#they just knew that from me sending a snap painting at midnight
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“Oh you’re one of them midnight painters ay?”
#smn said this to me after i send this snap#they then proceeded to tell me my entire personality and be right about it#like i’m a depressed artist and queer and stuff like that#and overworked#but that i like being overworked#and that I probably have a name for the nights that i stay up late to be artsy#(they’re called stress crafts)#for the record i do NOT know this person#they just knew that from me sending a snap painting at midnight#and thats crazy asf#my book#wwi#wrongway island#lilo and diego#diego and lilo#kingfighter#royal worrior#jack kelly#artist#newsies#painting at midnight
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3. Obsessed
★ pairings: aki hayakawa x fem reader
★ ❝ Aki, you smooth bastard. ❞
★ c.w.: nothing :) (more content warnings and tags)
★ a/n: accidentally posted chap 4 before chap 3 oopsies!! omg so like this one lowkey seems like filler but I PROMISE ITS NECESSARY. im building the tension. i hope you all like obsessive aki as much as i love him. teehee. like comment and talk to me! id love to hear ur thoughts x
★ w.c.;3.2k
shameless ; chapter index
YOU HELD YOUR PHONE TO YOUR EAR later in the evening, listening to your husband talk about his day. His voice was a comforting, familiar anchor, but tonight, it struggled to pull you from the storm raging in your mind the way it usually did.
"And then I told them they couldn't just ignore the data. They finally agreed to reassess the project," he was saying, his tone tinged with satisfaction. "That's how my day was."
"That's great," you replied absentmindedly, your fingers hovering over your phone's keyboard.
As he continued speaking, you opened a new message thread. The name "Aki Hayakawa" stared back at you, the cursor blinking in anticipation. You started typing slowly, uncertainly:
Aki, I'm sorry for running out on you like that. It wasn't |
You paused, backspaced, and tried again:
Captain Hayakawa, I apologize for how I acted tonight. It was unprofessional. |
No, that was too formal. You sighed, deleting the message once more.
"Are you still there?" your husband asked, snapping you out of your reverie.
"Yeah, I'm here," you said quickly. "Just... distracted. Sorry."
"What are you up to?" he asked, his tone lightening. "You sound busy."
"I'm just sending a text to my friend, Himeno," you lied smoothly, hoping the guilt didn't seep into your voice.
"You're so sweet," he said warmly. "Always thinking of others."
Always thinking of other men, apparently, you mean?
You forced a smile, even though he couldn't see it. "Yeah, I guess so."
Your thumb hovered over the screen again. This time, you typed:
Can we talk?
You hesitated for a moment, then pressed delete before you could change your mind. You had done enough damage tonight. The best thing you could do was just ignore him for the remainder of your stay in Tokyo. It would be over before you knew it.
"Anyway," your husband continued, oblivious to your internal struggle (as he typically was), "So my coworker came up to me and asked if I would go out for drinks with him tonight."
"Sounds great," you said automatically, your mind still on the message you had just deleted. You glanced out the window at the city rushing by – the midnight was blue, almost as blue as his eyes.
You hoped that, somehow, everything would make sense in the morning.
.
Your first informal mission took place at the art museum. There had been complaints of Devil-sightings there. It wasn't anything particularly alarming or dangerous, but you had been sent to check it out (and kill it).
With nothing but the quiet sound of your shoes clicking against the old wooden floorboards to accompany you, you made your rounds through the second floor. Your Public Safety uniform pulled very few strange looks here where everybody else was also done up in black-tie attire. There was an art showing tonight.
You put an 'x' over the words "Second floor". No Art-devil spotted there. Two more to go.
Stopping in front of a small painting, you took a moment to admire the artistry. You didn't mind doing the scut work while Makima was understaffed – more gruesome positions existed, surely. This was most certainly not the worst way you could think to spend your first day back on the job.
The painting was a masterful symphony of oil paints – shades of pink and green and blue forming the prettiest little petals. It depicted a serene field of wildflowers and nothing else. A singular tree near the right side of the painting, a clear blue sky on the top of it.
One day I'll buy a painting like that, you thought to yourself. Not that it had much of a place in your stale, modern-style home in the Japanese countryside. You always wanted a house with color – one with wooden seats and tables and wallpaper and a happy family – even if it aged poorly. There was something homely about flowers and colors. Something that the black-white-and-grey color scheme of your contemporary home lacked.
It was such a shame, too. You told your husband about these wishes long before you married him and, yet, he insisted upon having a home that would look "sleek" and "modern". Had it not been for his vision of what your home should look like, you would have taken the painting home with you.
Briefly, the image of a small, gold-framed painting of a flower field hung up in your cold, cool-toned dining room crossed your mind. It wouldn't work.
Then again, perhaps the painting could serve as a metaphor for your feelings?
You looked away from it, and went back to scanning the room for any sight of a Devil. You didn't find one.
What you did find, however, was the one person you didn't want to see today. A certain young captain stood with his arms crossed behind his back, inspecting a larger painting only a few yards away from you.
Then, as if the situation couldn't get any worse, he turned to look at you.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck!
You ducked over, shielding your face from his gaze. It was too late, though – you heard his telltale footsteps coming your way and you knew he'd sniffed you out.
His voice was a sickening croon behind you, "Enjoying the show?"
Okay. It would appear that neither of you wanted to address the elephant in the room (being last night, that is).
You couldn't stop the little flutter your heart did when it heard his voice.
"Yes, thank you," You snapped back a little quicker than you anticipated. "The paintings are beautiful."
"They are, aren't they?" He reiterated. Something told you he wasn't only speaking about the paintings. "You like that one?"
"I do," You answered. This whole conversation was just a whole lot more awkward than you could bear today. "It's peaceful, I think. Pretty."
You shouldn't be talking to him. You really shouldn't be talking to him – not after whatever the fuck had happened between the two of you at the party.
To your surprise, Aki didn't toy with you any longer than that. He walked away – you had only heard him leave, after all, as you hadn't made any effort to look him in the eye. How could you? You had seen that face of his far too many times in your dreams.
"Keep up the good work," He said over his shoulder.
You turned to look only when you were certain he was a respectable distance away from you. Then, looking at the back of his Public Safety suit jacket, you thought, How bizarre.
.
You were making your rounds at the grocery store two days later, grabbing some last minute food and snacks because you truly hadn't anticipated your stay to be so long. A small slip of paper clutched in one hand and a pen in the other, you crossed "bread" off the list.
"Okay," You muttered to yourself, glancing around for your next stop. "Pads, produce, chips," Deciding that you couldn't live off of the tiny little hotel sample containers in your shower, you quickly scribbled down 'Shampoo/Conditioner'.
Then you continued on your merry little way, pushing the cart forward and exploring the rest of the grocery store. Aisle 14's sign was done in a shade of lilac, and read 'Feminine Hygiene, Baby, Sexual Wellness'. Oddly enough, you had to pass through the baby section before you could get to the feminine hygiene products. You tried not to make eye contact with any diaper boxes, as they only served to remind you of the fact that – despite being married – you were the only one out of all of your friends who hadn't settled down and started a family by now.
Soon, you thought. But, then, a vision of a screaming baby throwing up in your arms flashed through your mind, an image of your husband asking you what was for dinner after the both of you had come home from work, and it didn't feel so right.
"Let's see," you hummed, tracing your finger over a box of day pads. You figured that it wouldn't hurt to be prepared, even if you weren't supposed to get your period for at least another two weeks.
So you grabbed a multipack – day pads, liners, and night pads – and you tossed them into the cart. Then, you checked "pads" off of your list.
At the end of the aisle, there were walls and walls full of condom boxes – some were even flavored – and lubricants.
Won't be needing those any time soon, you mused. You and your husband hadn't exactly been very... active recently. With work and cleaning and everything else to be done around the house, neither of you had the energy.
Well, okay. You didn't have the energy. He had made a great many fruitless attempts. It was difficult to want to have sex with a man who acted like an insolent child when you told him that, yes, it was his house too, and he could do some dishes once in a while.
You were happy, though. You were just... going through a rough patch was all.
"I'm married!"
The words echoed in the back of your mind. You saw a vision of him there, too – not your husband – taking a tentative step towards you while you backed away from him.
"You weren't acting like it," The words replayed, clear as day, "I can't forget about tonight. I know you felt it, too."
You gazed blankly at the condom boxes on the shelves. He had been right. You weren't acting like a married woman, even now. Because when you thought of someone pressing kisses to your neck and slipping the clothes off of you, it wasn't your husband you envisioned. It was him.
You were fucked. Truly, royally fucked.
That being said, you walked right on past the wall of condoms. You were many things – a liar, Devil Hunter – but you would not break your marriage vows. It was your fault that you had been sucked into a wedding so early in your life. You had to see it through.
You had to do right by your husband.
The next aisle you hit up was the produce section in search of soup vegetables.
Some carrots would be nice, you thought. Oh, and some potatoes. Maybe even some angus beef?
You rolled up to the vegetables. They looked so tasty, all bundled together, being misted gently with water. You pulled a few carrots off the display and popped them into a plastic produce bag.
Leeks, you thought, pursing your lips and glancing around. They were two shelves over to your right.
And you'll never guess what else was only two shelves over, so tall he had to bend over to reach the legumes, sporting a loose black tee shirt and some black sweatpants.
Captain Hayakawa. Your stomach did a backflip and a death drop and your heart seemed to beat a little faster. What the fuck.
You could tell yourself whatever you wanted, but the way your body reacted to his presence gave your true feelings away. He had you wrapped around his finger.
Still, you hadn't seen him in casual clothes before. He looked much cuter that way, you thought. You could see his arms much more clearly now, the ridges and hills of his chiseled biceps, his strong forearms.
And he was buying groceries. Could he get any better?
You couldn't recall the last time your husband had even cooked some food, let alone go buy produce.
Maybe he was grocery shopping for someone else? Maybe he had a woman at home, to whom he was only bringing these groceries. It seemed far more likely that he had just come here to cook for himself.
What am I thinking? He was bad for you. Real bad. You had no business thinking these things about another man.
So, you did what any other respectable, married woman would have done and left the produce section before he could notice you. Before you could even begin to question whether or not this meeting was really pure coincidence.
You could always pick your veggies up somewhere else.
.
"Hello, front desk, how can I assist you?"
You sighed a breath of relief, "Hey. Do you think you could have room service send up an extra towel?" You glanced down at the shattered bottle of wine you had picked up from the grocery store. You had used one of the hotel towels to mop it up. It was only after the fact, of course, that you realized you only had one towel left.
"Of course," The friendly woman on the phone answered, "Can I have a room number?"
"1409," You answered.
A few keyboard clacks later, and she said, "You have a package at the front desk. Would you like us to send that up, too?"
A package? You thought. You didn't recall ordering anything. Still, you figured it was most likely something Public Safety had sent you (and, least likely, a bouquet of flowers from your husband).
"Okay, yeah, sure," You hummed. "Send that up, too, thanks."
The phone call ended a moment later, after the two of you had exchanged goodbye. Within five minutes, there was a knock at your door.
"Room service," A feminine voice grunted.
"Coming!" You answered. Tip-toeing around the mess of broken glass you'd left bundled up inside of a red-stained white towel, you jogged to the door to answer it.
A short, brown-haired old lady in a maid's uniform was holding a freshly folded towel in one hand, and a rectangular brown box in the other. You took both from her gratefully, ducking your head and muttering a quick 'Thank you' before closing the door.
You set the towel down on the bed. Then you flopped down next to it, eyeing the brown box up precariously. It had "FRAGILE: HANDLE WITH CARE" printed all over it.
I wonder what it is.
Of course, you had left your letter openers and box-cutters at home, so you made do with a butter knife that the hotel had so graciously provided to you. You took out a few layers of packing foam and tissue paper before the item was finally revealed to you.
It was a small, gold framed painting. One with pink and blue wildflowers in a green, open field. One with a clear sky and a tree. The one from the gallery.
"How the fuck...?" You asked, turning the thing over in your hands, as if to make sure that your eyes hadn't deceived you. (They hadn't.)
It was something so strange, so oddly specific, that you could only attribute it to one individual.
"The paintings are beautiful."
"They are, aren't they?" Captain Hayakawa reiterated. Something told you he wasn't only speaking about the paintings. "You like that one?"
"I do," You answered. "It's peaceful, I think. Pretty."
You admired the beautiful painting beneath the warm hotel light. Then, with a giddy sigh, you flopped onto your back, clutching it to your chest.
Aki, you smooth bastard. You thought. Fair play.
.
The conference room buzzed with anticipation as agents filed in, each clad in the standard uniform of crisp suits and ties.
You sat in the front row, your hands folded neatly in your lap, trying to maintain a professional demeanor.
The atmosphere was thick with tension and a sense of gravity, appropriate for a meeting about the Gun Devil—a formidable enemy everyone in the room was acutely aware of.
Miss Makima stood at the front, her posture perfect, her pink hair immaculately styled. She exuded an aura of authority and control that was almost frightening, which was normal for her. A large board behind her displayed a complex array of photographs, maps, and written leads, all connected by a web of strings and arrows. It was a visual representation of the intelligence gathered on the Gun Devil, a chilling reminder of the stakes at play.
As Makima began to speak, detailing the latest developments and potential leads, you tried to focus on her words. She spoke with a calm, measured cadence, explaining the connections and evidence they had so far. But as the minutes passed, you felt a warmth spreading across the back of your neck, an unsettling sensation that made you shift in your seat.
Curious, you turned your head slightly, just enough to glance over your shoulder. There he was—Captain Hayakawa—propped up against the wall at the back of the room, his gaze locked onto you with a disconcerting intensity. His blue eyes were sharp, unwavering, and you felt a jolt of electricity shoot down your spine. The way he looked at you, it was as if he could see right through the layers of professional decorum you had carefully constructed.
A rush of heat flooded your face, and you quickly turned back around, your pulse quickening.
Behave, you reminded yourself sternly. But it was hard to focus, hard to even think straight, with his gaze burning into you so desperately like that – like you were the only person in the room, like he would freeze time if he could just to ravage you right then and there.
You pressed your legs together, a subconscious reaction to the sheer force of his attention.
He was going to be the death of you if you didn't get the hell out of Tokyo soon.
Makima continued her presentation, moving to a new section of the board, but her words became a distant murmur in your ears. All you could think about was the weight of Aki's stare, the way it made you feel exposed and vulnerable. You couldn't help but wonder what was going through his mind. He wasn't shy, not in the slightest—his gaze was bold, almost challenging, as if daring you to meet his eyes again.
You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to look back at the board. The images and notes blurred together as you struggled to refocus. You knew you should be paying attention—this information was critical, after all—but Aki's presence was an insistent distraction. You could feel his eyes on you, a constant, burning sensation that refused to let up.
When the meeting finally concluded, you realized with a sinking feeling that you had retained almost nothing from the entire seminar. You gathered your things, avoiding eye contact with everyone as you hurried out of the room.
ITS SO SHORT ik ik. to make up for it, read chapter 4 and pretend i didnt accidentally post that one first LMFAOAOOA... see yall soon!! x
credits: UNKOWN ATM. I found the cover pic on pinterest unfortch. If you know the artist, please let me know, so I can credit them properly for their work!!! This is NOT MY BEAUTIFUL DRAWINGGG. I obviously do not own csm or anything related to it. please do not reproduce, copy, or translate my works anywhere. dont fk w me im a bruja.
also: come find me on my wattpad if u wanna interact more!
taglist: @mitsuyeahhh , @sleepysnk , @enneadec , @noaabean , @em1e , @drakensdarling , @bertholdts--butt , @satanlovesusall666 , @mitsuwuyaa , @noctifule , @scaraphobia , @ask-the-insect-hashira , @lovingranchturkeyweasel , @bontensbabygirl , @slvdsjjk , @novacrystalli , @hanmastattoos , @kodzuksn , @hqtiny , @ohmaiscool15 , @redlittlequeen , @leivane , @goldeneagles-posts , @yeahblahlame , @no-oneelsebutnsu , @cookiesandcreammy , @cawwn , @the-haitani-baton , @littlelovebug98 , @armani78 , @mindurownbussines , @kokos-property , @violetmatcha , @hp-simp505 , @acethebrave , @mitsuyeahhh , @sleepysnk , @enneadec , @noaabean , @em1e , @drakensdarling , @bertholdts--butt , @satanlovesusall666 , @mitsuwuyaa , @noctifule , @scaraphobia , @ask-the-insect-hashira , @lovingranchturkeyweasel , @bontensbabygirl , @slvdsjjk , @novacrystalli , @hanmastattoos , @kodzuksn , @hqtiny , @ohmaiscool15 , @redlittlequeen , @leivane , @goldeneagles-posts , @yeahblahlame , @no-oneelsebutnsu , @cookiesandcreammy , @cawwn , @the-haitani-baton , @littlelovebug98 , @armani78 , @mindurownbussines , @kokos-property , @violetmatcha , @hp-simp505
wanna join the taglist? | shameless ; chapter index
#notiddygxthgf ˚ ༘♡ ⋆。˚#aki x reader#hayakawa aki x reader#aki hayakawa x reader#aki hayakawa#csm x reader#chainsaw man x reader#denji x reader#my tags wont copy paste and im lazy lmfao
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Thank you for sending in all the stories, here you can find the collection! Some of these are one-shots, some are longer stories, just click your way through them and also check out their other fics!
Five Minutes to Midnight
by @captain-of-the-gwynriel-ship What if the bond snapped for Feyre when it did for Rhys? How will their journey change when they are more open and honest about things with each other.
become a stranger (whose laugh i could recognize anywhere)
by @belaBellissima “I hate you,” she said, voice breaking halfway through. The word felt so little compared to what she truly felt, the mix of hopelessness and grief and loss and fury, betrayal and desire for revenge. But it didn’t matter that the words wouldn’t come, because the feelings did. And Feyre shoved them at him, glad to see Rhysand bodily recoil, stumbling over his own feet as he tried to get away. Good. Or: The author asking how angsty can I make a canon verse amnesia!au? pretty damn angsty.
Foolish Fire
@DreamlandReader (ao3) Since the birth of their son, Feyre and Rhysand have been living in a comfortable bubble of domestic bliss, but when a freshly mated Elain ropes them into a family camping trip for Lucien's birthday, they must try to embrace adventure once again. The Erebus forest is, however, not as safe as it seems, and when Feyre and Rhys become separated from the rest of the group, they soon find that the tales of dangerous monsters prowling the woods are more than mere stories. In fact, around every corner are devious creatures and tricky beasts, just waiting for them to make a mistake.
I Knew You Were Trouble
by @rosanna-writer Every hunter had a story about the Goatman, tales whispered around campfires of a strange creature with the body of a man and the hooves and horns of a goat, the reason animals were sometimes found shredded to pieces and for the warnings to be back from the woods before dark. Black fur, they said, dark as a moonless night, and strange, otherworldly violet eyes. Feyre Archeron believed it was all a crock of shit.
Red Earth & Pouring Rain
by @separatist-apologist When Feyre's father tries to set her up with one of his high society friends' sons, Feyre does the only thing that makes sense in the moment: she fakes a Scottish fiánce. Writing him letters detailing her escapades, Feyre never expects anyone to read them. But when a mysterious uncle leaves her and her sisters three scattered castles, Feyre's forgotten fiánce appears on her doorstep, determined to make an honest woman of her yet.
Paint Again
by @reverie-tales Set in a modern alternate universe, Feyre is struggling to paint because of her grief. That is, until she receives an unexpected email that reawakens her love of painting.
Love at First Sight's For Suckers
by @rosanna-writer Rhysand had a reputation. A big reputation. But fortunately for Feyre, a newsie selling papers on the streets of Velaris, tabloid gossip about the handsome, charismatic, hard-partying war-hero of a High Lord's heir means business is booming. That is, until the city's newspaper magnates get greedy, Feyre finds herself an unwitting labor leader at the center of a strike, and Rhys becomes an unexpected ally...
Good Luck Charm
by @sweetvillaindarlinggod Feyre finds out Tamlin is cheating on her, and decides the president of his fraternity, who they both hate, is the perfect way to get revenge. Unfortunately, she's not exactly prepared for what she's signed up for.
Hate Me Instead
by @popjunkie42 Rhysand and Feyre both struggle with her first visit to the Night Court in this alternative version to early events in ACOMAF. What if Rhysand had stuck around for more for lessons and both of them were making rather poor decisions? From Rhys's POV.
Starry Eyes Sparking Up My Darkest Night
by @itsthedoodle We had danced, all of us together. And when the night had shifted toward dawn and the music became soft and honeyed, I had let Rhys take me in his arms and dance with me, slowly, until the other guests had left, until the gold disc of the sun gilded Velaris.
Bejeweled
@thesistersarcheron Every court has their own Great Rite with unique, ancient traditions. The Night Court’s priestesses have played coy with Rhysand since he inherited the throne last year about what imbuing the land with his power really means; all they tell him is that he is meant to spend the night in the Night Court’s mines dripping in ceremonial jewels while everyone else gets to attend the orgy without him. He doesn’t expect to find Feyre, a faerie made of crystal who leads him on a chase deeper and deeper into the mines as the Rite’s magic overcomes him.
we will be everything we say
by @tunaababee The gang is back together for Cassian's birthday, Rhys seeing Feyre for the first time in a little while. Things don't quite go as smoothly as anyone hopes.
The Little Tiger
by @witch-and-her-witcher Nyx runs away from home. There's a misunderstanding between mother and son.
As the River Flows
by @the-lonelybarricade "As Feyre lamented quietly over the misfortune of her life, there, in the marketplace, she heard a merchant instruct to its patron: Place a butterfly wing under your tongue before you sleep, and you will dream of your true love." Maybe my favourite Feysand fic!! Miscommunication that makes me want to scream. A+ Feyre and Rhys characterization. And a deep, deep love under it all with a backstory that makes me sees stars.
Blossoming in Winter
by @popjunkie42 Five hundred years before Amarantha’s reign Under the Mountain, Prythian and the Continent were thrust into a brutal war to abolish human slave lands and the threat of the King of Hybern. Tamlin, third son of the High Lord of Spring, has rebelled against his father to fight on behalf of the human-faerie alliance. A fae archer in his personal guard, Feyre Archeron, makes a foolhardy decision at great personal cost that changes the tide of the entire war. Rescued from torture at the hands of General Amarantha, Prince Rhysand has been sent to High Lord Thesan’s Hall of Healing in the Dawn Court. Frustrated, immobile and in disgrace with his father, Rhysand meets a fellow patient in healing who helps him see the days ahead, beyond the brutality of war. But can he make her see that future for herself?
A Court of Thorns and Roses AU set during the first Hybern war, inspired by the story of Faramir and Eowyn in Return of the King by J.R.R. Tolkien.
Lavender Skies
by @reverie-tales Rhysand is alone in his study in the House of Wind, recollecting Feyre's visit to the Weaver's cottage. He discovers that his mother's ring might not be the only thing Feyre has recovered.
Of The Archer And The Dark
by @thesistersarcheron She is his mate, his mate, his mate. Feyre Archeron is the youngest member of the Fae nobility trapped in Amarantha’s court Under the Mountain, and she’s never known anything else; nineteen years ago, she was the last of three sisters born in the dark prison. She has never seen the stars, tasted fruit fresh from the vine, or set foot in her home court. Now, dragged before the High Queen of Prythian in her father’s last-bid attempt to settle his debts by selling his daughters’ hands in marriage, Feyre faces scrutiny from all sides: the wicked queen herself, who takes a particular interest in securing an advantageous match for her; the leaders of the rebellion against Amarantha, who already paid the bloody price of failure once; and the cruel High Lord of the Night Court, who seems to enjoy nothing more than dismantling the defenses Feyre has spent years building against monsters like him.
Finding Bryaxis
by @reverie-tales Rhys and Feyre go and search for Bryaxis. Post A Court of Wings and Ruin. Imagine ACOFAS and ACOSF didn't happen.
Traitors Never Win
by @separatist-apologist When Feyre Archeron's father promises she'll marry notorious crime boss Rhysand Moreno, Feyre will do anything to get out of the arrangement...including framing him for murder. Rhysand isn't about to let her go so easily.
High Tide Came And Brought You In
by @separatist-apologist Desperate to escape her impending marriage, Feyre throws herself from a cliffside. Anything is better than what's waiting for her.
Even the monster hiding in the waves.
Nyx's less traumatic arrival into the world
by @shallyne Feyre wakes Rhys up in the middle of the night when contractions start...
Always Lonely, Never Alone
by @shallyne Feyre lives a a lonely life in the clutches of an unhappy marriage. When she meets an old friend, she realizes that she was never alone.
Bejeweled
by @thesistersarcheron Every court has their own Great Rite with unique, ancient traditions. The Night Court’s priestesses have played coy with Rhysand since he inherited the throne last year about what imbuing the land with his power really means; all they tell him is that he is meant to spend the night in the Night Court’s mines dripping in ceremonial jewels while everyone else gets to attend the orgy without him. He doesn’t expect to find Feyre, a faerie made of crystal who leads him on a chase deeper and deeper into the mines as the Rite’s magic overcomes him.
we said hello and your eyes look like coming home
by @rosanna-writer A canon-divergent AU where the bond snaps for Rhys on Calanmai, Feyre unwittingly accepts it, and Fire Night magic proves to be more transformative than anyone bargained for. Feyre drags a mate she hardly knows out from Under the Mountain, then puts him back together as war with Hybern approaches.
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Eden had just been about to close up when a man double her size, broad and strong, burst into her kitchen. She'd already send her employee home, and thank god too because before she'd even had a chance to think, her head was gripped, a fistful of her hair pulled so that her head flung back into the wall with a hard smack. Pain burst like hot iron through her head. The moment Eden went to scream she was hit again, winded so badly that she felt like the air was snatched from her lungs. After that her throat was gripped in a vice light grip, she flailed, her legs kicking, her nails digging into flesh. the man had a mask yanked over his face, all she saw were eyes but... they underestimated her, because she was a fighter and she wasn't going to just give in. She'd make sure that her nails drew blood and that any kick that connected was as firm as she could manage to give. Even was her throat was squeezed she fought with her vocal chords to scream, to be louder than she had been a second ago.
She wasn't sure how many hits she take, she wasn't sure how many she gave, what she did know was that she was in trouble and she wasn't sure why, who she'd upset, what she'd done, any of it. Suddenly her scream turned primal, the brute of am an had twisted her arm, something snapped, she felt the bone in her arm crushed and the worst of it.. was that it didn't stop with that. It wasn't just a break, it was one of her knives cutting into her skin, twisted, contorting her elbow. That was when for a few moments Eden faltered, entirely sure she'd pass out from the pain but she wasn't going to die like this. Every part of her knew she shouldn't touch that knife, but it was do or die, fight or fly... and she chose to fight. She gripped the knife and painful as it might be the pulled it, only to hold it so tightly in her fist, slashing forward. She heard his cry and thankfully.. whatever she'd done, whatever she'd cut, it was enough. He started stepping back, his hands having to press to the wound she'd cut into his chest. His blood spilled down as he made his escape, she took in all the things she could quickly note about the man, the warmth of her own blood was streaming down her hand and her voice, she could barely get a word out to cry out for help.. so Eden wrestled to find her phone, thrown to the counter and with her hands trembling terribly she tried to dial for-... well the sensible thing would be an ambulance but Raph was right there, he was right there in her contacts. Before she could press it her world started to turn dizzy, to sway left and right.
The phone slid, smashing onto the floor.. just as Eden dropped down, her free hand gripping the knife again, her body moving quickly to press her back against the nearest wall, and she held that knife out in front of herself.. she wasn't going to let it go. Eden didn't realise how late it'd got because she just sat, she sat there frightened and alone, nothing but a blade and pain to be her defensive, so convinced he'd come back and she'd be unprepared. It must have been gone midnight when she heard footsteps, closer than she'd have hoped.. she'd been going in and out of consciousness. What she wasn't seeing was the purple bruising around her throat, the blood matted into the back of her hair, the pool of crimson at her side, painting down her arms, her middle, she was so.. stained in it. The asshole even bust her lip, bruised her body, just to hurt her... just to make a point of hurting someone so dainty like it was sport, like she'd ever have stood a chance if it came down to a fight of pure strength.
Her first reaction was the sudden urge to thrust the knife with her good arm, to hold it out firm, to warn whoever had come for her away. Her mouth opened to speak and what came out was strangled and tormented, an awful gargle of words. "Don't- near me- no." Why, she suddenly thought, why did I fight. The movement had contorted her in pain because she didn't want to move.. it all just, hurt. One arm remained hung limply at her side, the other shaking as much as autumn leaves hanging from the branches of tree's. She was absolutely and utterly, terrified. "I don't- want to hurt anyone-" she croaked out. How bittersweet it was that after being targeted so maliciously, she held guilt over the blood she'd drawn on someone else. @archxngxl !
#dont mind how length i went XD sorry#had to set the scene yk#eden interactions#eden&salvatore#eden&raphael#tw blood#tw violence#tw knife
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I hope you feel better soon! Being sick sucks ass
The scene you painted with the death of Warriors’ guide hurt so much I hate you I’m screaming and dying at the same time
Thank you BB!
Also I'm about to do it again <3
Warnings: Slight mention of blood, mentions of death, another angst piece
"Abandon ship! Make way to the dinghies!"
The flames burned, the embers flying off into the starry night as the fire ate away at the wood of the grande ship. It was something from a painting the way that the orange blazed, reflecting off the dark waters and colouring the black sky for yards around- almost beautiful as it was tragic.
Link wasn't sure what to do. No, he didn't have clue as he watched the crew run about like headless chickens, gathering any supplies they could that would be hauled back to New Hyrule that was a mere dot in the far distance.
Tetra was in a similar state, frozen by his side, a mixture of horror and sadness plastered on her young face as she witnessed the scene unfold- the young hero knew that guilt was eating at her conscious, spotting the fallen mates within puddles of their own blood just beside the remains of monsters, left behind after poofing from existence.
She hadn't done enough- he hadn't done enough-
And now (Name)'s ship was paying the price.
"Make sure those boxes reach the mainland!" They barked, blood running down their forehead as they tugged their right hand man close by their hook hand, "The country needs those supplies- and by the goddess they will get them!"
"Yes, Captain!"
(Name)'s gaze snapped towards the two, pushing the right hand away towards another hanging dinghie before hobbling quickly towards them, their peg leg creating a dull thump each time it met the wood of the planked floor. "You two! Haul arse! Get on those boats!"
Reality seemed to hit Tetra harshly when (Name) grabbed her shirt's scruff roughly, right and crying out. She refused. This wouldn't be it. She would continues to fight- she would not let their ship come to pass!
But the captain wasn't having that, tossing her into one of the boats with a few more members and demanding they left- screamed that they get away.
Their teary eyes were ignored as they slowly lowered themselves, Tetra's raged screaming dimming from the roar of the fire.
Link looked at them with wide, glossy eyes as they stomped back over. "Did you not here me, Link?! I said move!"
His scruff was grabbed this time, the younger teen being dragged towards another boat, this time only holding their right hand as he waited patiently for his next orders.
Link was thrown in after a second, secured by the hand of the older man when he tried to leap back out. "What about you?! There's nothing left for this boat!"
The young blonde already knew this answer of course. It was near law, written into the code of the pirates that Tetra and many others had seemed to parrot when he questioned those clashing tales of those cut-throat captains meeting such timely deaths on the decks of their ships.
"A captain will always go down with their ship!" Pulling out their trusty sword, (Name) slashed at the ropes holding up the small boat. "Let them know I died loyal to her, hero!"
They watched from afar as the sea swallowed the ship, the orange earlier dusting the sky slowly fading until only the lights of the stars reflected off those waters of midnight blue. Their crew bowed their heads in respect, sending blessings to their captain's ocean burial before they would begin to move to the shores of New Hyrule.
It was the last they would ever see of Capatin (Name), Guide to the great Hero Link.
And you couldn't help but lend out your hand towards the young pirate, his lip wobbling slightly with eyes growing misty before you pulled him to rest against your shoulder. You cooed, gently running a hand through his hair and hushing his heavy cries.
It seemed death followed all the incarnations that those men held so dearly.
#linked universe#linked universe x reader#lu#linked universe imagine#player au#a player's aid#reincarnation au#bloodybloob#BB
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ꜰᴀʟʟɪɴɢꜰᴏʀʏᴏᴜ - ꜱɪʀɪᴜꜱ ʙʟᴀᴄᴋ
Summary: on a summers night Sirius surprises you with a call. Will those unspoken feelings finally bubble over ?
Pairing: Fem!reader X Sirius black
A/N: this is a song fic! I’ve been a big 1975 fan since I was 11 and well since I couldn’t afford tickets I thought I’d live vicariously through their old songs. Enjoy :) even if u don’t know the song, this is still pretty romantic.
 ───◌┈┈───♡⃝───┈┈◌───
What time you coming out?
We started losing light
I’ll never make it right
If you don’t wander off
“Come on l/n one night with me you won’t regret it…” Sirius pleaded over the muggle pay phone. He craved the site of your face just as much as he craved a cigarette right now. Love wasn’t normal for someone like Sirius. It didn’t just happen, not with his upbringing, not when he’d never experienced it from anyone other then his friends before. It was getting darker outside with every second and Sirius needed you near him.
“Sirius it’s 11pm and my parents are sleeping you can’t just call my house begging to see me… especially in the middle of summer when you haven’t owled me once!” You snapped in return. He couldn’t expect you to run to him after he’d been radio silent for four weeks.
“You know how my parents are y/n… I can’t send letters to…” he trailed off not knowing how to phrase his statement. You were muggleborn, if his parents caught wind of him associating with such he’d not only be punished but you could be put in danger too.
“Mudbloods? Just hang up Sirius…” you snapped
I’m so excited for the night
All we need’s my bike and your enormous house
“Hey don’t use that fucking word… look I have my bike with me… I can cycle..” Sirius pleaded even harder.
“Fine let’s say I agree where would we go?” You asked sighing into the phone.
“Your enormous house of course… look I just really need to see you… please”
If it wasn’t for the sincerity in his usually sarcastic and annoying voice you would of hung up. But he was doing what always did, he reeled you in until you craved to smell his cologne again, until you wanted to hear his deep chuckle.
“Fine… get here any later then midnight and I’m going to bed…” and with that you put down the phone.
Half an hour later you were sat on your front porch when a bike made its way up the road. The moonlight caught on metallic paint and his grey eyes. You could spot those eyes from a mile away.
“You’re here…”
“What did you think I wouldn’t come…”
You shrugged honestly. You never really knew where you stood with Sirius most of the time. He teased you like one of his friends but whenever you spoke he held an intensity you couldn’t locate when he conversed with his other friends. He’d joked in the past about hooking up with you. And you’d just laughed it off, it was better to push the playboy away then confront your feelings and have them crushed.
Don’t you see me I
I think I’m falling, I’m falling for you
And don’t you need me I
I think I’m falling, I’m falling for you
On this night, and in this light
I think I’m falling (I think I’m falling), I’m falling for you
And maybe you, change your mind..
"Glad your opinion of me is high…“ Sirius joked taking a seat beside you as you both looked up at the clear night sky.
Sirius noticed your reluctance to give in to him. He completely understood. You had an unspoken tie to each other that you both chose to ignore. But on nights like this, in the dimmed glow of the porch light he was certain he was falling for you.
"At least I’m honest with you… I don’t fall at your knees like half the other girls in our school..” you commented with a tiny smile that was hidden behind your hair.
Sometimes you wondered if he truly saw you. If he was just stringing you along as a back up option in case someone more desirable didn’t want him. No way would you be his scapegoat. No way would you degrade yourself for love, even if that love was getting more apparent with every second you spent on your porch alone with him.
I’m caught on your coat again
You said, “Oh no, it’s fine”
I read between the lines and touched your leg again (again)
Sirius leant over to get closer to you, one of his many rings that he worse getting caught on a lose string from your coat. He pulled it away but only drew you closer.
“Sorry I…”
“Oh no it’s fine..” you said pulling away the string as you realised how close he’d grown to you; it was pissing you off that you didn’t mind his nose nearly brushing yours.
You moved your gaze back to the sky. Losing yourself in the stars as a cold calloused finger grazed your upper thigh. Any other time where the atmosphere wasn’t as thick with intensity you would of pushed it away. But you couldn’t.
Sirius didn’t mean to graze your leg. When he saw you hadn’t pushed him away like usual he rested his hand there. Grounding him deeper beside you. Touching you in anyway felt like a privilege he of all people didn’t deserve, but right now with all these unspoken thoughts, there was no way he’d let go. He couldn’t.
I’ll take it one day at a time
Soon you will be mine, oh, but I want you now (I want you now)
In that instant Sirius knew he couldn’t have anyone else ever again. He’d wait the rest of his life to call you his. Wether it was in this life or the next he didn’t care. Your souls were intertwined. Afar from the pureblood bullshit he didn’t see your blood status or even your looks, he just saw your soul. And he was hoping you saw his.
In that instant he knew that he’d take it one day at a time, even though when you bit your lip that way or tucked that loose strand of hair behind your delicate ears he wanted to steal you away. Have you now.
“Stop staring…” you muttered just above a whisper, like a whistle in the wind.
“Never…”
When the smoke is in your eyes, you look so alive
Do you fancy sitting down with me maybe
‘Cause you’re all I need
“Cigarette?” He asked lighting his own. Your brief nod was enough to carefully slip one between your lips and light it.
He watched the smoke streams catch in the light of your porch, more importantly your eyes. The majestic patterns that the smoke formed weren’t even close to competing with the intoxicating puddle which were your eyes.
“So we’re just going to sit here in silence then..” you broke the silence.
“What is there to talk about…” Sirius murmured almost mockingly. There was clearly lots for the both of you to talk about. Infact there was everything to talk about.
You could of sworn the glimmer of his teeth that showed when he smirked was enough for you to fall into the hole that was Sirius black. You couldn’t let it though, what if you’d made up the bond you shared in your head. You weren’t the first girl he’d probably ever done this for.
According to your heart
My place is not deliberate
Feeling of your arms
I don’t want to be your friend, I want to kiss your neck
Sirius could practically hear the cogs turning in your head. Maybe now was the time to ease the doubts and reservations you had about him. Maybe now was a good time for him to get on his knees and confess every bad thing he’d ever done just so you completely trusted he could never hurt you, even if he wanted to.
He was sure you were bound to each other. Maybe to you the feeling wasn’t as strong. He’d accidentally fallen into your heart and now you were trying your best to get him out. But while he had the chance he’d take it.
Before he could take it though, your arms were pressed against his chest. Your eyes glued to his own. That mental timer that had been counting down the seconds until you could no longer ignore this had run out. Whatever this was.
“I don’t wanna be your friend y/n… I can’t just, be your friend…”
Then his lips were on yours. And you were fighting for dominance, wanting to equally prove to each other that this wasn’t just a kiss. Your hearts were chained to one another and neither of you wanted to find the key to loosen the shackles.
His lips found your neck and every thought of him hurting you was now long gone. You liked to think you couldn’t be deceived, and if this was him deceiving you then you’d happily call yourself a fool.
Don’t you see me I
I think I’m falling, I’m falling for you
And don’t you need me I
I think I’m falling, I’m falling for you
On this night, and in this light
I think I’m falling (I think I’m falling), I’m falling for you
And maybe you, change your mind
You must have laid with each other until the sun began to rise. You didn’t want it too though, neither of you did. The thought of losing that atmosphere, that perfect circumstance where you could freely declare your love for one another was frightening.
Those same doubts crept back up on you. Would you go back to Hogwarts in September and would he pretend as though he’d never kissed you this way. Would he push away your bound to each other, or would he give in? Give in like you had so easily.
“I’ve fallen for you…” those four words were the only confirmation you needed. You were bound.
#sirius black x reader#sirius black x female reader#sirius black x you#sirius black#Harry Potter#remus lupin x reader#fred weasley x reader#draco malfoy x reader#george weasley x reader#harry potter x reader#james potter x reader#marauders#marauders x reader#marauders era#harry potter imagine#Ben barnes
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Two Truths and a Lie
Chapter 10: A Lie by Omission is Still a Lie
Bakugou x Fem!Reader
◈ Pro Hero, Fake Engagement ◈ Word Count: 2009
◇ Chapter Select
◇ Previous Chapter
!!: angst, cheating mention
Your head’s in the clouds and it’s about to come back to earth
A week on a personal island with Bakugou was heaven. The days were filled with relaxing, lounging on the beach and snorkeling. And the nights… Well those were filled with other activities. All restraint went out the window. Just two friends in a pretend relationship having sex. You definitely didn’t almost blurt out how you feel about him a handful of times. Bakugou also didn’t hold you for longer than normal post-sex. And you absolutely did not get used to sleeping in his arms.
Nope you didn’t steal lingering glances at him or find any excuse to touch him. And you were under no circumstances in love. That would be absurd.
The two of you arrived back at the airport hand in hand, Bakugou shielding you from camera flashes. There was no need for additional security. Everyone there knew what would happen if they got within arm’s reach.
Your body may be back in the city, but your mind was stuck on a sandy beach looking up at the stars, trying to etch the moment into your memory forever because of how perfect it was. The last night there, Bakugou took your hand and led you down to the sand and laid there with you, the waves crashing against the shore the only sound. With nearly all the lights out, the sky seemed fake, like a painting or an altered photograph. But no, the stars have always been there, it just took a little work to get them to shine through.
If you were actually dating, that would be the moment to propose. Followed by a midnight romp if-
“Verity!” A sharp voice cuts through your thoughts, sending you back to the present.
Your head jerks up and looks around wildly. “Huh?” Your boss glares at you over the flimsy partitions dividing the floor into workspaces. Right. Vacation is over. Back to reality.
“Snap out of it you’re needed in interrogation room three.”
“On it,” you nod and find one of your coworkers waiting for you.
“Welcome back, we’ve missed your talents,” a coworker whispers to you and hands you a file. You manage a thin smile in return. The only time people like my quirk.
Work flies by. Constant questioning, resting to ward off impending migraines from quirk overuse, writing reports. You can’t wait to get home. The thought of a dinner hot off the stove ready and waiting for you has you on autopilot once you clock out. Maybe Bakugou would humor you and want to watch a movie?
Once home, you open the door and find near silence. A heavenly aroma wafts your direction, luring you in. Inhaling deeply, you let it fill your lungs.
Water falls softly coming from the sound of Bakugou’s room. While you’re dying to join him in a post work shower, there’s an intimacy there that you’re not ready to face yet. Smiling to yourself, you drop your keys on the counter. One day…
The phone next to your keys buzzes. The screen lights up and you see a stack of messages, the latest one sliding on top.
[Cheeks] << I don’t know what to do
Cheeks. Ochako. Okay, that’s fine. I knew they’re friends. Jealousy slithers up your body and grabs you by the throat. You try and tamp it down. She just needs advice. Nothing more.
[Cheeks] << Call me Kat. Please.
You may have been able to control the wisps of jealousy before, but now it rears its ugly head and screams at you. Such casualness. A sense of ‘cozy’ that you reserved for yourself.
And are all the messages from her? All you would need to do is tap the screen and see the rest of the conversation. The screen goes dark and you snatch your fingers back, clutching them at your chest as if the phone was on fire and the flames licked you.
No. Don’t do that. You can just ask him.
Instead your mind goes into overdrive.
He said he wasn’t going after her, that he had no reason to. He never expressed any interest after you found out that he had the fattest crush on her. Was he just using you then? A placeholder until he can move on from his consolation prize to what he actually wants? Does he even find you attractive? Or is it all just pity fucks that he obliges whenever you want?
You’re hugging a pillow on the loveseat when the scent of Bakugou’s shampoo washes over you. Then you hear his feet as he shuffles across the floor towards you. He’ll come by and touch you in some way, maybe fingers trailing across your arm, a quick squeeze of the hand, some kind of contact. But you don’t want that. Not right now. Not when your stomach is in knots from overthinking.
“Your phone buzzed,” you say, forcing your voice to be light. His footsteps still behind you before changing course over to the counter. He knows there’s something wrong. He has to.
There’s no reason to overreact. But you can’t help a little jab slip out. “What does Ochako have to say?” Red eyes slide over to you warily before checking the phone.
“How should I know?” he grumbles and sits on the couch across from you. Blond eyebrows disappear behind still-damp hair. From your spot on the loveseat, you can hear the buzzing. She’s calling.
“Well maybe you should answer it,” you say coolly.
He answers the call and holds the phone up. Immediately the sound of crying pours out. It’s so loud Bakugou grimaces and turns the volume down. You can still make out the sniffling.
“Cheeks, Ochako, calm down,” Bakugou sighs and runs a hand over his face. The term of endearment slides into your heart and twists. Does he have a nickname for you? “What’s going on?”
Over the speaker pressed flush against his ear, you can make out a couple words. Izuku. Verity. Cheated. Broke up.
It doesn’t take a genius to put it together. She’s blaming you for cheating with Midoriya and them breaking up. That’s easy enough to dispute. He dumped you and you wanted nothing to do with him after that.
But as the phone call drags on, you mull over the words. Why would she think that? Maybe Midoriya cheated on her with someone else and she assumed it was you?
Bakugou glances over at you before standing up and heading towards his room. You already feel like you’re intruding, so you don’t say anything.
But a single door doesn’t do much to muffle a naturally loud voice.
“He didn’t tell you, how were you supposed to know?” Bakugou says. There’s a pause before he adds in a much lower voice, “He never told the press about them.”
There’s a tingling at the base of your neck. Never told the press about them… Midoriya took Ochako public. He was very open about their relationship. Unlike with you. Dread slips down your spine.
Like puzzle pieces falling into place, you know.
Midoriya didn’t cheat on Ochako. He cheated on you. All those nights you couldn’t enter your bedroom at your last apartment and face his lingering cologne. The lulls in your day where your mind wandered and wondered what you could’ve done differently. The thoughts burning holes in your mind – were there signs you missed?
Apparently there were, if he had enough time to carry on two relationships and have both parties none the wiser.
The phone call ends in deafening silence. Hesitant footsteps stop behind you. Bakugou knows you heard everything he said.
Were you holding your breath or was it just a pain in your chest? Inhaling deeply, you speak slowly and clearly. “You knew. This whole time, you knew what he did. And you didn’t tell me?”
“Knew what?” Bakugou asks and takes his seat again.
“Don’t play dumb,” you snarl, “He was seeing her while he was still with me.”
He sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. “What good would it’ve done?”
The words roll around your head like marbles. What good would it have done? So much, but emotionally constipated and unavailable Katsuki Bakugou would never understand.
Like two wild animals, you both snap at each other, words sharpened like claws.
“Did you think I didn’t deserve to know?!” you snap.
Bakugou’s shoulders rise defensively. “Would it have hurt any less?”
“He cheated on me! How could you not realize that that would help me move on faster?”
“Fine! I didn’t tell you! And how do you think I got him to leave you alone at the gala? It wasn’t talking nicely to him, it was threatening to tell everyone what he did.”
You stop and blink at him. Blood drains from your face, a cold sensation replacing it. “And that would’ve been the first time I found out too.” Because he kept this to himself.
Bakugou sits back in his seat and studies you. He’s uncharacteristically quiet. From the wary look in his eye, he sees where you’re going with that train of thought but doesn’t want to make the final leap.
Your body feels out of place, like your soul is fighting to rip itself from you and have you watch the fight from a third person perspective. “It would have destroyed me,” you whisper. “At my first formal event that either of you two brought me to. You would’ve done that to me.”
His answer is immediate. “No.”
“Yes,” you interrupt whatever hasty backtracking Bakugou would’ve tried to come up with. “You would’ve. You would’ve done that… to break them up. To get her.” You cross your arms over your chest protectively. “You said you had no reason to go after her because she was with Midoriya. And I believed you. But you would’ve thrown away everything we-” No. There is no ‘everything we have’. It’s all a sham. There is no relationship. He’s not your real fiancé. Can you even use the label Friends With Benefits if there’s no friendship there?
Distant colleagues.
A quick fuck.
Two people using each other.
Nothing.
You force your anger and frustration down and away. You have no claim to Katsuki Bakugou. You just forgot about that along the way. But you can rectify that. Your time with him of ‘one month for every year you and Midoriya were together’ is almost up anyways. What does it matter if you end it early?
“You know what? I’m done with this.” The calmness in your voice throws you off a bit. There will be time to be angry and kick yourself in the ass about everything, but here in Bakugou’s apartment is not the time nor the place.
“Slow the fuck down,” Bakugou says, his eye wide. His whole body is on high alert.
“No. I’m done with this charade. You- here.” You grasp the engagement ring you both decided on and wrench it off your finger. The spot where it sat feels barren. “I don’t need this anymore.”
Bakugou stands up from the couch. “Hold on-”
You toss the ring and he fumbles it. Glancing at your former bedroom, your heart sinks. “I’ll… I don’t want any of my stuff. Keep it. Toss it. I don’t care.”
Slipping on your shoes, you pray he won’t chase after you. You can’t deal with it right now. “You really had me going, you know that? And I…” A sob wracks through you. Fucking great. You do your best to keep the rising bile down. “I can’t believe I thought I loved you.” Shock takes over Bakugou’s face at your revelation. The secret you worked so hard to keep to yourself, now out in the open — now in past tense. “But hey, you get what you want. The woman you’ve been pining over is now available for you. And you don’t have to worry about Midoriya’s other sloppy seconds.”
You ignore his shouts as you walk out the door with only your wallet.
Truth: Midoriya cheated.
Truth: Bakugou lied.
Lie: You’re fine.
◇ Next Chapter
A/N: One time Jo said something along the lines of ‘I know I’m about to get my heart broken when things are going too well’ and I think about that a lot.
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So I have a University assignment due at midnight, which I have absolutely zero motivation to do, but it did inspire this little piece.
Distractions
//AKA Dabi Distracts You From Your Work 💙
Dabi x Female Reader (NSFW)
Genre: smut, porn with very little plot involved, fluff
Includes: biting, unprotected sex, hair pulling, cock warming, teasing, pet names, fingering, crying (pleasure), after care, Dabi’s piercings
You can’t tell me that Dabi isn’t the type of guy who would gladly use sex as a means of distracting you from your work
Especially if he feels as though you’re paying too much attention to it and not him
And if you’re a university student, he would definitely fuck your brains out instead of letting you finish an assignment that he knew you had due
Maybe you make the mistake of letting him sit in your desk chair while you sit on his lap, so at least you can be close to him
He’d start off with his chin resting on his shoulder and his arms wrapped loosely around your waist, but it wouldn’t take long for his hands to begin to wander
One hand would drift down to your inner thigh, and begin tracing feather light patterns along the exposed skin he found there with the tips of his fingers, teasingly close to where you really want him to touch you
Meanwhile, his other hand has slipped under your shirt and is now toying with your nipples
And while all this is going on, you’re still desperately trying your best to concentrate, but it’s becoming increasingly harder for you to focus on typing out an essay when your boyfriend’s hands are doing sinful things to your body
It’s when he starts trailing his lips along your neck, nipping, sucking, and leaving tiny bruises behind that you give in to his touches
Dabi’s hand leaves its place on your thigh and his thumb hooks around the waist band of the skimpy pair of gym shorts you’d decided to wear around the house that day
You raise your hips, just enough for him to slide them down to your knees, where they fall and drop to the floor
He pops open the button on his jeans, and you swear you can feel yourself getting just that little bit wetter at the loud sound his zipper makes in the otherwise quiet apartment
His hands go to your hips, and he lowers you onto his achingly hard cock
A small gasp escapes your lips, you’d been careful not to brush up against his dick while you were working, not wanting to encourage Dabi’s teasing
You’d known he was horny, obviously, but you hadn’t realised how hard he truly was
The two of you moan when he’s fully sheathed inside your heat
You expect him to start bouncing you up and down on his cock, but when he doesn’t you figure he wants you to be the one taking charge
Instead, his hands tighten around you warningly, and he keeps you seated firmly in his lap
“Don’t you have something to do, princess?”
“But I thought-”
“You thought wrong angel.”
You can practically hear the smirk in his voice, knowing full well that if you turn your head to look at him, you’ll see one on his face
“Consider this your punishment for ignoring me.”
Part of you can’t believe Dabi is making you finish your assignment instead of fucking you, especially when his cock is buried inside you
Another part of you can totally believe it, knowing all too well what a tease your boyfriend can be
He sits back and begins drawing lazy circles around your throbbing clit
Somehow, you manage to type out a paragraph, and you think that maybe you can do this
Until Dabi decides to flex beneath you, the seemingly innocent movement making his dick twitch inside of you, driving you crazy from the stimulation
You could have tears rolling down your cheeks as you beg him to bend you over your desk and just fuck you already
Instead, he’d have the audacity to coo softly in your ear:
“Come on baby girl, I thought you needed to concentrate?”
But the moment you finish that assignment and submit it to your Professor, he’s pulling out of you and standing up so fast that the chair he’d been sitting on falls over backwards
He quickly manages to get rid of the few articles of clothing the two of you have left between you
Before you know it, Dabi has you bent over the desk, one hand tangled in your hair and the other at your hip in a grip so tight that it's bound to leave bruises. He thrusts into you rapidly, setting a brutal pace. The sounds of skin on skin slapping together, and the obscene noise your cunt makes as he fucks into you fills the air of the studio apartment you share with him.
It takes an embarrassingly short amount of time for you to cum around Dabi’s cock, already pent up and overflowing from almost an hour's worth of Dabi teasing you. Your thighs are glistening as you let go, screaming his name so loudly that your neighbours are sure to file another noise complaint against the two of you come the evening. He releases his grip on your hair, trailing his fingers down your body until they rest between your thighs, and begin to draw circles around your clit once more. Gone are the slow, teasing touches from earlier his only focus is on making you scream out his name out for a second time before he cums. Dabi leans forward, his chest pressing flush against yours back, practically laying on top of you as he rails you without mercy. You realise that you can feel the cold metal of his nipple piercings pressing into your back, and the mental image it conjures makes you clench around him. Dabi lets out a soft groan, his lips brushing the shell of your ear.
“Fuck sweetheart, you have no idea how good you feel wrapped around me,” he pants, his voice breathy as it caresses your neck. “So good and tight for me, fuck. Come again angel, one more time, I wanna hear you scream my name.”
“God Dabi, yes! Yes! Yes!” You whine, trailing off into a hiss at one particularly hard thrust. “Right there baby, I’m so close, fuck!”
Without missing a beat, he shifts himself slightly, angling his cock in a way that Dabi knew would have you seeing stars and hurtling over that precipice you were dangling from. You were convinced you could feel the tip of him pounding against your cervix, dragging deliciously against your walls in all his pierced glory as he brushed past that sweet spot hidden inside of you with each and every punishing thrust. This new angle, abusing your g-spot while his fingers danced over clit, your nipples being teased as they were dragged and pushed across the surface of your desk; All of it was proving to be too much for you. That coil deep inside of you winding tighter and tighter, rendering you all but incoherent. Your tipping point however, was when your boyfriend sunk his teeth into the junction of your shoulder and neck. It wasn't quite hard enough to break the skin, but you knew without a doubt that he would leave one hell of a mark. The pain from his teeth sends pleasure arcing through your body like waves of electricity, going straight to your pussy, causing that tightly wound coil to snap as you threw yourself from the edge you had been hanging onto for dear life.
"Fuck Dabi, I'm coming, FUCK!" You sobbed, cheeks feeling suspiciously wet. The way your pussy fluttered around him was exactly what Dabi needed to find his own release, his pace becoming more and more erratic as he continued to thrust into you, working you both through the shared orgasm. Your name left Dabi’s mouth in a loud moan that was practically pornographic. He came inside of you, painting your walls with his seed, your combined release already beginning to seep out of you from the sheer amount of cum he was pumping into your cunt.
Eventually, his thrusts come to a halt. Your face was pressed uncomfortably against your desk, and you were pretty sure there was a pen trapped beneath you, but at that moment you didn't quite have it in yourself to care. Your mind was pleasantly fogged over from the post orgasm haze, and had someone asked for your name in that given moment, it probably would have taken you a few minutes to recall.
The first thing you became aware of, was Dabi pressing a series of gentle kisses to your neck, paying particular attention to the large bite mark he had left in the heat of the moment. It throbbed slightly, but not unpleasantly so, soothed by the delicate pressure of his lips. Slowly, he pulled out, a small noise of displeasure escaping you at the sudden emptiness you felt with the absence of his cock. He pulled you up, and guided you gently over to the bed where the two of you collapsed together. His arms encircled your waist, gathering you up against his chest. Fingers began to play with your hair as your awareness slowly began to return, Dabi's lips now pressed gently to the top of your head.
"That was..." you trailed off, still slightly breathless.
"Yeah." He agreed, tracing patterns along your skin.
"I'm going to need a shower," you winced, feeling his cum already beginning to dry on you. You already dreaded the idea of getting up to leave the bed, knowing that by the time you did, your limbs would be feeling like jelly and there would surely be an ache settled between your thighs.
"Not yet," your boyfriend breathed. "I'll get up and get us a towel in a minute. Just, lie here with me for now, okay?"
"Okay," you murmured against him, not needing too much convincing.
"Maybe I should help you with your work more often, princess," he suggested, but was met with no reply. Dabi craned his neck to look down at you, only to realise that you had managed to fall asleep in his embrace.
Here’s that tag you asked for lovely, hope you enjoyed my first attempt at writing smut.
@simpforsadbois 💜
#dabi#dabi smut#dabi fanfic#dabi x reader#dabi x you#dabi x female reader#dabi x y/n#writing#anime#my hero x reader#my hero academia#mha dabi#bnha x reader#bnha x fem!reader#mha x reader#mha imagines#bnha smut#mha smut#mha#bnha#dabi imagine#dabi headcanons#mha headcanons#smut#bnha headcanons#thirsty#dabi thirst#imagine#reader#headcanon
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Portrait of a Dangerous Man🎨5
Warnings: (series) non-consent sex and rape; slow creep; cucking; (this chapter) threats, implied and mild violence
This is dark!mob!Clark Kent x reader and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.
Synopsis: Your dream of having your work hung in an art show comes true but your first buyer is not all he seems to be.
Note: So between Friday and Saturday I’ll be doing eight hours a day for @buckyownsmylife‘s writeathon (like 12-8pm EST) but you can send an ask at any time. I will share a list of what I intend to work on and possible ideas later today if you wanna ask some questions or gab about whatever. After the last few days on tumblr and that nonsense, I think we need a little carelessness.
Thanks to everyone for reading and thanks in advance for all your feedback. :)
I really hope you enjoy. 💋
<3 As usual, I’d appreciate if you let me know what you think with a like or reblog or reply or an ask! Love ya!
You walked and walked until you could no more. You stopped in front of another humongous set of gates and ordered an Uber. You waited in the dark in the shadow of the wall and a car slowed as it approached. You waved as the model and plate matched the app and got in. The driver remarked on the odd pick-up but you just shrugged and dialed.
You’d called your mom several times and she hadn’t picked up. It was almost eleven then so you gave up as her voicemail beeped once again. You dropped your head back against the seat and held your head. Everything was fucked.
You couldn’t believe it. Clark making the offer, Marcus trying to barter with him. It was all so fucked up. Five years. Five years! You never thought Marcus to be that type, shallow and greedy. Sure, he griped about money but you always made due and you thought if you had each other, it would be enough for him. But it wasn’t and he was ready to trade you to a stranger for a check.
You felt nauseous and crossed your arms over your stomach as you hunched over. You felt like crying but you knew you couldn’t. You had to get what you needed and get out. You weren’t going to stick around to argue with either of those assholes. This was the last time you were going to let your hope be crushed.
How much time had you wasted? On both of them.
You got out in front of your building and finalised the tip for the driver. You felt worse that you were going to leave your work in that cretin’s house. That he thought he could just buy you like he did the canvas. It was all just a ploy to get in your pants. And the way he said it, “I’ll fuck her either way.” Like you would fall into his arms agog and smitten.
You rushed up the stairs as your eyes began to well and you sniffled as you unlocked your apartment door. You wanted badly to trash the large monitor sitting above Marcus’ glowing tower. You wanted to shred all his clothes and take a hammer to everything he owned.
You didn’t. You grabbed your laptop from your desk and swept into the bedroom. You pulled your floral duffel from under the bed and loaded it with your laptop, tablet, and a pile of clothes. You tossed the zip-up pouch with your passport and other important documents on top and hauled it over your shoulder. He could keep the rest of it. You didn’t care if it ended up in the dumpster.
You checked the time as you closed the apartment door and headed down the hallway. It was after midnight. You wondered if they noticed you were gone. You didn’t care. You were sending every penny back to Clark, even if you had to dip into your savings; those years of squirreling away in hopes of buying a home with the love of your life.
That was what you thought he was. You just couldn’t understand how he could be so easily won over by overpriced cars and the ridiculously overdone mansion. You came out onto the street and stopped.
Where could you go? There wasn’t a bus out of town until the morning. You could get a hotel room for the night and head to your mom’s then. God, you felt rotten at the thought of showing up at her doorstep, another failure on your shoulders. You swore to her the last time you talked that you were finally getting your feet under you.
Why were you so stupid?
You dried your cheeks with the back of your hand and adjusted the strap of the heavy bag and turned down the sidewalk. There was a Days Inn not far from your place. They might have a vacancy.
You didn’t make it two steps before you heard the car door. You tried to ignore the man as you were eager to be anywhere but out in the city streets after dark. It was too late to react as the passenger door opened and the dark figure blocked your path. The driver came up behind you and you cried out as you were seized from both sides.
“What the fuck are you doing?” you shrieked, “let go of me.”
“Shut up,” the driver said as he covered your mouth and the other man took your bag.
You murmured into his palm and kicked out with your heel, barely missing the passenger with the sharp tip. He opened the back door and threw your bag inside. He turned back and grabbed your legs as you thrashed and both men struggled to angle you in after the duffle.
You pushed your chin above the man’s hand and gasped, “please, what--”
“Shh,” you were finally forced past the door and it slammed behind you, nearly catching your skirt.
You sat up and pulled on the door handle but it didn’t budge. You couldn’t pull up the locks and your fingers just slid down the switches. Even the windows wouldn’t roll down.
“Who are you? What are you doing?” you kicked the door desperately, “please--”
“Hurry up,” the passenger growled, “don’t wanna keep the boss waiting.”
“Hey! I’m talking to you--”
“And you better stop,” the driver pulled out a gun and turned to point it at you, “close those sweet little lips and be a good girl. We got a far way to go, doll.”
You swallowed and pushed yourself back against the vinyl seat. The driver turned forward and shoved the keys in the slot as the other bent around the console and reached to snatch your clutch from you. He wrestled with you for a moment then ripped it away. He took out your phone and waved it triumphantly as the car began to move.
“Please, what--”
“Don’t make me tell you to shut up again,” the driver warned as he focused on the road, “god damn maniac got me out in the middle of the night with this shit.”
“It’ll be a good cut,” the other man said, “can’t complain about a late night if I’m getting paid.”
“The boss? Who--”
“Fuck, you ever know when to shut up?” The passenger turned to glare at you, “you’re really not doing yourself any favours so please.”
He looked forward again and flipped on the radio. He turned the dial so you were deafened by the raucous tones of hair metal. You cradled your ears and huffed as you fell back against the seat. The street lights flashed down on the seat beside you as you passed and you shook your head.
This wasn’t a coincidence. It couldn’t be. But the question still remained; who exactly was Clark Kent?
🎨
You screamed as the man dragged you out of the car. The other came around to grab your other arm as you swiped out with your nails. Your ankles bent under you as you tried to stop yourself on the mosaic stonework. The large mansion loomed over you in the dark, still night. The party was over and all the cars were gone.
You writhed as they forced you through the front door and you tried futilely to shake off the larger men. Your chest hammered with panic and you leaned back as you were dragged up the stairs. You grunted as you wriggled and hissed at how they twisted your arms back and held them firmly.
“Please, please, just let me go--”
“Well, doll, we’ve come this far,” the driver snickered, “you really think you can get out now?”
“I don’t-- who are you? Why are you doing this?”
You were dragged towards the pair of pale doors that stood open as they offered a peek of the studio within. The amber glow of a lamp washed over shadows and limned the lines of the overturned easel as you were taken inside. You whined as the men stopped just past the doors.
Clark sat in the same chair he sat in for your sessions. He smirked as his eyes fell upon you but your own skittered over to Marcus as he sat on the stool by the table of paints. You blinked and batted away tears of disbelief with your lashes. His eye was swollen and his lip split; thick rope held his wrists behind his back and coiled around his torso and legs.
“What--
“Let her go, close the door,” Clark demanded, “I can handle her.”
The moment the hands left your arms, you spun but an arm caught you swiftly around the waist. You were flung back so you sprawled across the floor. You cried out as you met the polished wood and your body rang with pain.
“Hey,” Clark warned and his footsteps neared you as you pushed yourself up on shaky arms, “that doesn’t happen again, got it?”
“Sorry, boss, I was just--”
“Go,” Clark barked as he knelt and took your arm.
The doors slid closed with a harsh snap and you hit Clark’s chest as he tried to pull you up to your feet. You dug your heels into the floor and pushed yourself away from him. You turned and got up on your knees. You climbed to your feet but he was quick to block your path to the doors.
“You left so suddenly,” he crossed his arms, “not even a goodbye?”
“Fuck you. Fuck both of you,” you sneered, “I heard your offer,” you paused and looked around at Marcus, “and I heard you too. I’m not a whore.”
“Sweetheart, I know you’re not,” Clark said patronizingly, “but apparently he doesn’t.”
“Whatever, let me go, I don’t want either of you,” you snarled.
You tried to brush past him and he grabbed your arms and backed you up. “Sweetheart, I don’t have to pay for it. Understand that. And we did settle on a deal but I’m not paying for your services.”
“What-- Why--”
“I’m paying him to watch,” Clark winked, “I want him to see how he fucked up. I want him to see what a real man can do for you.”
“I’m not interested,” you tried to shrug him off but he held firm, “get off of me, Clark. We’re done. I’m sending you your money back and I don’t want to see you again.”
“Where are you gonna go, huh? No job, no prospects, no money?”
“I did alright before you, I can take care of myself--”
“Sweetheart,” he framed your chin with his hand and leaned in, “this is where we make a deal of our own…” his blue eyes clung to yours as he lowered his voice, “you can go along with it and the boy gets to walk off with just a couple bruises or… he doesn’t leave this room on his feet.”
Your eyes rounded and your lip quivered. You sucked in air and steeled yourself.
“I told you, I’m done with both of you,” you hissed.
“Uh huh, but I know you’re not gonna let him die just like that,” he turned his hand and rubbed your cheek, “besides, neither of us are stupid. I saw how you look at me and you know what lies behind those eyes.”
“No, I don’t…” you uttered and looked back at Marcus. He squirmed on the stool helplessly as he stared at you intently, begging you silently as he bit down on the gag. “Why are you doing this?”
“Shhh, sweetheart,” he trailed his finger over your lower lip, “it’s okay. Haven’t I been good to you?”
“I can’t… please, don’t make me do this.”
“Come on, let’s sit down,” he dropped his hand as his other clung to your arm, “we have some things to sort out first.”
He pulled on you and you locked your legs. After a moment, your knees buckled and you let him lead you over to the chair. He sat and drew you onto his lap. You sat stiffly as his hand tickled your lower back and crawled up to pick at the straps of your dress.
“You see everything I have, everything I can do,” he said staunchly, “I can snap his neck as easily as I snap my fingers,” his other hand settled on your knee and squeezed. He nuzzled your shoulder and grazed your skin with his lips, “and even if it came to that, I’d still have you, sweetheart. This isn’t about what I get, I know my prize, this is about you and how you want things to go.”
You shuddered and shakily touched your neck. You hated the way his fingertips sent shivers through you and his lips made your stomach churn. You stopped his hand as it crawled up your leg.
“I… I only wanted to paint,” you said numbly.
“And did you really think that was all I wanted? A painter?” he scoffed and slipped his hand from beneath yours. He felt along the slit of the dress and shoved his hand beneath the fabric.
“I don’t… know…” you squeezed your thighs together as his fingers curled into your flesh.
“You really want to make this difficult? Sweetheart, you can’t even begin to know who I am and what I can do. This is just a taste.”
“Wh-why me?” you stuttered as he forced his hand between your legs and kneaded your flesh.
“Why not?” he replied.
He slapped your thick lightly and urged you off of him. You stood and he reached beneath his jacket as you wobbled on your weak legs and looked at Marcus desperately. He shook his head and let it slump down on his chest.
“Now, Marcus,” Clark revealed a dark pistol, “we talked about this. If you want your money, you don’t get to look away.”
You stared at the barrel as he pointed it at Marcus and lifted a brow. You flinched as your emotions swirled in your stomach and every one of your nerves was set alight.
“Sweetheart, you have one minute to make up your mind,” he pulled back the hammer, “as much as that looks gorgeous on you, I want you in only this.”
He pushed his fingers into his pants pocket and pulled out the diamond necklace. He held it out and the gems twinkled in lowlight. You swallowed and reached to take them from him.
“Who are you?” you asked as you hooked your fingers through the chain.
He chuckled and ran his fingers along his beard, “I’m exactly who you need me to be.”
#clark kent#dark clark kent#dark!clark kent#clark kent x reader#superman#series#fic#dark fic#dark!fic#portrait of a dangerous man#mob au#au#mob!au#dc#dcu
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Headlights Girl
Genre: Urban fantasy + wlw romance
Words: approx. 8k
Summary: The story of a girl with headlamps for eyes and the moth-girl she meets along the way.
My book 🌸 Ko-fi 🌸 Patreon
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Most humans carry the night with them. Even during daylight hours, they can shut out the sun, turn off the light, recede into themselves and into that soft secret place behind their eyes.
Did you know certain animals don’t have eyelids? Gecko’s have nothing between them and the violent sun which wishes to cook the colors of their world. They have to use their tongue. Dust and sand and rain, can you imagine? I was obsessed with lizards as a kid.
I stacked up books on snakes and lizards and skinks. I traced the way that sand snakes crested across the dunes, sideways and wrong. I put glue on the pads of my hand and tried to climb the walls of my room— I didn’t even get one handhold up. I went to the zoo and peered into their cages, up on my tiptoes, trying not to smudge the glass or breath too hard. I tried make out their triangle heads and slow tongue-flicks, but they each shrank away deep into nooks and crannies of their cages. Most things do when I look at them.
Most humans carry the night with them, right there behind their eyelids is an entire world of darkness. I have something else inside me, not quite, not soft, not secret. They called me “headlights girl” in the newspapers.
There were even stranger kids born in the Age of Spirits. I checked. Every morning of fifth grade, I scanned the papers for mentions of “oddities” growing into anomalies.
A boy who could breath fire. A girl with leaves sprouting from her head. A kid with antennae that could taste the wind. There are stranger things than me in the age of beasts and magic. My father called it the “Epoch of Bastards,” sons and daughters of flickering fire elementals and wind ghosts who seduced half-asleep ladies from their beds.
He didn’t look at me much growing up. And I knew what he meant. I knew what he was getting at by calling it the Epoch of Bastards. Growing up, I played in my little puddle of carpet on the floor as he blustered in and out of rooms like gale force winds. He’d be looking for his keys or a left shoe or wallet since he was going out, out, out. I think I missed him at first, in the way you miss strangers you’ve never met.
Later, still on my puddle of carpet, still on my island, I would glare at him with that sour, acid taste in the back of my throat. Acrid, smoky, I would barely blink as he passed; he’d jump when he turned too quickly and accidentally fell into my path. Later still, I would begin to wish they were both like that—blustery and calling people names, gone more often than not.
It sometimes felt better than hearing my mom weep to herself on the couch. I wish she’d do it in her room or outside or anywhere else than that theatrical sobbing in the middle of the house, a naked heartbeat to the place. She spoke to her friends on the phone in that same watery voice, handkerchief in hand and sniffling, she spoke to them more than me.
What else am I supposed to do? This isn’t how it was supposed to be. She’d wail, just a bit, and then find a new thing to wail over. They could barely afford to send me to That School. They could barely afford the special doctor’s appointments for my eyes. They barely knew what to do with me.
Sometimes, I wanted to shout right back: It’s not like I didn’t want to be here either!
But she wasn’t talking to me.
School wasn’t much better. We weren’t the same, not really. None of us were the same age or had the same affliction. Plus, most everyone else stayed in dorms where they bonded with secrets and whispers and hiding from matrons. It wasn’t the same.
They called me The Lighthouse and Car Face and Nightlight. Sometimes they’d give me a few bucks to close my eyes so they could see my face. I did it. They’d laugh and reassure me I was as ugly as you’d think. Or beautiful. Or perfectly average-looking or I had a pig-nose or unibrow. I’d never seen anything but the blinding light of my own eyes in the mirror so I could never contradict them.
A boy with antlers handed me a twenty for a kiss in the 6th grade. I closed my eyes for that too. It was chapped and dry and he ran away with a screaming laugh afterward. There are stranger kids than me, I reminded myself. So why do I feel so much stranger than the rest of them?
I was 16 when I heel-toed my way down the stairs toward the front door. A duffel bag slung over my shoulder stuffed with loose clothes, change, a bath towel, three books with broken spines, all the tampons in the house, and a Swiss-army knife.
I hoped to stuff as many cheddar-cheese sandwiches in my sack as possible before the midnight bus came, but he was at the kitchen table. I don’t think either of us expected it, like running into your teacher at the mart and you’re both buying the same brand of toilet cleaner. There was a beer in front of his idle hands and he still wore his rumpled work shirt. He glanced at the bag on my shoulder for a long minute.
Finally, he sighed like I cut him off in traffic.
“Gimme a moment.”
My father leafed through a wad of cash he kept in a safe. He handed me almost three hundred bucks and we nodded at each other. At the time, I thought there was a kind of satisfaction to that nod, an endnote.
I was out the door before the midnight bus arrived.
Only three people were at the terminal. None of them looked at me with my pack and my knife stuffed in one hand and my eyes glowing. They did look at the glow, but not for long.
Remote and empty like maybe the world had ended and the last bits of if were nothing but strangers not making eye contact.
Finally, I watched the headlights of the midnight bus approach through dense summer night. I was struck by the thought that it was like looking at like, the glow of my eyes against its eyes. Can a bus be your father? Can your father be a man after all this time? Will your mother come looking for you?
I got on the bus and kicked my feet up against the seat in front of me. Scrunched into a ball, crossed my arms over my chest, and watched the trees turn into flickering bodies of shadow with each passing mile. ------------- My feet moved like tides. They tossed me against nameless city streets and toward empty forested slices of land. I stumbled into the painted deserts toward the west. I dipped my toes into the neon districts of the east with lights brighter than my own. I slept on benches and in kid’s treehouses and hunched my shoulders against brick walls of back alleys.
No one touched me. Maybe they’d approach now and then, but I’d open my eyes and they’d see nothing but heaven or devils or an absent lightning-God father that would smite them. I was the daughter of spirits after all.
I found my way to the ocean; beaches where other stragglers gathered and it was easy to stretch out on empty pieces of warm sand. I didn’t talk much by then, I didn’t like to; people stared whether I was speaking or screaming and clamping down on my jaw so hard it ached. Sometimes I get yelled at: Turn that off! No phone lights in here. You’re blinding me, bitch!
I’d never seen a movie in any theatres, but I could imagine what it’s like.
It was crowded, but I liked that ocean city, despite myself. It had pale buildings built into cliffs, narrow winding sidewalks where cars couldn’t fit, reckless bikers, and crushed seashell parking lots. I liked the tang of salt in the air and the way my hair crinkled from the ocean water as it sun-dried. I camp out on beaches and bummed cigarettes and hotdogs off strangers. I was good at taking care of myself once I got into a rhythm.
I had a tent by then and even an enormous sun umbrella to keep any prying eyes away. I still liked to sleep under the stars most nights though.
I often dreamed of sinking to the bottom of the ocean. I dreamed of descending on pointed ballerina-feet to the silted black bottom. I’d be weighted down through the cold and the silence to where no human being had ever been. I’d open my eyes there, open them all the way, lightning-bright, and unflinching. In my dreams, the salt didn’t even sting. I lit up the world, the whole untouched world of whales and fish and terror and maybe I’d do something good then. Maybe I’d do something good and bring the sun to places that had forgotten it.
I hated those dreams.
I met Mags on the beach after one of those dreams. Mags had one eye and twelve teeth and carried around nothing but string and scissors everywhere. She smelled like seawater and burning kelp, dank and crusted over. Her clothes were neat despite her leather-cracked skin and arms and neck covered in tattoos of shipwrecks. We ran into each other at some bum gathering and she cackled and pulled me aside.
“What’s your name?” Her voice was old creaking wood. I didn’t answer. “I could give you one.” She offered with a grin that was more empty space than anything.
“Nana.” I gritted out. “You want something?”
“Not sure. What do you want, kid?”
I glared openly, my beam of light slanting. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Come here.”
I didn’t know why I was chosen.
Mags liked me more than I deserved. I pocketed her last pair of socks when she wasn’t looking. She never mentioned it and dragged me down to the community showers to get clean with soap and shampoo. She took me to the soup and salad restaurant for something that wasn’t burnt or freeze-dried or from a convenience store. She cackled, she spat when she talked, people shot her looks as well.
I thought she was normal, not touched by the spirits, but she liked me more than most people and I didn’t know why.
“You like art, kid?”
I snorted. “No.”
“Why not? You broken?” Yeah. Probably.
“How am I supposed to know?” I snapped back.
“Lippy squirt. Come on, I’ll show you something worth your forked tongue.”
She heated the needle before she used it, red hot and untouchable. She dipped it into deep black inks, only black and sometimes red, she called them the only colors that matter. She shows me how to prick the skin and clean it. She showed me how to slowly, painstakingly etch images. I wasn’t sure I liked it, there was something so permanent and intentional about the act.
I watched her lessons though: stick and poke to her right foot, all over those fine little bones that must hurt, in and out, a little bloody.
It took her six hours to make a tiny shipwreck right above her big toe. It was a narrow schooner going under and I was the only witness. She made the waves come to life and crash against its sides and sometimes I forgot to blink. She didn’t seem to mind.
She washed another needle. She heated it red-hot. She dipped it in ink and handed it to me.
I still wasn’t sure I liked the permanence of it, but I told myself I was bored and it was something to do. I decided quickly I did like the bite of it, I liked the focus it took, and the ability to pull something from nothing.
I practiced all over my thighs first, there was enough meat there and it was easy enough to reach: a lizard design that looked like nothing but squiggles, a TV set playing static, a tiny smudged skink with its tongue out. I practiced designs in the sand and then on paper when Mags splurged on pen and paper.
Mags took me to the museum on Sundays. They were always free on Sundays.
Something stirred in my chest, even as the guards yelled at us about how flash photography wasn’t allowed in the museum. Even as I was shooed out of exhibits for ruining the paint. Still, an ache so old it rotted roared to life in my chest.
I stabbed in and out, gentle, a collection of stars right above my right knee. A winding sand snake on my wrist, and then finally, something good, something that gave people pause and reason to stare. I made it in the mirror: a ghost on my collarbone. Shadowed and intricate and yet simple, I put a ghost right above my collarbone and it bleeds more than any of the others.
That was a good year or so; one of the best I could remember.
I didn’t want to leave the ocean city though and Mags said she had to keep moving. She had places to be. She gave me a sloppy kiss on the cheek.
“You're a gem, kid. You’ll knock ‘em all to the pavement.”
I swallowed the lump in my throat. “You’ll be back?”
She cackled. “Wouldn’t miss it. You know me.” She winked as she turns to the bus, my second father. “You think I’ll miss your great becoming, kid? I’ll be back.”
I wanted to make her pinky-promise like I was a kid again begging one of the others to tell me if I’m beautiful when I close my eyes. I couldn’t do that; I waved as she tottered up the steps of the bus and was taken away with the tides of her own feet.
A had a moment of thinking it was the end then; I was ready to get back to my real normal. I was ready to disappear again. But even shipwrecks with no witnesses leave things left to be found.
------------ I got an apprenticeship. Technically, Mags talked them into it and I just followed up when I had nothing better to do.
I didn’t think I’d like it much, but couch surfing and camping out was the pastime of the especially young. And I’d lost my giant umbrella.
It was a small shop that smelled like bleach and dried flowers. A tattoo parlor in one of the steep arts districts neighbored by food trucks and beaded necklace shops.
Penguin Davies and Bitch-Annie ran it together. Davies walked like he’d never encountered land before, and Bitch-Annie had a throw-pillow embroidered with “If you don’t have anything nice to say then come sit next to me.”
Davies was covered in nothing but birds and dizzying M. C. Escher house-designs up and down his chest and arms. Bitch-Annie had topless mermaids and pinup girls across her shoulders and legs. She’d been asked to leave a number of stores before the children started staring or thinking thoughts.
Neither of them had ever met someone like me. It was not that type of town. I rankled at most their questions, a cat meeting a steel brush. Where are you from? What’s your family name? What kind of school did you go to? Is your sight better than other people you think?
I brushed off anything more personal than my favorite type of soda. Bitch-Annie called me “Shadow” probably as a joke, probably. Davies said I must be possessed by the ghost of some dead star: a blackhole that takes everything in and lets nothing out.
Neither of them let me touch a needle in those first six months. They had me practice on pig skin and trace designs and stand by their shoulders as they worked. I felt like a dental assistant except I was the hanging light shining into open mouths instead of anything with a pulse. I stood at their shoulder as they drew thick lines and thin dots and made hearts and wolves and names of dead lovers come to life.
They asked me to stand still and stop wiggling the light. I almost walked out several to find a new cliff to crash against, almost.
No one had ever expected anything of me before. They never expected me to show up somewhere or do something well. No one really cared if I went to school or if I did my homework, if I dressed well or went to bed on time. And no one kept any tabs on me at all after I took that first bus. That’s how I liked it.
I should’ve left, tattooing didn’t mean anything to me, not really. But Bitch-Annie stomped up to my attic-apartment one morning and threw pants at me.
“Get up, Shadow,” she barked. She was sterner than Mags, no hint of humor in her eyes. “I told you 9am so I expect 9am.”
“The fuck!?” I was eloquent in the mornings.
“Pants, shirt, shoes, and bra if you don’t want that desk idiot staring at something other than your eyes all day.”
“Are you serious?”
“Serious as a root canal. Mags swore up and down about what you. Let’s see some of that, up, up!”
I grumbled. I put on everything but the bra. No one ever expected me to be anywhere before and 9am shouldn’t have even been a concept much less a real thing. I told myself I hated it. I’d leave the next week. Or maybe the week after that or in just one more month. I kept a bus ticket under my pillow but every time the date arrived I shrugged and made myself busy.
There’d be no harm in having a savings too and seeing what all the fuss was about with having a dishwasher and a kitchen.
I wasn’t an artist of course. I didn’t understand what everyone else was seeing when they looked at the “old masters” paintings of water or war or lovers pulled apart. I didn’t feel anything in front of stain-glass windows in churches or mosaics on walls. Maybe there really was something wrong with me, my eyes. I didn’t let up though. I put on pants for it after all.
Penguin Davies hovered by my shoulder when I made my first real design.
“Mm.” He rumbled deep in his chest. He’d gone grey at an early age, had tired eyes and quick hands. The desk kid said he’d been in medical school once, a surgeon. It was hard to tell. Davies muttered a lot, stared off into space too much, and laughed like it was always a painful surprise
“Perfectionist,” he muttered at me as I start over on a crappy unicorn design. “That line was barely off. You’re being a perfectionist, Nana.”
I scowled over my shoulder and let the full weight of my light hit him across the face. “Got a problem with it?” I challenged. He chuckled darkly. His grin was crooked like a broken door handle. I tried to hide my work from him with my shoulder. “It’s not done yet.”
“It’s late.” The rest of the street was dark. I knew that.
“I said I’m not done yet! You can go home.”
“Hmm.” He scratched his grey beard.
“What?”
“Look at you. You know who makes the best artists, Nana?” He was always a bit of a philosopher. Maybe he used to study that before medicine.
“Yeah, yeah, shut up. I’m working on it.”
He gave my shoulder a light push. “The ones that don’t quit.”
They let me touch a needle gun after that. I told myself I’d only sign my new apartment lease as an experiment. I didn’t have to actually stay. I’d just run from the ink on paper and hope no one chased after girls with eyes that glow.
I didn’t break my lease. I drew suns and moons, trees and fireflies, hunks in speedos on tipsy college girls who swore they were sober and erotic vampires on the chests of men getting their first divorce. I had to give two refunds for a duck that turned out lopsided and a tattoo of someone’s dog which I swore really was that ugly to begin with.
There was one at the end of that next year though, another college girl with perfectly white piano-key teeth. She asked for a stick and poke, that was what I was best at anyway, she asked for a butterfly. Butterflies were easy, I could do the little ones in my sleep. She wanted one all across her back, she said I could make it look however I wanted. So I did. Wings like fringed shawls and straight heavy lines combined with wispy swirling ones. It was dark, black ink with red highlights and gray shadows under each wing to give it movement and flight.
I hid my smile when I finished and showed her the results in the mirror. She went to my bosses and jumped up and down. She pointed and babbled, ohmyspirits, the best thing I’ve ever seen! Fuck. I should pay you double! Where did you get this girl?
I held myself perfectly still and studied the ceiling until my eyes dried out.
I took the long way home that night. I stopped once, at the corner where the midnight bus arrived, and watched the the passengers trudge off. I didn’t expect to see Mags again so soon, not really, but sometimes I wanted to show her: Hey, maybe your work wasn’t all wasted. Maybe I did start to become.
---------------- “I’m getting you chocolate.” Annie spat, her thick arms flexing as she cleaned off the spotless counter. “I’m getting you fucking chocolate, Shadow, ‘less you tell me what flavor you actually like.”
I hung at the back of the shop next to the narrow window that faced the road. I let the sun warm my face in thick strips and watched the bicycles pass. “It’s not my birthday.”
“Tell us what your actual birthday is then, you sugar-toasted tart.”
I shrugged. “Not today.”
“Well happy fucking birthday. You’re turning two. You came to work for us two years ago today, washed up from the beach like a deranged feral cat, so this is your birthday now.”
I rolled my eyes which served to look like a flashlight given a shake. Annie spent another minute splashing disinfectant on anything that might have had even a passing conversation with a germ.
“You talk to Birdie?” She asked, but mischievously this time. I responded by setting my mouth in a hard line. “You’re turning twenty-something and you’re not even talking to Birdie, are ya?”
“I’m not telling you what I’m turning. It’s still not my birthday.” I dodged inelegantly.
“Birdie will give you a proper go-around. Even shadows like you must need a little rub now and then.”
“Go dunk your head, Annie.” I huffed.
“Afraid you’ll blind her in bed?”
I turned with a snarl. “I’ll start with you.”
“I’ve seen you flipping through those poetry books, every word about hands or mouths or rosebuds.” She gave me flat a once-over. “You’ve got a sweet tooth in you.”
I dragged myself over to the desk to snarl at her some more, but Annie was already putting her hand up and going toward the backroom.
“I’m getting you a chocolate cake either way.”
There must have been a proper way to get her to never look at my little leather poetry books again, the ones with watermarked pages, the spines broken-in, and words that oozed. No one had to know that I could read, much less that I read that.
The door dinged instead.
“Excuse me.” She walked in. Her. “Is someone, um, named Nana here?” I turned before I could stop myself. That was still my name. And it was still my work.
Twenty-something, curtains of straight black hair falling in her face, pinched nose, thin energetic lips, shorts that gave way to milk-dipped legs that never seemed to end. A slight girl in a university t-shirt. College kids came in often during their breaks, but this one was a bit different. My eyes dragged up and fish-hooked there.
Feathered tendrils sprouted from her head and reached toward the ceiling. Long and searching, a pearly green color that reminded you of leaves or plumage.
I knew within a moment where I’d heard of this: Antennae Girl. The newspapers ran our stories close together along with the boy that breathed fire and the girl with roots growing from her head. We were all born in the same year during the epoch of monsters and bastards.
I think she recognized me too.
We stopped like heartbeats seizing up before the ambulance could make it. A confused, unnatural silence. I glanced at the door and considered making a run for it.
She cleared her throat first.
“Someone said that Misty’s butterfly tattoo came from here?” She blinked once and I noticed how her feathered antennae seemed to twitch. I averted my eyes so I wouldn’t blind her. She took a step forward. “So are you . . . Nana?”
The door was right there.
“What do you want?” I had been spending too much time with Bitch-Annie.
“A tattoo?”
“What kind?”
“I don’t know yet.”
“Then why are you here?” I grunted. Footsteps came in from the back room. I was examining the smudged off-white tiles of the floor one by one.
“I wanted to . . . hey, you can look up if you want.” She said, curiously, softly. I didn’t look up. “I’m still figuring out the design.” She trudged on ahead.
“Fine.” I pivoted away. “But we’re busy. Come back later.”
A hand slapped across my shoulder. “This is Nana.” Annie stopped me from leaving. “Don’t let her eyes fool ya, it’s her personality that’s actually the problem. You saw her butterfly you said?”
“Yes!” She gushed. “It was gorgeous.”
“It was fine,” I corrected.
“It’s her birthday today.” Annie shared because she could and because she was a failed evil villain still trying to get her kicks in.
“Oh cool, happy Birthday.” A deep pause followed that could fill oceans. “You can look up. I don’t mind.” She repeated.
I opened my eyes wide and lifted my chin in one jerky motion. A beam of fluorescent headlights hit her across the face. “Is this what you want?” Venom dripped from my lips. This was why I tried not to talk too much.
The young woman squinted for a moment before covering her eyes and nodding. “I read about you,” she stated as if it was nothing. “I’m turning twenty-two this year . . . so I guess, you are too?”
“What?!” Delight filled Annie’s entire expression. “Hot damn! Twenty-two?” I groaned deeply. “Hey, you, girlie,” she addressed antennae-girl, “you want to come out for drinks tonight?”
I tried to protest as quickly as possible, but somehow didn’t summon the words quickly enough.
“Sure.” She agreed. ----------------------
The night was humid and clung to us like a second skin. I wandered through the hilly streets with Penguin Davies wobbling beside me. The desk kid—Daft Jeff, said Davies had some inner-ear problem that made it hard for him to keep his balance. Annie said he just didn’t belong on land— he couldn’t walk straight unless something was tilting and rolling under his feet.
Davies made his way up the hill, faltering and missing the musical beats of it. He refused to let me steady him and I refused to have him sing to me. It was apparently my birthday.
“Someone saw your design.” He noted on the downhill.
“Yeah. Some college girl.” I grumbled.
“What’d you think?” He asked in his usual mysterious way.
“She just wants a good look.” I returned in a neutral tone. “She read about me in the paper. All she wants to do is look.”
“She saw your design.” He paused. “And Jeff said she was like you.”
I blinked hard so the path ahead was eaten by shadow and Davies stumbled. “Not all of us have to be friends . . .” I said sourly and didn’t fill in the rest. “I’ve met kids with antlers and frog-hands before. I doesn’t mean anything.”
“Any of them come visit?”
“They’re smart enough not to.” I snark. “But the ones who manage to be pretty don’t have the brains to stay away.”
“Mm.” He made a soft sound. “What kind of tattoo do you think she’ll get?”
“How should I know? A heart or anchor or something dumb like that.” I walked on ahead. “Maybe I’ll give her a quote from some dead poet.”
“You like poetry.”
I huff dramatically, “Not what I mean. Girls like her don’t like my type of poetry, you know I’m saying.”
“What kind of girls?” Davies was patient. I hated that about him.
I stopped at the corner to let him catch up. “Don’t play dumb. Hot ones, college ones, getting a degree in money or music. They don’t watch over their shoulders enough or know when to stay away.” I scuffed my shoe on the ground. “Whatever.”
Davies was still thinking. I considered pushing him over. He finally spoke up again as we approach the bar, “That sea witch ever show up again?”
“Mags?” I snorted. “No. Why?”
“Cause I’m sure she’d like to see this.”
I didn’t say anything else as we reached the doorway. -------------------- The bar was loud. More people than I liked came to my “party.” I should have seen it coming. If the cliff city liked one thing it was an excuse to drink.
I crammed myself up against the bar and ordered a gin and tonic before the rest of the night crowd could arrive. Birdy was holding court at a corner table and waving at me. “There she is! Someone put a blanket over Nana, lights out, party up!”
Her puns usually left something to be desired. She sang “Blinded by the Light” every time she saw me for half a year.
I drank half my gin and tonic in the first gulp as a new stream of townies burst in. They arrived to buy me birthday beers and shout their opinions on the shitty new chain restaurant on 3rd street. I was almost tasting the bottom of my second glass when someone tapped on my shoulder.
I barely looked over.
The girl with sheets of black hair and a practiced-appearance stood before me—like she was at dress rehearsal and expected everyone else to know the lines as well. She carried a baby-blue bike helmet in one hand, and I noted there were two hand-drilled holes in the top.
“You.” I was tempted to shake her hand like I might make this a transactional hello and goodbye in short order.
“Hey.” She smiled, hesitant, like maybe the food on the fork might be too hot. “Nana, right?”
“Yep.” I sighed the word real long and heavy. “Listen, I really can’t give you a tattoo if you don’t know what you want.”
“No, no, I get it. But I want you to know . . . I didn’t know it was you.”
“Uh, okay. Though I’m pretty hard to miss over here.” I was looking at the dirty wine bottles stacked near the ceiling. Her antennae hang over both of us like fern fronds.
“No. I mean, when I saw the butterfly. That’s when I wanted to come here. Not after.”
“After what?” I was gonna make her say it.
“After I found that it was, well, you know, Headlights Girl.”
“Mm.” I was spending too much time with Davies. “You want something to drink?”
She sighed as well, real long and heavy. “Sure.” She took the seat next to me. “I’m Park by the way.”
“Park.” I rolled the name around in my mouth. “And you already know me.”
“I don’t think I do.” She laughed, sharp and bristly like something you can get cut on. “And I’ll have a beer. . . but only once you look up. Come on, I’m not like that.” I looked up. Her face was bright, round like the moon, her grin was sneaky and unearned. “There we go.”
She waved over the bartender Kipp and ordered her dark beer.
“It’s not really my birthday.” I informed her, dumbly. Every word felt dumb and clumsy all at once.
“Why not?” She was teasing. I knew that.
“That’s not how birthdays work.” I informed and wished I could backtrack into hostility again.
“Oh darn,” she winked. “And here I was about to make it my birthday too.”
“Uh, well,” I really should have left when I had the chance. “It’s not too late?”
“That’s the spirit!” She laughed, fuller this time and rounded. I looked her straight in the face and then quickly looked away again. Her grin was aimed at me, somehow, and seemed to reach high cupboards inside me you usually needed a stool for.
“Park,” I repeated the name and shifted in place. “So did you go to Haveryards or Simmons?” There were only two schools in the country for spirit bastards like us. Haveryards was close enough for me to get bussed to—an hour one way and then an hour home.
“Neither. I went to public and then Bakerville Uni.” She rapped on the counter. “Hey, you want another gin and tonic? Or I’ll mix you up something.” Her eyes flickered over everything. “I bartended my way through college so I can make a mean margarita.”
“Oh, Bakerville U., yeah. That ones close.” I stuttered a bit. She was leaning across the counter and trying to get Kipp’s attention a second time. My words were feeling dumber and dumber by the moment, perhaps losing all shape and meaning altogether. “That’s where you went?”
“How’d you guess?” She said playfully and pointed to her t-shirt. She finally got the bartender over. “Right, you want something hard? Vodka maybe? A mule?”
I scratched my chin. “ . . . I don’t care. I’m easy.”
She rolled her eyes and I knew she must feel me staring. “I can’t imagine shopping for you for today then.” She snickered and climbed over the counter. “Happy birthday, how about one chocolate mule for a free tattoo?”
“You wish.” I made a face. “You don’t even know what you want.”
“And you do?” She was still grinning, somehow. “I’ve decided I’m making you the equivalent of all the soda flavors mixed together at once. Close your eyes.”
I closed my eyes and I tried to turn off my thoughts. It was bright as knives inside my skull; I carry the daytime with me. Panic threatened to rise up (for no reason of course), but a soft hand brushed against mine, soft like sheets in fancy hotels and flower petals. I peaked and Park slid a full murky glass toward me.
“Drink up.”
It was sweet. It wasn’t even my birthday. I didn’t care. She called it a chocolate-mule-Park Special and maybe chocolate really was my favorite flavor. -------------- Park started coming around. She rode a sky-blue bike with a white basket and rusting hinges. I couldn’t imagine doing all the hills in the city without any gears, but she managed. She said she was figuring things out after graduating. She said she liked it here.
I grumbled when she came by. I complained like Annie when Wicker the cat visited: Get that thing away from me. I hate that. Smells awful. I’ve got allergies. Put that away, it’ll kill me.
I never said anything when Annie left fish heads out and bowls of milk of course.
Park smelled like sunscreen and breath mints. She had strong opinions on everything from street paving techniques to which sun hats went with which dresses. She invited me on walks. She invited me to help her change a flat tire. She invited me to the corner shop to help her pick out bottle can openers.
I said no. Sometimes I said no. I started to say yes.
“Look at this,” she liked to show me things. She liked to show me pictures of squirrels on her phone and weird pieces of glass she found. She liked to point out new restaurants (that I’d already been to) and play videos of funny traffic jams.
This time she held up a seashell. It was rounded and flat with a swirl in the center.
“I’m looking.” I said carefully.
“Watch how it catches light.” I shun my eyes on it and she moved it back and forth. There were bits of silver veins caught in the cracks of it.
“There’s tons of those.” At this point, I had valiantly refused to be impressed by even her cutest squirrel pictures.
“Ugh.” She pouted. “Are you kidding? I spent all morning looking for this.”
“They're right by the surf. I could find you five bigger ones than this before sunset.”
“Alright, hot-shot.” She jut her chin out and jabbed my shoulder. “Prove it.”
I said yes to that one. I left right after my shift ended with the sun setting in the waters like a stabbed orange bleeding out. I met Park by the parking lot with drooping palms trees lining the sides and lost flipflops everywhere.
“This is where you went wrong.” I announced. I couldn’t help it. “This is the tourist beach. You have to go somewhere real.”
“Alright, alright. You’ve already established you’re the hot-shot here. Lead the way.”
She followed me. I ignored how she lingered by my side. I ignored how her hand wrapped around my arm as she stopped us to look at a tiny horseshoe crab. Her hand was soft, like velvet, soft enough to smother something in my chest.
I found two seashells with streaks of silver and rainbow through them, both bigger than my palm. The sun was a flat line on the horizon before I could find a third and Park hooted.
“You said before sunset! It’s sunset, baby, pay up.” She called. “And you were so sure you were a better seashell hunter than me.” She tsked.
I scanned the ground more quickly. “It’s barely nighttime.” I pointed to the sky. “And I can keep looking. I have the built-in equipment for it.”
“Oh I know.” She planted herself on the soggy crusted sand and sat down in a heap. “But can you find why kids love the taste of not doing that? Take it easy. Take a seat.”
“So pushy.”
“You know me.” It was fond. It had only been a few months, but there was something fond there.
I ran a hand through my short choppy curls. “Fine.” I sat next to her, not too close. “It’s your loss.” We both looked out at the gently lapping waves, foaming and anemic. She let a long breath of air and for a moment I considered brushing her hair back. It was always in her face.
It was a quiet moment, bottled, and pitching toward something. Like the the moment where you miss a step on the stairs and the certainty of the fall was right there.
I was the one that scooted a little closer.
“I’m considering getting a storm cloud,” she commented off-handedly. “Can you do storm clouds?”
I made a sound of consideration. “Sure.” I glanced toward the opposite corner of the night sky. “I think I’ve seen one of those before. Big puffy wet things?”
“Kinda fluffy? You’re getting there.”
“I’ll see what I can do.” I’m smiling, which is alright since there’s no way she could see it. She’s silent for another moment longer.
“Or would you make fun of me if I got something like a butterfly? Like your other one.”
“A storm cloud butterfly?”
“No. The cloud would it’s own thing.” She chewed on her bottom lip, ragged and chapped. “I mean, I’ve been doodling some ideas. And tattoos should be personal, right? So I thought a storm cloud might be fitting. Kids used to pay me a couple dollars to predict the weather. It could be a memorial to childhood entrepreneurial spirit.”
I watched her speak and something beat inside my chest like a second animal. I wanted to be closer. I wanted to feel velvet again.
“Why?” I rasped after a moment.
“Uh, why did they pay me? It’s just something I can do. Whenever it's going to rain or storm or be sunny out. I dunno, I don’t know why the rest of you can’t sense it.”
“And you didn’t become a meteorologist?” I smiled a bit bitterly.
She made an indignant noise. “And you didn’t become a professional lighthouse?”
I choked on a laugh. “Not yet.” A quiet consumed us from both sides, I made sure my light didn’t crash into her. I made sure to look at anything but her. She’d have to squint if I did and cover her eyes and I’d be there, ready to run her over.
“Kids in my class paid me too.” I barely realized I started speaking. “They slipped me a couple bucks to close my eyes so they could see my face.”
“You got money for that?”
“There wasn’t always much to do. Teachers were quitting all the time and sometimes it was just the TV. I dunno, they paid me. Then they’d giggle and run away afterward.” My voice sounded automated like the announcer at an airport, informing travelers their flight was canceled. “They always said I had a pig nose or a unibrow or looked like the lead singer of that Minx girl band-- super hot, but you know, it didn’t matter.” The laugh that escaped was high, girlish in a grotesque way. “Since, you know, no one would ever see it.”
“Kids are fucked up.” Park contributed simply.
“Adults are too.” I sniffed. “Everyone wants a light show.”
“Oh.” She said slowly. “Is it . . . is it bad I wanted to meet you then? I mean, I wanted to see the art first, but I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t a factor.”
“No.” I said quickly. I lit up my own lap and empty hands. “Does it matter?”
“I never went to those schools,” she said hesitantly. “My parents fought them, said the schools were unfit. They shouldn’t be able to force us there. And that I wasn’t even dangerous since,” she gestured helplessly upward, “I just have these. So then, well, I never really met anyone else like me.”
“I mean, everyone’s different. It’s not . . . a big deal.”
“You’d think so,” she commented sardonically.
I folded up into myself like a complex origami piece. “Yeah, well, sometimes I wish I was dangerous. Actually dangerous.”
She giggled. “Didn’t you just say everyone’s different? I’d say everyone’s dangerous too. Just gotta find the niche.”
“Oh yeah,” I dared to turn toward her. “What’s yours then?”
“My danger niche? Hmm.” She was leaning now, pitching forward like a wave come to drown me. “I do have a few tricks up my sleeve I’ll admit.”
“You have a pair of wings hidden away?” I stopped breathing as her hand lifted up, strange and all at once. I wasn’t ready.
“Here.” Her skin was against mine. She cupped my cheek with one velvet-hand. It was heated cashmere, tiny feather-light hairs on her palm. “Feelers.” She whispered with a hesitancy there.
“Ah,” I was indulgent. I closed my eyes. I leaned in. “And you want to put a needle over these?” I put my hand over hers, loosely, so she could pull away if she wanted to. Tiny hairs pulsed there with some kind of life all their own.
“I wanted . . .” She paused and I peaked open my eyes. I could see every detail of her face, illuminated. “I dunno.” She finished. “I guess I just wanted whatever I saw there, before.”
“In the butterfly?”
“In the butterfly.” I turned toward the ocean, but my hand remained over hers. “I’m not sure how good it will be a second time. It’s not like I’m really an artist. . .”
“What did you want to be?” Soft.
“Who knows. I mean, I’m glad my parents didn’t try to fight the schools. Being there during the day was better than being home, listening to my mom crying all the time and my father exploding . . . They wouldn’t have wanted me home.”
Before the sunset, when I was walking over, I thought maybe we’d kiss that night. I thought I’d feel that first electric pulse and maybe we’d climb into the ocean and swim in circles, laugh until the moon rose. I thought maybe I’d get something out of my system and there wouldn’t be anything left to say or do.
I’d kiss Park, once, and she’d be satisfied. She’d understand. She’d go on her college path and I’d go on on mine.
But the words spilled out, unbidden. Park stayed in place, steady and unflinching. That made it worse, so much worse.
“My parents weren’t like yours.” There was an accusatory edge to it. Don’t you know? I wanted to shout. Don’t you know? Even without the eyes or the school bills or the bus.
“Hey,” she cradled my cheeks with both hands now and smeared the tears away from one eye. “Hey, listen, I know. Alright? I know.”
I scowled back at her feathered little feelers.
“It’s not about the damn antenna or head beams or anything else.” I tried to pull away. “Even the kid with the antler’s kissed me and I didn’t stop him. I ran away from home and my mom never came looking. It didn’t matter. It doesn’t matter! You wouldn’t even get it. You wouldn’t get it!” I squeeze my eyes closed. “You were wanted.”
Slowly, like an awkward animal burrowing into soft earth, she pressed her forehead to the crook of my neck. I could feel us both breathing in, strong and steady. She was lean and silky, and I swore I can feel her heartbeat hammering through my throat.
“I’m sorry.” She whispered. I inhaled her sunscreen scent. “I shouldn’t have said that. I don’t know. But I could.”
“Why are you here?” It was miserable and wet, I hated that my eyes were so different and yet still the same. Could still spill over like theirs. She took a long breath but didn’t move away.
“My last girlfriend broke up with me for being . . . sensitive and I thought maybe if I got a tattoo, I’d stop feeling so much. I’d prove something. I’d feel everything less, you know? It would hurt and then it wouldn’t.”
I took that in a parsec at time. “Are you,” I sniffed. “Are you alright?” Her legs and arms were plastered over mine. “You’re so soft, but, but I don’t want to,” I wipe at my face like it didn’t matter. “Hurt you.”
“I know.” Her face was still pressed to my neck and her lips fluttered across the hallow of my skin. “I didn’t want to hurt you either.”
A stillness settled into my bones. I glanced toward the moon, and it was like looking at like, a terrible moon to another moon. I gathered myself. I took a deep breath. I flattened.
“I shouldn’t have said all that.” My voice had dried up. “We led different lives.” It wasn’t her fault if she was wanted.
“No.”
“I wasn’t thinking . . .”
Her hand wrapped around my wrist. “I talk to Annie sometimes when you aren’t there.”
“Okay?”
“And Davies. And that front desk guy.”
“Daft Jeff. Yes.”
“They all say the same thing . . .” I blinked a couple times. “That I really should wait for you to give me the tattoo. You have a steady hand and an eye for detail.”
“Alright . . .”
“That someone taught you tattooing the right way. They wanted to show you the right way to do it.”
I snorted despite myself. “It’s not that hard. Mags was batty. Who knows why she showed me how to pick up a needle.”
“Don’t you see? They say they wouldn’t know what to do without you.” She was still there. She wasn’t moving, almost in my lap now. “You were wanted.”
“Park?” My voice cracked like a question.
“And you come with me to restaurants and help me buy bottle openers. You find shells for me and help me fix tires.” Her breath was hot and dragged across my cheek. “You are wanted.”
I blocked out her face, her voice, I turned on the sharp white sun inside and for a moment I imagine never opening my eyes back up again. Maybe I could make it night forever inside myself as well. Wouldn’t you rather have something quiet inside?
She wrapped herself around me, fully, one long arm at a time until it was cocoon. Soft. “Listen, sometimes the first people aren’t the right people. Sometimes your first relationship isn’t the right relationship. Sometimes you’re sure the world is one way, and like, always one way . . . and then it rains and the whole world is different again. You know? People pass.”
“My parents aren’t the weather.”
“But they’ll pass.” I should have pushed her off. But even against that, even those words— I liked being held, indulgent as chocolate and twice as guilty. “People sometimes feel forever, especially those kinds of people.” I was off again. “But it rains. And hey, I always know when it’s going to rain.”
I hiccupped; a smile found its way uninvited onto my face, unsure and just wobbly on its feet as Davies. I glanced down after a deep breath. Park grinned back at me and it reached the highest shelves of me all over again.
“So what happens when it rains again? Do you people like you pass?”
“Nah, not me. I don’t know how.” She winked. I didn’t notice that we’re lying flat now, stars and carpet of black above. “You can’t get rid of me. You haven’t given me that tattoo yet.”
The sound of shushing waves filled the midnight air and the moon looked down like that very first bus arriving to get me all those years ago. I wrapped my arms right back around her. She didn’t seem to mind that I was sticky or strange or sometimes kept tearing up all over again even after we’d stop saying anything worth tearing up over. ------------------
It happened. I felt like I should have been more prepared, brought flowers or poetry or earned it through honored warfare. But it happened. I was wearing ripped jeans, a spotty t-shirt and my breath smelled like coffee. We were looking for Park’s lost earring along an overgrown hill she usually biked along.
I found it, one shiny red dewdrop in all that green. Park pointed at some clouds that looked like my last “abstract” tattoo. We lay back in the grass and let the sky pass overhead. She giggled and touched my wrist, side by side. I let her.
“Summer’s almost over.” I mumbled it first.
“Yeah?”
“You find your next step then, college girl?” I tried to keep my tone light. She turned to be on her side.
“Maybe.”
“What do you want to do?”
“Oh, you know. This and that.”
“That does not sound like a college-girl plan.”
“Maybe I’ve got other plans. Maybe I’ve got other priorities, huh?”
“Ridiculous.” A playfully push her shoulder. “A lousy seaside town really isn’t priority material. There’s only one bookshop you know.”
“Two thank you very much. And that’s not my priority either.” Her voice wavered.
“Are you going to share with the class?”
“Is the class ready?” She whispered and I turned toward her as well now, taking in her perfect round face and question-mark mouth.
“I have been.” I matched her whisper. I tremor from my center outward and hopes she can’t tell.
“Do you know what they say about moths?”
“What?” I gave a breathy laugh. It wasn’t what I was expecting. “I’ve heard of them.”
“They tell your fortune.” She was grinning in that way that put out a stool and reached up. “I used to cry a lot growing up, because some kids said that moths are just evil butterflies. I was sensitive and ran all the way home. I threw myself at my mom’s feet and threw a fit about how moths were just evil butterflies. They were just ugly, wicked versions of a good thing.”
“Evil? Well, I suppose you are rather sinister when you haven’t eaten.”
“Shut up. I’m telling you something.” She put a hand on my shoulder. I inhaled deeply and turned over in place to face her. Only the shallow breeze kept us apart.
“I’m all ears . . . though maybe not as many as you.”
“You’re lucky you’re cute.”
“What can I say? The sun is adorable. I take after him.”
A finger ghosted over my cheek, tracing the arc of my cheekbone. “Well, you’re not so bad behind those headlights too. Some of us have good day vision you know. And good taste.”
I wished those words didn’t make my chest do funny things. “Thanks.”
“Do you want to hear what my mom said or not?”
“That you shouldn’t worry about evil butterflies?” I wiggled closer. “Because you’ll be really hot and funny and smart one day. So who cares if you’re evil?”
“Yeah, those were her exact words.”
“So?”
“So,” a firm hand took my chin. “Look at me.” I looked at her. I was glad she couldn’t see the flush in my cheeks in any way. “Moths show good fortunes she said.”
“Right. Lots and lots of good fortune.” I breathed, dumbly, of course. She was close and sweet and there was hair in her face. The fronds of her antennae tickle right past my ear.
“They can help you find good fortune. They’re good omens. You know why?” Park’s lips were barely moving as she spoke, hypnotic and unhurried.
“Why?”
“Because they follow the light.”
It happened all at once. Like every cheesy love poem or bad lyrics I wrote in my journals at night. It was every cracked-spine of a book using words like “rosebud lips” and every overdone song about people who find their way to each other.
I kissed her, leaning in with no life vest on or readied crash-landing position. She kissed me and my chest filled with her, breathless, drowning, soft as dreams and stranger than hope. I cradled her and she dragged me closer and closer until it was nothing but floods and brimming.
I’d been nothing before I think, I’d been an island that waits, a bus that leaves, a shadow that hides. And then I had been hers. ----------------- I was strolling home from work along the main road. The thin strip of sidewalk was streaked with bleached sunlight and the salt air was thick enough to burn throats. It was the long way home, but I was in the habit of going back to this corner.
The bus pulled up with little ceremony. It was an interstate one that crisscrossed over empty bellies of land. I stopped in place to watch, just in case, as I had many times before.
A silver head bobbed down the steps and planted herself on the concrete, unbelieving. She took an enormous noisy sniff of the air. “Not so bad!” She bellowed.
“Are you?” That wasn’t meant to be my first word. She was more stooped now and wearing shiny things on her wrist that clanked. She’d lost another tooth. “Mags.”
“Eh!” She yelled and waved frantically as if I hadn’t shot up another inch since I last saw her and started wearing clothes without holes in them. Her eyes sparkled as she tottered over. “So how’d you do, kid?”
“See for yourself.” I smiled. It was nice when the tides came back in. Mags gave me a thorough appraising. “Like this I guess.” I held up my hand. I wiggled my ring finger at her, heavy with a silver band and glittering opal.
“That’s my girl! Always knew you’d find your feet.” She cackled. “Am I too late to give you away, kid?”
I shook my head. She waddled over to me so I could take her hand. I took her home to show her my art and new tattoos, I showed her our terrible one-eyed kitten, Basket (Wicker’s son), and the little house we styled ourselves. I showed her our shoe closet and our queen bed, our messy kitchen and busted screen door. I showed her the moth tattoo over my heart, and Park showed her the matching lighthouse one over hers.
I tried to thank her, of course, I tried to say I owed her more than she knew for picking up an angry, dirty kid and seeing something in her. I owed her everything. But she just patted my hand and said that it’s not about our debts in life, kid. It’s about the becoming.
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#wlw#sapphic#found family#urban fantasy#writeblr#magical realism#fantasy stories#short story#writing#lesbian romance#patreon late release#femslash#f/f#8k#my work#long post#long post cw
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Strong Arms and Sparkly Eyes
Genre: smut Words: 1.374 Prompt: slightly subby Jeno x female reader Warnings: Jeno being submissive, puppy kink is that a thing?, cum play, window sex
A/N: This happens after watching too many Jeno fancams of Stronger and Boom...
“Oh, what would your fans say if they could see you this way?” You hummed, raking your hand through Jeno’s midnight blue hair, admiring the boy kneeling in front of you, his cock hard between his strong thighs but his body oh so pliant beneath you, his eyes blown wide as they reflected the light of the city shining into the room from the big window, making it look like he held a whole galaxy in them.
Jeno only whined high in his throat, his cheeks dusted a cute pink that almost matched the color of his outstretched tongue. “What a naughty boy,” you chuckled, tightening the grip in his hair to push him closer to your dripping core. He eagerly complied, shuffling closer on his knees, ignoring how the carpet burned his sensitive skin. He just wanted to please you, be good for you. “Make me feel good, baby,” you advised him and he didn’t waste even a second before burying his face between your legs, his tongue immediately lapping at your entrance. A drawn out moan left your lips and your knees momentarily buckled from the sudden pleasure pulsing through you. Jeno was so good at this, eating you out like a starved man, his tongue altering between dipping into you and playing with your sensitive bundle of nerves that had you seeing stars.
“Such a good boy,” you panted, pressing one of your hands to the glass of the tall window in front of you to steady yourself, the other one still buried in Jeno’s soft hair. For a moment you let your eyes wander over the scape of the city at night, a soft orange glow illuminating the streets beneath you. Realistically you knew that you were too high up for anyone to see you and Jeno had his back to the window but it still send a thrill down your spine. Jeno must have felt your focus shift because he whined against your core, his lips closed around your clit to make you feel the vibrations. Your gaze immediately snapped back to the boy between your legs and in that moment you didn’t even knew why you would ever want to look at anything else. The lights of the city couldn’t even come close to the stars Jeno held in his eyes.
Growling you pulled him back by the strands of his hair, reveling in the gasp he let out and how messy the lower half of his face had become, shining with excess saliva and your arousal alike. “Want to fuck me, baby?” You asked him softly and he eagerly nodded. “Yes please.” “Right here against the window where everyone can see how naughty you are?” You grinned as his eyes rolled back into his head and a helpless mewl spilled past his swollen lips. “Please,” he whined and looked up at you with the best puppy eyes he could muster in his state of arousal, his cock neglected but still standing hard against his abs, the angry read tip steadily leaking precum.
“Up,” you commanded to claim his lips the moment he was back on his feet. The kiss was more teeth and tongue than anything else, speaking of how aroused both of you are. In one swift motion Jeno had you pinned against the window, shamelessly rutting against you to get some kind of friction on his cock. “My baby,” you cooed, stroking back his sweat slicked bangs. “I can’t help it,” he whined again, his whole body taunt like a bowstring ready to snap. “Fuck me baby. Make me scream,” you breathed against his lips, hiking one of your legs up around his small waist that he immediately grabbed in a bruising grip, a deep growl leaving his lips.
You didn’t need to tell him twice as Jeno sank his cock into the familiar heat of your body, his length stretching you out in the most pleasurable way until your hips were flush together. His pants rang loud in your ear where he had dropped his head onto your shoulder, his overheated body crowding you against the cool glass. You could feel his thighs shake with the effort to not snap his hips to fuck his cock inside you over and over again, waiting for you to tell him to start.
“Fuck me Jeno,” you whispered again, lacing your arms around his neck to pull him even closer to you. A last helpless whine left his lips before he latched them onto your skin to suck a bruise into the skin of your neck as he started to move his hips. The pace he set was punishing from the beginning, speaking of how riled up he was and how much he craved being inside you like this. Your nails clawed at his shoulders as he pounded into you and you couldn’t help but let your dominant façade crumble, moans and praises spilling freely past your lips to which Jeno replied with deep groans of his own that came straight from his chest.
“You’re gonna make me cum,” you warned him, your voice pitched too high even to your own ears but the desperation only seemed to spur Jeno on, his strokes becoming more forceful, punching the air from your lungs. “So close,” he growled, sinking his teeth into the skin of your shoulder to muffle his moans.
“Look up, Jeno,” you panted to remind him of the situation you two were currently in and the sound that left his throat was almost inhumane when he looked out through the window. “What would people think of they saw you like this? Desperate to cum, fucking me against a window like this,” the words spilled from your lips, knowing from how his shoulders tensed up that he was holding back his orgasm so he could make you cum first. “Tell me baby. What if they saw you? Saw how pliant you are for me? Listening to my every word like a good little puppy.”
That seemed to make something completely snap inside Jeno, a sound somewhere between a whine and a growl coming from deep in his throat. If it was even possible, he snapped his hips even harder now, without any rhythm or finesse to it, losing himself in the feeling of his impending orgasm that took both of you by surprise as he rammed inside you one last time to paint your insides white with his release. You quickly snaked a hand between your bodies to rub your clit in quick motions, clamping down tightly on his pulsating cock as your world went white with pleasure as well, a cry of Jeno’s name leaving your lips.
For a while you just stood there, leaning heavily against the window while panting and clinging to each other’s bodies and you weren’t sure where your body ended and Jeno’s began.
“Puppy, hm?” You smiled, raking your hands through Jeno’s hair, massaging his scalp. “Don’t be mean,” he whined, his strong arms winding around you tightly. “How could I be mean to my baby?” you laughed, nudging his head until he looked up to press a sweet kiss against his lips, your lips moving together without any of the haste or urgency from before. “Or should I say my little puppy?”
A full bodied shiver ran through you when you saw how Jeno’s eyes darkened at your words, his hips twitching where you were still connected. “We’re going to have so much fun with this,” you giggled, gasping when Jeno growled and picked you up to throw you onto the bed, his softening cock slipping from your core. He didn’t join you immediately, instead standing at the foot of the bed to watch his cum slowly leak from your core, his hand slowly pumping his still sensitive cock, hissing at the overstimulation.
“Such an eager puppy,” you chuckled, spreading your legs further and dipping your fingers into your core to scoop more of his cum out to rub it into your skin. “You’re mine,” Jeno growled, slowly kneeling between your legs, his eyes still fixed to your core and his hand slowly working him back to hardness. “Yours,” you confirmed, getting lost in the dark pits of Jeno’s eyes.
#jeno#nct#lee jeno#kafenetwork#neosmutcollective#jeno smut#nct smut#nct dream#jeno imagines#jeno scenarios#nct imagines#nct scenarios#nct dream imagines#nct dream scenarios#nct dream smut
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Your Heart is My Home | A Javier Peña x Reader Oneshot
Gif: @javier-pena
Pairing: Javier Peña x Reader (fem; no y/n)
Word Count: 3.4k
Rated: E | Warnings: NSFW – explicit sexual content, masturbation (f), use of a vibrator/sex toy, breathplay, dirty talk, aftercare. Rough sex with a soft, tired Javi. 18+ only.
A/N: Look, I don’t even like Valentine’s day, but I love all of you so here’s a little sweet treat. Everyone say thank you to the lovely anon who requested HCs for Javi (consensually) walking in on you. Safe to say, this one got away from me.
Read on AO3 | My Masterlist
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Your Heart is My Home
It wasn’t his original plan, but as Javier left the embassy well past midnight — again — he steered right out of the employee parking lot toward your place instead of heading to his own empty apartment. He was dead on his feet but after the day he had, he realized that all he wanted to do was crawl into bed next to you. Just as he had practically every night since he met you. In the past he might’ve sought out a bottle or a brothel, but lately the warmth and comfort of your embrace was all he craved.
With the spare key to your apartment that hung next to his own, Javier opened your front door as quietly as possible, mindful of the old hinges that creaked past a certain point. He kept telling himself he’d fix that for you on his next day off from work, but those were few and far in between. With light footsteps he toed off his boots and nestled them next to yours on the shoe rack and his leather jacket found its usual hook just above yours. The more he thought about it, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d spent the night at his own apartment. Like his things, Javier seemed to have a home there with you.
He didn’t even startle at that thought. It was just… true.
Instead, the tension in his shoulders seemed to dissipate the more the notion settled within him. As he exhaled the stress of another bad day, the sweet, vanilla scent of home replaced it with something much more comforting.
Until a quiet buzzing noise drifted to his ears and disrupted the peace. “What the fuck is that?” he mumbled to himself, brows pinching in confusion. Socked feet padded across the old hardwood floors as he moved toward your bedroom. Only then did he notice the dim light seeping out from under the door. He pushed it open gently on the off chance you were asleep.
Javier’s eyes shot open when he realized you were wide awake.
With the silky sheets thrown back, you were a sight to behold in the flickering candlelight, sprawled out on the bed wearing nothing but lacy pink lingerie dotted with red hearts. Mind overcome by a lusty haze, he moved to the edge of the bed without thinking and gazed down at your angelic form. His mouth went dry when he noticed your panties pushed to the side as you fucked yourself with a vibrator. It was small and discreet and got the job done when you needed it. He’d seen it before but swore you wouldn’t need it as long as he was around.
“You’re finally home,” you said, acknowledging his presence.
“You should be asleep.” He’d aimed for chastising, but his amusement was evident in his tone.
“I tried to wait for you,” you cooed, staring up at him with glossy, half-lidded eyes. “I’ve hardly seen you all week and I needed you.”
“My poor baby,” he consoled, squeezing your thigh with a firm hand. “Was this pussy aching for me?” With pouty lips you nodded. He smirked when he realized you were still pumping the vibrator into you. In that moment, you were a desperate, unashamed little thing and he was the luckiest man alive. “Is that little toy satisfying you, cariño?”
You whined as you shook your head against the pillow, but he was already unbuckling his belt, the leather strap snapping as he pulled it out of the loops. “You need something bigger?”
“Yes, Javi,” you simpered.
“You need my big dick to stretch out that tight little cunt?” he teased, suddenly feeling much more awake and inclined to play with you than he was when he’d first walked through the front door. You moaned as your back arched off the bed. He stripped off his pants, leaving him in just a half-buttoned up pink shirt. He knelt on the bed in between your parted thighs and leaned over you, wrapping a hand around your neck. His fingers pressed against your pulse points in warning. “Answer me.”
“Oh, fuck yes!” you wailed. Your own hand circled his wrist, holding him in place. He squeezed and felt your ragged breath against his palm. His other hand slipped between your bodies to steal the toy from you. Without so much as a glance, he increased the speed as he expertly pumped it into you and rubbed that sweet spot he loved so much. The one that brought tears to your eyes and made a mess of the bedsheets.
Needing to taste you, he trailed hot, wet kisses across your flushed skin, slightly salty and shimmering, until he reached your breasts. Your tits looked so pretty covered in pink lace with the darker skin of your nipples just visible, teasing him. Mouthing you through the flimsy material, he sucked and bit at each one until both pebbled beneath the fabric. He reveled in the way your body responded to him. Only him.
As he took one nipple between his teeth and fucked you with the vibrator even faster, you cried out. “Right there, don’t stop!”
That was his cue to remove the vibrator from your core.
You groaned in frustration but he grinned when he saw your cum already dripping out of your fluttering hole. At least in the time he’d been there, you hadn’t even orgasmed yet. But his filthy girl was close for him. “What the hell?” you gasped. Your pleading eyes searched his for an answer he gave readily.
“You’re only allowed to cum on my cock tonight, cariño.”
You beamed at him, and his chest filled with a familiar mix of pride and admiration. “Then give it to me, Javi.”
With a devilish smirk, he turned the speed up again before he wrapped your hand around the toy and placed the rounded head right on your clit. You hummed pleasantly at the vibrations. “Hold that right there for me. Can you do that?” You nodded eagerly. “Good girl,” Javier praised with a slap to the inside of your thigh and he parted your legs further.
Settling between your thighs, he gathered up your slick and stroked his hard cock to its full length, nearly there just from watching you. Grasping his base, he entered you in one slow push. He usually had to spend more time working you open, but you’d made sure you were wet and ready for him that night. He stilled when he was fully seated inside you and tried to steady his breathing. He could feel the vibrations from your toy and the new sensation threatened to overwhelm him.
“Oh, god,” you panted. Your hand slipped beneath his open collar and your nails dug into his shoulder and you held on for dear life. Javier hadn’t even started moving inside you yet. “It’s too much. I’m gonna cum.”
“Already?” he teased.
“Shut up,” you laughed even as you squeezed your eyes shut. “I feel so full. Fuck– I’m right there.”
“I can tell.” His voice strained as he struggled to hold on to his composure. The feel of your pussy pulsing around him as you neared your orgasm was nearly enough to send him over the edge. “Hold on, baby. Let me take care of you”
Without warning, he pulled out and snapped his hips against yours. Again. And again. You made breathy little moans and yelps that matched his every forward thrust that spurred him on. It wouldn’t take either of you long before you fell apart for the other.
Javier glanced up at the sound of a sharp rapt on your shared wall. He cursed to himself when he realized it was your damn neighbors again. He was well aware of how they felt about him.
Annoyed, he changed his angle so every time his hips snapped against yours, the metal headboard hit the wall. You covered your mouth as you let out an uncharacteristically girlish giggle. But you grinned for him when you said, “fuck me harder, mi corazón.”
He covered your body with his, caging you in, and pounded into you. You cried out, a mix of his name, every curse you knew, and a string of desperate oh gods tied together with mewls of pleasure. It drove him fucking wild. Suddenly the only word you seemed to know was yes, yes, yes and he felt you clench down around him, felt you soaking his cock as you neared your peak.
You came hard and loud, reduced to a writhing mess beneath him and he smiled as he fucked you through it all. Javier was never far behind you. He pulled out at the last minute, groaning as he painted you with him cum. Coating your soft stomach and pretty tits with hot, sticky white ropes.
He was a sweaty mess, shirt sticking to his skin, hair damp on his forehead. He could hardly keep his eyes open. Could barely hold himself upright. But he knew you. He knew you didn’t want to wake up in a few hours like this. He’d promised — promised you and himself — that he’d always take care of you. So, he drug himself out of bed.
“Cariño, stay with me.” Your eyes blinked open and he helped you up and into the bathroom on shaky legs. He switched on the shower, testing the temperature of the water with an open palm before turning his attention to you.
“This is new.” Javier observed as he flicked open the hook holding your pink bra in place. He guided the straps down your arms and grimaced when he saw the mess he made on the pretty fabric. He tossed it aside with your panties to wash later.
“I brought it just for you, mi corazón. I wanted tonight to be special.” Confused, he tried to catch your eye, but you were half asleep on your feet. “And it was,” you said as you pressed a kiss to his cheek and ran your fingers through his damp hair. “It’s always special with you.”
With a quick peck on his lips, you hopped into the shower. After switching the sheets, Javier threw his shirt into the basket as well to worry about in the morning. He figured he’d start the laundry as soon as he woke up and have it in the dryer before he left for work. It’d make your life a little easier.
He joined you in the shower, carefully washing both of your bodies with your sudsy lavender soap. Washing away the aftermath of your evening. Washing away the stress of his day. He was sated and relaxed and... as he looked at the dreamy smile on your face, he was happy. So fucking happy it felt unreal. He’d never expected to come home and find you like that, but he wouldn’t have it any other way. Somehow, you were always just what he needed.
After toweling you off and earning a lilting laugh from you, Javier offered you the red satin nightgown that hung off a knob on your dresser drawer. The thought crossed his mind that if he’d left work at a decent hour, he would’ve come home to you wearing the slip of fabric for him. Like a perfect present to unwrap after a long day. Pushing down his frustration at himself, he led you back to bed with your hand in his, wanting to hold you through the night with the time he did have to give you. He blew out the candles you'd lit before slipping between the fresh sheets and pulling you toward him.
“There’s something I want to ask you.” You looked awake and alert now, eyes boring into his. He shifted so the two of you laid side by side facing each other. “What do you think about moving in here?” You let the question settle between you before you continued, ready to state your case. “You spend most nights here already and I– I think we could make a home together.”
“I like that idea.” He twined your hands before kissing the tops of your knuckles, smiling against your skin. “Not sure your neighbors will.”
The two of you touched foreheads as you laughed until your shared mirth turned into a collective sigh. He felt the same relief you exhaled. Logically, living together made sense. But there was also something inside his chest, something well beyond logic, that had wanted that all along. Throwing an arm across his middle, you snuggled closer, seeking his warmth like you always did.
“Happy Valentine’s Day, Javi,” you murmured into his neck just as you drifted off.
He huffed out a laugh and shook his head at himself. He’d completely overlooked the date, but you weren’t angry with him. That wasn’t how your relationship worked. He doubted you cared about the holiday any more than he did. And you always understood that his life revolved around his job. You accepted that. Accepted him. He’d never understand how he got so lucky.
“I love you,” he whispered against your temple, testing out those three little words he’d felt for so long for the first time.
“I know,” you sighed. “I love you too. Now rest, mi corazón. You earned it.”
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Thank you for reading!
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Forever Tags: @leo-moon @readsalot73 @frietiemeloen @huliabitch @jerusomeeno @benedrylcumbersnatch @b0n-chann @scapricciatello @liadamerondjarin @pedropasscals @paintballkid711 @mistermiraclee @honeyand-roses @mxsamwilson @themilkface @mylifeliterally @mskitty79 @rosiefridayrogersunday @perropascal @giselatropicana @roxypeanut @sarahjkl82-blog @kylerr @aerolanya @artsymaddie @linkpk88 @antisocialshipper @ennuiandthebourgeoisie @toastytaurus @321-lets-go @stackedpaperbacks @kesskirata @gredandfeorgesgirl @lou-la-lou @1800-fight-me @helga1031 @ktmadden86 @lesbianlena @sxndythinkstoomuch @mtjoi @pedropascaldice @swimmingsloths @lovelyasfcuk @technicallykawaiisoul
Javier Peña Tags: @thewayofthemandalorian @frogllady @nothernpunk @coni-martina @wander-lustbabe @triggerhappyflygirl @linsaybluthforlife @michaelgaryscottismydad @witchqraft @harrys-stan @valeecruz16 @hufflepuff-ophelia @captainjaspenor @bees-fart-too @nyasiaaaaa @kesskirata @lazybeeches @aleishabeck @leonieb @fvriosa @the-horny-virgin @fireproofmarta @radiowallet @januaryonlakestreet @callitdreamland
#javier peña#javier peña x reader#javier peña x female reader#narcos#javier peña fanfic#fic: your home is my heart
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❝𝐝𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐠𝐨 𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐦𝐞❞ ─ 𝐦𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐨
hey, it's not like you ever tried to stay . .
❥ content ; gn reader, angst, dark themes, yandere themes, toxic relationship
❥ warnings ; sxlf hxrm & mxtilation, swearing, verbal abuse, manipulation, slight nxdity lol
❥ synopsis ; all you wanted was his attention. and by the gods, you were going to get his attention by any means.
❥ a/n ; first mello fic (: i've been wanting to write something dark for a while and ig i finally got the opportunity lol. i thought i got out of my death note stage but i'm back, so please don't be afraid to send requests or ask to be added to my nonexistent taglist! alsoo while this oneshot does include s/h, i am in no way glorifying or romanticizing it!!! but i do tend to write angsty and dark fics. again, this is a work of fiction and i don't intend for anyone to take this too seriously and let this influence them.
The loud crash of a glass echoed throughout the room as a vase went flying through the air and collided with the wall, just a few feet from where you were standing.
You didn't flinch. Didn't scream. Didn't cry. Didn't react. You were used to Mello's fits of rage by now, months into your relationship. If you could even call it that, at this point.
You knew Mello wouldn't dare lay a finger on you; if he did, he'd cut off his own hands and have live with the guilt forever, knowing he brought you harm. Which is why you didn't react.
However, he didn't seem to have a problem when it was only verbal.
"I don't fucking get you!" Mello spat harshly and continued to rant, "Why did you think that was okay?! Did you once consider how I felt?! I was worried sick that some asshole hurt you but you come back a day later and tell me you were at some boy's house!"
You only scoff, leaning against the wall in a relaxed manner, eyeing the remaining shards of the vase carefully. Just like Mello, you were incredibly stubborn.
"Answer me, Y/N!"
"Okay, Mihael," you state cooly, using Mello's legal name and causing him to listen more intently. "First of all, I don't know what you expected me to do when you invited your weird mafia 'friends' over while I was trying to sleep. Second, he's not 'some boy', his name is Y/F/N and he's one of a few people I can trust. I don't know what you think of me."
"You could've gotten a hotel room, that's what!"
"With what money, Mihael?! What fucking money? You forced me to quit my job and then practically lock me up in this hell hole that I can't even call 'home' anymore!"
Mello huffed. "Pfft, you should be grateful. I've kept you safe all this time, away from the dangers of the world. You're alive because of me. Me. You're mine."
"Yeah, some fucking life, right?"
"I provide for you, I protect you from the monsters out in the world, but you still decide to go and whore yourself out to your little 'friend'," Mello sneered, his sharp voice dripping with venom.
You stared at your boyfriend in disbelief. All words, all arguments and nasty retorts expiring on your lips.
"I.." You start, but laugh pitifully. "I don't even know what you're saying. I don't know if you even know what you're saying. Honestly, Mello, just when I thought you couldn't surprise me anymore, you start spewing complete and utter bullshit out of your mouth." Mello's silence only egged you on. "It's no wonder Near always came in first place." Aaand there it was. You snapped.
If looks could kill, you'd be dead. Mello's eyes widened in anger at the mention of Near, reminding him of his inferiority.
In a completely different situation where he wasn't on the receiving end, Mello would be smiling proudly, listening to your clever retorts and comebacks. You've always been as stubborn and hot headed as him, and he really liked that about you, fuck that "opposites attract" bullshit. (I ACC LOVE THAT TROPE LOL IM SORRY) However, considering you were both extremely toxic people, it was far from entertaining when it was you who got in a fight with the other.
You didn't stop, though. If he was gonna play that who-could-be-more-toxic game, you weren't gonna back down.
"I don't know if it was the explosion or you've really always been that stupid, but you need to get the fuck over yourself and stop throwing tantrums when you find out that I have a life, too, and I have friends. Friends who actually give a damn."
You stare down each other in silence, a heavy tension hanging in the air. Still, after a few moments, Mello didn't make any effort to speak or react, other than walking out of the room.
Days, weeks went by. Mello hasn't spoken a word to you. Hasn't even looked in your direction when you passed each other or walked into the same room. You didn't exist anymore, and it worried you.
Mello was never like this. Within a few days or even hours after an argument, you would easily kiss and make up. Had you gone too far this time?
Besides the fact that Mello was intentionally giving you the cold shoulder, he was also busy with work, and was out of the house from midnight to early afternoon. During that time, you would stay at home and carry out your every day mundane tasks and chores.
Even now, you didn't seek comfort in your family or friends. You were either busy keeping the house clean, sleeping, or entertaining yourself on social media. But it was all a sad attempt to keep your mind occupied on anything else other than Mello.
And one day like any other where Mello was out doing whatever the hell mafia dudes do, you snapped. You decided you were sick of the silent treatment.
If Mello was gonna play dirty and ignore you, you were gonna give him something to react to.
Mello came home some time after sunset. Kicking off his boots as he walked in the front door, he immediately knew something was off. It was quiet - too quiet. Despite the fact that you were practically taking some sort of forced break after the argument, you acted the same. You went about your day and didn't bother acting shy or timid around Mello. You still hummed earworm pop songs to yourself or put on a podcast to fill the tense air. But now there was nothing. Just Mello, the walls, and the silence.
Mello cautiously walked around the house and searched for any signs of you, fearing the worst.
As he frantically looked around, he stopped abruptly at the sight of blood smeared onto the hallway wall.
Blood.
His heartbeat began to thump loudly in his ears.
Then he noticed more blood. And more, smeared up on the wall, and eventually a trail picked up. He followed the bloody trail as it lead him through the hallway and stopped outside of your shared bedroom that he hasn't been inside for weeks.
Mello shakily inhaled and braced himself for whatever gruesome scene he would walk into.
He reached for the doorknob, twisting it and letting himself in.
Soon as he did, he ceased all motions, his breath caught in his throat as he tried to process what his eyes were showing him.
There, you sat on the bed, nothing on but your underwear and one of Mello's shirts. On one hand, you loosely held a pocket knife. On the other, you had your sleeve rolled up, your inner arm facing Mello's direction.
Your doe eyes looked up from the floor and met Mello's panicked ones. He was finally looking at you again. Despite the gorey setting and the stinging in your arm, you smiled. You were real to him again.
Multiple cuts oozed blood and trickled down your arm, onto your now dirtied clothes and the once satin white sheets below you.
As Mello got closer, silently freaking out, he could now see that these weren't just cuts - you carved out words. Sentences, onto your arm.
Among the many bloody 'I love you's' and pleads, one word stuck out to him.
It was his name.
He felt sick. Distraught. Guilty. Afraid.
"Y/N," he choked out shakily.
His gaze trailed up your arm, your body, and fixated onto your seemingly innocent face. Your face was rested and gentle, your eyes still staring up at him with adoration and desperation. If it weren't for the blood that painted your whole body and surroundings red, he would have found comfort in your presence.
"I did this.." You ran your fingers along your fresh wounds, not once wincing or drawing back in discomfort. "For you."
You continued, a sick sweetness in your voice. "Jus' wanted to show you how much I love you.. You've been leaving me so lonely, Mello." You frowned. "It was only a matter of time before I had to do something. And now you're finally here.. And you won't leave me again."
#mello x reader#mello x y/n#mihael keehl#death note fanfiction#death note#death note mello#death note near#death note angst#angst prompts#angst dialogue prompts#angst#sh tw#tw s/h#yandere mello#mello yandere#death note yandere#death note oneshot#death note imagines#rattyoakenbitch
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Internet Friends
For Maribat March day 4 theme internet friends
Master List
It was peaceful for once in the manor. Dick, Tim, Damian, Steph, Cass, and Babs were all in the living room doing their own thing. However peace cannot last forever and the silent atmosphere was interrupted by one Timothy Drake-Wayne.
“Guys come check this out!” He exclaimed, his phone facing the others in the room. They all gathered around the phone, some more annoyed than others. On screen was a video and Tim hit play.
It showed a girl with dark hair, blue eyes, and pale skin motioning for someone off screen to come over. There was music going on in the background and the girl was obviously getting impatient. The figure came on screen and they were all shocked to see it was Jason. Then at the top of the screen the words ‘Doing this trend with my overprotective best friend’ appeared and now they were very confused. Jason had never mentioned this girl before.
The music stopped and the girl repeated the lyrics “Look at my ass, look at my thighs” as she turned around. But before she could turn around Jason picked her up and carried her off screen before the video ended.
“What was that?” Dick asked after a few seconds of silence.
“It’s a trend on tik tok that girls usually do with their boyfriends, but in this case Jason and this girl are just best friends.” Steph answered.
“How does Jason even know this girl?” Dick pointed out, asking the question that was on all of their minds. Unfortunately, no one, not even Tim, knew the answer.
Cass then spoke up, “Watch more.” She grabbed Tim’s phone and played another video, however this time it was Jason holding the camera. He came over to the strange girl who looked to be baking something. She looked up at him weirdly, asking something that couldn’t be heard because of the audio playing, luckily they could read lips.
‘What are you doing?’ She asked
Jason responded with ‘Just listen.’
She turned her attention to the camera as the lyrics “That’s my best friend, that’s my best friend” played. Jason was moving to the beat and that seemed to convince the girl to also move to the beat. The song continued with more lyrics playing “She’s not my girlfriend, she’s my best friend”. Then suddenly the lyrics “I just fuck her her from time to time” played and the girl whipped out her spoon and started whacking him on the head with it. She was screaming ‘LIES’ just before the video cut out.
This led to them going on a spree of watching their tik toks. Apparently this was their shared account and both of them had separate accounts they planned to look at later. An hour had passed of them just watching their tik toks before they stumbled upon an intriguing one. The caption was ‘You guys asked for it, so I’ll explain. This is going to be my side of the story.’
It showed Margot, as they had found out her name was, sitting on her bed recording herself painting her nails a blood red as she talked.
“Ok so you guys have been asking for this for a while so here it is. How I met Jason part one. And Jason will also be doing his side of the story, just so you’re aware, watch that after this. But this also takes place after the whole ‘Hawkmoth and Lila Incident’ so if you haven’t watched that storytime on my personal account, you should probably go do that.”
One look at each other and they knew they were gonna look at the story afterwards. It was getting too good to leave now.
“So a long time ago I had a venting account on Instagram. Now I had many venting accounts, all with different usernames, including Twitter, Facebook, Snapchat, all that good stuff but Instagram is where I met Jason. I posted something about how death could never stop me because I had died by the hands of an akuma before but ladybug’s cure brought me back to life. But then later on in the post I said something about how if this one boy, you all know who he is, couldn’t take a hint then I would rather let death take me than bother living in this mortal realm. Jason ended up seeing the post since we were following each other at the time and DMed me. Now he said and I quote ‘Yo, my username at the time, if you need me to come and beat this guys ass I would be more than happy too. I would gladly let death claim me as well without your shit posts to relate to.’”
She had tried to make her voice sound deeper and had stopped painting her nails so she could do air quotes. “Looking back on it now, that is such a Jason thing to say, but at the time I was pretty confused and mildly concerned. And time’s up, part two will be posted right now.”
“Wait, what the heck is an akuma and ladybug’s cure and why did she die from it!?!?!” Dick shouted once the video ended.
“Dick you don’t know what she’s talking about?” Babs asked in disbelief.
“Tt, Grayson, and I thought you were one of the smart ones in this family.” Damian scoffed.
“Does everyone here, but me, know what she's talking about?” Dick questioned, getting yes and nods from everyone in the room.
“Okay Dick,” Tim began, “This is gonna be pretty unbelievable and complicated so I’ll try to explain it as best I can in a short amount of time so we can finish her side of the story before dinner. So while I’m explaining don’t interrupt me.”
He waited for Dick to nod his head before continuing. “There are jewelry called miraculous that house mini gods that grant powers to whoever has the jewelry. Each miraculous houses a different god thus a different power. Miraculous themselves, including the gods bound to them, are neutral so they can be used for good or evil depending on who wields them.
Hawkmoth and Mayura used the butterfly and peacock miraculouses for evil purposes and were basically emotional terrorists to the people of Paris. Hawkmoth was able to send out a butterfly with magic to a person feeling negative emotions and manipulate them to do his bidding. These butterflies and villains created by the butterflies were called akumas. If you were or became an akuma you were akumatized. Mayura was able to send out a feather with magic that also used negative emotions to create a monster that aided the akuma. The feathers were called amuks and the monsters were called sentimonsters.
That was when the heroes Ladybug and Chat Noir also came along and fought Hawkmoth. Ladybug had the ladybug miraculous which granted her the power of lucky charm and miraculous ladybug. Lucky charm gave her an item needed to defeat the akuma and miraculous ladybug reversed all the damage a fight caused. She also had the task of purifying the akuma, turning it back into a butterfly. Chat Noir had the black cat miraculous which granted the power of cataclysm, which made it so he could destroy anything he touched. The 2 worked as a team for around a year before they brought in other temporary heroes who are not that important. Eventually all their temp heroes’ identities were outed and they could no longer use them so they were back to square one.
However many people noticed that Chat Noir was not taking his job as seriously, he began sitting out battles, flirting with ladybug while there was an akuma, and even getting civilians killed, relying too heavily on ladybug’s cure. We’re not exactly sure what happened, we assumed she snapped because one akuma attack Chat Noir was not there. Instead, there was a whole new team of miraculous wielders including Murder Hornet wielder of the bee miraculous who had the power venom which let her temporarily paralize her opponent, Red Illusion wielder of the fox miraculous who had the power mirage which let him create illusions, Peridot Protector wielder of the turtle miraculous who had the power shelter which allowed him to create indestructible shields, Medusa wielder of the snake miraculous who had the power second chance which allowed her to reset the time line as many times as needed to win the battle, Mustang wielder of the horse miraculous who had the power voyage which let him create portals, and a new black cat holder, Midnight.
The team took 6 months to defeat Hawkmoth and Mayura, who turned out to be Gabriel Agreste and Natalie Sancour. The Justice League tried to recruit them but they all wanted to live normal lives. Ladybug still checks in every 3-6 months to reassure everyone she still has all the miraculous. I don’t blame them, especially Ladybug, for wanting a normal life. This whole thing started when they were around 13 and ended when they were around 17.”
Tim then clicked on part two of her story, not even waiting for Dick to recover from the huge information dump.
It was the exact same place she was at in part one, and she was still painting her nails the same shade of blood red. “Okay guys part two of how Jason and I met. If you didn’t watch part one go watch then return to this one. So picking up where we left off I Dmed him back and we ended up having a very long conversation about murder, people not understanding the word no, and spineless cowards. This went on for quite a while of us just messaging each other and eventually we gave each other our emails and then phone numbers. I gave him my phone number just before I moved out of Paris. After like 6 months of texting we planned to meet up at some park in New York that was near the apartment I lived at at the time. Now in hindsight that was a very dumb move on my part so to all the kids watching don’t go meeting up with strangers you meet on the internet. Do as I say not as I did. I almost regretted my decision to meet up with him because he is intimidating as hell! He’s like over 6 foot tall, with muscles the size of my head! I honestly thought that I had put myself in a very bad situation but thankfully he was just as nice in real life like he was over text. We ended up hanging out a lot more and long story short we’re best friends!”
It was at this point that she looked directly into the camera with a glare that could rival Batman’s, stating, “Literally just best friends to all the people who think shipping us is okay!” And just like that, it was gone, “Anyways see you guys next video, bye!”
And with that the video ended and the Wayne children, minus Jason obviously, were left wondering how they missed the fact Jason had a female best friend. One where they declared their friendship on the internet nonetheless!
“Well that was certainly something.” Steph commented.
“Yeah, who knew Jason could have a non hero friend that we didn’t know about.” Tim joked.
“So are we gonna watch Jason’s part?” Dick asked.
“I don’t think we have time for that, but we can watch it after dinner.” Tim suggested, “Alfred is probably on his way to get us right now.”
“Tt, what do we do now?” Damian questioned.
It was then that Cass stole Tim’s phone and started to play a new tik tok. And it showed Margot trying to teach Jason how to do the WAP dance. They were never letting him hear the end of this.
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I am literally so sorry for that huge information dump with the miraculous. I did not expect to get that carried away while writing and by the time I realized it, it was too late and I had to post. Honestly because of how much I wrote I will probably use the miraculous holders names in a future fic, cause I’m lazy. :P Also if you wanna guess their identities feel free to! Anyways tomorrows prompt fic thing will be like a prequel for this one, it’s basically why Marinette now goes by Margot and why she lived/lives in New York. The prompt “Betrayal" will be connected to this as well. :) Also sorry this was posted so late, I had things to do, that I still need to do...I hate procrastination
@maribatmarch-2k21
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Losing You Twice / Prologue: Silence
Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!Reader Summary: On New Year’s Day, Y/N attempts a new chapter of her life but finds it may be harder than she thought... Category: Angst Content Warnings: language, alcohol consumption, implied masturbation (female) Word Count: 1,343
SERIES MASTERLIST | MASTERLIST
NOTE: AHHHH the prologue is finally out!! I’m so excited to start sharing this story with you guys, I adore this album with my whole heart and I just knew I had to use it as inspiration for a fic. I hope you all enjoy reading it!!
***
“I know that I should let go, should be letting you go. Can’t postpone it, not anymore, when I know what I already know: What I need is silence. All I need is time and space and silence. Cut communication ‘cause I’m trying to learn that I can lose you and survive it.” —FLETCHER, Silence
JANUARY 1st
Even though the snow outside was falling rather heavily, Y/N left the window open, a bitter chill drafting through her bedroom and settling into every nook and cranny, which included the closet where she was currently sitting on the floor, a glass of wine in hand and pictures laid neatly across the wood.
As her eyes grazed over every scrap of paper, mostly polaroid photos and little hand-written notes he'd left her over the years, the constant ticking of the clock back in her bedroom wouldn't stop.
Realistically it was probably the wine, enhancing her ability to focus on nothing else except the most menial, annoying little things. But she was thoroughly (and maybe a little drunkenly) convinced it was actually Time itself, taunting her— every constant click of the clock screaming at her as if to say, "You! Fucked! Up! He! Hates! You! Now! You're! Pathetic!"
The happy memories scattered about in front of her certainly didn't help. His face kept staring back at her, each lovesick gaze spewing even harsher words than the clock. Just by seeing his face glinting back at her under the harsh white light of the closet, all she could hear in her head above the noise was that one single sentence that's haunted her since Christmas.
"You don't actually give a shit about me, Y/N, you only ever care about yourself, and it's been that way ever since I met you!"
No matter how greatly she professed to him that that wasn't true, he walked out on her all the same, not giving her a chance to explain further. Though, he always took the time to listen to her, so his words coupled with the slamming of the door landed her with the impression that maybe she'd only said it in her head.
After all, she was half drunk on tequila at the time, the other half of her mind swimming with sadness and regret.
Maybe she hadn't fought for him to stay like she thought... Or maybe at this point he was simply done trying to make it work, done with hearing her half-assed promises to get better at communicating, and done with her...
It bothered her immensely that she didn't know.
And when he wouldn't even pick up the phone to answer when she wanted to ask, when she texted him and each one went promptly ignored, she felt like the answer was finally clear.
Now it was New Year's Day, just about ten minutes past midnight after Y/N opened the window, poured herself a glass of wine, and started sorting through everything in the closet. She'd went in with the intention of starting anew, like practically everyone did during the New Year. Though the longer she sat there, sipping the wine and staring back at pictures and notes that only reminded her of the one good thing she'd ever known and inadvertently thrown away, the experience was less cleansing and more daunting.
Everything was loud.
The click of the clock, and the howling of the wind outside as it blew snowflakes around in a near-blizzard, and the constant screaming of every word she wished she'd said before he left...
It was all too much.
So Y/N downed the rest of her wine, threw all the pictures and notes back in their box, and shoved it deep in the back where the memories couldn't hurt her anymore, at least in theory.
But as she crawled into bed, the clock now sitting in the kitchen with no batteries, she was reminded that there was one form of memory that she couldn't shove in a closet and hide away.
She drifted off, the sharp chill from the winter wind still lingering on her skin even after the window had been shut and she'd bundled herself up under the covers.
Even in dreams, it transported her to the night before Christmas, when she walked with him across town, looking at all the lights and finding themselves underneath a large tree. He took her gloved hand and placed it firmly on his chest as she looked up at him, snowflakes sticking to her eyelashes. She admired how pretty he was surrounded by white snow and colorful lights, his cheeks and nose painted a soft pink from the cold.
"I love you, Y/N," he said with every intention of hearing her say it back.
But for some reason, she didn't. Instead, she leaned up and kissed him, hard, nearly knocking him to the ground. And even though she was happy and warm, it was the first time she thought she'd ever felt him not kiss her back with the same fervor.
That should have been her first clue that things were going to decline, but she was so caught up in the feel of his lips against hers, no matter how distant they were, that she couldn't really bring herself to care. After all, it was Christmas Eve, and nothing bad could ever happen to their relationship during the happiest time of the year...
But this was a dream, and now Y/N knew better. She stood there, watching the scene unfold in front of her, screaming for herself to say it back, to yell, "I love you too, Spencer!"
But again, this was a dream— No matter how loudly Y/N yelled at her former self, nothing would change what happened in the past.
She woke up the next morning, cold and alone, and surrounded in silence. Not even the soft clicking of the clock was there to keep her company.
But that's what she wanted in the first place, and if she was ever going to get through this—to move on with her life without him at her side—then she was going to have to get used to it.
And so her phone sat nicely on her bedside table as she grabbed a random selection of clothes and headed to the shower. Maybe the water would wash away some more of the major remnants of his being from her body. Maybe she finally wouldn't be able to feel the ghost of his hands roaming her skin and tangling in her hair...
It worked for almost the whole day, and then she laid back in bed that night, her hand dipped beneath her underwear and eyes closed tightly. She hadn't meant for him to creep into her mind, but it made sense that it would have happened eventually— When your relationship with someone was built almost solely on sex, it seemed inevitable.
No one else had made her feel the way he did... He took such care and precision with her body, drew out every possible second of pleasure until she was out of her mind, and in turn she showered him with praise and loud shouts of his name. Spencer... Spencer!
"Spencer!"
She opened her eyes, hand retreating from her body as quickly as possible as she tried to blink away his image. Her breathing steadied, though a long, exhausted sigh fell from her lips almost as easily as his name.
It obviously wasn't going to be easy, but damn it if she didn't want to give up already and find him the way she always did after a fight.
This wasn't just a fight, though. And as she laid in bed, her thumb hovering over his name in her phone, something stirred in her chest that signaled a bad idea. Not that bad ideas ever stopped her before... But now?
It didn't feel right.
Nothing about any of this felt right. And she didn't know what to do about it other than shutting the phone off and tossing it to the side, snapping her eyes shut and huffing like a child while she tried not to cry.
Plain and simple, heartbreak was brutal. Especially when you were the one to blame.
And that sentiment was the sharp twist of the knife in Y/N's gut, plaguing her as she willed herself to fall asleep.
“It’s like a crutch, see if you’re up. 4am but I like a rush, so I’ll go into your bed, my safety net. Cheaper than a therapy vent, yeah, I know...”
***
PERMANENT TAGLIST: @elldell1204 @muffin-cup @calm-and-doctor @slutforthegubes @rainsong01 @yourmisosoup @liveloudwriteloud @reidsconverse @la-vie-en-amour1 @edgycowboy666 @averyhotchner @centiaaa @lizziechaseee @coffeeandendlesswords @usuck @spenxerslut @g0lden-cth @emilyprentisslittlewhore @takeyourleap-of-faith @reidyoulikeabook @spencerreid9 @b-a-utiful @jareauswifey @big-galaxy-chaos @flipperpenguins @pansexualthing @donald4spiderman @awesomebooklover17 @shemarmooresfedora @izraahh1 @bakugouswh0r3 @singularityjc
TAGS NOT WORKING: @thatsonezesty13 @ayla-1605
SERIES TAGLIST: @reidyoulikeabook @yourmisosoup @fortheloveofcriminalminds @bellzo17 @altsvu @flipperpenguins @mcumorningstar
TAGS NOT WORKING: @reid-to-me @totallyclearwitch
I’m tagging my permanent taglist in this prologue only, so if you want to be notified when I post more from this series, send me a message or leave me a comment, and I’ll add you! Thank you :)
#spencer reid x reader#spencer reid#spencer reid fanfiction#spencer reid angst#spencer reid x reader angst#criminal minds#criminal minds fanfiction#criminal minds angst#losing you twice
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i’ll follow the sun
pairing: jimmy page x reader
warnings: fluff fluff and more fluff. did i mention fluff?
words: 1.3k
summary: in an attempt to escape his rockstar life for a while, jimmy whisks you away to the countryside. waking up next to him might just be the best part of your little vacation.
author’s note: okay Hi everyone i’m so sorry i’m very inspired. a little note that heart of gold and that’s the way are still on, and i love you all. this was Literally based on a dream i had, so. enjoy :)) oh also hi @dazedstevie i was your anon hehe
masterlist
Sunlight ripples across the sea of canary yellow that decorates the quaint room, and its rays burn against your eyelids as they flutter open. You had always thought it was too bright of a colour for the room; too lively. He had insisted, though, and ultimately, you gave in.
The shrill song of a twittering bird rings through the still summer air, and the light casts murky shadows across your bare shoulder, as memories of the night before flit through your mind. His hands on you, grazing every inch of your skin that he could reach. His rose-petal lips chapped, yet soft as they met yours in a blaze of fiery passion. You were his, and he was yours. You felt complete, with him next to you.
Blinking away the sleep that threatens to close your eyes once more, a familiar scent reaches your nose; light notes of shampoo and cigarette smoke dancing in harmony. Distracted, you jolt when an arm slides over your hip, cradling you in its soft embrace. Despite the warmth that permeates the room, that sends beads of sweat down your back, goosebumps litter the arm thrown carelessly across your waist. The fine, dark hair that decorates it shines in the morning light. Shifting ever-so-slightly, you are greeted by a long mop of midnight curls tickling your face. They spill across the snow-white pillows like a river of inky darkness; the perfect contrast.
Your hand cards through his hair as you reveal the relaxed face of your beloved. Eyelids shutter beautiful emerald green, and you trail the tip of your finger down his cheek. He stirs, burrowing closer to you even in sleep, and you smile. The mysterious Jimmy Page would rather be caught dead, than be seen like this in public. He has a “reputation to uphold”, as he’s told you time and time again.
Behind closed doors, though, you were privy to a different side of the guitar god. He was chivalrous and sweet, always keeping an eye on your happiness and needs. At times, it seemed as though he knew you better than you knew yourself, and was always there.
“It’s because of our signs, dear. Written in the stars,” he’s always said, the smirk on his lips doing nothing to determine whether he was joking or not. Frankly, you weren’t sure how much you believed in astrology, and always enjoyed teasing him about the subject. You do know, however, that you would follow him anywhere, do anything for him, as he would for you.
Jimmy was also, to your initial surprise, rather domestic. He lived for rainy days in, when you would bake together, among other things. Somehow, those kinds of days always seemed to end with flour blanching both of your faces, a forgotten record mingling with the sounds of explosive laughter. He lived for quiet mornings with you, much like this one.
Though he was gone rather often, you trusted him to come back to you. To love you, and only you. You knew about the groupies, and really, you couldn't blame him for indulging in hidden vices. After many, many discussions, you had agreed that whatever happened on tour, stayed on tour. What happened under the cover of anonymity you had at home, was what mattered the most. You were made for each other, it seemed, and not even divine intervention could break the two of you apart. Hell, if there’s a way you’d prefer to go, it would be holding his hand.
A soft murmur snaps you out of your thoughts, as Jimmy’s eyes flicker open. Finally, those depths of mossy green, glassy with sleep, are uncovered, as you meet his gaze. A small smile blooms on his tired face, and fingertips trickle across the uncovered skin of your hip.
“G’morning, lovely,” he slurs slightly, cheeks flushed pink as he smiles at you, completely unguarded. You fall deeper in love with him every time you wake up like this, something you hadn't thought possible. “Everythin’ alright?”
His accent, rather posh compared to your own, seemed to get stronger in the early morning. A content hum rumbles in your throat, an answer to his question, and you reach up to press your lips to his jaw. Face to face, you revel in the way his legs tangle with yours as though it was muscle memory that brought them together. The way his fingers brush across your forehead, waltzing gracefully upon your cheek, stroking your hair.
“I should get up. Lots to do in the studio, and the boys should be—”
“Stay,” you speak into the slight space between you, and you wish you could freeze time, then. You wish you could pause and rewind this moment over and over, to see the way his smile blossoms on perfect lips.
“A few minutes won’t hurt, I suppose,” Jimmy settles back into the cocoon of warmth you've created, grinning down at you with sparkling eyes full of fondness. “If I’m late, I’m tellin’ them it was your fault.”
“A risk I’m willing to take.” Your hand slips out from under the covers to grasp at the guitarist’s fingers, pressing them to your lips. A featherlight kiss falls upon the crown of your head, and you move to rest your head on Jimmy’s shoulder. Distantly, you can hear the timbre of his voice, crackly with disuse, though most of all, you feel the rumbling of his chest as he speaks. It mingles with the beating of his heart, strong and comforting. You stroke patterns across his palm, the pads of his calloused fingers, the back of his hand and an indulgent smile lights up your face.
This is right where you’re supposed to be, you think.
“Right,” Jimmy disentangles himself from your grasp, reluctance clear in the frown on his angelic features. Your soft whine echoes in the silence between you, and he chuckles, bringing your hand up to rest upon his cheek. “I’ve got to go, Y/N. Breakfast should be on the table, by the time you get up. Lord knows I spoil you too much.”
The wink that he sends you makes you giggle, and you know he’s just joking. Still, it sends butterflies aflutter in your stomach, and you reach out to grasp at his arm.
“Jimmy.”
“Yes, darling?”
“I love you.”
“And I love you.”
You’re greeted with an indulgent smile, and before you know it, he’s leaning down, just inches away from you. His iridescent eyes shift down to gloss over your lips, and he closes the distance, his hand flying to rest gently upon a sleep-warmed cheek. You smile into the kiss, giddy at the electric touch of his mouth on yours. Too soon for your liking, he pulls away, though not before your hand trails across the pale skin of his hip. You bite your bottom lip, looking up at him, as he turns to find a suitable shirt.
Soon enough, Jimmy is fully dressed, slipping out the door after pressing one final kiss to the palm of your outstretched hand. Sated, lonely, and still wrapped up in his slowly-fading warmth, you stretch, a satisfied groan leaving your lips. Climbing out of the bed, the checkered, golden duvet falling away, you glance out the window of the cottage. The scene is something out of a priceless painting: the babbling brook flows clear, almost crystalline, standing out against the vibrant green grass that sways in the early morning wind. Pulling on a soft, cotton t-shirt, no doubt Jimmy’s, while lace covers your bottom half, you trail after him.
The smile that rests on your face is lighter than the summer sun that had filtered across the two of you just moments earlier.
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taglist: @jimmys-zeppelin @salixfragilis @timetraveller4 @earthfire-75 @thatiloveyouso @jonesyjonesyjonesy @jimmypages @kyunisixx @sophiazeppelinchick @reincarnated70sbaby @grxtsch (let me know if you want to be added!)
#jimmy page#led zeppelin#jimmy page x reader#jimmy page fanfic#jimmy page fanfiction#led zeppelin fanfic#classic rock fanfic
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