romans had ever been to Britain, mind you.

“I started tugging at the pole that I was tied to once a few of the Romans came down to see what was happening. The blood dripped down my arms, but I was too focused on the Roman who carried a whip. He had a particularly cruel look in his eyes, and didn’t look afraid to use the rope in his hands. But once again, the blue-eyed Roman stopped him simply by putting up a hand.

“He approached me, saying a lot of words that didn’t make sense. ‘I want to go home,’ I cried, but he didn’t understand. ‘Please, let me go home.’ He just shook his head. Then his voice rumbled again, steady and low. I couldn’t tell what the words were but the tone quieted me.

“As I continued to cry he wrapped his arms around me. Of course, in any other circumstance this would have frightened me more. He was a complete stranger, after all. But I had just lost everything, and whether he be the cause or not, the tears kept coming and I didn’t back away.”

Cindy shook her head. “Man,” she said. “What was this guy’s deal?”

“You’ll see soon enough,” Marcell adjusted in his chair, and continued.

“The journey was many weeks, but it could have been forever for all I knew. The blue-eyed Roman often came down to see me, and eventually convinced the slaver, the one with the whip, to untie me from the pole so my wounds would heal. Gradually, as he talked, I began to pick up some of his words. Tempestas for storm, navis for boat. Tu for you and ego for I. Eventually, I learned that his name was Gaius Marcellus.”

“Wait,” Cindy interrupted. “Marcellus? But isn’t your name—?”

“I’ll get to that,” he intoned. “Don’t you have any sense of dramatic timing? Anyway, now I knew his name, but as soon as I told him mine, he just shook his head. From what I could grasp of what he was saying, my name was... well, bad. It wasn’t Roman. Non Romani est. I needed a new name. A Roman name.”

“So this guy took everything from you, and now he was taking your name too?” Cindy asked. “Weren’t you angry?”

Marcell thought for a second. “A little, I suppose. But keep in mind that I was unarmed, trapped in a small space with strangers who didn’t speak my language. I was far too scared to argue. This man could kill me if he wanted. So when he patted me on the head and said: ‘Your name is now Lucius,’ there wasn’t much I could do about it. It sounded a little like my name, I suppose. He got the ‘Lugh’ right at the very least. He and everyone else on the ship began to call me that, and eventually I started to respond to it.

“I can’t remember how long we were at sea, I think at one point or another I lost track of the days. But one day, I felt the ship stop. I had almost forgotten what it was like to not be jostled around by the waves at every moment. Though I felt fear rising in my throat as I wondered just what would great me outside of the ship, I almost didn’t have to time to be properly scared, for just then, the slave master came and began to parade us onto the deck.

“The air outside felt more thick and heavy than it should have been, and the light seemed almost... brighter, more stark than back home. I immediately hated it. The slave master began to force us done the gangplank and onto the dock below, but held out his stick when he got to me. ‘Not you,’ was what I think he said. ‘You with Marcellus.’”

“The blue-eyed Roman?” Cindy shifted uncomfortably in her seat. “He bought you?”

“Yes,” Marcell nodded. “Is something the matter?”

She shook her head. “It’s just... hard for me to imagine. Buying another human being, I mean, renaming him at your whim like some kind of pet. And you... you talk about it so casually, like it’s nothing.”

“In principle, I can see how appalling it would seem to you,” Marcell nodded slowly. “But in practice, being a slave in Rome was... very different from what you’re familiar with.”

“How so?”

“Some were treated cruelly, I suppose, those with harsh or uncaring masters, but for most a slave was almost... part of the family. It sounds strange, I know,” he laughed. “But we were provided room and board in exchange for work, allowed to have families, and routinely freed when we were too old to do the work we had been bought for.”

Cindy’s face still remained scrunched in confusion.

“I’m not trying to defend slavery. A slave is still a slave, after all. But in Rome, it often wasn’t the worst position to be in.”

“Okay,” she nodded slowly. “I think I understand. What happened then?”

"I waited a few minutes before Gaius came over. He placed a small bag of coins in the slaver’s hands and led me away. We plodded down the gangplank, landing on the bustling dock below. I stayed close to him. I’d never seen so many people in one place before. He kept a hand on my shoulder as he guided me into the strange city.

“We went in the opposite direction than the rest of the slaves, and I looked over my shoulder, wondering where they were going. Though if I was honest, I didn’t think I wanted to know.”

“So was this Rome?” Cindy asked.

“No, no,” Marcell waved her off. “Rome was about two hours inland, along the Tiber River. This was Ostia, a small port on the coast. It was a rather small town at the time, but for me it was massive. There were people everywhere, flooding the paved streets, and the buildings seemed to tower over me, like they were trying to close me in.”

“You’d never been to a town before,” Cindy realized, her eyes widening slightly.

Marcell nodded. “I almost froze up, but Gaius was... very understanding. He led me through the town quickly and to a wagon that was waiting for us. I did know what this was.” He smiled wryly. “Gaius pointed at me and then at the wagon and I obeyed, climbing into the back.

“The journey through the countryside was... hard, to say the least. It was the first vaguely familiar sight I had seen in weeks, the rolling hills and green trees were a little comforting, but I couldn’t help thinking that with every turn of the wheels I was getting further and further away from home. I didn’t cry, though I wanted to, and there was this twisting, knotted feeling in my gut that would not go away.

“Eventually the wagon came to a stop, and looking up, I saw an enormous house with farmland and several other buildings surrounding it. We had arrived at Gaius’ villa.”

“So you didn’t go to Rome at all, then?”

“No, not just then.” Marcell shook his head. “And that was probably for the best. Remember how I had reacted seeing a town as small as Ostia. There were at least half a million people in the city of Rome at that time. But anyway, Gaius was not a rich man by any means, but he did have a villa about a day’s distance from Rome that provided an income from the farm, and a townhouse in Rome itself for festivals and events.

“At first I was confused. The very concept of such a big house for only one person was something that I’d never really heard of. Gaius didn’t have to go hunt for his food, there was just masses of it stored in the kitchen, and there was no need to fear wolves or other predators, for there were none there anymore.

“However, I adjusted fairly quickly. I think it is... easier for children to accept new things for what they are than adults. Gaius taught me enough Latin to get by, and I picked up quite a bit more from the other slaves. Within a year I was almost fluent in Latin, in another I had completely mastered it.”

Cindy blinked. “Wow. That was fast.”

“It was by necessity.” Marcell shrugged. “That was the one common language everyone spoke at the villa, and I had always been good at remembering things. Later, I would learn that I have a particular skill for languages. Gaius must have been impressed, for I quickly became his... I guess ‘Personal Assistant’ is the best way to put it. If he needed a letter written, I transcribed his words. If he needed to remember something, I remembered it for him.”

“That must have been horrible,” Cindy said, shuddering a bit.

Marcell tilted his head, looking genuinely confused. “How so?”

“Well, you were taking direct orders from... uh, the man w-who destroyed your life,” Cindy frowned. “Didn’t that make you, like, angry?”

“Perhaps a little at first.” Marcell nodded slowly. “There were several times I thought about killing him; it’s probably what my family would have wanted. Revenge for their deaths. But, well... I wouldn’t say I loved the man, but I respected him.

“And I learned a lot about him. Gaius was a career soldier, finally just nearing the age of retirement. He’d had a family, a wife and son, but they had both died of plague when he had been on a campaign. Though he never really talked about it, I could tell that he missed them dearly. In that way I also learned possibly why he’d chosen me to save. One day, I found a drawing of his son, and—“

“Let me guess,” Cindy interrupted. “He looked just like you.”

Marcell laughed. “Not exactly, but yes, the resemblance was there. So you see why I couldn’t bring myself to just kill him. And, as much as I hate to admit it, I was quickly ‘Romanized’, as we call it today. I enjoyed the easy, new life I was living. Yes, there was a long period of time where I missed the peaceful forests and old hut with my family inside desperately, but I buried that quickly. I think the books helped a lot.”

“Books?”

“Yes, Gaius had a large library in his villa. Sure, we had had stories and legends back in Britannia, but we had never written anything down. So whenever I wasn’t assisting Gaius I was down in the library, reading whatever scrolls I could get my hands on. It was a wonderful distraction, but I think the act of learning also excited me to no end.

“And that was how it was for... oh, eight years. I read books, assisted Gaius, and even accompanied him to Rome several times. Eventually I began to feel more like some sort of weird nephew than a slave. The man was... kind to me.”

“But...” Cindy leaned forward.

The darkness of the room almost seemed to grow a little deeper as the smile shrunk from Marcell’s face. “But of course, nothing good lasts forever.” He nodded.

“I was about twenty when I met her for the second time.”

“The second—? Are you talking about—?” Cindy began.

“The Morrigan?” He asked as she shifted in her seat. “Gaius was sick. He was getting old—it was a small miracle for anyone to live much past sixty at that time—and the last year hadn’t been kind to him. He’d been ill on and off for that time, but had just recently taken a turn for the worst. I was outside, getting some air, when I caught sight of the crow-feathered cloak walking down the road towards me.”

Cindy smirked a little. “What, she wasn’t flying or cackling or anything?”

“No,” Marcell laughed. “Just walking. I remember being frozen in place, unable to even breathe. Don’t get me wrong,” he said. “I was not really scared of death, just simply in awe. She seemed so powerful, so alien, like she was something not of this earth. She was death, she held humanity’s life in her hands, and could snuff it out at any moment.

“She stopped a short distance away from me. I squinted, trying to get a view under the wide, dark hood. She said nothing, just stared back at me.

“‘You’ve come for Gaius, haven’t you?’ I asked, and the hood nodded slowly. ‘What happens if I stand in your way?’

“From under the hood came laughter. It was hard, and so cold I physically shivered. ‘I remember you, boy’ she whispered. Her voice was surprisingly smooth, steady. ‘You’ve evaded me once before. Do you think you could do it again?’

“‘I don’t know,’ was all I managed to get out, my throat constricted by the cold the Morrigan emanated.

“‘Come closer, boy,’ she held out a hand, and I began to walk towards her without meaning to. She finally let me stop about a foot away from her. Then she lowered the hood to look at me, and I flinched. She was beautiful, her skin a pale porcelain, her hair black as night and wild. But her eyes... they were clouded, dead. Like a blind woman, or a corpse.

“She chuckled as she saw my reaction. ‘Surprising,’ she said, her blue lips parting, ‘you haven’t even screamed yet. Think you’re brave?’

“I shook my head. From all of the stories I’d heard, it was never a good idea to brag to a goddess, especially the goddess of death.

“‘But you won’t step aside? You Britons are always so stubborn. Oh, but you’re not a Briton anymore, are you?’

“I looked away, down towards the dirt. What she said was true: I was not a Briton. I bore a Roman name and had a Roman master. But I myself didn’t feel like a Roman. I had never cared about the dictators and the wars and the politics. So what did I care about? This villa, and all of the books inside. Gaius, and all the slaves who worked for him. What would happen to them if he died? What would happen to me?

“‘No,’ I replied firmly. ‘I will not step aside.’

“Her expression was icy, the smile falling off her face. Keep in mind,” he added as he saw Cindy’s confused face, “that gods are not like you and I. They are ageless, all-powerful, and used to getting their way. You do not stand in their way. I probably wasn’t the first human to do so, but those that did were few and far between.

“I blinked, and suddenly her milky eyes were an inch away from mine. ‘Tell me, boy: do you fear death?’

“‘I don’t know,’ I stuttered, though I didn’t really consider the question. I tried not to think about those kinds of things.

“‘Good,’ she grinned. ‘Because now you’ll never truly know.’

“I began to back away slowly, away from the corpse goddess. ‘What do you mean?’

“‘You do know what happens when you cross the gods, yes? I could just kill you now, but that would be too anticlimactic for my tastes. So if you won’t let me take the life of your master, then I’ll make you do it for me.’”

“What?” Cindy blinked.

“That’s exactly what I said,” Marcell nodded grimly. “But I didn’t have time to do much of anything else besides, for it was at that moment that she stuck out a long, spindly finger, and touched my chest.

“Suddenly, I felt very cold, emanating from the place where she had touched me and spreading over my limbs like ice. I couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe, my world was filled with the laughter of Death. This was what dying felt like, I was sure of it.

“And then... my heart stopped. Literally. At some point I had fallen to the ground, and everything was still. I had to be dead. There was no other explanation. But then how was I still thinking? I felt nothing but cold. Then I opened my eyes, The Morrigan was gone, and I was alone outside the villa, laying on the hard, dirt ground. For a minute, I thought that maybe I had imagined the whole thing.

But as I felt my chest, I knew that that was just wishful thinking. You see, my heart was as still as... well, death. And the world looked different somehow, like there was a whole new spectrum of shadow that I hadn’t been able to see before. I felt frozen solid, and I grasped at the dirt desperately, trying to find something alive.

“But I stopped. There was something alive, something close. Something... warm. I couldn’t tell what it was, only that it was hot, and red like the sun and I needed it. Blindly, I crawled my way towards the thing, up the stairs and into the villa and...” He broke off and closed his eyes, almost as if he were in physical pain just thinking about it. But there was something else, too, something in the shape of his lips and the shortness of his breath. Cindy came rather abruptly to the realization that she was alone in a room with a predator. And she didn’t like that look that was creeping into his features.

“Mr. Marcell?” She asked finally, unpeeling her heart from the inside of her throat. “Did you... kill Gaius?”

He stared at her for a solid minute before answering, his pupils appearing more red than brown in the low light of the classroom. “I don’t know,” he said. “To this day I don’t know if it was the illness that got to him or...” his breath almost caught in his throat. “Or me.” He took a deep breath, shaking his head.

“These new ‘Teen angst novels,’” he rolled his eyes, “often picture my kind as slaves to our bloodlust. They make us lose control so that we aren’t wholly responsible for our actions. This is... not the reality. We are always in perfect control of ourselves and we know exactly what we’re doing. It’s simply that the hungrier you are, the less you care about artificial constructs like morals, the more you become like an intelligent animal.

“And the Morrigan had sapped all of that from my body. I raced through the villa, half man and half mist, and into Gaius’ sickroom. And there was the source of what had attracted me so. Gaius’ fever, his blood pumping so fiercely in an effort to keep him alive. Without thought, or hesitation, I tore the skin of his inner arm with my teeth and drank furiously.

“He hardly made a sound, just a soft whimper, and I barely noticed anyway. I could feel the coldness of my dead body being driven away by the blood, the life I was taking from him. That,” he sighed. “That was the point of no return.”

“What do you mean?” Cindy barely managed to squeak out.

“My... transformation, I guess you could say, didn’t really begin until I first tasted blood.”

“So if you could have, I guess, resisted, would you have—?” Cindy began, before Marcell cut her off.

“Have gone back to normal?” He asked. “I doubt it. My heart had ceased to beat. If I hadn’t taken the life of another, I probably would have just died. The gods are not kind, after all.”

He began to stare into the distance again, but Cindy couldn’t wait any longer. “And then what happened?”

“Then,” Marcell shook himself. “Then I stumbled backwards as the gravity of what I was doing returned to me. My vision began to swim as my whole body started to pound. I stumbled from the room and out of the villa.

“I don’t remember much after that, just pain, like I was being stabbed with a dull knife, but over my whole body. At one point I may have fallen asleep, but I’m not sure.

“It was the next morning when I finally came to my senses, laying in a pile of hay in the stables. I felt relatively normal again, but even before the thought formed, by the lingering taste of iron on my tongue I could tell that the events of the previous night had been entirely real, though I couldn’t remember all of the details.

“I was dizzy, and my mouth felt oddly sore and sensitive. I spit, and two of my teeth plopped into my hand. But as I ran my tongue over my teeth I found that I wasn’t missing any. I had grown new teeth in the middle of the night.” He opened his mouth, showing Cindy his oddly pointy canines.

“I licked the blood off of my chin and fingers, and hated myself. Nothing had ever tasted so divine before, and yet I was starting to remember the fact that this was a living person’s blood I was so enjoying. More than that, it was Gaius’ blood. This thought brought me back to my senses, and I stood abruptly before almost being brought down again by dizziness. But I had to see, had to know if I’d killed him.

“Except that the second I stepped into the sunlight outside of the stable my skin burned. I shrank away, back into the shadows, and watched in horror as blisters began to form on my forearms. Keep in mind,” he added, “that vampires were not as culturally engrained in Rome as they are today, so I had no idea what was happening to me. I paced back and forth though the stable, trying to figure out how to get back to the villa while avoiding the sunlight. I couldn’t make it across the field. If I tried, I would die.

“Then, a miracle happened: a cloud blotted out the sun. I didn’t think; I just ran. The residual light still made my bare skin tingle, but I made it under the roof of the villa without harm.”

“Hold on.” Cindy held up a hand, and Marcell blinked a few times, coming back to reality. “I have a question: just how much does sunlight affect you? I mean, I opened the shade earlier and you look fine now.”

“As far as I know, the sun is one of the only things that can kill me. But only direct sunlight can really do it. It still hurts if it’s through a window, but to a much lesser degree.”

“Or from behind clouds.” Cindy nodded. “Which you didn’t know at the time.”

“I made a very lucky guess,” he admitted. “But I wasn’t really thinking at the time. I ran to Gaius’ room, and almost bumped into one of the maids. My heart sank as I saw her expression. ‘Is he...?’ I began.

“‘Soon,’ she replied. ‘His time is coming, you should go to him.’

“‘Thank you,’ I nodded, entering the near silent room. I stood in the doorway for the longest time. Gaius almost looked small, like a child, in the bed, and so very pale. His arm had been bandaged, so I couldn’t tell just how much blood he’d really lost. Still, I couldn’t help but think that this was all my fault.”

“But it wasn’t. I mean, not really.” Cindy said, though the more she thought about it, the less sure she was.

Marcell simply laughed. “I’ve been wrestling with that question for two-thousand years.” He looked off towards the wall. “And I still haven’t come to a solid conclusion. I think I’ve made my peace with that. But at the time... well, I’m sure you can imagine.

“Gaius looked up at me after a minute, smiling weakly. ‘Lucius,’ he whispered. ‘Come here, my boy.’

“I obeyed, kneeling beside the bed and gripping his hand, and cried.

“‘No, no, child,’ he said. ‘Do not cry. All things have their time.’”

“Then he didn’t know what had happened,” Cindy asked.

“I’m not sure.” Marcell shook his head. “I didn’t really have time, or the courage, to ask. In fact, before I could say anything he beckoned me closer and placed a piece of parchment in my hand. ‘What’s this?’ I asked.

“‘Everything,’ he said. ‘My land, my library, it’s all yours now.’

“Of course I tried to protest, but he wouldn’t hear of it. And in the end, ‘thank you,’ was all I could say. I sat there with him until he finally stopped breathing, just as the sun was going down. In the course of one day my life had changed completely. Again. I was no longer Lucius the slave. Now, I was Lucius Marcellus the Roman.”

“He gave you everything?” Cindy asked. “But you were a slave!”

“And he was without an heir.” Marcell shrugged. “And anyway, I think I was the closest thing to family he’d had in a long time. Needless to say, I felt worse than death. I thought I had killed him, only for him to leave me all of his worldly possessions. I retreated to the library and didn’t come out for weeks, poured over the numerous scrolls for some way to cure my curse so that this never had to happen again.

“No one came near me, of which I was glad. I was so afraid of giving into my hunger and hurting someone. Eventually I became so desperate for sustenance that I tracked one of the rats in the walls and drained it dry. And thus was born Lucius Marcellus, the bane of rodents forever after.”

Cindy tilted her head, the corners of her mouth twitching upwards despite herself. “So, you don’t need human blood in particular.”

“No, any animal will do as a substitute, but that’s all it is, really. Nothing satisfies even remotely as much as human blood.

“Anyway,” he continued, shaking his head, “Gaius had collected writings from all corners of the empire and beyond, and it wasn’t long before I came across various legends of ‘the vampire,’ and found that there was no known cure beyond death. After that, I didn’t stay at the villa for long. It was hard to be in that place with its constant reminders of Gaius, and the slaves and neighbors were beginning to suspect that all was not right with me. I freed most of Gaius’ slaves, only leaving enough to keep the farm going, and left immediately.

“I decided to travel, learn all I could. I now had all of the time and money in the world, after all. So I did, for many years, which is a story all by itself, until I finally decided to settle down for a while in the city of Pompeii.”

Cindy’s eyes widened. “Pompeii? But isn’t that—?”

“—A story for another time.” Marcell finished for her.

“What?” She stood. “But you’ve barely scratched the surface. You’ve still got one-thousand, nine-hundred years to account for!”

“And it is already almost 6 o’clock,” Marcell motioned towards the window, its shade glowing around the edges from the setting sun. “I’m sure the janitors would like to get in here and go home.”

Cindy sighed, grabbing the long forgotten lunch bag. “You, my good sir, are a tease.”

“Tell you what,” he smiled crookedly, “I seem to suddenly find myself in need of a Teacher’s Assistant for seventh hour, to help me with paperwork and listen to me ramble. Could you swing it?”

“I have study hall then,” she grinned. “I’m completely free.”

“Then we’ll talk tomorrow and get the paperwork all filled out.”

“I’m holding you to that.” Cindy pointed a finger before making her way through the sea of desks towards the door. “Good night, Mr. Marcell.” She waved. “And... thank you.”

“For what?” He asked.

“I’ll tell you some other time.” She shook her head. “It’s a long story.”

#writing #ede valley #Lucius Marcell #Cindy Miller #Mike Miller

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paisleywraith · 7 years ago

Text

Curses, Curses. Chapter 2

Junior year is often considered the most difficult year of high school. Kyle would agree with that on a regular day, he didn’t need some magical bullshit wriggling its fingers at him and turning him into an ass-old Bill Murray movie reboot.

Day Two

Kyle woke up before his alarm, as always. Clicked it off, stretched. Wondered what the hell was going on.

Kyle squinted at the chair by his closet. That wasn’t the shirt he laid out last night. He rubbed his eyes, glaring blearily at the offending clothing. He wore that yesterday.

Kyle ran a hand through his messy curls, having to run his hand through it three times before it brushed through without getting caught on a snarl. He must’ve been tired last night. He didn’t remember setting out the same clothes he wore yesterday. Idiot.

Kyle slipped on a warm sweater instead, shaking his head at himself as he picked up his bag and jogged downstairs.

A warm breakfast later, he hopped into his car and took the ritual drive towards the high school.

Being in a ritual was comforting. Nothing was different, you knew what expectations you had, few things would spring up to surprise you. He actually thought that, he actually had that thought on the way to school and he felt so goddamn stupid later when he realized what was going on.

It took him long enough, too. He walked into the school, had the same bullshit thought of la-di-dah, quiet school, no bullshit, and then it fucking happened.

Blip!

Kyle pulled his phone out of his pocket. Looked down. And felt his heart jump.

Stan M: You still have my notebook? History? Left in the library?

Kyle blinked. Actually took a moment to stare and blink at his stupid phone.

Kyle B: wtf are you high, man?

Stan M: Uh, no?

Stan M: I just want to know if you brought the notebook I left at the library last night?

Kyle scrunched up his brows, dropping his messenger back on the dirty floor to give his full attention to this conversation.

Kyle B: I gave it to you yesterday morning. History, right?

Stan M: Uhhh I left it last night at the library, dude. Soooo no.

Kyle B: Cut the bullshit, I returned it. You made the stupid joke of me mothering and shit. Remember?

Stan M: Kyle, are you okay?

No? He didn’t know what to say to that. He rooted through his bag with a vengeance, pulling out a beaten-up blue notebook with the spiral all bent up. He stared at the object in his hands. Flipped through it, worn pages moved easily against his thumb.

Yep. This was Stan’s. Kyle examined it from all angles, as if that would tell him something. As if he’d find the answer etched into the cardboard back or something.

Kyle B: I have it.

Stan M: Yeah! Told you you had it.

Kyle stared blankly at his phone. He didn’t even know how to- He-

Kyle spun around, locking eyes with an interested blond. There was Kenny, wearing the same ratty sweatshirt as he was- actually every day, that didn’t count.

He squinted back at the notebook, then his phone.

Kyle B: Are you trying to punk me or some shit?

Stan M: No! :(

Stan M: Hold on, we’re almost at the school. I’m come talk to you, k?

Kyle could physically feel his heart racing. Stan was lying, of course. He was lying.

“Kyle?”

It wasn’t Stan. Kenny was standing now, and somehow right up in his personal space. Kyle jumped back a good two feet, startled by how much taller the skinny boy was up close. Way over five inches.

“What?!” He snapped, more out of fear than annoyance. The hand holding the notebook was trembling.

Kenny tipped his head like a confused cocker spaniel, a much too innocent look for Kenneth McCormick, blue eyes flickering between Kyle’s green.

“Kyle!”

Now that was Stan, and Kyle was glad for the interruption.

“What the fuck!?” He asked him, smacking his notebook against his chest. “Kind of dumb prank is this?”

Stan looked bewildered, looking over at Kenny as if he expected an explanation. Kenny lifted a shoulder, moving into both their spaces to observe.

“I literally have no idea what’s going on.” Stan said blankly.

His face was so genuine, not a smirk or a hint of mirth in his eyes. Not that Stan was a huge prankster anyhow, but Kyle clearly remembered giving him back the notebook. He wasn’t mistaken about this.

“You took back your notebook yesterday,” Kyle said in a quiet voice. Stan looked alarmed as Kyle began to get really agitated. “I gave it back.”

“I left it last night, Kyle.” Stan’s voice was becoming unfairly shaky, a vulnerable kind of voice that made Kyle feel like a monster. “At the library. We were working on history stuff.”

A hand touched his forehead, long fingers that felt much hotter than his forehead did. Kyle bat it away, glaring at the body attached. Kenny did not look affected by the expression.

“You left it Thursday,” Kyle snapped back at Stan. “Yesterday I worked. Remember the stupid book thing? You texted me about working on the Iliad stuff last night, we didn’t hang out.”

Stan and Kenny traded looks that made Kyle want to scream.

“Show me the text.” Kenny said, light voice surprisingly solemn.

Kyle whipped out his phone again, giving them both a vicious glare before going to recent messages from Stan.

Nothing.

Kyle stared at the phone in his hands, then back at the two teens staring at him with unfairly concerned looks.

All three of them stared like dumbasses at each other until Kyle shoved past them, darting off to first period in something like fear.

“Kyle?” Stan called, voice carrying too loud. He didn’t turn.

The same lectures. Kyle sat through three classes before lunch, where he did something truly unthinkable and skipped class.

He wasn’t hungry.

A check of his phone showed it was, indeed, Thursday. Same news stories as yesterday.

Kyle was sitting in the library, curled back in his normal chair at work. He’d think he dreamed everything, but- the lectures were the same, his friends spoke the same-

He didn’t understand. It didn’t make sense, unless he woke up suddenly psychic or some shit. Which was looking more and more likely. Honestly, he was going to have a fucking breakdown.

[Unknown]: hey u ok

Kyle’s fourth refresh of the news page was interrupted by a text.

[Unknown] ur not in school r u sick

Kyle hadn’t texted him in a few years, but he still sounded just the same. Confusing enough to cause a headache. He took a moment to update the name, try and think of what to say.

Kyle B: I don’t know. I’m working.

Kenny M: where

Kyle B: At work. Stan still saying he’s innocent in all this?

Kyle waited a good two minutes before a response.

Kenny M: y do u think hes lying

Kyle B: Tell him to call me when he’s done playing jokes.

To be honest, Kyle was barely holding onto the idea that Stan was at any way at fault. Something was horribly, horribly wrong, and it was with him, or with the universe, or something.

Stan M: I’M NOT DOING ANYTHING

Kyle turned his phone off. He couldn’t- it wasn’t-

He didn’t know what to think anymore. He was going crazy.

Okay, so he got up this morning and- what? Did he dream this? Or was it that false sense of déjà vu, the one where people said your brain kind of short circuited, accidentally filing new memories as old ones and giving you a sense that you lived through it before.

If it was just one or two incidents he’d chalk it up to that and say nothing more. That would be the end of it. But everything? The notebook would be easier to write off. Like he knew Stan well enough to know what he’d say. But every little thing about lectures- what kind they were, who was late, the mispronunciation of rollcall? What they covered, what pages they read? Gossip in the halls, what people wore.

Was something wrong with his brain? Was it just taking all new memories and incorrectly storing them?

Kyle imagined himself bursting down the doors of the hospital, trying to explain that he was reliving a day and trying not to freak out. Nope. The thought of trying to tell his mother this made him cringe. Nope. His friends? Nope. Stan already thought he was crazy, he didn’t want to see that expression again.

So what now? Kyle tapped his sneakers on the ground in an anxious need to burn off energy. He felt like Tweak, too jittery to be still even for a second.

“Excuse me?”

Kyle jumped and looked up, staring a brown-haired girl in the eyes.

“I’m looking for a book.”

Kyle was going to scream.

Kyle didn’t eat dinner, either. He made an excuse about not feeling good, (tolerating the amount of fuss) and skipped upstairs. That was when he turned his phone on again.

He winced at the onslaught of messages. Stan sent enough to cause his phone to freeze momentarily. Kyle scrolled through briefly, wincing. He hadn’t…handled that well. Surprise, he guessed. Stan sounded much more concerned than angry.

Kyle B: Sorry I left so abruptly. I’m really not feeling well, think it might be a fever.

Lies, lies lies. Just don’t think he’s crazy, please. Kyle felt sick, alright, sick to his stomach.

Stan M: Okay. You’re a dick but at least you’re /alive/!

Stan M: We went over to the library but you already left.

Kyle B: Told you, wasn’t feeling well. We?

Stan M: Me, Wends, and Kenny. He was late to work looking for you.

Kyle really felt jittery now. Dizzy.

Kyle B: Look, I’m sorry. I don’t really know what’s going on but I didn’t mean to cause a fuss.

There was a good pause before Stan texted again.

Stan M: Okay.

And that was it. Very un-Stan-like, which didn’t help how Kyle was feeling. He was sweaty, twitchy, sick to his stomach. This was genuinely starting to scare him. Something was really, really wrong with him.

Okay. Okay, what to do next. Kyle ran a hand through his hair. He couldn’t focus, homework was a bad idea. He could…clothes. Yes.

Kyle hopped up from the bed, only to immediately crash to the ground, feeling pain and confusion and-

Day Three

Beep beep beep beep-

Kyle’s eyes flew open. He sat up, automatically clicking off the alarm. He stared at it, unblinkingly.

His phone was back on the side table, and Kyle did not remember putting it on there. In fact, he thought he fell asleep on the floor or something.

He sat on the bed, watching the light peek through the blinds. He had a bad feeling. An awful feeling.

Not willing to be a coward, Kyle grit his teeth and reached for the phone.

Thursday.

#k2 #sp k2 #kyle broflovski #kenny mccormick #PaisleyWrites #finally starting to get off the ground finally #I got all the ideas but it's down the road yo #stan marsh #kyle x kenny

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iamthechocobabe · 7 years ago

Text

A True Nightmare

I figured after the Episode Ignis trailer, we all needed some Ardyn getting his ass kicked a bit (though keep in mind there’s only so much poor Mallory can do). Don’t be put off by the creepy vibes at first of the chapter, Mallory’s gonna show this asshole who’s boss by the end (and NO, not in that way guys-NOT AN ARDYN LOVE STORY, ‘member?)

Sorry that it’s a little long, but it’s been going way too slow for me and I wanted to get the story going already. Oh well, what’s done is done, I guess.

Tagging the Senpais: @roses-and-oceans @bespectacled-girl @nifwrites @cupnoodle-queen @themissimmortal @gladiolus-mamacitia

A True Nightmare

~Chapter 4~ SFW Word Count: 3,885

Mallory was trying her hardest not to appear cynical as Noctis looked at the car with a forlorn look; obviously, this car meant a lot to the crowned prince and his friends seemed to understand that, but Mallory was having a hard time fighting the urge to go up to him and yell 'it's just a CAR'.

Boys and their cars, I guess-Mallory thought.

A far off explosion lighting up the night sky got Mallory's attention and the realization hit that they had absolutely no idea where they were. Mallory had to drive a different route to get into Gralea and she only knew the one route, but how were they supposed to find their way through Gralea without a map? Mallory cursed herself for not going with instinct and packing a map with her, telling herself that she knew the way and that it was just a waste of space. It was a fucking piece of paper, Mallory, you had room.

"Where to now?" Mourning was over, apparently and the three joined Mallory as she stared at a street sign, trying to get her bearings. As if sensing her confusion, Ignis spoke with a slight tilt of the head to better focus his hearing. "You do know where we're going, correct?"

"That is an excellent question," Mallory mumbled, wanting to kick herself as she tried to piece together the last time she had been to Gralea and to Zegnautus. A piece of FUCKING PAPER, Mallory, what the hell is wrong with you?

"You didn't bring a map? What kind of an 'assassin' are you?"

"Shut up for a sec, yeah?" Mallory didn't glance at Gladio as she fished out her disposable flip phone from her backpack, shooting a quick text. Got lost, am at Crysallis Ave., how do I get to Z. from here? Closing the phone, Mallory waited, hoping and praying that the response would be quick, partially because Mallory knew if it was that she got out all right.

"You're texting? Who are you texting?" Noctis sighed exasperatedly and tugged on a few ends of his hair. "That's it, we're dead,"

"She's a friend, and if you want to go die in a corner somewhere, by all means, please do," Mallory was beginning to lose her patience with these guys (minus Ignis, who didn't really seem too judgmental of Mallory, just observant), but ignored it when her phone buzzed and a little mail icon showed up on the front screen where the clock usually was.

Wait where r u plz dont tell me ur in Nflhm.

Relief flooded through; the knowledge of one of Mallory's closest friends being safe was like a thousand pound weight being dropped off. But when Mallory read the words, a bad feeling began to grow in her stomach as she responded. Didnt u get my txts

No wait There was a short pause before the texts started flooding Mallory's phone, so fast that Mallory didn't have time to read a text before another one popped up on her screen.

mal get out serisly shits bad u need 2 go chncllrs gone crzy mts & daemons evrywhr ppl r missing

Well, this was bad-people missing and MT's roaming the streets? Mallory sensed this was a bit more than a coincidence, blowing a piece of hair from her eyes and typed as fast as she could with the old fashioned phone. cant exactly get out now am stuck need 2 get 2 Z. help me out here

A few seconds went by, Mallory tapping her foot impatiently the whole time, when the phone buzzed again.

u die on me Mal I swear 2 Gods go on crysallis til u get 2 casey dr. go right til u get 2 train tracks follow train tracks military entrnce thre

Mallory sighed, stress and oncoming panic dropping from her shoulders as she looked at the three with new found confidence about where to go. "Head down the road," She explained the directions before they all started following, Ignis occasionally faltering as they maneuvered the road designated for shipping containers. When they reached the railroad tracks, practically destoryed with train cars and shipping containers that laid askew around the tracks, Mallory shot a quick text. Thx Ky owe u

u wont owe me if ur dead b carful

Snickering, Mallory put the phone in her backpack just as they reached a stray train car carefully and barely propped on some debris with a small gap underneath that would give the four enough crawling space. Despite how the thing looked like it was the tiniest nudge away from collapsing, Noctis was already half way under there and Mallory quickly reached forward and pulled him back. She didn't necessarily mean to make the crown prince fall on his butt, but he glared all the same.

"What?" Noctis stood up, dusting the dirt from his pants like a little kid with a grumpy face to match.

"MT's are probably guarding the fortress," She didn't mean to sound snippy, but this was basic shit 101 and Mallory was starting to feel more and more like a babysitter every minute. Tired and irritated, Mallory went over to a broken side ladder on the train car before gesturing to Gladio. "Give me a boost and I'll see what we're dealing with here,"

"Isn't that dangerous?" Gladio asked the question, but maybe he figured there was no point in arguing with her because he just bent down and linked his fingers together so Mallory could boost herself up to the ladder and start climbing.

"When are you assholes going to figure out that I can take care of myself?" Grumbling was always a thing Mallory hated to do, she hated sounding whiny and grumpy. People already thought she was a grouch because of the way she looked and her naturally stern eyes, she didn't need constant bitching to help her in that department. Working with these three, she was starting to remember why she preferred working assignments and stuff by herself, only occasionally teaming up with Aranea.

Still, Mallory had bigger things to worry about, especially when she reached the top of the traincar.

"How many are there?" Noctis called up, but Mallory couldn't find an answer. Confusion clouded her brain as she processed what was easily the most popular entrance into the fortress, aside from the main entrance. "Mallory?"

Shaking her head, Mallory forced herself to respond, though it came out as choked as she was trying to piece everything together. "Nothing. There's no one here,"

No one. One of the most used entrances into Zegnautus, and not a soul was in sight, no one to guard the most heavily guarded megafortress in the world. The whole thing reeked of wrong, something definitely off, but what could it be? What reason could the fortress have to possibly leave itself defenseless?

"What's going on?"

She was so focused that she barely noticed Noctis popping up from under the train car-just as she shouted for him to get back, Noctis had accidentally knocked into a bar, which was apparently the only thing holding the train car up, as the moment it was loose the car decided now was the time to fall. Failing to keep her footing, Mallory soon tumbled down the side of the car, winding up stuck on the ground, separated from the others by derailed train cars and shipping containers.

"Guys?" Mallory shot up to her feet, checking around her for enemies with her gun while calling out. "Anyone?"

There was no answer, but Mallory swore she could hear vague yelling and running feet, so she continued to yell, hoping her words would reach someone. "If you guys can hear me, head into Zegnautus-on the thirteenth floor is a common area with a cafeteria. Meet me there!"

"On the thirteenth floor is a common area with a cafeteria. Meet me there!”

Ardyn heard his own breath inhale rather than feel it-the same thing had happened when he saw Aryelle appear on top of the train car, hearing himself suck his breath in rather than feel it. The little trick he had when he showed Aryelle the memory of how they met didn't seem to phase this Aryelle, other than seeming to confuse her, but he was determined...of what, he still wasn't quite sure. Every time he saw her, despite how she was much more stern than the Aryelle he knew, he wanted to see her, to know her, to make her see him.

And as he stood up to head to the common area in the megafortress, his promise of so many years ago rang in his ears. You will know my redemption.

A furious kick to the stubborn vending machine gave Mallory what she wanted, a simple can of Ebony. While she hated coffee, despised the bitter taste, the past days of being on a train to Gralea with little to no sleep due to nerves was making her exhausted. She figured she needed the extra caffeine to keep herself on her feet, she just hated the fact that the stubborn machine ate up the last of her gil without giving her what she wanted. A little kick showed that machine what, though the stinging in Mallory's ankle was making her regret her rash decision.

The bitter taste made her want to gag, but Mallory forced it down her throat before crumbling the can and disposing of it in a recycle bin (why there was a recycle bin in the most industrial place in Niflheim, Mallory would never know). She scooted up onto a picnic bench style table and tried to force herself to relax, though the blaring red light and the rustling of daemon feet in the hallways outside was making it difficult to do so.

She had managed to clear out the common area fairly easily, as there were only a few daemons in the room when she got there. Mallory left the big metal doors to the common area unlocked, but she would still tense anytime a scurry of feet would approach the door, then sigh with relief as the feet scurried away. But it had been almost three hours of waiting and Mallory was starting to get worried.

More footsteps-this time, though, the foot falls were different-rather than being hasty, or sloppy (depending on the daemon on the other side), these were careful foot steps and they were definitely human. But Mallory could feel, almost know that the prince and his entourage would not have been walking so lazily down the hallway and stop casually in front of the door, neither opening it nor locking it. Just stand there-whoever this person was, Mallory had a feeling they knew she was in there.

Reaching for her gun once again, Mallory scooted off the table and carefully placed her feet on the floor.

Only the floor was different-the common area had grating all throughout the floor, but the floor was now suddenly smooth, like marble. The texture (or lack thereof) from the floor caused Mallory to look down, only to see grey marble flooring versus the common areas grating that looked to some of the prison cells below.

Naturally, Mallory looked up-only she wasn't in the common area anymore.

Red blinking lights and sirens were replaced with a peaceful and calm hallway exterior, with the same grey, old fashioned marble decorating the walls. Paintings and ceiling high windows gave the place almost a homely look and now, Mallory couldn't help but feel panic growing in her stomach.

Mallory had been so on edge, so on the run since the train that she honestly hadn't even had time to think of the weird vision of the barn and the red haired man. Now she was forced to face the reality that maybe the stress was making her lose her mind, maybe years of taking care of Ari and constant close calls with death had finally made Mallory's mind snap.

Foot steps-again, only behind her. They brought Mallory out of the panic and she whirled around to aim her gun behind her, only there wasn't a soul in sight. There was only the peaceful hallway and...Mallory could hear it again. The humming. A four note lullaby, the same four notes hummed over and over again and it might have been peaceful in different circumstances.

Walking carefully down the hallway, checking behind her back every few feet to make sure no one was behind her, Mallory shouldn't have honestly noticed the paintings. But there they were and the sight made Mallory stop, partially in awe and partially in fear.

The paintings on the walls were all the same and they were all of...Mallory?

No, it was someone who looked just like her. Mallory's hair was the same shade of dark black, but the woman in the painting's hair was longer, stretching down to her waist in long waves. Her facial features were the same, though, with her slightly pointed nose, her heart shaped lips and high cheekbones. Of course, the eyes-the same, mysterious and deep dark green, an almost unworldly color that had been in her family for years and years.

Mallory instinctively backed away, the woman's eyes almost following her as she tried to leave when something stopped her dead in her tracks. Eyes widening, Mallory leaned forward, positive she was seeing things.

On the woman's wrist was what looked like a soulmate mark...but it wasn't any mark.

It was just like Mallory's on her left shoulder, the same shape with the same points, just in a different spot.

"Aryelle,"

That name again...looking over, Mallory saw the same red haired man again coming down the corridor, only this time he looked a little older-a little meaner too, with a confident and smug look versus the man from the barn, who was young with an easy smile who seemed almost naive. But when he met Mallory's gaze, his golden irises almost softened, though the smug smile he wore was still bitter and cold as he approached.

When he came within five feet, Mallory instinctively back up and aimed her gun at the man, though he just chuckled at the sight of a gun aimed between his eyes.

"How different you are now...I suppose it doesn't matter, does it?" With a long and deep sigh, the man turned to the painting and gazed with a wonder and love that only his eyes shown at the woman in the painting. "She was just like the soulmate mark on her wrist...a star. Beautiful to look at, but unattainable to the human touch," With the same look of fondness in his eyes, but still not in the rest of his face, the man touched the back of his fingers gently to the woman in the painting's face, gently stroking the canvas.

Mallory shivered, swearing she could feel icy cold fingers against her cheek. "What's happening to me?" The whisper was more of a question for herself than anyone else, but the man turned his attention away from the painting to focus once again on her.

"I promised that day that I would show you and everyone my redemption...at last, that day has come," With a grand sweep, the man knelt before her, his warm and loving golden irises in the cold face gazing at Mallory. She tried to shake the foggy feeling out of her mind, but she couldn't, couldn't fight the odd sense of longing in her stomach and the race of her heartbeat. She knew logically that none of this made sense, that she didn't know this man, but she still found herself crouching down beside him. She still felt her heart flutter like crazy when he grazed the back of his cold fingers along her cheek.

"Aryelle," he whispered, inching closer and closer with each word he spoke. "My soul...my half...my star...my life..."

He was so close that she could smell a bitter stench of cologne, could feel the hot stinking breath on her face, but she couldn't force herself to stand up. Couldn't force herself to think as he slowly closed his eyes as a single phrase chanted in her head. This is wrong. This is wrong. This is wrong. This is wrong. This is wrong. This is wrong.

But she still felt her eyes closing, but was somehow able to fight the draw to close her eyes when a brilliant blue object appeared just over the man's shoulder.

A blue feather?

A biting cold and snowy wind almost knocked Mallory off her feet and onto her bottom, but she steadied herself with the palms of her hands as she stayed crouched. The man and the peaceful corridor was gone, but it was replaced by the whiteness of a snow storm, the cold biting into her skin and if she wasn't questioning her sanity, Mallory would have been relieved that she was wearing her winter coat.

"What's happening to me?!?!" Mallory didn't even hear her own scream over the wind of the storm, but she was too frozen and panicked to care at this point.

Because the image of Ari, alone in a cold and sunless world with no one to protect her, flooded Mallory's mind. The image of Ari panicking as daemon's surrounded her wouldn't leave Mallory and she screamed with no one but the wind to hear. Her sister, unable to function, now alone in this world, unable to defend herself...

Because of Mallory-her lack of sanity. While she always knew that her missions were dangerous, she always had the confidence to come back home to her sister. She figured if she did die, it would be because of a shot to the head.

Not because she had lost her mind.

Through the white blanket of snow and sleet, a sudden image appeared. The image waved and moved, almost like a window curtain flapping in the wind, but Mallory could clearly see snippets of something happening in the image. Almost like watching a TV, Mallory watched the red headed man make grand flourishes to King Regis, making promises of peace and tranquility, but going back to the Empire to signal the attack on Insomnia. Mallory cringed as the man bent down by the oracle with a cold and cynical look, sinking a dagger into her stomach as Lady Lunafreya's eyes went wide in pain and fear. Mallory wanted to claw her own ears out at hearing Ignis Scientia's screams of pain at being blinded by the man, his cold and smug look never once going away as he smiled like he enjoyed bringing so much pain to someone. She wanted to cry as she watched the man taunt and mock a young blonde boy as he sat on the ground and practically sobbed, though she didn't know over what.

All that pain and misery...brought on by this man.

A hand grabbed onto her left wrist, squeezing so tightly that the bones might snap underneath as the snow storm melted away and somehow, Mallory knew she was back in reality. The man was back, only he now appeared angry as he tightened the hold on Mallory's wrist. A blue, ethereal glow made his eyes look almost black as he tried to yank Mallory beside her, despite her resistance as she placed her palm on the cold, metal grating of the floor below her.

"Aryelle," The man hissed, his voice dripping with the venom of a snake as a dark, oozing blackness started to appear from him. "Come to me,"

It was at that moment that Mallory realized that this man, the person from her visions, was a person of pure and horrific evil. She didn't know what he wanted with her and she didn't care, she only knew she had to escape. With quick reflexes she had learned over years of dangerous missions, she grabbed the switchblade out of her back pocket, flipped it up and sank the knife into the man's leg, right beneath his knee cap. A simple twist and pull popped the knee cap out of place, though the man didn't roar like others she had performed the trick on had. But he did flinch and hiss through his teeth, clearly in pain as Mallory left the blade forgotten in his knee and stood up to run away.

"Mallory!" Gladiolus, Ignis and a young blonde boy, the one from the snow storm vision, appeared behind her, all of them out of breath as they looked at the man pulling the knife out of his knee. "Where's Noct?" Gladiolus asked her.

Mallory shook her head, sure confusion was as clear on her face as it felt. "I thought he was with you guys,"

"We sent him on torwards the crystal," Ignis explained with his eyes cast ahead, not really focusing on anything due to his blindness. "We were surrounded-has he absorbed the power from the crystal yet?"

"He's gone,"

The four turned their attention to the man as he straightened up, looking almost un-bothered now despite his knee being severely damaged. He turned and focused his smug gaze at the group, but he focused on Mallory, his body framed by the blue glow from the crystal behind him. "I'm afraid you won't be seeing your friend again for quite sometime,"

"What?" Confusion and whiplash from being jerked around from so many places in the span of what felt like less than ten minutes clouded Mallory's mind, but she didn't have time to react as Gladiolus summoned his broadsword and swung it at the man with a roar and the blonde boy shot him twice in the back, the man falling with his hat rolling casually away.

"Die, motherfucker," The blonde boy whispered, his voice choked with tears.

"He's not dead," the words left Mallory's mouth before she really understood them, not sure how she knew he wasn't dead. And sure enough, he wasn't, as he stood up with his fedora and placed it casually on his head before turning and looking at Mallory and she almost wanted to scream at what she saw.

The man was almost daemon like now, the whites in his eyes now inky black and oozing, making the bright golden irises stand out in contrast. His face and skin was now pale and cracked in several places, like a broken china doll and he now looked as evil as he was.

"You will know my redemption, Aryelle," The words were fueled with anger and bitterness, but he didn't stay to explain what it meant as he simply strolled to the elevator, leaving the four alone in one of the capitals of magitek industries.

It felt like the air returned to the room the minute the doors to the elevator closed and Mallory gasped and began to pant, not realizing before she had been holding her breath. As she collected herself, she realized she felt something wet and thick on her hand.

Mallory prided herself on being calm and collected even in the grimmest of situations, but when she saw the man's daemon like black and oozy blood covering her hand from where she stabbed him, the scream she let loose practically echoed throughout all of Gralea.

#ardyn #ardyn izunia #ardyn soulmate au #ardyn lucis caelum #ffxv #ffxv fanfiction #soulmate au #OH MY GAWD THAT WAS LONG #BUT OH SO SATISFYING TO SINK THAT BLADE INTO THIS ASSHOLES KNEE #I only wish it didnt demonically heal itself #fucking bastard

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