#this one left me feeling bitter at least until sands of time
Explore tagged Tumblr posts
Note
heyy girl i think if u havenât what abt u write a dbf miguel x reader ik i see so many but theyre so gd to read they get me so invested every timeđ¤ˇđ˝ââď¸
summary: youâve just come home from college for christmas but thereâs a stranger in your bedroom
a/n: dbf as in dads best friend or dad boy friend? đ iâd do either but for this iâll do dads best friend bc⌠yh. also tysm for the request it means sm đđđ also I guess this is a fic now? Bc I kinda hate one shots bci can never cut down on lore and stuff.
â¤ď¸
You hadnât realised how easily college had managed to seep its way into every aspect of your life, pulling you away from both your family and social life, until you came home for Christmas.
Everyone looks so different, your mum is more colourful and chirpy, your father is healthier and your brother is surprisingly mature. But what takes you most by surprise is the lack of silence that has taken them by storm. When you had come home for the summer most of your stay had been filled with an uncomfortable but unfortunately familiar silence following you around but now, you canât shut them up.
The entirety of the drive home from the train station is full of chatter, and for once they include you. They seem so genuinely invested about you that you don't even question the randomness of their questions, ranging from the journey home and the local shops that surround your campus.
âI heard that there's one of those pretentious, hipster coffee places nearby,â your dad claims from the driver's seat, not bothering to look around at you.
âVegan?â you offer dryly, unsure of it he knows you work there or not.
âThat's it!â he clicks proudly, resulting in both you and your brother sharing a sigh.
Part of you hopes that itâs because of you; that maybe they realised how much they loved you while you were gone and now feel overjoyed at your return. Thereâs a feeling of doubt floating around in your mind, telling you that this is just a random occurrence, but you push it to the side, wanting to focus on the positive and unrealistic.
***
Your brother helps you lug your suitcase into the house claiming, âItâs the least I can doâ which is surreal coming from someone who hasnât written to you the entirety of your time away. You hand him your antler clifton all the same, glad you didn't have to carry it across the drive as well as up the stairs.
The warmth from the house welcomes you in, the softness of the heated air a stark difference from the harsh bitterness from outside. The sweet smell of cinnamon and gingerbread candles lures you in so soothingly that you don't even notice the extra pair of shoes neatly paired together with the rest by the front door.
âI'll leave it here,â your brother mutters before sliding across the floorboards towards the living room on the heels of his feet- not as mature as you presumed. You smile half-heartedly with a small nod, jealous of how easily he can dismiss himself.
And suddenly youâre alone again, left to your own devices as your parents go start dinner and your brother now yelling into his mic from the living room. It hurts slightly, moments ago they were all over you, so invested in you and your life that you forgot what they're truly like. It's the way it always been and you're a fool for thinking otherwise.
You scold yourself for being so naive as to believe that they'd changed, that they weren't as self-absorbed as they used to be, before pulling yourself away from your sea of negative thoughts.
You stare at your suitcase, bright white light shining on it from the lamp hanging above your head, and decide to leave it there, too tired to carry it upstairs to your room.
The steps creak under your weight as you slouch up the stairs, one hand idly dragging across the chipped bannister. You can't count how many times your dadâs tried to repaint it, how much money he's spent on overpriced glosses and varnishes, how many hours he's spent sanding the thing down.
As you cross the landing, thick carpet dampening the sound of your steps, you the bathroom door left ajar and the soft heat emanating from it. Which is⌠weird because both your parents and your brother are downstairs. But you shrug it off, too fed up to care, and drag yourself over to your bedroom, head drooping downwards with fatigue.
Casually, you push your door open, expecting the room to be empty and your bed freshly made as it often is when you come home for the holidays. Except it isn't.
Soft jazz music hums throughout the room, playing from a speaker you can't quite place, and the smell of an intoxicatingly strong aftershave clings to the air. Your walls are still decorated with the wallpaper you had when you left but it's covered in various posters. Some are boring and presumably scientific based on the array of symbols, whereas others are insanely niche but you don't really put too much effort into trying to understand them- you're too distracted by the man standing in the middle of your room, half naked and dripping with water.
He's tall, intimidatingly so, but the soft dimples that form in his cheeks as he smiles down at you soothe your nerves- slightly.
âHey,â he grins down at you, head now cocked to the side and pats his ear causing water droplets to drip onto your carpeted floor.
You blink at him, completely dumbstruck and unsure of what to do. âWhat the fuck?â you breathe shakily, palms clamming up as your brain desperately flickers between arousal and fear.
The manâs brow furrows at your anxious tone and his smile falters slightly. âI think I should be the one cursing here,â he jests, tone annoyingly light, âyouâve just walked into my room without knocking or anything.â
âYou're room?â you scoff, arms folding across your chest. âYou're the stranger here, not me.â
He grins at your attitude, those dimples presenting themselves again. âIâm offended, has it been that long since you've last seen me?â he questions, large hand splayed across his chest feigning offence.
You pause for a moment and let your gaze scan him for a moment. He looks familiar, dark slicked back hair and mahogany eyes that are simultaneously scrutinizing and sympathetic.
âA la mierda, querida, have you really forgotten me?â he teases.
And then it clicks. You feel so embarrassed now, for not recognising him. Miguel, your dadâs best friend who you haven't seen for years, is finally visiting again.
He does look different now, though. He's still tall and his face is as chiselled as ever, though there are creases in his skin from when he's smiled too often or squinted too hard at the sun, but he's bulked up a considerable amount. His biceps look bigger than your thighs, tensing and relaxing with every slight movement and shining with the shower water in the yellow light of the evening sun. In fact, his entire body is covered in muscles, and what you can see of his lower half is toned, covered in dark tufts of hair, yes, but the curvature of each muscle is still visible.
He clears his throat and you realise that youâve been staring longer than intended, shame burning hot on your neck.
âSorry,â you mutter, âabout not recognising you.â
He shrugs off your apology, which irks you slightly but you push past it, and smile once again. âI look different, old age is catching up on me.â
That's definitely what's different.
> next
#atsv miguel#miguel o'hara#miguel spiderman#miguel spiderverse#spider man 2099#spiderman 2099#miguel x reader#miguel x you#miguel au#dilf miguel#older Miguel
176 notes
¡
View notes
Text
You, Me, and Mexico [Lucie x Connor] - Part 2
A/N: The conclusion of Mexico and the true formation of Lucie and Connor as we know them now. This is spicy and sassy and hectic like our two young lovers were. I am in love with this. I hope you are too đĽš
Word Count: 7.8k
Lucie has never heard a pack of National Hockey League players so quiet before.Â
But she also hasnât seen them this hungover either.Â
Their Mexico Allstar break is proving to be the ultimate competitor for these rowdy and untamed boys. Even Lio is no match for the lime, tequila, and hot sand. The only one who seems relatively unscathed this morning is Connor who sits on his chaise two down from her, reading.
Between Lucie and Connor, Lioâs muffled snores vibrate the towel beneath his face. To his left, Lucie holds her Kindle up with one arm. She swipes her thumb across the page, willing herself to get lost in a Texas ranch fantasy, but finding it difficult with how swelteringly hot the sun is on her body. She glances down at her calves, frowning at the pink patches beginning to shine through.Â
Damn her dad and his pastey genes.
All she wanted was to come back from Mexico bronzed and gorgeous, but her Swiss heritage has something snarky to say about her every attempt at collecting the sunâs rays.
Lucie glances over at Lio who is more Swiss than her, gloriously tanned from all angles without a hint of sunburn on him.Â
Hmmm, maybe itâs not the Swiss in her. Maybe itâs the American?
As casually as Lucie can muster, her brown eyes trail beyond her cousin to his All-American roommate. The one who two nights ago seemingly changed the trajectory of their trip, then disappeared into the night again like whatever that was didnât happen. At least this time she had a beach full of witnesses to know it wasnât all a dream. Lucie purses her lips ash the thought, letting her gaze trail along the strong muscles on Connorâs body.Â
He sits shirtless to Lioâs left, navy swim trunks hugging all the right places. They bunch up at his mid-thigh, barely holding together over his thick quads. One of his feet is planted on the chaise, knee bent at an angle so his fingers can dangle off his leg. This makes his thighs look even bigger, almost like tree trunks. Lucieâs head lulls slightly to the side involuntarily, remembering those beneath her own when she straddled his lap the other evening.Â
A dangerously hot thought on an already hot day.Â
Frustration tightens the back of her throat, remembering how long itâs been since sheâs been touched. Or at least was until Connor lit her skin on fire then ran away without finishing the job.Â
Chicken.Â
As understanding as she was that night, her annoyance and frustration is all that appears today.
Lucie slides her sunglasses-covered gaze away, trying to focus back on her Kindle again. But then, she can sense Connorâs movement out of the corner of her eye and her eyes instantly drift again. Connor flips the page in his book, pinching and tugging his bottom lip as he dips his face further into the spine. He is wearing an old Rockies hat that has his dark curls going crazy around the edges from the humidity and swimming earlier.Â
Lucie watches as Connor blinks, bringing his gaze to the pool in front of them where a few kids splash in the water. Then his gaze goes right back to the worn pages in his fingers. Lucie wonders if he has read this book a few times or if itâs his first time.Â
She wishes she didnât feel too awkward to ask.Â
Like a bitter cycle she knows too well, Connor has been avoiding her since their run in on their first night. Other than the longing glance across the table or the hesitant goodnights they say to each other, he is dodging her like she crossed an invisible boundary again. Her only solace is that any woman who comes up to him, and there have been plenty, is turned away quickly or blatantly ignored. It gives Lucie hope. Like maybe he is waiting for her to make the next move.
A bead of sweat drips down Lucieâs spine from her hair. She sighs, slapping her Kindle down and grabbing the teal scrunchie from her wrist. She tosses her hair up into a bun then stands. Her bright pink bikini bottoms back are tugged back into place, sitting more appropriately on her hip bones. She stretches her arms, making her breasts pull tight against her chest. Connor glances over at her, then quickly looks away when their eyes meet. Lucie sighs, rolling her eyes and announcing to no one in particular that sheâs going into the pool.
âDonât drown.â Lio mumbles to her without opening his eyes.
Lucie tosses her sunglasses onto her white towel, then steps towards the edge of the pool. The stairs are on the other side, but a ledge running along the sides makes it easier to enter from anywhere. She glides into the cool, crystal water, instantly sagging in relief at the chilling sensation on her skin. She seeps in further, sinking down until her shoulders skim beneath the water, then back up, happy the breeze off the ocean seems to be picking up. She kicks across to the other side of the pool, then sneaks a glance back over to her group.
A corner of her mouth tilts up when she notices how hard Connor is focusing on his book now. His eyes do not float away, even as other noises call for his attention. A group of people walk by, but again Connor stares hard with his nose in his book. Lucie giggles to herself, realizing that she hasnât seen Connor turn the page much since they got to the pool and she shrugged off her cover up.Â
To test her theory, Lucie flicks water up with her foot, seeing if she can get droplets close to their group. The droplets fall just to the edge of the pool, so she goes closer, trying again. She is right in front of Connor, tempting him, pushing herself further out of the water so her bikini top rises into the air, showing two distinct points in the front.Â
Connorâs gaze stays on the book like theyâre glued, but he shifts his legs around, pulling the opposite foot up and letting the other one down. His tongue runs along his top teeth, strong jaw zig zagging to both sides like itâs bothering him.Â
Lucie floats to her back, careful to keep her hair out of the water. Her legs drift back up to the top of the water then she flicks again, grinning when she watches the streak of water wet the concrete then disappear onto Connorâs chaise. His blue eyes fly up as the droplets hit his foot. Lucie can feel his eyes everywhere. Theyâre generous and starved, roaming all over her exposed skin before he cocks his head to the side at her.Â
âAccident.â She shrugs innocently.
âMhm.â She faintly hears him grumble. She sucks her cheeks in, making her dimples pierce further into her cheeks. Then with his eyes still on her, she flicks again, bigger this time, laughing at his deeper frown. His eyebrows pull together, looking dark and menacing beneath the shade of his hat. But there is no mistaking the look of desire that swirls over his face.
Lucie swings her foot down as Connor goes back to his book. She flicks again, this time getting a big splash on his ankle that makes Lucie snort in surprise. Between his knees, she can see the sparkle of droplets on his phone. Oops.Â
Connor snaps his book shut, standing up. In one motion, heâs heading towards her, whipping his hat off and jumping into the pool. Lucie squeals in surprise as his splash slaps her in the face. She barely has time to wipe her eyes before Connorâs arms swoop under her waist, lifting her easily into his arms. She immediately feels his hard erection against her.Â
Lucie gasps at that and the proximity of his lips to hers. She glances quickly towards the rest of their group. All of them are still asleep on their chaises, Lio included.
âHi.â She says to him.
âHi.â He responds quietly, almost subdued as he drinks her in. His grip on her waist shifts as his hands skim down to her ass. He rolls her hips into his, making Lucie inhale heavily through her nose. âYou wanted attention?â He murmurs. Lucie laughs.Â
âI need some every day. Itâs a disease.â She bats her lashes at him. He smiles genuinely, laughing while running his hands from her butt to the backs of her thighs. His thumbs swipe across the top of her skin, making her core tingle. âAnd youâve been avoiding me again.â She points out bluntly.
âIâm not...itâs just.. Lio.â He shrugs.
âLio has been drunk, high or getting laid the entire time we have been here.â Lucie rolls her eyes at his favorite excuse.
âYeah but thatâs his norm, so itâs not like he doesnât see the way I canât stop staring at your ass.â Lucieâs cheeks turn pink, warming under the knowledge of him looking at her, soaking her in like she wants him to. She brings her fingers up his biceps, threading them around his neck.Â
âYou like what you see?â
âYou know I do. Plus, Iâve got you all figured out, Lucie Hischier.â
âThat makes one of us.â She drawls back. Her fingers glide through his hair as she takes another peek at the group. Still clear. She leans forward, on the opposite side of his neck then runs her tongue from the dip of his collar bone to his ear lobe.Â
âI want you, Lucie. I wasnât lying about that the other night.â His voice is liquified with need, edgy but smooth, almost a groan when she sucks his skin into her mouth for a moment.Â
âWhatâs so bad about here?â
âYou deserve better.â He murmurs, gripping her face gently in his wet palm.Â
Better? How could anywhere else be better? Lucie can still feel his hearty grip on her ass as he ground her into his cock the other night. That felt pretty damn good to her, Mexico or not.Â
âI donât understand you.â Lucie groans. âYou may be the only man, a hockey player to boot, who wonât fuck the willing girl in his arms.âÂ
Connorâs eyes darken at the dirty slip of her words.Â
âYouâd like that wouldnât you, baby?â There is an edge to him now, a dark one that Lucie wants to explore further.Â
âYes.â She snaps tightly, pressing her breasts into his chest more.
âWould like it if I slipped this bikini to the side and took you right here? Hm? Made you be quiet while I sink my cock deep into your wet pussy?â His voice is low and gruff as his eye roam over her face, watching every flicker of pleasure melt her brown eyes into liquid chocolate.Â
âMhm.â She whines through her bitten lip.Â
âI could do it, Luc. I could fuck you here without anyone knowing.â Goosebumps thread down her limbs as she looks into his eyes. Lucie becomes lighter in his arms, looser as she tries to drop her hips to roll against his erection again. He leans in close. Lucie doesnât care enough to look over at their group again. This is it, she thinks. Heâs finally going to-
âAH!!!!â She screams suddenly, feeling herself being propelled through the air. Then sheâs sucking in water from her open mouth. The water pulls her under, swirling around in white bubbles as she forces herself back up to the surface. She gasps, shoving the loose hairs from her bun off her face.Â
Through her saltwater haze, Lucie glares at the retreating back of Connor Wood. She gapes at the group of laughing NHL players, all now wide awake at once, including her cousin who is sitting up, choking from laughing so hard.
âWoody, you got her so good.â Lio bellows.Â
Rivers of water run down Connorâs hairy legs as his feet lead him back to his chaise lounge. His white teeth dazzle against his tanned skin and his blue eyes softly glisten. Quickly, he sends an apologetic look her way. All the heat that had been building between them has vanished for Lucie. One minute heâs whispering dirty thoughts in her ear and the next he is chucking her across the pool to get away from her? Whoâs the one playing games now? She already had months of groveling and running after a man who didnât deserve her. She was young then, didnât know better like she does now. She is not doing it again. She is not going to continuously run after this guy, especially after he has turned her down twice.Â
Connor is right in that way; she does deserve better.
âMy little sister could have thrown me farther than that.â Lucie chirps when she gets back to her chair. Lio tosses her towel to her, assessing her as she wipes off.Â
âYou good?â Lio asks her. Lucie scoffs, snatching her cover up off the chaise.
âYeah, but Iâm done for the day.â She hastily tosses her stuff into her pool bag. âIâll see you guys for dinner.â She calls breezily over her shoulder as she pulls her cover up back over her right shoulder.Â
âLucie, Iâm- Iâm sorry.â Connor says, folding his towel over his waist as she walks by. Lucie cuts a glare his way as she continues towards the exit of the pool area. âLuc? They were looking. I had to do something.â He mumbles to her. Lucie balks at that, scoffing. She whips around so fast her bag slaps against her butt.
âThis is, like, a game to you, isnât it?â Connorâs eyes dart nervously to the side then he shakes his head no. She steps closer, licking her lips and lowering her voice so itâs only between them. âIâm nobodyâs secret, Connor.â
Then she twirls back around and leaves him staring at her perfect ass sashay away from him.
 - - -
Connor should have known better than to poke at Lucie this afternoon. The only thing it taught her was how damn easy it is to get his attention. So when the idea of hitting another beach party was floated at dinner, it was Lucie who immediately jumped at it. She happily put up with all their jokes and pokes about her wet t-shirt entry from earlier in the week. Because she knows exactly what her game plan is tonight.
Use any willing male on the beach to show Connor Wood exactly what he is missing.
He thinks he can play games and be aloof and then also cockblock her from anyone else the rest of this trip? Fine. Then he can watch her work a room and get him in a drunken jealous tizzy before it ends with her walking away from him.Â
Her target was Javi, the local bartender whoâs shift ended an hour ago. She batted her lashes and let her dress dip dangerously low over her cleavage until he agreed to stay. All he had to do was change and then he joined her on the beach, hand slipped into hers. Lucie didnât have to know where Connor was to feel his gaze following them. But Lioâs loud shout and wave pointed out where they were a while ago. Lucie just doesnât care enough to go join them. Instead, she is savoring Javiâs hands on her. She loves the way he flirts with red zones while staying firmly in the yellow spots on her body. It makes her feel sexy, restoring the confidence that Connor literally drowned in the pool this afternoon.
Itâs not until Javi is pulled into a work emergency off the clock that Lucie saunters back towards her group. She is exhausted and parched from dancing, but feels free and gorgeous. Not even Connorâs glower can take that away from her. His thick brows squiggle over his blue eyes, waves crashing in them like the inky ocean hitting the beach to her right. Lucie smiles at him easily, a little wickedness seeping into her cheeks like her dimples.Â
âHaving fun?â Connor asks, licking his top teeth after a long pull from his Modelo.Â
âTons of it.â She answers breezily, then leans down to grab her watered down margarita. She takes a sip from the lime green straw, then tosses it back down on the table when its completely drained. âI think Iâll go have another round of that.â She flirts at him, running her fingers through her brown hair that has curled up nicely in the humidity.
Before Lucie can even take a step, her fingers are collected in Connorâs and he pulls her back into his chest.
âStay here, Princess. Iâm not running across the beach to save you again.â
âAww, but last time it was so Baywatch.â She pulls away from him, stepping to leave the group again. âIâm fine, cowboy. Stay here and keep moping if that's how you want to spend your night.â Lucie can feel more than hear his growl as he wraps his arm around her stomach, pulling her firmer to his chest. She resists letting her shoulder droop into his body, but notices he is rock hard. He shifts her so his bulge settles perfectly between her rounded cheeks that taunted him earlier at the pool.
âLucie. You take one more step and Iâm going to throw you over my shoulder.â
âYeah, then what?â She snaps. âYou gonna throw me into the ocean over there to drown me out of your mind, Woody?â He says nothing, but his chest swells and deflates rapidly into Lucieâs back. She rolls her eyes, then bucks her hips back so he lets her go completely. She turns around, setting her hard glare on him. âQuit with the games. Make it worth my time or leave me alone.â He continues to watch her, blue gaze steely yet wild. His untamed curls blow in the beach breeze, shirt flapping open more to expose his tanned and toned chest. He is freakishly still. Lucie scoffs, waving at him over her shoulder to go back to Javi.Â
Suddenly, her knees are taken out from under her. She squeaks, then is flipped to her stomach over his shoulder, looking down at Connorâs ass and the worn boardwalk. Connorâs flip flops slap against the bottoms of his feet with each step. Lucie struggles in his grasp. He tightens his grip on her thighs then calls back to her.
âDonât make me tie you up to keep you still.âÂ
âEveryone is watching you haul me away!â Lucie shrieks, looking at the group of hockey players laughing. Lio, drunk and high, lifts his hand and wave. Lucie lifts her middle finger back at him.
âGet your teammate!â She yells at Lio. He yells something back that Lucie canât hear. âConnor, put me down.â She directs back to the man under her thighs.
âNo. I was clear with you. You took one more step.â
Lucie hangs quietly over his shoulder for the duration of the walk to the elevator. Itâs a waste of her breath to continue complaining, no one is going to save her. Once they get to the bank of elevators, Connor puts her feet back on the ground.
âI can run faster than you. Donât even try.â He warns. Lucie rolls her eyes. What does he have to be mad about?
The walk down to her room is equally quiet as he waits for her to fish her card out of her back pocket. She doesnât, standing there with a glare on her face and arms crossed across her chest.
âOpen the damn door, Lucie.â He hisses at her. She scoffs, stepping back. He reaches for her, then glides his hand down her back to her ass, puling out the white card and swiping it quickly. He shoves her through the door.Â
âYou have some damn nerv-â
The rest of the word is cut off by Connorâs frantic kiss. He grips her body, twirling them both so he slams her up against the closed door. Nothing about it is gentle or nice. Itâs angry and punishing just like his thigh grinding between her legs. Lucie moans, getting turned on by the hard press of him to the apex of her thighs.Â
âFuck.â He growls, letting his hands roam her body. He grips her breasts tightly, then dives back in to kiss her hard. Her head bounces on the door as he makes out with her, stretching her mouth open to accommodate his hurried pace.Â
âYou have some damn nerve dancing with that guy all night.â He finally says to her, pulling back to look into her face.
âWhy do you care? There were a hundred women on that beach you could have instead.â
âWhy are you acting like I actually would want anyone here who isnât you?â He laughs like something about this is funny.
âBecause your signals are all over the place, Connor! One minute youâre moaning in my ear and the next youâre throwing me across the fucking pool.â
Connor crowds her up against the door, pinning her there easily with one thigh. His hands dash through her hair as he leans down.
âI should make it clear to you huh? Take your right here against the door.âÂ
âSee like that. Why are you all over the place?â
âBecause this is a bad idea, Luc. So fucking bad.â He whispers on her mouth, swiping his lips across hers with each word. Lucie opens her eyes, taking in his long lashes kissing together as he tries to hold back from taking her. Goosebumps pimple along her limbs as she tangles her fingers in his curls. âBecause once I have you, Iâm not going to want to stop. Ever.â
âPlease?â She asks. âIâll be worth it. I promise.â
All his resolve breaks.Â
âYou ask so sweetly.â He moans. âInnocent. Like you donât know what you do to me. But you do, donât you?â He kisses down her jaw, leading to her throat. âKnow how much I want you. You know I canât breathe when you walk into the room. Too distracted with how beautiful you are.â His words muffle into her skin but Lucie hears them clearly. She's drunker on them than tequila could ever make her.
âI want you to have me.â She whispers into his ear, then sucks his ear lobe into her mouth. His forehead drops to her shoulder briefly.Â
âI wanna taste you.â He says. Lucieâs eyes widen in alarm and he picks up on it. âThose Swiss boys donât eat pussy do they?â He kisses her lips. She blushes, then drops his gaze. He chuckles, taking her chin in two fingers. âYou gonna get shy on me now?â
âYou donât have to.â She says quietly. Connor laughs, genuinely, shaking her breasts against his chest as he starts to kiss down her neck.Â
âIâm gonna change your whole world, baby.âÂ
It feels like an out of body experience to Lucie as she watches him kiss down her body. He gets to her shorts, tugging them down to expose her yellow, lace panties. He peels those off more delicately, kissing everywhere he uncovers. Her eyes flutter shut as he kisses at the crest of her pussy lips, letting his tongue tease the slit for a moment before he pulls her underwear all the way off. Once they collect around her feet, his blue eyes go to her glistening core.Â
Between them, Lucieâs breasts shudder as she gulps in air. With his eyes on hers, he leans forward. His tongue falls out of his mouth then strikes up her already soaked slit. Lucieâs head finds the door, smacking against it as her eyes screw shut.Â
âUm.â She starts to speak, then loses her train of thought. âOh.â She hears herself moan.Â
He pulls away, then bring his hands up to her core, crudely pulling her puffy lips apart with his thumb and pointer finger. He looks drunk when their gazes meet, then he holds hers as he goes in for his next taste. Lucieâs eyes squeeze shut as his lips engulf her clit, giving her pulsating sucks and then a long lick of his tongue.Â
âFuck.â She growls then inhales, moaning out her exhale as he presses his mouth in more.Â
No, Lucie Hischier has never had her pussy eaten before, but she canât imagine the boys before Connor could have done it like this. He knows his way around the female anatomy. Maybe that should bother Lucie, but right now, all she can care about is getting her fingers into his curls to hold him in place.Â
âTalk to me, Luc.â He says. Nothing about it is a beg. Itâs a demand. Like if she doesnât comply, this whole illusion of a dream will rupture.Â
âFeels⌠mmm, amazing.â She sighs.
His lips collect her clit again, almost nipping it into his mouth. Her knees shake, threatening collapse as her hand falls from his hair to his shoulder. Connor leans forward, collecting her calf over his shoulder, then putting a steadying hand on her other thigh to hold her upright.
âAh, oh, oh, oh oh, ohhhhh.â Lucie squirms against his mouth as he eats her like a dripping summer popsicle in the thick of summer. âOhmygod.â She chokes out. Her core clenches uncomfortably tight. Her hand dashes into her own hair as her head ricochets off the door again.
âThatâs it, Luc. Tell me how good it feels.â He snakes his tongue back to her entrance, lazily fucking her with his tongue before going back to her clit to finish her off.Â
âSo fucking good, Connor. Please, Please. Please. Please. Donât-â Lucie can only pant the rest of the way up to her high. Her bottom jaw unhinges as she whispers out a final moan of Connorâs name then collapses over the edge. Her thighs go ridged. The leg over this shoulder clamps around his neck to hold him to her pussy as she grinds into his face while she finishes.
âFuck, baby.â Connor moans, coming out of her folds for air. His tongue snakes out, doing one last slurp up her slit. She shakes in response and Connor grips her hips to keep her upright. He untangles himself from her legs, then kisses his way back up her body to her mouth. âYou wanna taste what I do to you?â He asks her. Lucie's response is to latch her lips to his. He tastes sweet and tangy, like her and the beer he had earlier.
âMy turn.â She demands, biting at his bottom lip, then sinking her knees into the soft carpeting at their feet. Connor hesitates, almost looking like he is going to say no, but then she cups his hard cock over his shorts and he grunts like that alone might make him come.Â
Hurriedly, Lucie undoes his shorts. Maybe another night she would tease him, but not when he is constantly on either side of the line, tip toeing over just to throw himself back to the safe side. No, tonight, she wants a taste.Â
Pushing down the waistband of his bottoms, Lucie watches with excited, dewy eyes as he springs free. His firm length slaps against his abdomen, leaving a bead of pre-cum there. Her eyes fixate on it, then she moves her tongue to collect the white circle. Connorâs hand goes into her hair, gathering it all in his fist. Lucie kisses around the right side of his shaft, teasing him by ghosting her lips over the ridge of his head. She continues down the left side, then goes right for the kill, sucking a testicle into her mouth. Connor rocks back on his heels for a minute before he coughs.
âAw fuck. You know how to suck cock donât you, Princess?â
Lucie doesnât respond with words. Instead she kisses back up his shaft to collect only his head into her mouth. She sucks, watching him squirm at the sensitivity, then she breaks eye contact to take him fully down in one drop of her head. Connorâs hand on her hair squeezes so tight it hurts. It fuels Lucie further, bobbing her wide, wet mouth up and down. The room fills with his cock meeting her stretched mouth. Drool drops down Connorâs shaft, collecting on Lucieâs hand as it strokes up, forcing the velvet skin to meet her mouth with each thrust.Â
âOh.â Connor groans. Then moans her name loudly, so loud that anyone walking by in the hallway would surely hear it. Heat flutters in her core, igniting again at how expressive he is. With each pump of her hand and mouth, Connor praises her. He begs her to keep going. He compliments her mouth and hand. He brings the hand not in her hair to her throat, feeling her deep thrust him down.Â
âDo that again and Iâm gonna cum in your mouth.â He growls through mashed teeth.
So Lucie does, then guzzles down the white ropes that shoot in a desperate release from him.
âHolyâŚâ
Connor frees her from his hands, dashing them through his wild curls as he looks down at her. Lucie comes off his cock, settling her thighs back on her bare heels. He watches her through half-mast lids, observing as she licks her lips then wipes her chin with the back of her hand. He blinks, rolling his eyes towards the ceiling as his mouth drops open in awe. Then he reaches down, pulling her back onto her feet in one swoop. Lucie peers at him with shy eyes, suddenly feeling self-conscious at the way he is looking at her.Â
âIâm never gonna be able to forget how good you are at that.â He admits. Lucie smiles, cheeks turning slightly red at the compliment.
âYou want to?â
âNo. Itâs just gonna make it hard to do things like have you over at our place for dinner, or play hockey, or sleep.â Lucie chuckles, dropping her forehead to his chest. He takes the opportunity to wrap her in his arms. She runs her hands up his big back, breathing in the scent of him as she does. Connorâs mouth comes to rest on her hair.Â
Lucie tries to fight the yawn tugging at her mouth, but she canât. It comes out unwelcome, like the buzzkill it is. Connor squeezes her tighter, then releases. He reaches between them, tucking his softened form back into his shorts. Lucie steps back, swallowing, before looking up at him with curious brown eyes.Â
âI donât wanna go.â He answers honestly. âBut I should.âÂ
âDonât.â Lucie whispers, being brave and asking for what she wants.
âOkay.â He nods, giving in instantly. âHow do you sleep?â He gestures to her body.
âWith pajamas.â She chuckles, then walks across the room to grab them. Connor follows her, taking them from her hands. Together, they work her night clothes off. Connorâs eyes linger and his hands wander to her breasts and ass, giving generous squeezes and strokes to them. Lucieâs skin is on fire as he kisses her on the mouth, thumbing her nipples after getting her fully ready for bed.
It isnât long before they fall into bed together, feet to each otherâs heads, having a quick midnight snack of each otherâs sex again. The spoken desire of Connor to not go all the way in Mexico is held like a promise between the two of them.Â
After another orgasm for them both, Connor pulls on his boxer briefs and replaces Lucieâs pajama bottoms. Then he collects her to his chest, fastening his nose into her hair.Â
As Lucie falls asleep on his body, she silently prays that the cycle has been broken. That the game is officially over and they both came out winners. She hopes when they go home tomorrow, time moves forward with more moments like this with him.
If it doesnât, this game might finally end with Lucie firmly in the loserâs column.Â
- - -
Lucieâs eyes burn as she waits at baggage claim with Lio and Connor after their flight landed late in NYC. Lio is hungover, rubbing at the bridge of his nose. Connor stands still, feet spread wide apart, saying nothing. Lucie glances at him. The last good look she got of him was his retreating back leaving her room this morning.
On the flight home, Lio sat in Lucieâs row. Connor sat behind them and seemingly slept the whole flight. Truthfully it was hard for Lucie to see him, which is why she drinks him in now before they go to their separate neighborhoods. He looks so good again today- comfortable and cozy. Lucie knows now how homey and safe that chest feels after waking up on it this morning. She wants to curl into it tonight instead of her cold, lonely dorm bed.Â
âThat yours?â Lio asks of the pink suitcase twirling around the metal slats. Before Lucie can answer, Connor steps forward and grabs it for her. His bag is right after hers. Then Lioâs comes through a couple more twirls later. They all silently head towards ground transportation to find a few cabs.Â
When they get to the curb, Lio hails one down for her immediately. He pops the back door open for her as Connor wheels hers and his bags behind the trunk. Lucie looks at him over the trunk of the car. There is a slight smirk on his face and a sparkle in his eye that wasnât there before. He puts her suitcase in first then his next to it.Â
âBye, Lee.â Lucie says, distractedly. She gives him a hug. âIâll see you⌠when I do.â She shrugs, knowing now that the Allstar break is done, the difficult stretch of the season will begin.Â
âYeah, Iâll text ya. Hopefully you can come to one of the games this weekend. Back to back Friday and Saturday.â
âI can Saturday for sure.â
âCool, Iâll send tickets. You want two?â
âYeah, I might bring a friend.â She confirms.Â
âSounds good.â Lio steps aside, then glances over at Connor. âWhat are you doing?âÂ
âIâm going to ride into the city with Lucie. Iâm seeing a friend.âÂ
âI shouldnât expect you home?â Lio smirks.
âAh, I donât know. Iâll let you know. But first, Iâll get Lucie back safely.âÂ
âSounds good. See you.â Lio murmurs, then rolls his bag down to the next cab. Lucie slowly slides into the backseat of the cab with Connor going in the other side.
The first few turns out of the airport are silent. Lucieâs mouth suddenly feels dry. All the teasing and pleasure they had in Mexico was wonderful, but never going the whole way with him has left her with a greedy ache between her thighs. The thought of him finally soothing that ache tonight has spikes of pleasure shooting through her body.Â
âAm I the friend?â Lucie wonders as the cab merges onto the road outside the airport. Connor reaches over, grabbing her hand off the seat next to her thigh. He laces their fingers together, kissing along her knuckles. She melts into his touch, reaching for his thigh with her other hand.Â
âYes. I need you. More than Iâve had you. I canât wait anymore. We are back home and I want you as soon as possible.âÂ
âMy roommateâŚâ
âPlenty of time for her to leave if you text her now. Or I can tell her to get lost when we get there.â Lucie giggles at his directness.
Rather than argue, Lucie texts Daniella that she needs the room. She receives an immediate thumbs up then the bubbles continue to pulse on her screen.
Please tell me youâre finally getting Connor in your bed. Iâll be at Dreâs for the night.
Lucieâs eyes widen and she clicks her phone screen to dark, hoping Connor didnât see that.Â
âWe good?â
âYeah.â
Connor gives her an assuring smile, then sets their laced hands on his left thigh. The rest of the drive is quiet. Connor plays with her fingers. Lucie leans her head on the back of the seat, closing her eyes and feeling the bumps and shake of the car as reassurance that this is real. Every so often, she opens her eyes to see Connor looking at her in the dark cab. As they crawl the last few blocks, he rubs her cheek with his thumb. He leans across the back seat kissing her longingly.
When they get to her place, Connor pays the fair and tip, then grabs their suitcases out of the car. He follows Lucieâs lead to her dorm. His nose comes to the back of her neck as she puts the key into her door. His lips plump in a kiss that has her hands shaking while she flips the lock. She leans back into his body, feeling the bulge of him pushing into her butt. His free hand wraps around her, pressing into her stomach to keep her close as they walk step to step into her room. The door shuts behind them. Lucie swallows hard, wheeling her bag over towards the closet. She kicks her shoes off, then turns to look at Connor.Â
âGonna tell you right now that this wonât be enough.â He murmurs. âIâm going to need you time and time again. Iâm already insatiable when it comes to you, Lucie Hischier.â
His long strides carry him quickly across the room to her. He holds her cheeks in his hands, stroking along the bones below her eyes. His blue eyes swim with desire as he looks down into her face. She watches as his lips fall towards hers. She collects them on hers, inhaling heavily at how good it feels. Her arms instinctively wrap around his shoulders. His come to her lower back, respectfully pulling her in as close as he can.Â
âDo you.. have a condom?â She asks.
âYeah, thatâs why I had to bring my bag with.â
âDid you bring those to Mexico for me?â
âYeah.â He admits. âBut I am serious. I didnât want it to be like that. In a resort⌠like it was some vacation fling.â He shakes his head. âThis has never been a game to me. Iâm sorry if ever made it seem like I didnât want you. Youâre all I want, Lucie.âÂ
âYou said it wasnât good enough for what we are going to be. So tell me, what are we going to be?â She whispers, running her hands down his shoulders to grip his biceps.
âEverything.â He says confidently. âItâs the only thing worth risking this for.â Lucie smiles, then nods before Connor kisses her again.Â
He steps forward, gently guiding her hips back towards her bed. Lucie grips his upper body tightly as he carefully lays her on the comforter. Their lips suck each other up like itâs been days apart when itâs been mere hours since they touched last. Theyâre addicts for each other. Lucie understands what Connor means when he says insatiable. She feels it too. Everything about his touch and presence lights her soul on fire.Â
Connor pulls away, reaching for the hem of her NYU sweatshirt. He lifts it up over her head, exposing her bralette below. He smiles at her perky nipples teasing him like they did days ago through her wet t-shirt. He cups under her right breast then brings his mouth down to it while maintaining eye contact with her. Lucie bites her bottom lip, savoring the sparks of pleasure that shoot down to her clit from his hearty suck. He pulls the bralette to the side completely, then continues his play.
He moves on to the other nipple, painting it with his saliva before releasing it with a loud pop. Between her legs, Lucie pulses painfully. Her walls collapse inwards, convulsing angrily around nothing. Connor pulls his sweatshirt and t-shirt off, then walks over to his suitcase. He unzips the front pocket, pulling out an unopened box of condoms. Lucie watches as he brings the whole thing over, setting it on the nightstand. Then he gathers Lucie in for another kiss.Â
âConnor?â Lucie mumbles against him.
âHmm.â
âWe have waited long enough to have each other this way.â She points out. âSuit up.â He grins, chuckling too as he reaches for her sweatpants. He pulls them off in one swoop, taking her panties as well. He makes quick work of his remaining clothes too. After, he spreads her legs wide so his eyes can feast on her slick, puffy folds. He strokes his cock in his hand, sighing when Lucie drags her fingers over her slick flesh to tease him.Â
âYou are so damn sexy.â He drawls, then reaches for the box of condoms. He opens them quickly, fumbling with getting only one foil wrapper out. They all explode out of the box at once, creating condom confetti. One lands on Lucieâs stomach.
âThis one has been chosen.â She picks it up, handing it to him.
Connor smiles, ripping the gold open with his teeth. He spits out the top, then rolls the latex down his thick shaft. He maneuvers Lucie back on the bed, kneeling between her spread legs. He tests her hole carefully with one finger, then two. Lucie clamps around them instantly, making Connor close his eyes in pleasure. When he opens them, his pupils are blown so wide they shine black.Â
He leans down, kissing her again while edging the head of his cock through her folds. He collects her wetness, teasing them both until he perches right at her entrance and pushes in. The first stitch of pain makes Lucie clam up. She resists digging her nails into his shoulders.Â
â Sâokay.â He reminds her quietly. He brings his thumb down to her clit, rolling it delicately. Then he pushes in a little further, keeping a stroking pattern going on her sensitive bud.Â
âOhm-mygod.â Lucie stutters as he fills her fully. His attention on her clit has wetness forcing from her like a wave. Her pussy clamps around him, sending her eyes to her brain for a moment. âFuck that feels full.â
âYouâre so tight.â He agrees. âGonna give you a second.â
He leans down, sucking up her left nipple, rolling it tight between his lips. Connorâs lips never stray from hers long. They may wander down and curve over here or there, but they crave hers too intently to be gone long.Â
âYouâre so beautiful.â He mumbles into their kiss. âCanât believe the prettiest girl on the beach is here with me.â Lucie smiles, giggling happily as she accepts the complement. His sweet touches and words have the stitches of discomfort dissipating to nothing. She hooks her ankles together on his ass, giving him a limit for how much she wants him to pull out. âYou like it deep, baby?â Lucie nods. âMmm, Iâll give you what you need. Iâll learn you fast, Luc. Promise.â He mumbles into her mouth. He gives her another peck, then pulls up and away to adjust the angle. Lucie quivers as he begins to press deeper into her.Â
âOh.â She moans, stretching out so her back can curve slightly. Connor grips her breast, looking down at her with hazy eyes. He lick his lips, beginning to pant as his speed goes harder. The clunky wood bed frame rattles against the wall, but neither of them can find the grip on reality to care. All that exists is the places their bodies are conjoining together.Â
âDamn, you feel so good. So worth the wait for this.â Connor groans. âSo perfect, Luc.âÂ
Lucie begins to pant. Her vision blurs as she breathes hard and fast, feeling the building of her orgasm deep in her core. It twists and pulls and grows ravenous for release with each stroke of his big cock inside of her. She is dripping down her swollen lips and his tight shaft. It collects on his balls where he can feel it without obstruction, making him chase for more.
âFuck.â He growls down at her as they both feel that first pull of her orgasm. âThatâs it, pretty girl. Come for me. Please.â He begs her. Lucieâs never had a partner whoâs begged for her to come. His hands grip her hips greedily, pressing into her hip bones as he keeps the perfect tempo and angle for her. Lucieâs head flies back, eyes closed, back arching up off the bed. Connor catches her body, holding her there as she quakes against his sticky skin.
âHoly fucking- fuuuuuuck.â Connor drawls out into her neck. Her muscles contract around the latex again, savoring the feeling of his fullness in her tight hole.Â
âOhmygod.â Lucie chokes out, her fingers dash through his hair as he collapses forward, spent from the ribbons of cum he left in the latex.Â
âGod damn.â He groans, doing micro pumps into her to prolong both of their orgasms. He stops when heâs too sensitive to continue.Â
Lucie collects him on her chest like a prized possession. Her arms tighten around him, lips dropping on his cheek where his head is buried in the pillow beside her. He turns his head, chasing her lips on his as if he hasnât had enough of her yet. His hand cups her cheek, thumb stroking over the pink he put on her skin. His nose runs down her mouth and chin, letting his forehead hit her mouth instead. Lucie canât help but smile. Sheâs never felt this complete and connected after sex before.Â
âIs your roommate coming back?â Connor eventually wonders, pulling slowly out of her.Â
âNo, she went to her boyfriendâs.â
âSo we have the room to ourselves?â
âYeah.â She smiles. âBut we should put clothes on. Just incase.â
âOkay.â He kisses her forehead, then helps her get up.
They both change back into their clothes, then Connor holds the covers up for Lucie to slide into. Her dorm bed is entirely two small for two people let alone one who is a professional athlete. But it keeps them close so neither of them mind. Connor encourages Lucie to turn over to be little spoon. She tucks her butt into his lap, then curls her knees up, wiggling back into him. He holds her hips steady, giving them a squeeze as a warning.
âDidnât realize you were a one and done kinda guyâŚâ She trails off. He moves his arm down so his hand can cup her right breast. He pinches her nipple, making Lucie squeeze her thighs together.Â
âOnly on days I have long flights.â He mumbles, kissing the back of her neck. âRemember that for road trips.â
Lucieâs heart skips a beat, thinking about him coming home to her after being on the road. She wants that. Badly.Â
But for now, she will settle for this- his warmth heating up her back, limbs tangled with hers and soft breathing synchronized with the same pulls of air as her.Â
Lucie closes her eyes quickly. She feels so safe and comforted in Connorâs warm embrace.Â
She couldnât fight it much longer if she tried.
30 notes
¡
View notes
Text
Whumptober 2023 Day 15 - Makeshift Bandages
FINAL ONE OF THE BATCH! Congrats folks, if you've read every single one of these you have officially read 30k words worth of my work in a matter of hours. If you want to be included in the taglist for the next batch please let me know so I can put you on the list!
@splinnters final tag until the next batch because I already know you're going to want to be there!
Words: 2.1k
Jay felt it as soon as he tried to move his leg.
It took everything in him to not scream as the wooden plank shifted, and he grit his teeth when he pushed himself up on his elbows. There was unfamiliar sand piled under him; it mustâve been what cushioned their fall from the sky.
Where were they, exactly?
He spit out a mouthful of sand, finally turning back to see what was wrong with his leg.
And had to quickly look away because the sight almost made him sick.
âGotta fix it, Jay,â he said to himself, steeling his nerves and looking again. He saw the plank that was pinning the limb in place, noticing that it was one of the destroyed Bountyâs floorboards. With shaking hands, he reached out to grab the end of it, his back twinging in protest and the cuts on his arms stinging. It took a firm yank to dislodge it, and this time he couldnât contain a small scream as the wood left large splinters behind, buried in his skin.
Definitely wasnât the worst injury his leg had ever suffered, but damn it was up there.
With another pull, his leg was technically free, and Jay took a proper look at it. It was scraped to high heaven, leaking fresh blood onto the sand and staining it a dark brown. There were large patches of skin missing, and Jay could feel every grain of sand settle itself into the injury, almost like they were burrowing into his muscles. He felt nauseous watching the exposed muscles flex when he tried to move it, and suddenly his vision was tunneling and his air supply was running out as his chest turned inside out.
Oh, he could not afford to start panicking right now.
âGuys!â he shouted, leaning against one of the ship walls that he happened to land near. He hated the way his voice cracked, but there was nothing he could do. âGuys! Anybody?!â
Now that he was paying attention he could feel all of the scrapes along his chest, his back ripped open like he was dragged along a cheese grater. Somehow his gi was almost completely intact despite the damage to his body, and Jay would be lying if he said he wasnât at least a little bitter about the fact that his clothing seemed to be more durable than him.
âJay?â he heard Kai yell, but as soon as he tried to answer back his leg twitched hard; it felt like someone had lit it on fire. Instead of calling out Jay screamed, hand going to clutch at his leg in desperation for the pain to stop.
That was a bad idea. Jayâs head was swimming, and he swayed dangerously from the bolt of pain shooting up from his calf where his hand had landed. The feeling of blood coating his hand was far too familiar in the worst of ways, and Jay hurried to pull it back and scrub it on his gi.
Except it wasnât coming off.
Why wasnât it coming off?!
âCole, Zane, I found him!â Kai shouted, rocketing around the corner of the wall. He slipped on the sand, stumbling, catching himself and paling as he took in Jayâs condition. âShit, holy shit. Get some bandages! We got a man down!â
He wouldâve laughed if he had the oxygen. Why were Kaiâs zingers always so terrible?
Kneeling down next to the blue ninja, Kai looked him over, and Jay could feel his warm hands ghosting up and down his back as he tried to guage how injured Jay was. âJay, Jay can you talk to me? Say something, please, I gotta know if you hit your head or not.â
Jay clumsily nodded his head, shutting his eyes and trying to control his dizziness. Panic threatened to overtake him, but he kept running. The world needed to stop spinning before he did anything else. âYou got water?â
Looking relieved, Kai pushed some of his curls out of his face. âYeah, yeah I think we found some. Itâs on the way.â
âI know I hit my head,â Jay said, reaching up with a shaky hand to massage his sore jaw. It clicked softly, but the pressure rocked Jayâs vision like it was on a ratchet joint. âBut I dunno how hard.â
âIâll check for a bump,â and Kai did just that, running a single hand over Jayâs scalp. He didnât find anything, but he was startled when Jay threw his own hand away from his face. Jayâs face lost its color, breathing turning stuttery as the blood ran down his cheek where his hand had been pressed against his skin.
There was blood on his face.
His blood on his face.
âKai,â Jay said breathlessly, groping around and latching into the fire ninjaâs knee, âKai-â
But Kai already knew what he was going to say. He took a corner of his red gi and wiped Jayâs face as gently as he could, making soft shushing noises as Jay whimpered. âI got it, Jay, donât worry.â
Zane finally showed his face around the corner, and the nindroidâs look of alarm only made Jay even dizzier. âWhat happened?â he demanded, sinking down in the sand next to Kai. He started analyzing the debris stacked around the three of them, and Jay cried out when Zane tried to move one of the large pieces of metal his leg happened to be leaning on.
The cry attracted Cole, who was hauling a large and mostly intact crate filled with various bits and bobs that Jay could not be bothered to identify right now. âJay!â his best friend cried, dropping the crate and rushing to Kaiâs side. Jay shouldâve been relieved to see all of his brothers alive and well, but there was only the impending feeling of vomit coming up his throat as he watched his leg glisten with fresh blood. Anxiety tended to have that effect when left unattended.
âMove,â he gasped, shoving Kai to the side, âmove-â
And not even a second later and he was emptying his guts into the sand, watching it turn from a fine gold to a disgusting mustard. Kai thumped his back, and Jay could hear garbled words from Zane even if he didnât know what the nindroid was saying. Too much effort.
â-find bandages. We cannot leave his leg like this,â Zane said firmly.
âYeah, no shit Sherlock,â Jay spat out another glob of gross body stuff, Kai being the only thing holding him up after the red ninja had moved to sit behind his back. âHurts like a bitch, though.â
âI bet,â Cole said sympathetically, face pallid from looking at Jayâs injury for too long. âAt least you still have it.â
âDid you want me to lose it?!â
âNo! Iâm just saying it could be worse!â
âIf his leg becomes infected,â Zane popped in, âand gets any worse, then we may have to consider amputation. Jay could still very well lose his leg.â
âWhat Iâm going to lose is my fucking lunch if you keep talking about cutting my leg off,â because for as brave of a face as Jay was putting on, the idea of amputation terrified him. He was sure that they would build him a prosthetic, but would he still be able to be a ninja? Could he still save people? Would he even be able to work properly? Amputation and anxiety were not a good mix, what a no-brainer.
Kai snorted. âI think you already lost it, bro.â
âAmputation is the last possible option,â Zane assured, patting Jayâs uninjured knee and squeezing lightly. âCole, did we find anything that can work as a bandage?â
The earth ninja started rummaging through the crate, looking for any sort of anything that they could patch Jay up with, but Jay was suddenly tilting to the side as his vision went topsy-turvy, and Kai was the only thing keeping him from dropping like a stone into the vomit-soaked sand.
Blood loss, his brain supplied helpfully, and Jay groaned from the dizziness that overwhelmed him. Everything was moving in circles, and he barely recognized Kai snapping his fingers right in front of his face. He was trying to get Jayâs attention.
âShit,â Kai muttered from behind him after seeing how unresponsive the blue ninja was, and he thought quickly. âZane, give me your sleeve.â
âWhat?â
âJust trust me,â Kai reached for his own gi sleeve, tearing it off at the seams. He quickly ripped the sleeve open so that it was completely flat, and while normally Kai wouldâve done anything to keep his gi intact this situation was an emergency. Zane mirrored his actions on his own sleeve and handed it to Kai, who quickly tied them together. Jayâs head thunked against his chest, and Kai started panicking upon seeing his brotherâs closed eyes.
He shook Jay harshly, eliciting a pained groan. âJay, stay awake. We need to keep an eye on you.â
Frowning, Jay squinted up at Kaiâs face. âI am awake, just dizzy. I donât want to see everything spinning.â
Kai startled when Cole took the makeshift bandages out of his hands, adding his own black piece to the mix. Cole didnât have sleeves, but he still tore off a large chunk from the strap over his shoulder, letting the front of his gi fall down and expose a couple scratches across his chest; they were nothing compared to Jayâs wound.
Handing it over to Zane, Cole reached for Jayâs limp hand, lacing their fingers together. âSqueeze if you need to, Sparky. This is gonna hurt.â
âHuh? Whatâs gonna- '' Jay didnât finish his sentence before he screamed, and Kai was suddenly very hyperaware of the fact that they were in the open. They didnât know what was in this realm, dangerous or otherwise, and they were sitting ducks with Jay downed like this. Any sort of sound alerting others to their weakness needed to be shut down.
Fumbling around, Kaiâs hand eventually closed around a good-sized stick, and he hastily shoved it into Jayâs mouth and told him to bite down on it. Jay whined but did as he was told, strangling the life out of Coleâs hand while Zane wrapped his leg as quickly as he could. It was one of the longest five minutes of Kaiâs life, watching as his little brother squirmed and sobbed and knowing that there was nothing he could do to make it better.
âWhereâs Wu?â Kai asked as Zane finished, tying the makeshift bandage off with a tight knot and checking it over once more. Cole reached up to take the stick out of Jayâs mouth, grimacing at the splinters that it left behind and the drool leaking down his chin. He wiped away the drool and Jayâs tears as gently as he could.
Zane kept rubbing Jayâs knee to try and comfort him. âHe is safe, donât worry. Cole and I left him in the shelter.â
âShould we try to move Jay to the shelter?â Kai asked, smoothing his hands over his smaller brotherâs sides and kissing the back of his head. Jayâs hair was covered in sand but Kai didnât care; his brother needed the comfort.
âGive him a minute,â Cole said quietly, noticing the way Jayâs chest was heaving, sweat dripping down his brow and the collar of his shirt. He tugged out all of the splinters that he could find, aided by Zane, until there were none left that he could see. Kai kept Jay still, rocking them back and forth as gently as he could.
They heard a roar in the distance, and Kaiâs grip tightened out of fear. âWe need to move. Cole, get him up, but be careful.â
He and Zane kept a careful watch while Cole took Jay from Kai, debating the best way to carry the blue ninja to safety. Eventually deciding on just a simple carry, he hooked his arm under Jayâs back and the other under his knees, lifting. Jayâs head flopped onto Coleâs shoulder, and Cole could feel his brotherâs eyelashes against his skin as his eyes blinked open.
âWeâre going somewhere?â he mumbled, hand latching onto Coleâs shirt out of pure instinct.
âYeah, bud. Thereâs a shelter nearby that weâre taking you to,â Cole said, starting the brisk walk across the desert sands to the Bountyâs cabin where they had left little Wu, âso just work with me, okay? Itâll be over soon.â
âOkay,â Jay said, and Cole could tell that he was trying to be quiet despite every movement of his leg eliciting a small whimper; it wasnât long before Jay had his buried in the crook of Coleâs neck, and Cole did his best to ignore the blood leaking through the makeshift bandages and onto the sand below.Â
He just hoped that dragons or Oni or whatever else lived in this realm couldnât smell the blood to track them.
#whumptober 2023#finn's writing#ninjago jay#ninjago fanfiction#lego ninjago#ninjago cole#ninjago whumptober#whumptober day 15#ninjago kai#ninjago zane
50 notes
¡
View notes
Photo
Pariah AU | A small spark of warmth P2|  Smut  (18+ only)
Julieta lay curled up on the bed, the tears long since gone and the lingering bitterness sat in the back of her throat and she hated having it. She didnât want bitterness to be part of her. That wasnât who she was⌠she was supposed to be a healer.
She was supposed to fix other peopleâŚlike she always had done. That had been her life for the last 45 years so why couldnât she fix her family? Why couldnât she fix herself?
âSheâs here.â The voice was low, dim in the background but she barely listened until she heard the door creak.
âMi amor?â AgustĂnâs voice echoed in the small space before she felt the bed shift as his weight dipped into it. âI heard what happenedâŚâ
Julieta sniffled softly, burying her face further into the pillows. His warm hand touched at her side, curling around her before she felt him tug, pulling her back and into his chest.
âIâm sorry that happened to you.â
Julieta said and did nothing; what could she say? Now everyone knew and⌠now she was once again at the brunt of it.
Judgement.
It was agonizing to be in the centre. Suffocating and overwhelming⌠and lonely.
Julieta knew she could handle it from the family. She knew that was part of the work⌠but from the Encanto too... she felt like an outsider. Unwelcome. As if all her work in the past 45 years was simply a note at the bottom of a page.
Worthless.
It was terrifyingly easy to feel the void pull her down⌠and she had very few people to keep her head above that water.
She needed her husbandâŚneeded her daughters. At least now she had one of those things. Someone who could make her feel a little less broken.
âAre they right?â She mumbled softly.
âNo.â He spoke firmly into her ear, âand donât let them tell you otherwise. Youâre a good person, a loving mother and bigger heart than most.â
Julieta desperately wanted to believe that. She just couldnât shake the doubt. âNothing I do is making things better⌠I donât know what to do.â She whispered, her voice shaking.
AgustĂnâs breath tickled at her skin before she felt him shift. âAbuela will set them straight.. or Bruno, I think heâs investing in pocket-sand at Mirabelâs suggestion.â
The dim reminder made her nose wrinkle; of course she knew Bruno knew the difficulties of the town; she had done her best back to defend him in their youth and since his return, he was back in the good books. Was this how he felt all the time? Why he never left his room? To hide away to avoid the negative attention?
Julieta wiggled around, wrapping her arms around him.
âIâm sorry I got us kicked out of the Riosâs home.â Her voice muffled
âScrew them.â He whispered, âWe should have come straight here.â
Julietaâs eyes closed, resting her forehead against his chest. Outside their room, she could hear soft talking of AgustĂnâs parents before there was a soft knock at the door.
âAgustĂn, me and your mother are going to find Alma, let her know where youâll be staying.â
AgustĂn sighed softly. âSi, Gracias. But Julietaâs not up for any visitors, aside our daughters.â
âOkay.â There was a long moment before they heard the door shut and steps that echoed away, leaving them both alone in AgustĂnâs parents home. It felt odd. But she could feel AgustĂn was relaxed; not that she expected less, this was his childhood home when his family had moved here. This was home.
âHow long do you think until Casita is rebuilt?â
AgustĂn hummed thoughtfully, âAt this rate⌠Iâd say a nine weeks if we include furnishings; the foundations have set.â
Julieta nodded. Just over two months. It sounded so far away but⌠Casita was not a small building; it needed firm foundations to stand a fresh 50 or so years. They had to take their time to make sure; she didnât want to lose it by poor building infrastructure. Abuela wouldnât allow for sloppy work.
âYou know, my papi works with the local carpenter. If you donât want to go near Casita or stray too far, you could help pick out our room furnishings thatâll need to be built?â
Julietaâs head rolled back, an eyebrow raising. âWhat If I pick something you donât like?â
âthen Iâm sure weâll have a fun debate for either or, and weâll decide to keep it and see if it fitsâŚand ultimately, itâll stay and Iâll learn to appreciate my wifeâs taste in aesthetics.â
Julietaâs lip twitched softly, a finger prodding him in the chest.
âYou miss your piano, donât you?â
âReplaceable.â He lent down, his lips pressing against her forehead. âJust⌠please can we not have a kitchen in the bed room again?â
Julieta snorted, burying her laugher into his chest though her smile vanished a little because⌠itâd just be a normal house. No magic. No need to worry about a room designed around her gift. Now she had none.
âHey, Mi amorâŚâ AgustĂnâs finger caught Julietaâs chin, shifting her head up. âYouâre okay. Do you really want a kitchen up there?â
Julieta shook her head, her hand moving to trace along his chest. âItâll be weird but⌠thereâs no point to have that when I wonât have my gift. Short-cut to comforting eating and my waist-band will not enjoy me in the long run.â
AgustĂnâs eyes remained soft. âItâll be okay.â
Julieta let out a short exhale. âIâm exhaustedâŚthis whole situation isâŚso draining.â
His arms tightened around her, pulling her in before a hand began to stroke down her back. âWeâll get through it.â
Julietaâs head rolled back to look at him. âHow can you be sure?â
AgustĂnâs head tilted, his hand pausing before he lay back. âYou love this family and they love you. Unconditional. Anger, grief and pain, it muddies the water but ultimately, the only way forwards isâŚas a family.â
âLikeâŚwhen you came back to me?â She asked quietly, her throat tightening becauseâŚshe damn well remembered how that was like.
AgustĂn nodded. âItâŚtook a long while to understand. Longer than Iâd like to admit because I never thought youâd purposely do something like that⌠but when I started to look at our other two daughters for the first few weeks afterwards, how Abuela seemed to act and then I realised that they needed us both to support them. I never stopped loving you, Julieta. But⌠I knew when the truth would come out, youâd need me. I know my reaction; I could only anticipate that on mass would beâŚhard.â
Julietaâs eyes welled up as he spoke, biting down onto her lip but she knew what he was implicating. This wasnât the first time she had low-days but she knew she masked a lot; she wasnât supposed to make her family worry. She didnât let them know when those days hit. She wasnâtâŚat the bottom yet but she wasnât going to be free of it any time soon. If she hadnât had AgustĂn, she was sure she wouldnât have gotten out of bed this morning.
âThank you.â
AgustĂn nodded softly though he lent down though she didnât hesitate to kiss back, far too used to the slight tickle of his moustache to care but she felt the underlying feelings of need rise through her; she needed him. His closeness, affection, his love⌠him.
Her hand brushed to his cheek, her other hand knotting into his waistcoat, pulling his weight towards her. His arms shifted, a hand coming to press against the mattress in surprise; keeping himself balanced above her.
He pulled back sharply and breathlessly, âJuli?â
âI need youâŚâ She whispered, finger tips brushing up to his hair, âI need more than just words.â
He winked his nose to push his glasses up before he leant back, a hand coming to his buttons only for her to stop him, keeping him in place with the grip on his waistcoat.
âNo. Keep it all on.â She didnât know how long her in-laws would be away; they could be gone a while or soon; and she didnât want the humiliation to be caught bare-ass naked in their guest room with her husband.
âLet me get comfortable,â He tugged himself free of her grip despite her whine, his hand undoing the his buttons, opening his tie and before she knew it, her skirt was pushed up; his fingers finding the rim of her bloomers before she lifted her hips, allowing him to tug them down and she watched him toss them off the side of the bed.
In a moment, her lips were claimed again and this time, she felt the spark of fire return through her veins as he pushed her into the pillows, a hand pulling her leg around his waist before she clocked that his pants were still very much sealed.
Her fingers tugged at his belt, though he let her work for it to her own frustration to open it then his pants and she didnât hesitate to get a firm grip around his length and pull him free.
AgustĂn groaned against her lips, pulling back but delved his face into her neck. His hand coming down to touch her, slipping into her folds.
She was not overly wet but his touch made her groan that turned into a muffled gasp as he thumbed over her clit, working her well with the soft kisses and nibbles into her throat and soon enough, she was sopping with need, his hand holding her hips down but it took everything to remember the grip she had on him to edge him on.
Julieta let out a breathy grin as he bit into her shoulder as she stroked him, feeling how his body seemed to writhe at her touch until she felt his hand grip at her wrist suddenly, his head pulling hack, cheeks flushed and pupils blown wide.
âToo much.â He whispered.
Julietaâs lips curled up into a smirk, âthen itâs been far too long.â She wouldnât open that gate since the last time they had had sex, not nowâŚ
His grip shifted, pushing her thighs open before she felt him push into her, both of them letting out a collective sound, her blood feeling like fire as it pulsed thumping through her veins, her eyes fluttering shut, cutting out the world to the heat and pleasure that only seemed to grow and light through her body.
A part of her wanted to roll them around, to sit and claim her husband with fire and need as she wanted; to feel in control of the situation in any way possibleâŚ
AgustĂn was quick to set a brisk pace, a soft hiss forcing him to not try and hitch her leg too high to get deeper; her flexibility wasnât what it used to be. Her nails bit into his shoulders, her head rolling back with a muffled moan.
AgustĂnâs teeth returned to her throat, her head spinning as the heat grew, her face flushing with heat, her pulse in her ears, the tensions coiling in herâŚ
âalmost..â the words almost soundless on her lips.
The only loud sounds was the wet thumps, the creak of the bed and their hushed sounds trying not to seep through closed shutters.
AgustĂnâs pace seemed to waver but she clench her walls around him, hearing a guttural, groan before he thrust particularly hard that seemed to trigger the tensions within her to snap suddenly and unexpectedly; her mouth falling open, her eyes rolling as her mind was washed with white warmth, spinning with pleasure before AgustĂn grunted heavily, burying himself into her before he came hard.
Both lost in their world, her legs trembling around him, cheeks flushed red with a small sheen of sweat, panting for breathâŚ
It left Julieta basking in the afterglow; not wanting the warmth to fade or the feel of him leaving her empty; his weight a comfort, like a shield between her and the worldâŚ
âJuli..â
Her eyes snapped hazily open, smiling up to AgustĂn though her warm bubble was popped as he pulled back, hastily shoving himself into his pants and she felt like she was on another world  as he rose to his feet, pulling her shirt down and shoved her fallen bloomers under the pillowâŚ
Then she heard why which was quick to pull her back to reality.
âAgustĂn?â
Julieta closed her legs sharply, rolling back onto her side to how she had been before, wiping her face onto her sleeve as AgustĂn opened the shutters enough to let the wind in.
His hands tucked his belt in just before the door cracked open.
âIâve talked to Alma. Sheâll have a talk with the Rios family later today once todays work is done. But you know weâre happy to keep you here if they suddenly decide to change their minds, Hijo.â
âThank you.â AgustĂn spoke quickly, barely able to mask the shake in his voice before he coughed, clearing himself a little âI donât think moving back will do us any favours.â His hand came to her arm, her hand reached over, her breath uneven but she sniffled softly.
âPlease, they probably only took you in the look good to the Encanto. Now they look real bad.â Senora Rojas said in a tone that suggested that the talk she had given to her mother had been very public.
âNow, clean up, open those shutters wider and Iâm glad you two waited until after we were gone. Dinner in two hours and I expect you both to be there.â
âMamaâŚâ
âI raised you, Hijo. You canât fool me.â
With that the door shut and Julieta wasnât sure if she was blushing out of embarrassment or amusement.
1 note
¡
View note
Text
Hey guys. So in MCC you might have noticed that Dream got a little salty. This was a shame for me as itâs so much nicer to watch Dream whilst heâs in a good mood. For better or worse though, heâs super competitive.
Hereâs a breakdown of how the event went badly for Dream and his team. Itâs pretty long...
The event starts well; Skyblockle is an interesting, if stressful game, and they do pretty well for their first time. Not perfectly though and they recognise they could do better too - Dreamâs already pretty hard on himself for any mistakes he makes. But itâs purely directed at himself and how he can improve - I think itâs pretty evident he holds himself to a high standard.Â
Bingo is next and he kinda doesnât know what heâd doing and wastes some time. I feel like he notes it down too much to not knowing the game but it is pretty luck-based anyway. Also this was a really quick game as so many of the items were very easy to obtain in a very short time. Anyway, they didnât expect to do well really and Dreamâs in good spirits, looking forward to the other games.Â
Then Battle box comes... and itâs extremely laggy and even glitchy. The weapon choices of Wooden axes and tnt seem honestly pretty bad just in terms of gameplay and the tnt is outright gamebreaking with the lag. Despite this, Dreamâs team is doing well, having won their first 4 games and theyâre keen to win more. Dreamâs even instructing Sylveey to wait on the wool in order to maximise kill points (you can see heâs taking this really seriously as he could sound a little nicer as sheâs certainly trying to win too).Â
Anyway, the game needs to be restarted - some players killed themselves outside the rounds and thatâs not exactly fair. For whatever reason, reviving them is not possible. The chosen solution is to restart the entire round which regretfully seriously inconveniences Dreamâs team. Heâs incensed at the perceived injustices. He feels that it would be better to push on without restarting.Â
The proceeding rounds donât go nearly as well for them as the first play through. Many teams have now realised how effective rushing strats are for this map - the axe is too slow in pvp to meaningfully stop players from quickly placing down wool and the tnt is dangerous enough to scare people from the centre. Itâs a legitimate strategy but feels rather unlike the traditional battle box which is usually the closest minigame to a straightforward pvp battle. While the lag is universal, it rather this strategy which goes against purpleâs playstyle which includes maximised kills. Additionally, restarting gave a lot of teams the change to realise the potential of this rather cheap strategy which they may not have with only a single round of battle box as it would have been without the lag.Â
Itâs not really anyoneâs fault that the game messed up but Dreamâs ire is now directed towards the organisers and heâs lost his good spirits.Â
Buildmart comes next and itâs not exactly one of Dreamâs favourite games to say the least. Still, itâs long and a nice distraction from the mess that was battle box and Dream has developed some strategy with his team, even if it didnât really work amazingly.Â
But then comes the audience takeover. Dream was really looking for parkour warrior - which heâs been really keen to play. Heâs extremely fond of parkour and wanted to try out the new course - he and his whole team had practiced the old course a lot and were ready to crush the game. But it wasnât one of the the options in the poll at all. Up to this point Parkour warrior hasnât been an option at all and it is one the team has every reason to want to play.Â
Regardless, they soon settle on Hole in the wall - a gamemode theyâve played before and enjoyed. And yeah, the system messes up. Rocket spleef, which was Technobladeâs choice, narrowly lost the poll but gets selected anyway due to faultiness from the twitter poll. Needless to say, Dream is pretty annoyed. Given how the resetted Battle box earlier, he is of the opinion that they should switch in to Hole in the Wall to accurately reflect the audience vote. What he doesnât realise is that this isnât possible and the situation is less similar to battle box which only reset itself, not the game choice.Â
This is where Dream gets outright angry, even going as far to say he feels like quitting entirely. He feels like the tournament is working against him, which it kinda is, though itâs not in fact due to human design - just errors outside anyoneâs control. That said, compounded with the mess that was Battle box earlier, Dreamâs in a terrible mood, especially with his competitive nature, feeling like heâs losing due to circumstances outside his control rather than his own abilities. (When fans are saying rigged, I feel like many of them simply mean that the gameâs working against him rather than that someone is actively sabotaging them (an incorrect definition...). Itâs a minority that kicked up a large fuss as well, not that this excuses them or anything, or Dream for not realising the effect heâs having on his audience.)
His heart is simply not in Rocket Spleef, which seems to be a pretty tough game for newcomers to pick up anyway, while the other top teams, Orange and Green, both excel at this game mode. (And Krimson too maybe? I think I missed how they were doing in this game.) Itâs a shame as he canât allow himself to enjoy the game mode at all. It is an interesting one that heâs not amazing at but isnât terrible at either, managing to survive longer than the rest of his team, who are all also doing lacklustre. Their performance has not been helped by everything thatâs going on.Â
Then thereâs ace race. Itâs a new game and pretty different from the standard minecraft experience. Itâs the first time for everyone so thereâs probably a few kinks to be worked out etc. and Dream and his team find it interesting but they donât exactly love it. Itâs very different from the standard minecraft experience. Their strongpoints are definitely vanilla minecraft and theyâre not too confident with elytras. I feel like if they werenât in a dour mood they would have enjoyed it tons more. Two elytra heavy games in a row is unfortunate. Still, this game acts as a breather. The one issue is that parkour warrior is finally on the board and so theyâre very keen to play it.Â
As the next decision dome comes up, Parkour warrior, Hole in the Wall, TGTTOS, Survival Games and Sands of time are all available. These are all probably Dreamâs favourite games aside from Battle box (which obviously didnât work out this tournament). Dream notes beforehand that the one game heâd really like to play is Parkour Warrior and the one heâd prefer to avoid at this stage is Sands of Time.Â
So naturally, Sands of Time is chosen. Heâs a bit irritated. Fortunately, Sands of Time is awesome and his team is great at it. Single player survival stuff is what they excel at after all and they all perform. They take risks, make a lot of coins, get far and are among the longest teams to stay in, coming in second overall with both Dream and Sapnap doing really well. This game proves to be what finally cures Dream and his teamâs mood. The game is also worth a ton of points for some reason, putting them in with a (still small but possible) chance of making the finals.Â
Last game and they really want Parkour warrior of course. Yeah, itâs not chosen. Instead we get hole in the wall. Some may joke that its good that the game finally got chosen but itâs obviously not the favoured choice for this team when Parkour warriorâs an option. Oh well though! Theyâre disappointed to miss out on it but they do like hole in the wall and they all have fun playing it, doing decently though not nearly well enough to do better than their rivals.
By this time theyâve regained their spirits and eagerly support Green Guardians in dodgebolt. Itâs an intense match and they all thoroughly enjoy watching it, especially seeing Pete team clutch out the win after being down.Â
At the end, Dream finds that despite everything heâs still somehow managed to obtain 3rd overall on the individual boards, the same as last time, and heâs really happy about it. His team are pretty happy too with Sapnap also managing to get 8th place in his very first event.Â
Dream closes off the stream with an apology. You can see as it goes on how the frustration slowly melts away as he begins talking. At first still obviously still annoyed but soon confessing that he seriously overreacted and that he still loves the event and the team behind it and holds them to a very high standard. He offers kind words towards Technoblade and Pete too, noting that the rivalry is for show and he greatly respects both of them and encourages all his watchers to go and subscribe to them, helping Technoblade to hit 2mil. He notes that heâs really competitive and he really wanted it to go well - especially as its the only time heâll be allowed to play with George and Sapnap and really wanted to win it with them. His sentiments feel real and he expresses interest in playing again while noting that he could see them also not inviting him back after his behaviour during this even and understands that.Â
Overall, game choices and unfortunate circumstances worked against Dream and his team and left him in a bad mood but once it ended, he did bounce back. Itâs easy to see the contrast from the last event where he was annoyed he didnât win but blamed his own performance - not the event and not his teammates - reflecting on how he can improve and do better. (He got temporarily a little annoyed at buildmart admittedly but it was purely his fans who blew that out of proportion, he quickly reassured George that it was okay and that it wasnât his fault.) Dream is always very determined to improve and succeed or fail due to his own skills.Â
This turned into a long analysis of the event, wow. Dreamâs perspective wasnât that much fun to watch and it pains me to see how it all devolved. Letâs calm down and try not to blame the event, the other competitors or Dream too hard for any of this, okay? Things went wrong and itâs mostly outside of anyoneâs control. I hope heâs in better spirits if he joins next tournament.Â
#dreamwastaken#sorry this was so long!#i guess I had to analyse the whole event#a summary of it from dream's perspective i guess#apparently techno's viewpoint was far more entertaining#this one left me feeling bitter at least until sands of time#his talk with techno afterwards was great though#best part of the event for me#post-end i know#i look forward to the upcoming manhunt and collabs#the dangers of tryharding#and the issues with having a large fanbase#i think he forgot he wasn't just talking to his friends#analysis
51 notes
¡
View notes
Text
Elysium
god this fic took forever iâm so sorry!! but hey, first fic on the new blog! <33 also yâall should really thank @iwaasfairy who listened to me complain about this fic for a solid month, sheâs the reason it got finished
Cult leader Oikawa Tooru x female reader
tw: indoctrination, extremely dubious consent, blood, yandere themes, religious themes, minor character death, implied abuse & drug use, mild smut, nsfw
The island itself is breathtaking
Pristine beaches with gleaming white sand, vast swathes of lush, green rainforest and waterfalls that cascade into shimmering pools of crystal clear water. Untouched, undisturbed; a paradise. At least, thatâs how Ryuji had described it.Â
Paradise, but only in the sense that a gingerbread cottage in the middle of the woods is paradise to a lost and hungry child.Â
He hadnât been wrong. Bare feet sink into soft, white sand as you climb from the boat - the warmth just toeing the line between pleasant and burning. Gentle waves ebb and flow behind you, and thereâs a light breeze that kisses your skin, the taste of seasalt carrying in the wind. Home, it seems to sing.
A laugh sounds somewhere in the distance, yet the only other figure on the beach is a man walking steadily towards you. He smiles when he sees youâve noticed him; friendly, non-threatening. Itâs a far cry from the swarming welcoming committee youâd been dreading, and you wonder if thatâs somehow intentional as well.Â
As the boat pushes back out to sea he comes to a stop before you, âIâm Makki,â he says, pushing the fringe of his hair back and giving you a not-so-subtle once over. Whatever he sees must meet approval, because his grin only widens, âWelcome to the Commune.â
Ryuji wasnât wrong; the island is a beautiful, deadly thing.
â
Youâd never heard of the Commune before the phone call.Â
And maybe that shouldnât be so surprising. Youâll be the first to admit youâre hardly an expert, but from what you do know, groups like the Commune â cults â donât spring up out of thin air and start broadcasting their mistreatment and systematic abuse.Â
Theyâre not the kind of people that have sweet old ladies clutching their pearls and mothers shepherding their children away â at least, not in the beginning. Not entirely. Theyâre not out to recruit extremists to further their cause, they choose to prey on the vulnerable, the lost and the disillusioned. Those easily manipulated. You suspect thatâs why when you google the Commune, all you find is a website for what essentially looks like a long term luxury wellness retreat.
âThe Commune is about healing and harmony, about returning to nature, supporting one another to forge a brighter, more holistic future together⌠a self-sufficient community living apart from technology and other evils of modern society.âÂ
You fight the urge to roll your eyes as you scroll through. Thereâs a whisper of philosophical teachings woven throughout, a page dedicated to their founder, Oikawa Tooru â smiling handsomely in every single picture, because what would a burgeoning cult be without a charismatic leader â but thereâs not enough.
So here you are, on an island hundreds of miles away from home living amongst strangers; because Ryuji wouldnât have sounded so terrified if this was just some alternate, free-loving bunch of hippies.
And even with all that heâd told you, everything you thought youâd be prepared for, the Commune is like nothing you couldâve imagined.Â
Makki introduces you to Asuka, a woman only a few years older than yourself, dark haired and stunningly beautiful, and winks as he tells her to take you under her wing. She smiles brightly, eyes twinkling, and pulls you into a heartfelt hug â as if youâve known each other your whole lives.
âWeâre so glad youâre here!â she beams.
Youâd like to hate her.Â
It feels like you're supposed to, sometimes; when she gets that dreamy look in her eyes and starts talking about Oikawa and the Commune and how lucky everyone here on the island is. Yet thereâs something about her â the genuine warmth she emanates maybe, or the kindness in her eyes â that makes it difficult for you not to like her.
âYou should come to the gathering tomorrow,â she hums idly one afternoon, maybe a week or so after your arrival. The two of you are sitting on the edge of the pier, legs dangling down into the water, tangled fishing nets to be repaired strewn between you.
âI always go,â you reply.
She laughs, fixing you with a knowing look, âAnd sit right at the very back, all but running off the moment we finish?âÂ
And your traitorous heart skips a beat.Â
âItâs okay to take things slowly,â she says. âWe understand that being a part of the Commune is a big change from the life you knew, and that not everybody is able to see what we see and embrace those changes.âÂ
Asuka sets down the knot sheâs working through and reaches for your hand, a gentle smile on her face, âBut you shouldnât be afraid. Youâre meant to be here, I can feel it. You just need to stop fighting against it; surrender yourself to us, to the island, and everythingâll make sense, I promise.â
Itâs dangerous territory. One wrong word could set off alarm bells, yet you canât help pressing just a little.
âDo you ever miss it, then? Life outside the Commune?âÂ
Your family. Friends. The life you left behind before you came here to be brainwashed like all of the others.
âWhy would I?â she answers without missing a beat, and itâs hard to ignore the bitter flicker of disappointment you feel at her answer. âThe island provides for us, we donât have to spend our days selling off tiny pieces of ourselves just to make ends meet. Itâs paradise here, and we have Oikawa to thank for that. Why would I ever want to go back?â
Silence falls between you as you struggle to think of something to say to salvage the situation. Yet Asuka isnât even looking at you, instead staring out at the water with a strangely pensive expression.Â
âDid you know I was married once?â The words seemingly out of the blue, you can only shake your head. For a moment, she doesnât reply, watching as the waves rise and crash offshore. And then;
âI was young, eighteen or so, fresh out of high school and he was a small town cop.â Her eyes flicker to yours, and your heart clenches at the sadness and pain echoing there. âI thought he was a good man, once upon a time.â
A chord strikes deep, your chest tightening involuntarily at her words. Itâs not the same, of course itâs not the same, and yetâŚÂ
No. You stop the errant thought in its tracks. Groups like the Commune prey on the vulnerable, you know this. People like Ryuji, like Asuka, likeâ
Her fingers squeeze around yours, pulling you back to the present. âCome to the gathering tomorrow. Listen to Oikawa, itâll help.â
â
She doesnât give you a choice in the matter â dragging you by the hand to sit right at the front of the gathered crowd that very night.
Oikawaâs handsomer up close; tall and dark haired with pretty eyes and long, sweeping lashes that frame delicate cheekbones, itâs not hard for you to see how a man like him has amassed such an impassioned following.Â
Once he starts actually speaking, however, you realise that his good looks and charming smile are just the tip of the iceberg. Oikawaâs utterly captivating as he preaches about the cycle of life and death and the paradise that awaits his faithful. Passionate and engaging, he speaks like he truly believes every word of the lies heâs spreading.Â
And Asuka, her friends, the others gathered, they eat up every word like itâs gospel truth, resounding cheers and thunderous applause deafening around you. In the midst of the rapturous din, Oikawaâs eyes flit to yours.
Slowly, he smiles â a dazzling grin that makes your stomach flip â and everything; Asuka, the noise, the others swarming around you, it all fades away.
For one electrifying heartbeat, youâre frozen in place. Just you and Oikawa, trapped in the pull of each otherâs gaze.
â
You canât forget the reason you came.
But itâs⌠difficult, in a way you struggle to understand. You only have one purpose for being here, one goal; find Ryuji and bring him home.Â
And yet, some days itâs like thereâs a fog in your mind, and you have to focus to remember why youâre here at all. You catch yourself laughing with Asuka and her friends, the days passing by in a blur of endless, easy distractions.Â
It barely feels like work when youâre sitting under the shade of the trees, eating the fruits youâve picked by hand â ripe and sweet, unlike anything youâve ever tasted â diving off waterfalls into the crystalline water and meandering down the shore collecting seashells. Even when you are working, mending clothes or cooking with the others, it fills you with a sense of contentment you canât quite explain.Â
Like youâre a part of something bigger. Like youâre doing something that matters.
Ryuji becomes a distant thought. A whisper in the back of your head, a niggling in your gut, easily brushed aside and ignored until thereâs a moment of quiet. In the dead of night, the balmy summer nightâs breeze kissing your bare skin, you lie awake, lost in memories of the last time youâd seen him.Â
Fists angrily pounding at your door, the yelling that gave way to sobs and the hoarse, desperate pleas that followed. Ryujiâs face; pupils blown wide and eyes rimmed in red, darting restlessly around as he held you too tight and beggedâ
Rolling over in bed, you gaze out your window at the star flecked sky, the shadows of the forest that lie at your doorstep, and wonder what it is that scares you more; that youâve lost track of the days youâve been here, and saving Ryuji is starting to feel like an afterthought, or that you could so easily forget all of it, find a place here in the Commune and be happy.
âThe island, itâit fucks with your head.â
Ryujiâd told you that, and youâd brushed it off as paranoia. You need to find him. Find him and get the hell outta dodge.
You can deal with the fallout later.
â
Kiyoshi.Â
Heâd mentioned the name a few times amidst his rambling â a friend of his on the island. Youâre annoyed with yourself for not thinking of it sooner, however much like Ryuji himself, trying to focus and remember the name is like wading through thick mud.
Once you do, though, finding him amongst the hundred and fifty or so inhabitants is the easy part.Â
Thereâs no strict division between genders within the Commune, however Kyoshi, despite his somewhat lean stature, is among the builders of the island and his path doesnât often cross with yours.Â
From Asuka you find out that heâs been a part of the Commune for years now, before even she joined, and that he mostly sticks to himself, though youâve seen him chatting quietly to a few of the other men, a perpetually angry looking blonde in particular.
Itâs the last part that piques her interest, âWhyâre you so curious, anyway?â she asks, her face lighting up as a sudden thought occurs. âDo you want me to introduce you two? To be honest, I didnât think heâd be your type, if youâre interested, thoughâŚâ
Cheeks aflame, youâre quick to shut her down. âNo, no, nothing like that. Iâve just⌠seen him around and weâve never really spoken, I guess.â
A lame excuse, though mercifully she lets the subject drop without too much prodding.
Therein, of course, lies the problem. Walking up to Kyoshi and casually trying to drop Ryuji into the conversation without raising red flags is risky, but what other options do you have? Youâve already spent too much time on this island.
Although, maybe Asuka has the right idea.Â
While you hadnât been lying when you said you werenât interested in Kyoshi in that way, nobody else knew that. Who would really look twice at the shy newbie striking up a conversation with the quiet, easygoing man? He wasnât unattractive per se, and from the brief interactions youâd seen of him, he seemed kind enough.
You have enough patience (barely) to wait for dusk the following night. Thereâs a celebration, something about the full moon and a blessing on the island and the Communeâ you hadnât really been paying attention when Oikawa had spoken about it. Still, itâs too good an opportunity to pass up. With the fire pits crackling, and the dancing and music and the sweet honey wine flowing freely, nobody will be paying too much attention to what youâll be doing. Hopefully, the alcohol will also serve to lower Kiyoshiâs guard, and perhaps if youâre really, really lucky, loosen his tongue as well.Â
Of course, youâre not banking on him telling you exactly where Ryu is or what happened to himâ and thatâs assuming he actually knows â but at this point youâll take anything over the nothing you currently have. A tiny slip up, thatâs all youâre asking for.Â
As the sun descends beyond the horizon, you play your role well, laughing and chatting amongst friends, sipping carefully at the cup of wine in your hand as you wait for an opening. And perhaps itâs your nerves working against you, but you find that itâs not just Kiyoshi your attention is drawn to.Â
Up on the shore, away from the rabble, Oikawa lounges back with a cup of the same honeyed wine youâre pretending to drink. For the most part he seems deep in conversation with Iwaizumi, his right hand, but every once in a while he glances up, letting his gaze roam over the crowd of his followers.
Every inch a king and his general.
And it would seem benevolent, if not for the strange smile he wears â the one that widens when his eyes catch yours.
Swallowing tightly, you force yourself not to dwell on it, to ignore the odd sensation curling in your gut and the way your skin prickles under his attention. Now is not the time to lose focus.
Pushing all thoughts of Oikawa aside, you subtly scan the beach once more, only to find that Kiyoshiâs moved, sitting now on a piece of old driftwood near the bonfire. Alone for the first time tonight.Â
Your legs are moving before the thought even fully registers.Â
âDo you mind if I sit?â you ask, gesturing to the empty space on the log beside him.Â
Kiyoshi smiles, the laugh lines at corners of his eyes crinkling pleasantly, and shakes his head, âNot at all.â
âThanks.â
Taking another sip of your wine, you will your shoulders to relax, your racing pulse to slow. This has to seem natural, and so you force yourself to hold your tongue, let your head loll back and breathe deep, soaking it all in. You can hear the others in the distance, the music and the dancing, the happy laughter and shouts that beckon â you want to go join them. Even your blood seems to hum, a call of something other pulsing through your veins.
But you pay it no mind. There are more important things to worry about tonight.Â
Indeed, steel blue eyes have been appraising you curiously for a while now. âThis is your first Lunar blessing, isnât it?â Kiyoshi asks after a moment.
You nod, humming in agreement. Less than a month; youâve been here less than a month. Is that a good thing?
âAre you enjoying yourself?â
A harmless enough question, and again you nod your head. âYeah, itâsâŚâ you pause, searching for words that wonât sound hollow. âItâs paradise. I feel like I need to pinch myself just to make sure itâs real.â
He smiles gently. âBut?â he probes.
Grimly, you wonder whether Kiyoshiâs usually this perceptive, or if youâre just a really terrible actor. In a way, you suppose it really doesnât make a difference; youâve come too far to turn back now â at least not without raising suspicion.Â
So you lie with a truth, and pray that it works.
âI had a friend I was supposed to meet here,â you confess quietly, gazing not at him but the crackling flames of the bonfire, the burning embers carried off into the night. âHe was the one who said I should come, but now Iâm here and heâs not and every time I catch myself enjoying thisââ
âYou feel guilty,â he surmises, cutting you off. âBecause heâs not here to enjoy it with you.â
Wordlessly, you nod â and maybe it isnât so much of an act when your eyes begin to glisten, your smile wavering.Â
Kiyoshiâs silent for a moment, and you take another sip of the honey wine to hide your nerves. âYou shouldnât, you know,â he says eventually. âFeel guilty, I mean. You belong here, with the Commune. Youâre happy here. Paradise⌠isnât for everybody.â
He doesnât say it to be cruel, more like heâs simply stating a fact, and somehow that makes it all the more unnerving. And itâs nothing you havenât listened to Oikawa preach about time and time again. The Commune is for the devoted, the faithful â the lucky few â and youâve never thought too hard about what heâd meant by that.
The Communeâs small, maybe a hundred and fifty or so people on the island. Thereâd been no initiation, no test of faith or trial period youâd had to pass when you arrived â at least, none that youâd been aware of. You simply stepped off the boat and theyâd welcomed you with open arms.Â
An uneasy sensation settles into your gut, goosebumps prickling at your skin despite the heat of the midsummer night.Â
That⌠doesnât make sense. It canât. Absolute controlâs too important in groups like this, they couldnât just let anyoneâ
Kiyoshi speaks again, his calm voice pulling you from your thoughts. âWhat was his name?âÂ
You blink at him slowly â stupidly. âSorry?â
âYour friend,â he clarifies. âWhat was his name?â
âOh, um- Ryuji.â
Kiyoshiâs brow furrows in thought for a moment, but he merely shakes his head, âDoesnât ring a bell, but like I said, not everyone who arrives stays with us for long.â
He looks you right in the eye as he says it.
You donât understand the cold, foreboding that seeps through your veins, because heâs lying. He has to be.Â
Ryuji was here. They were friends, Ryuâd told you thatâ
Why did you think this stupid plan would work anyway? That heâd tell you anything, much less the truth when this whole fucked up island is full of liars and those too indoctrinated to know the difference?
âYou alright?â he asks when abruptly, you shoot to your feet beside him.
And it takes every ounce of willpower you have left to force an easy smile to your lips, raising your cup just a fraction, âYeah, just gonna go get a refill. Thanks for the talk, Kiyoshi.â
Whether he notices that your wineâs barely touched or not, you donât care â not as you turn on your heel without another word and head back up the beach.Â
Your head is pounding, your body trembling â you donât hear the call of your name until a hand reaches out and grasps at your wrist, spinning you around.
Asuka greets you with a wide grin, Makki and a tall, broad shouldered man you think is called Mattsun standing either side of her â the formerâs arm slung casually over her shoulder. âThere you are! Iâve been looking for you,â she says. âCome on, weâre gonna go swimming, itâs so pretty out there!â
You glance out towards the ocean. Moonlight bathes the inky blue water, light shimmering off the rippling tide; some of the others are already out there, splashing amongst the waves.Â
âClothing optional, of course,â Makki laughs, and Asuka tugs on your wrist once more.Â
âCâmon, itâll be fun!â
But you shake your head, slowly pulling your hand from her grip, âIâm not feeling great, I think Iâm gonna head back.â
Asuka frowns, concern marring her pretty features. âAre you okay? Do you need us to call Mizoââ
âNo,â you say, cutting her off. Healer Mizoguchi is the last person you need to see right now. âI justâ I just need to go lie down for a bit. You guys go have fun â enjoy the blessing, Iâll be fine.â
Makki and Asuka share a fleeting look, but itâs Mattsun who interjects before either one of them can speak, âIâll walk you back, then.â
Your stomach churns. It doesnât sound like a suggestion.
And the smart thing to do would be to accept his help; the walk from the beach to your villa isnât far, and while youâre not as familiar with Mattsun as you are with Makki or Asuka, itâs not like heâs going to hurt you or anything, butâ
âReallyâ you donât need to, itâs fine,â you smile weakly, shuffling back as he reaches to offer you his arm. âGo swim, Iâll see you guys in the morning.â
Mattsun shrugs easily enough, falling back into line with the other two â yet thereâs something in the way he grins and holds your gaze for a beat longer. A glimmer of amusement, as if thereâs some joke you're not a part of. âIâll hold you to it, sweetheart.â
The heat that floods your cheeks clashes uncomfortably with the cloying heaviness in your stomach, but somehow you manage to stutter out one last goodbye before turning back to scamper off in the direction of your room.
âBut not to lie down.
Thereâs not a cloud in the sky, and the full moonâs bright. No need for a torch, not unless you decide to venture into the heart of the forest.
Youâve been a fool. Kiyoshi, Asuka, Makki, Mattsun; you canât trust any of them to help you, even unwittingly. Ryujiâs here on the island â somewhere â and every second that slips away, every second that you allow yourself to forget puts him in further danger.
And so you cling to your discomfort, ground yourself in it. The prickling sensation at the back of your neck, the tightness in your chest as you slip past your villa, keeping low and quiet â theyâre a reminder that there is something insidious here on the island, that you have to get out.
You and Ryuji.
Heâs here. Away from the others, kept under lock and key as punishment, or maybe being forced to undergo whatever kind of glorified brainwashing theyâve got going on, but here. You need to be smart about this, because while you donât intend to stop until you find him, tonight will be your best shot â while everyoneâs distracted down on the beach.Â
For the first time in a long time, it feels like you have a clear head.Â
Creeping through the underbrush, you steer clear of the well trod pathways that lead towards habitation. Youâve been there, and to the docks, and the river.Â
If theyâre still keeping him here (and they are, you refuse to entertain the possibility that it could be otherwise) then itâs not somewhere out in the open. A bird cries out in the distance shattering the calm of the night, and you flinch â but it only serves as another reminder that your time tonight is limited; you cannot afford to delay. You wrack your brain, trying to dredge up memories of the last few weeks, surely you must have seen somethingâ
âLost?â
The single word, spoken in a deep, gruff voice has your blood running cold.
Slowly, you turn.Â
Iwa stands behind you in the thicket, his face utterly impassive. Briefly, you contemplate whether itâs worth trying to bluff your way out of this, but Iwaâs eyes narrow, flashing in the dim light and you think better of it.
A sigh escapes you, your shoulders deflating. âWhere is heâ Ryuji?â you ask; a whisper rather than a demand.
Iwaâs expression gives nothing away. Did he know, or have you handed him the smoking gun of a crime thatâd fallen through the cracks? Does it even matter anymore? Youâre justâ
Youâre tired.Â
Exhausted. In the space of a few moments all of that shining determination and resolve; it fled, leaving a gaping hole in its wake. This has to end, you canât keep fighting against them forever. You canât keep drowning in this guilt, feeling torn every second that you spend here on this stupid island. You just want to find Ryuji and go home.
⌠Right?
A tense beat passes as Iwa appraises you, and then; âCome with me.â
The hand he places on your shoulder doesnât give you much choice. His grip isnât what youâd describe as gentle, yet heâs careful enough to make sure you donât trip or stumble as he marches you north.Â
In the thick of the forest away from the beach, itâs eerily quiet. Every twig that snaps underfoot, every ragged breath you draw; it feels too loud. Out of place amongst the stillness of the midsummer night.Â
And isnât it ironic, that for the first time since you set foot in this paradise, you feel like youâre trespassing?
A bead of sweat trickles down from your temple and your mind unwittingly drifts back to Mattsun and Makki. Are they still swimming with Asuka? Probably, you reason. Itâs hard to pinpoint exactly how long itâs been since you left them on the beach, but surely no more than an hour.
And strangely, like water drawn from the depths of a well, an image comes to mind; the four of you standing in the waves, you perched atop Mattsunâs shoulders, screaming and giggling in delight as Asuka tries to knock you down again, two sets of eyes watching from the shoreâŚÂ
You should have stayed on the beach.
âCan I ask you something?âÂ
âYou can ask,â he replies drily â humouring you, you suppose.
Your lips quirk upwards for the briefest of moments. âWhat happens on the Lunar blessing? Asuka, the othersâ no one told me what it was.âÂ
Iwaizumi doesnât answer you immediately, but you feel his fingers reflexively tighten on your shoulder. Likely it wasnât the question he was expecting; surely there were others that you could have asked â but you donât really want the answers to those.
If youâre being led like a lamb to proverbial slaughter, what good would it do you to know it?Â
And yet as the seconds pass and no answer seems forthcoming from your captor, you resign yourself to the fact that your curiosity will remain unsated. You donât even know what prompted you to ask in the first place; knowing Oikawa itâs probably some grand, meaningless spectacle. Pretty, hollow words spoken only toâ
A heavy sigh draws you from your thoughts, and you falter in your step, almost tripping over your own feet in the process. Iwaâs quick to right you, urging you forward with a less than gentle nudge. âWalk straight,â he grunts, yet it lacks any true heat. Anticipation flutters through your veins, and he mutters a soft curse behind you. âFine. It⌠itâs an exchange.âÂ
An exchange? What the hell was that supposed to mean? Your eyebrows draw together, mouth opening to press the matter, but Iwa beats you to the punch.
âYouâll find out for yourself soon enough, now shut up.â
You have no response to that, so you do.
â
The two of you walk in silence for what feels like hours. Eventually, the terrain becomes steeper, the worn path youâre treading twisting and winding, and you realise you must be close to the mountains at the heart of the island.Â
As your breath comes in heavy pants, your legs beginning to ache, you canât help but be lost in the beauty of it all.
The floraâs different here, unlike any youâve seen before. Flowers bursting from the bark of towering trees, blooms of vibrant hues; reds and purples and soft, baby pinks. Even the vines at your feet curl amongst pretty white buds that gleam invitingly under the moonlight. Your jaw falls open as you gaze around in wonderment.Â
You forget why youâre walking, where it is that youâre heading. Iwaâs grip relaxes as a quiet gasp escapes you, and he doesnât stop you when you stray from the path to take a closer look. You canât resist reaching out to touch the silken petals, leaning in to smell their perfume. Soft and light and sweet, your eyes flutter shut, a smile creeping across your visage.Â
It reminds you of home. Not your actual home â the rundown, tiny shoebox apartment you gave up before you came here â but something deeper.
Home, like the long summer days spent playing in your parentsâ backyard. Home, like afternoons curled up by the window, watching the rain come down in sheets outside.Â
Home, like the comfort of arms wrapped around you; two hearts beating in sync.
âCâmon,â Iwa interrupts after a minute or so, his voice a touch less gruff. âWeâre almost there.â
Dazed, you find yourself nodding, allowing him to guide you back to the path. This time, he doesnât grab you by the shoulder, seemingly content enough to walk by your side.Â
True to his word, itâs only another few minutes before you see it; a wooden villa, four times the size of your own and far, far grander, set amongst a clearing of trees on the mountainside. Confused, your eyes flicker from the villa to Iwa and back again. Gossamer curtains billow lightly in the breeze, a warm, inviting glow spilling from the open windows. Surely this cannot be where he meant to lead you⌠and yet he merely stands at your side, arms folded across his broad chest, watching you expectantly.Â
âYou gonna make me carry you up there?â he asks, not unkindly.
Swallowing tightly, you shake your head.Â
Another glance, and you catch a shadow lingering by the window. Your heart skips a beat, apprehension curling in your gut as you begin to walk, every step feels less steady than the last. Youâre almost glad when Iwa takes you by the arm; if only so that you have something to focus on other than the growing tightness in your chest. The villa, with its pretty flowers and airy, elegant grandeur is far from the isolated cell youâd been afraid of, yet the uncertainty of what youâre walking into eats at you all the same.
Is this where theyâve been keeping Ryu, or has he brought you here for another reason?
Nothing, however, can prepare you for what you find inside. Warm light emanates from lanterns that bathe the room, and your eyes widen as you stare around you.
Strange, gold carvings inlaid with mother of pearl decorate the thick, woodens support beams, a pot of incense burns on a table overflowing with fresh fruit. Thereâs a jug of the same honeyed wine youâd drank earlier in the night and two cups set on an ornate stand nearby â just within arms reach of one of the chaise lounges.
Iwa affords you little time to gape, drawing you further in. Silken tapestries hang from the walls â youâre pulled along too quickly to truly take note, but the brief glimpses you get hint at a story; a divine being cast from his home, lost and wandering.
It tugs at something buried within you, and uncomfortable, you tear your eyes away.
The two of you reach a closed door at the end of the hall, and Iwa pulls you to a stop, knocking once.
âCome,â a familiar voice calls.
You stiffen, though perhaps you should have foreseen this outcome. Who else would Iwa bring you to but to him? Distantly, you register his grip relaxing, the sound of the door sweeping open and his voice at your ear.
âGo on.â
And itâs funny, you think, how two halves of yourself can be so at odds with each other. Because while your stomach twists itself into knots, goosebumps prickling at your skin, your legs stumble forward of their own accord.
Two steps forward, and your breath catches in your throat.
Itâs a bedroom, that much you can deduce from the decor, but thatâs not what captures your attention. Nor is it Oikawa, leaning against the bureau with a genial smile â at least not at first.Â
No. In place of a back wall, thereâs open space, not so much as a panel of glass obstructing the view before you. And what a view it is; from this height you can see the sprawling forest below, the coastline dotted with bonfires and the moonlit ocean shimmering beyond. Where the floorboards end, there are steps, you realise as you unwittingly inch closer, leading to a cascading spring â likely fed from the waterfall you can hear rushing nearby.
How easy it would be to brush aside your worries, you think, to shed your clothes, slip into the cool, calm water and lose yourself entirely. Even amongst all youâve seen and experienced on the island so far, this is incomparable.Â
âStunning, isnât it?â Oikawa murmurs, coming up behind you.
His voice startles you, yet when you turn, you find him not gazing out at the scenery but rather at you, that same strange, knowing smile curling at his lips.
âSome days, I admit, itâs hard to tear myself away,â he continues, unbothered by your stunned silence. âBut even I canât neglect my duties for too long.â
You swallow, tongue darting out to wet your lips. Confusion twists through you at the conversational tone, surely he hasnât brought you here just to chat about the impressive views, yet thereâs no hint of disapproval on his face, no indication that heâs anything less than pleased with you.
Itâs unnerving to say the least, but youâll play along with his game if thatâs what Oikawa wants.
âBeautiful,â you say, though the words feel woefully inadequate even as you speak them.
He hums in agreement, something akin to pride flickers in his eyes at your assessment, âA labour of love, I suppose. But⌠everything you see here, everything Iâve built, it comes with a price. You understand that, donât you?â
âI-Iâm sorry?â you stutter.
âParadise,â he elaborates, his smile widening. âThereâs no give without take. Those people down there,â he nods down at the beach, the tiny, ant-like figures still milling about, âthe lost, the beaten, the abused â I gave them what they so desperately sought; a sanctuary. A life without struggle, without suffering.â He pauses for a moment, reaching forward to take your hand. You almost flinch, almost skitter across the room to put as much distance between you as you can, but you donâtâ
His palm is warm as it envelops yours, a pleasant heat that seems to spread through your veins, easing your tense muscles. Thereâs nothing to fear from him, youâre safe with Oikawa.
âArenât you happy here?â
Yes.
âWhat about the price?â you ask instead, though it takes more concentration than it should to force the words out.Â
Oikawaâs thumb sweeps along the back of your hand. âI never said it was your price to pay,â he soothes.Â
Thereâs something wrong with that sentence, but another sharp knock at the door draws your attention before you can think too hard about it. You turn out of instinct, barely aware of the way his hand tightens fractionally around your own. Â
A single finger at your jaw coaxes your attention back to him. âIf you built a paradise, wouldnât you give whatever necessary to ensure it flourished?â
Oikawa stares at you expectantly, deep brown eyes searching your face as he waits for an answer. Agreement would be the logical choice â the one he seems to want from you â but even as your lips part, the only sound that escapes is a breathless, confused noise.Â
When you were a kid, maybe six or seven, your parents took you to the beach one day and you waded too far out into the water. The waves were bigger than you expected; all it took was one mistimed jump and you were dragged under.
It wasnât for long, probably only seconds, and ultimately you were fine â but you remember those few seconds so vividly. The feeling of helplessly tumbling through the water, fighting to break the surface but not knowing which way was up. Your lungs crying out for oxygen, the disorientation and dizziness, the panic.
It feels like that now â like the floorâs dropped out from beneath you and youâre just hurtling through empty air, desperately trying to slow yourself down with nothing to grab onto.
None of this makes any sense. Your emotions are shot to pieces, too many parts of yourself being pulled in different directions and youâre not sure which ones you can trust anymore. How can you be? Oikawaâs still holding your hand, smiling at you, and you just want everything to stop for a second so you can right yourself and breatheâ
The door opens.
Iwaizumi appears in your field of vision, dragging a bound, hooded figure behind him. And because this is all some big, cosmic joke, you get your wish. Both of them, actually.Â
Time slows.Â
Even with a burlap sack pulled over his head, you recognise the man Iwa shoves to the floor and sneers at.Â
Hundreds of miles, weeks of uselessly traipsing around this fucking island, and finallyâÂ
Finally, youâve found Ryu.
There should be relief. Fear, considering his current state, yes, but Ryujiâs here and heâs alive and as the hood is ripped off his head Oikawa squeezes your hand and the only thing you feel is⌠anger.
Not a heated flash that surges through your blood. Itâs slow and seething, insipid. You look at him, locked in place as empty, pleading eyes meet yours and all you can think is that all of this â everything â is his fault.
âAsuka told you why she came to me, didnât she?â Oikawa asks.
Your brow furrows, whyâwhy is he asking you that now, how did he evenâ
He slips closer behind you, letting your hand go in favour of your shoulder, his spare dragging lightly along the bare skin of your arm. âShe was lost, in so much pain. The physical wounds, they heal after a while,â his voice is right in your ear, a low murmur that sends a shiver rippling down your spine.
It isnât an unpleasant feeling.
âBut the scars inside, well⌠sometimes those fester.â
Gagged and bound, kneeling at your feet, Ryu doesnât even try to make a sound.Â
Heâs thinner than you remember. Face gaunt and bruised; thereâs a half healed, mottled yellow one painted across the left side of his jaw, one eye purple and swollen. You glance at Iwa, standing stoically behind him, muscular arms folded across his chest. His work, you wonder, or others as well? You notice the tear tracks running down his face, catching the light of the lanterns, but itâs as if youâre seeing it all through a thick pane of glass. None of it reaches you, thereâs nothing but that simmering, ugly feeling in your gut.
Oikawa hums, âI told you that Paradise wasnât for everyone. Itâs a haven, yes, but there are those who simply⌠donât belong.â
His bodyâs so warm, pressed up against yours. Fingertips graze along your side, and this time you donât bother biting back that tiny, breathless moan. Iwa briefly smirks at it, but thereâs no embarrassment. Why should there be? Your eyes flit back to Ryu, bowed on the wooden floor.
Another memory resurfaces; A sharp crack and a ringing in your ears, Ryuji, eyes bloodshot and glazed, falling to his knees, clutching frantically at the leg of your pants as endless apologies spill from his lips.Â
It wasnât him. It was never him.Â
âHe hurt you,â Oikawa purrs. âHe kept hurting you, I saw it.â
The words wash over you like waves breaking on the shore, but you find yourself nodding anyway. It was the truth, wasnât it? A thousand tiny hurts, piled up on one another until you finally broke.
And youâd still come when heâd called.
Listened to him when heâd begged you not to hang up the phone.
âIwa.âÂ
The brunet moves towards a grand chest of drawers pushed up against the western wall. An ornate dagger sits atop, strange and beautiful; the blade isnât steel or any metal youâve seen before, but some kind of black stone, the handle intricately carved ivory. You hadnât even noticed it before, Oikawaâs room filled to the brim with odd trinkets and treasures, but now that you have, itâs hard to tear your eyes away.
Iwa takes it and carries it over towards the two of you, holding it with the utmost care.Â
âObsidian,â Oikawa informs you as he accepts the blade from his friend, bringing it in front of you both to show it off. âPretty, isnât it?â And while you canât see his face, you can hear the smile in his tone.
He isnât wrong though.Â
Ever so carefully you reach out, the soft pads of your fingertips running along the obsidian surface, surprisingly cool to the touch. The razor sharp edges â wavy and asymmetrical, leading to a tapered point â youâre careful to avoid, almost positive youâd draw blood with the slightest touch.Â
âTake it,â he urges, his breath ghosting over the shell of your ear.Â
Obediently, you turn your hand over, your fingers wrapping around the hilt when he presses it against your palm. And as long fingers curl around yours, you idly wonder how old the dagger is â thereâs not so much as a scratch on it, yet thereâs something about the weapon in your hand that feels ancient. It thrums under your combined touch.
Oikawa jerks his chin at Iwa, and with a short nod and one last, lingering glance cast your way, the latter exits once again.Â
Leaving you and Oikawa alone with Ryuji.
âItâs almost time,â he remarks â though time for what, youâre not entirely sure. His lips press against your hair, his arm dropping from your shoulder to your waist, drawing you flush against him. âI know why you came to me, the lies that led you here.â
Both of you turn your attention back to Ryuji at that, the bound man now shaking with the force of his muffled sobs, snot dripping from his nose. That bitter resentment rears its ugly head again, soothed only by Oikawaâs pacifying hum, his thumb now rubbing slow circles at your side. âShh, Iâm not angry â none of that matters now. Youâve found a home here, no? You want to stay on the island with me.â
You swallow, nodding your head rapidly. The thought of having to leave now, of being forced out after everything youâve seen and felt and experienced here, youâ you canât fathom it. You donât want to.Â
Ryujiâd wrought so much damage, but even before heâd swept through your life⌠had you ever been happy? Were you ever truly accepted â or loved, for that matter?
You canât go back to that life. You wonât; heâll have to drag you kicking and screaming from the shore. The Commune is your home, this is where you belong. Here, with Oikawa.
âGood girl,â he croons, another kiss pressed to the crown of your head. You beam at the praise and Ryuji crumples a little further. âDeath begets life, you understand now, donât you?â
You glance at the obsidian dagger in your hand and then at Ryu, beaten and bruised, bowed in forced supplication before you, and nod.
His fingers tighten around yours, âThen do it.â
Leaning forward, you reach for Ryu, fingers lightly trailing down his ruined cheek, curling at his chin to coax his head upwards. He squeezes his eyes shut, pain and regret etched over every inch of his face, but he doesnât fight you.Â
Baring his throat to your dagger, Ryujiâs pleas take the shape of your name.
Muffled, thanks to the gag, but unmistakable. And for one single moment, you falter.Â
This⌠this is wrong; for all his faults, and god knows there were plenty, Ryu didnât desâ
A wave of calm washes over you, allaying your fears, your doubts. Your breath leaves you in a heavy gust, taking with it the tension in your shoulders, and Oikawaâs voice, smooth and honeyed, reaches your ears once more, âNothing comes without a price, doesnât he deserve to be the one to pay it?â
With your hand still tucked inside of his, your arm moves with a will of its own; slashing with inhuman grace.
The dagger cuts deep, Ryujiâs eyes snapping open in shock as a spray of warm blood hits you both. He chokes â a horrid, wet, gurgling sound â wide, pleading eyes frantically shifting between you and Oikawa. Every beat of his failing heart sends fresh blood spurting from the gaping wound. It drenches his front, splatters across your dress, your face, crimson pooling at the wooden floorboards at his knees. His mouth falls open and shut, trying and failing to form coherent sounds and you just stand there and watch, the dagger hanging limply at your side.
It doesnât take long; seconds at the most.Â
Ryujiâs slumps to the floor, his body finally growing still as the light fades from his eyes. Thereâs a beat of absolute silence, and thenâ
Oikawa shudders behind you, a strangled, drawn out moan leaving his lips. You try to turn, but his arms lock around you, every muscle tensing, his back arching. The dagger in your hand grows hot, burning the soft skin of your palm, but with his fingers still tightly entwined with yours you can only whimper and endure it.
With a hoarse, guttural roar, a pulse of pure energy surges through the room like a shockwave. Every cell in your body lights up, electrified, buzzing; a dizzying euphoria unlike any youâve felt before coursing through your blood.Â
Across the island, voices cry out in delight, a symphony of life. The trees tremble and shake, invigorated and renewed, fresh buds bursting from the forest floor, blooming under the light of the full moon.
The harvests flourish, even the river swells in response to the call.
Death begets life, just as he promised.
And with every inch of your body alight and singing with pleasure, you can barely think much less protest (and why would you want to?) as Oikawa roughly yanks you around, hungry lips crashing against your own as his fingers pull and tear at your bloodstained dress. He wastes no time with foreplay, and you suspect only begrudgingly takes a moment to hoist you up against him and carry you to his bed.
Thereâs nothing gentle about the way he hauls your hips to his, sheathing his cock inside of your warm, tight cunt with one savage thrust, but you donât care.
Not as you cling to him, fingernails raking along his shoulders as he presses your thighs further apart so he can fuck you deeper. Itâs hard and rough and brutal, yet you moan for him all the same, his name a prayer swallowed up by feverish, claiming kisses.
Tonight, bathed in blood and the soft glow of moonlight, you offer your god everything.
â
âLook, look!âÂ
A small hand tugs at your skirt, and you glance down to find a little girl with pretty, dark curls holding up a crown of woven flowers.
âDo you like it?â she asks.Â
Carefully, you take it from her, bringing it closer to examine. She watches you intently as you study it, lifting it this way and that to appraise her work, humming thoughtfully for good measure. âI think itâs beautiful work,â you tell her after a long enough pause, and you canât help but smile at the way she lights up, preening under your praise. âWhy donât you go show your mama? Iâm sure sheâll be very impressed.â
The girl nods rapidly, thanking you before skipping off in the direction of her parents. The sunâs hanging low in the sky, the fires already being readied for the night ahead. Youâre not unaware of the watchful gaze that carefully monitors your every move, and the moves of anyone who ventures too close by. Soon enough, youâll return home to the heart of the island â anticipation fluttering in your belly at the thought of what awaits you â but for now, you let your feet sink further into the sand, closing your eyes as you bask in the lingering warmth of the setting sun.
At least until the sound of your name being called draws you back to the present. Yet itâs not Iwaizumi approaching, but rather Makki, two strangers trailing along behind him.Â
âThought Iâd find you here,â he grins, throwing a casual arm over your shoulders. âThis is Kaneo,â he gestures to the man, âand his wife Manaka. They arrived this morning, Iâve been showing âem round.â
You turn to the couple, smiling sweetly as you extend a hand, âWelcome to the Commune.â
#yandere haikyuu#yandere oikawa x reader#yandere oikawa tooru#yandere oikawa#yandere oikawa tooru x reader#cult au#tw: religious themes#tw: dubcon#tw: blood#tw: minor character death#tw: abuse#hades.dark#oikawa x reader#oikawa tooru x reader
454 notes
¡
View notes
Text
zhongli âŞď¸ glazed moon
pairing: zhongli x traveler!reader
genre(s): comfort + mild angst + fluff
summary: liyue harbor is once again preparing for another festival â the mid-autumn festival. but somehow she simply couldn't bring herself to join the others in the celebration. definitely not when her heart is aching in melancholy for her missing twin. â | m.list
background: this scenario takes place during the mid-autumn festival - as quoted from wikipedia - it is the second-most important holiday after Chinese New Year with a history dating back 3,000 years, when China's emperors worshipped the moon for bountiful harvests.[2] The celebration is called Chuseok (autumn eve) in Korea, Tsukimi (moon-viewing) in Japan and Táşżt Trung Thu (Mid-Autumn Festival) in Vietnam
this event celebrated by the chinese is usually spent eating mooncakes and drinking teas. lanterns are also an important aspect of this festival. unlike the yuanxiao fesitval or mingxiao festival (which is the fictional festival featuring best boy Xiao in GI) where lanterns are released into the sky, lanterns are hand-held. this is a festival i celebrate every year hence i'm familiar with it â feel free to read up about this on wiki!
a/n: don't mind me, this is just a random idea that popped in my head. i'm in the mood for some angsty stuff these days so just had to get it out. Flute version of ć çž (Wu Ji) from the drama 'Untamed' was the song which inspired my angsty mood while typing this. pardon my errors (I may have missed them and i kinda wrote this on a spur sooooo yea)
Please do me a favor and reblog this. Thank youuuu â¤
the vitality of liyue harbor has always been astounding; an envy of the seven nations.
bright, bustling streets even in the darkness of nights was enough to show the nature of the city.
though, today it was a different kind of bustle. stores were already closed; even the nocturnal businesses that one would only see at night.
the moon had been bright and round the past few nights while the people busied themselves for another festival to come.
â the mid-autumn festival, an annual festival celebrated by the people of liyue or at least that was what zhongli explained yesterday when he extended an invitation to her to join him and others in moon-gazing today.
tonight, the moon shone bright and full in the clear dark sky, seemingly more so than the previous nights.
strategically rooted to the ground of a spacious balcony overlooking the gentle waves below, the stone tables were in a perfect spot beneath the brilliant moon.
colorful mooncakes of various flavors and teacups filled with steaming tea laid before her.
she sat at one of the round stone tables with some funeral parlor staff and of course, zhongli himself who has been rather busy ever since she arrivedâ
the cheerful chatters and laughter drew her eyes away from the empty seat beside her and to the tables across theirs.
his archon days were over, he said.
he was simply trying to experience a mundane life as 'zhongli' now, as the geo archon had put it when she expressed her surprise at his involvement with a festival fabricated by the mortals' minds.
and indeedâ
her gaze idled on him.
â he was doing it too well.
illuminated by the golden glow the table lanterns emanated, the cordial and relaxed atmosphere was warmed by attentive eyes and smiling lips.
all on him.
apparently, some things never changed. whether he was rex lapis or zhongli, he carried an alluring elegance and charisma. clinging to every word and his occasional hand gestures, they were like moths drawn to a flame.
she could understand why; she liked hearing him talk. she would have gone over too, if not...if not for this weight on her heart.
it has been nearly a year since she was in teyvat looking for her twin. these few days in the harbor, the full moon was a constant reminder of how time has passed, and yet...
a heavy sigh escaped her. a longing gleam waned in her eyes as she lifted her gaze to the sky.
they used to talk and eat under a full moon just like this, a bitter ache clenched her heart.
her teeth sank into her lower lip as it trembled.
please...not now. her hands curled into shaking fists as she tried to hold back the tears threatening to leave her eyes.
not now. not at this party. she silently pleaded with herself, her squared shoulders shaking. it took all her willpower to not let the dam break.
but one managed to escape her anyway.
âshit.
she was up on her feet fast and slipped away from the party as subtly as she could.
stumbling out of the party half-blind with tears wasn't exactly the best situation to remember about the cloak meant to keep her warm on an autumn night.
luckily, she didn't end up falling off the stairs she currently sat on.
autumn in liyue was typically not cold, but tonight seemed especially so.
she shivered to the chilly breeze brushing against her back. goosebumps crawled across her skin, particularly on the areas her dress failed to protect against the cold.
she couldn't quite bring herself to go back for the cloak. not with the mess she was now.
the sight of the round moon above wavered in her vision as tears quietly trailed down her cheeks.
under the vast, seemingly endless night sky, she felt small...
â her knees were drawn closer to her chest, curled fingers digging into her dress.
...and extremely powerless.
where is he? why can't she find him? is he even in teyvat? Is he even...still alive? does he even exist anymore?
âa dreading sense of hopelessness echoed in her heart and summoned another wave of tears wavering her vision.
under this wide, endless sky and its luminous moon, she felt alone, truly alone in the presence of the joyous cacophony of laughter and playful yells coming from the festival she left behind.
a nasty voice prompted by the noise taunted her â of how no one would notice, even if she were to walk right out of liyue harbor right now.
drowning in harsh, relentless thoughts, she failed to notice the gaze of a pair of wise, golden eyes on her back, soft with concern.
long legs covered the distance between them in a quiet, graceful stride; the gentle clacks of his loafers whenever their heels hit the ground slipped past her notice too.
not even when he climbed down the steps to settle himself next to her, a step above hers.
not even the inevitable proximity between their bodies caused by the short stairs spacious for one but narrow for two.
only until his coat was off his shoulders and wrapped around hersâ
"why the tears on the mid-autumn festival?"
âshe jolted with a sharp gasp, her widening eyes snapping over to him.
the calm and prodding gaze that met hers was accompanied by the tender brush of his thumb across her left cheek, right under her tearing eye before switching over to her other.
"zh-zhongli?"
she stayed stunned, unsure she was feeling so because someone noticed she had left or was it because of this simple gesture.
zhongli has always been a mentor-like figure to her. his words, his wise gazes, the comforting pets he occasionally gave on her head and back had always reminded her of how she was a mere child in his eyes.
but tonight...this, nothing about the gentleness his hand or his eyes emanate felt normal. or was she just delirious?
the strange stutter of her heart caused by the hand on her face, the blush heating up her cheeks made her tear her gaze away from his, flustered.
zhongli let his hand drop back onto his knee, but his eyes stayed.
crossing her arms to hold onto his coat sitting on her shoulders, she thought hard to recall his question.
"i can't help thinking about my brother, that's all." she looked back at him, smiling.
a smile he thought reminded him of the moon when it was not yet full â a quiet light melancholic with vague sadness.
"don't worry about me, i'll be fine." she slipped a glance over her shoulder in the direction of the festival. "you should go back there, zhongli, they need you. what's mid-autumn festival for liyue without you?"
she moved to remove the coat from her shoulders, but a hand wrapped around her wrist stopped her.
"but what's mid-autumn festival without you, my dear friend?"
zhongli regarded her intently, his eyes boring into hers for a second before shifting to focus on his coat.
there was something else in his eyes when they return to hers; it came and went in a flicker. "...keep this on, it's chilly today."
"thanks..." she murmured, her shoulders sinking as she yet again returned her thoughts to her brother.
"aether..." the pain she guarded showed on her face. "will i ever be able to see him again?"
tears started to well up in her eyes once again.
"i'm sorry, zhongli, i'm so sorry..." a quiet sob broke through, "today is supposed to be about the mid-autumn festival, and yet...here you are, listening to me."
zhongli's mouth opened then snapped close.
he always knew what to say whenever she was in a pinch. however, it was tears this time, and he wasn't exactly sure about what he should do about his body's urge to extend his arms out to her.
he was already more than a thousand years old.
as the former geo archon, he was the immovable rock. emotions and impulses he used to hold within himself in his younger days were buried deep under the sands of time...or at least they should be.
so where did this come from? was this strange stir an inevitable part of being a mortal?
"you know what?"
her movement to rise from the spot beside him turned his head back to her.
resolute hardened the glint in her tearing eyes, "i don't want to hold you back any longer,"
her fingers curled into a shaky fist, nails digging into her palm.
"....the people need you. i-i think i should just go bacâ"
his hand flew out before he could think any further; his body was faster than his thoughts this time.
her next breath puffed out of her, in surprise and bewilderment as her body was tugged and cocooned by a breathing warmth before she could understand what happened.
and when she did, her eyes flew wide.
cheek pressed against his neck, she found herself held to his chest. she could feel his chin atop her head and his arms around her.
he was beside her a moment ago, and now he was behind sharing the same step as her, broad enough to accommodate them. was she the one who moved? or did he?
she didn't know how but she couldn't find the energy to care âthe scent of musk and lingering tea engulfing her was an alluring comfort that made her want to stop trying.
so warm. really, really warm.
and so was his voice. "...but you need me." a hand caressed the back of her head.
there was a pause before a feigned cough ensued. "i meant, this."
#genshin impact#zhongli x reader#zhongli imagines#genshin impact x reader#zhongli x you#zhongli x traveler#zhongli x lumine#zhonglumi
407 notes
¡
View notes
Text
falling.
pairing: carter baizen x reader
warnings: angst, cheating (sorta?)
part 1 / part 2
and it kills me 'cause i know we've run out of things we can say. what am i now? what am i now? what if i'm someone i don't want around? i'm falling again, i'm falling again, i'm falling. what if i'm down? what if iâm out? what if i'm someone you won't talk about? i'm falling again, i'm falling again, i'm falling and i get the feeling that you'll never need me again ...
Stay away from me. I donât want to see your face.
Those words were burned and scarred onto his mind and no matter how much he drank, how much he smoked, how much he slept, he could still hear her voice echoing those same words which hit him like daggers. Sheâd meant those words, he knew her well enough to know when she meant something and she had meant every single letter of every single word she had muttered. He couldnât escape them and the worse thing was, he couldnât escape her face. He hadnât seen her in the last three months but he couldnât forget the look on her face, the look of disappointment and hurt. He was used to disappointing his family, thatâs all he could do but heâd never disappointed her before. Sheâd been upset at him, heâd been upset at her but theyâd never been disappointed at each other. Theyâd always been there for each other but now she was just gone and he darenât even try approaching her. He knew her threats werenât empty and he knew way too well not to mess with Y/N. She was sweet but at the end of the day she was a Vanderbilt heiress and if you got on her bad side, you could easily see it. Yet, that didnât mean he didnât miss her.
How could he not when she had been around since the very moment they were introduced for each other? He couldnât really explain what they were and he didnât want to dwell on it, heâd rather think to himself that she was gone rather than admit he was the one responsible for it. After all, wasnât that what he always did? Run away from his problems and avoiding them, instead creating even more issues. It was easier after all. However, what he did not expect was to find her doing the exact same and he couldnât help but admit how angry he was to see her with someone else. At Cotillion, with Chuck, it was easy to know it was nothing; after all, everyone with a pair of eyes knew all Chuck Bass was interested in was Blair and once Nate was off the picture, the two immediately became a thing. But now? Now he couldnât convince himself of it, he couldnât tell himself that she was trying to make him jealous as she stepped into a MET exhibition accompanied by someone whom he didnât know. A Kennedy, he had heard, and how could Carter compete with a Kennedy? He could not but seeing his Y/N with someone else made his blood boil and his grip tight around the champagne glass. Clearly he had forgotten he was here with someone else as well, yet, that didnât mattered. What mattered was that his Y/N was with someone else.Â
He hadnât even want to come to this exhibition in the first place, heâd even tried to argue it out with Serena yet it was no use, he was here now and he could see it; he could see them. He could see the man pointing to his Y/N introducing her to everyone in the room as if she didnât already know them. And that smile, that smile that always got him to do anything she wanted. A smile that was for him no longer yet looked his way and faltered. He downed the cold champagne in his glass, staring back at her before she moved her gaze away, hand wrapped around her dateâs arm. Carter shoved the champagne glass on one of the floating silver trays before making his way through the crowd like a wolf hunting its sheep until she reached her. Whomever she was with had left her alone, probably to get some drinks but he didnât care.
   - We need to talk.Â
   - No, we do not. - she grabbed a canape from a passing tray, a habit she had whenever she was uncomfortable at parties.Â
   - Can you at least give me that? You ruined my familyâs appearances at social events, you made your point. You owe me a talk.
   - Thatâs rich. - she looked over her shoulder, hoping her date would come and interrupt their interaction.Â
   - Please. - his eyes scanned hers for any softness which still laid for him, yet he couldnât read her eyes. They were hooded and hidden by thick black shadow and dark eyeliner which took away from how watery and bright they usually were, from how happy he remembered them. Itâd been a long, long three months and part of him hopped all the care she had once held from him hadnât died. He still held her in high regard and while he didnât expect her for even care for him anymore, part of him still hoped she wouldnât let him bleed out if she found him wounded. However, Y/N was much too smart to let her own emotions take over her in public situations and so she walked away.
Her gown dragged away all her insecurities and all the faltering which still seemed to dance around her whenever he was around, yards and yards of fabric dragged all that was bubbling all the way to her throat and she found herself walking faster and faster to the bathroom. Her hands flew to the porcelain sink, holding herself up as if the weight of all she had ignored for the past three months was pushing her down into the centre of the Earth. Her head snapped up, watching her reflection in the golden mirror; she thought maybe if she could see how pathetic she looked, she would snap out of it.Â
   - Y/N. - her grip on the porcelain tightened up as she turned her head to see him against the closed door.
   - I hate you. - she almost barked those words at him, voice filled with poison as if she had wanted to say them a long time ago. His eyes softened, corners looking down, a far cry from how unreadable he always was. - With every fibre of my being, I hate you.Â
   - Fine. - he made his way towards her, standing by her side. - I just wanted to say that Iâm sorry I hurt you. I never meant to hurt you.
   - You humiliated me in front of everyone. - her eyes looked into his for the first time that night, old wounds still not completely wounded. - You kissed me in Santorini when you were with Serena. You are a bad person, Carter.Â
   - I know but I wasnât with her like I was with you.
   - Details of your relationship do not interest me, Carter. If you wanna talk about your relationship, Iâd suggest couples therapy.Â
   - We werenât a couple in Santorini, Y/N. Did you seriously think I wouldâve done that to you?
   - I donât know you. - she spewed those words, letting go of the sink and walking backwards, away from him. - I donât even trust you, Carter.
   - I hope you know Iâm not asking for forgiveness from you. Iâm just apologising.Â
   - I donât need your apology, I need you away from me. I want you away from me. Â
   - Youâre spoiled, you know that? - he pointed his finger at her. - Just because the whole world revolves around your family does not mean Iâll stop going places just because you donât want to see me. You donât get to decide what I do!
  - For someone who hates this lifestyle, you seem so bothered. - she stood there, not completely happy with the adjective heâd just placed upon her. Y/N Archibald was many things, but spoiled was not one of them. No matter how many riches she had, she did not expect the world to bend to her will. - Why are you here if youâre just going to criticise me anyway?Â
The two of them remained in that match, almost to see which one of them could hurt the one the most, as if hurting each other would somehow make the fact they werenât together hurt any less. The truth was, both of them were stubborn individuals and while Y/N had been the most forgiving of the two, seeing the man she had always hoped would someday be hers with someone else had almost erased all of that. Maybe she was spoiled for expecting him to someday magically want her by his side but he was spoiled too. They were two flawed human beings staring each other, waiting to see which one would break apart first until he realised one thing; he did not want to see her break apart. He was bitter, angry at her even but deep down he knew there was no one to be angry at but himself. He had caused this and he was lashing out at her, hoping that by hurting her, heâd feel better about her hating him so much. However, he did not want to hurt her. At least no more than heâd already done, either willingly or unwillingly.Â
  - You win. - he lowered down his hands in defeat. Y/N, however remained still yet if one were to touch her arm, they could feel she was trembling. - I canât fight with you any longer.
He almost left her there standing, not sure of what to say. He really was going to leave, he was going to disappear for a while yet his decision faltered as his eyes almost too quickly scanned her, noticing the thin gold bracelet around her wrist. He had given her that bracelet, something heâd got from one of his first travels to Europe. It was nothing too special, in all honesty, compared to what she was wearing, it was probably the cheapest thing she had on her person but he remembered that bracelet way too well. He remembered giving her the small little bag, her little argument about how he shouldnât have gotten something for her, how she promised sheâd never take it off. She still had it, she still wore it.Â
   - Youâre wearing the bracelet I gave you. - he pointed towards her wrist and she immediately covered it, looking at it for a bit before looking up at him.
   - Fine. - her voice almost broke as she tried to undo the clasp.
   - Donât. - his voice however broke down as she found the clasp. - You promised.Â
Her aura softened, shoulders lowering to a neutral position as her hand unwrapped from her wrist, her eyes gazing the shiny gold metal before she looked up and at him. Whatever fire her anger had ignited within her went down, washed away like the waves onto the sand and for the first time she moved forward until she was close enough to feel his breathe on her face. Her eyes heightened up to his, lips half parted as her hands cupped his face, the same face she had seen grow older over these years yet remain the same blue eyes which were so typically his. Her finger grazed his cheekbone, the mere action making him nuzzle his face against her warm. She always had warm hands and the both of them no longer wanted to fight. She was tired and Carter was deadly afraid of not ever talking to her again, he could not lose her. He did not want to lose her.Â
There was no sound, not even the soft music outside seemed to break the silence, all that was around was their breathing, soft and slow. Her eyes moved from his to his lips, pink tinted, tainted with the taste of champagne which she could smell from his breathe. Soft emotion filled eyes looked his for a second before she moved closer, closing the distance between them. Her hands moved from his chest to rest against his chest as she tasted the champagne on his lips. His hands held her waist flush to him, before he two broke off the kiss, foreheads leaned against each other.
  - Donât leave.
#sebastian stan#sebastian stan x reader#sebastian stan/reader#sebastian stan x you#sebastian stan/you#sebastian stan x y/n#sebastian stan/y/n#sebastian stan imagine#bucky#bucky x reader#bucky/reader#bucky x y/n#bucky/y/n#bucky/you#bucky x you#bucky imagine#carter baizen#carter baizen x you#carter baizen/you#carter baizen x y/n#carter baizen/y/n#carter baizen x reader#carter baizen/reader#carter baizen imagine
164 notes
¡
View notes
Text
Fic: Stress Relief (Donaka x fem!reader)
Summary: Donaka is stressed and itâs your job to help him relax.
Pairing: Donaka x Fem!Reader
Authorâs notes:Â is this me posting filth again? Why, yes, it is! Enjoy because I have no idea how long this will last. LOL
Wordcount: 2688
Warnings: smut (oral m!receiving; fingering). Powerplay; degradation kink; edging, overstimulation; choking.Â
Most of your days you spent doing whatever you wanted because you had no worries, not financially or of any type. You were free to hang out with friends, travel, party, and do whatever you wanted.
There were only two rules: you needed to be available to him whenever he called, be it in person or through the camera. And you were exclusively his. No one was allowed to touch you unless he said so. Those two rules were easy enough to follow when it meant having everything you ever dreamt of and more.
That day, you had been in your apartment reading when the message came in, making the smartwatch around your wrist vibrate:
Zen space. Lilac. NOW.
You had no idea what had happened and you preferred to remain blissfully ignorant of Donakaâs business, but you recognize that tone, even through text. He was stressed and furious and it was your job to help him relax.
Wasting no time, you set your book aside and headed to your bedroom, considering for a second if you should take a quick shower first, make sure your skin was silky soft and scented just like he preferred, but decided against it. Making Donaka wait was never an option so you just changed into the requested lingerie.
It was a pale lavender babydoll, with a lace front that revealed almost every inch of your body and tiny panties that barely covered your sex. You also put on the diamond choker he had gifted you even though he hadnât explicitly asked for it, before taking the private lift that took you straight to his loft on the floor above.
The elevator opened in his home office and you noticed the room was dimly lit, the wall of screens was on standby offering a soft blue glow. The black leather couch was empty as you expected so you turned your attention to the left corner of the room, his Zen space, where he went to meditate or cool off.
Donaka was sitting on the glass bench, back turned to the rest of the room and facing the wall of concentric circles, his bare feet resting on the platform that separated the smooth and polished dark floor from the finely grated white sand. His hands rested on his spread knees and there was a slight hunch on his shoulders, the weight of his stress.
By his feet, in front of him, laid a thin pillow to protect your skin from the unforgiving sand and you were glad for it. You would, of course, kneel on it and endure the grains digging into your skin if that was what Donaka wanted but he didnât get off on pain. Not yours at least.
You moved towards him in silence, resisting the urge to brush your fingers over his broad shoulders and back, before kneeling in front of him, sitting on your heels and looking up at the man that gave you everything and owned your heart.
His eyes pinned you in place and made your breath hitch. Cold fury clouded the brown orbs and his lips were pressed together tightly, jaw clenched tight. The sight made your body shudder with want and you pressed your thighs together.
There was something so arousing about seeing Donaka this enraged. Seeing the violence in his eyes and knowing that it would take him barely any effort to snap you in half or choke the life out of you. The knowledge that he was the kind of man that killed without even blinking but for some reason, he chose never to harm you. Most of the time, Donaka chose tender caresses and measured touches designed to bring you the kind of ecstasy that you had never experienced before.
Today his fingers trailed against your cheek in a featherlike touch, his thumb brushing over your lips, and at the faintest pressure, you parted them, letting the thick digit enter your mouth. You swirled your tongue around it before sucking greedily just as you wanted to do to another part of his body.
You watched his eyes darkening as you hollowed your cheeks and pulled more of his thumb into your mouth and moaned under your breath at the knot building between your legs, making your core pulse and dampening your panties.
Donakaâs other hand reached for the button and zipper of his trousers, releasing his half-hard cock from its confinements. He pulled his thumb free from your mouth, palm cradling your nape before he nudged your forward.
You licked your lips and inched closer, mouth salivating at the treat in front of you. You want his long, thick cock in your mouth. You wanted to feel it fully hardening between your lips, under your talented tongue. You needed to taste his bitter precum, a flavor you were slowly becoming addicted to⌠but all that could only happen after Donakaâs permission.
Sometimes it would come almost immediately. He would push you down his hard shaft, making you gag on it, fucking your mouth with abandon and using you like you were worth little more than your holes. In those days, he would come all over your face, zip himself up, and leave you to take care of yourself.
However, on days like today, when he was tense and furious with whatever had bothered him at work, he preferred to drag it out. To make you work for it, sometimes even beg to have his cock in your mouth. When he finally allowed it, Donaka would fuck your mouth oh so slowly, pushing deeper and deeper, until tears started to spring in your eyes, spit ran down your chin and your juices soaked your panties in such a way that all you and he could smell was the scent of your desperate arousal.
âWhat do you want?â He asked and his low and throaty voice sent shivers down your spine.
âYour cock, sir.â You whispered, peering at him from under your lashes. âWill you fuck my mouth, please? Make me choke on it?â
There was a barely-there twist in the corners of his mouth and your heart leaped in your chest. How you loved to make him feel good. It was like a drug.
âSuch a good girl,â Donaka said, his thumb caressing your jaw. âMy little cockslut.â
âYes, sir,â you all but whimpered, pressing your thighs together once again because your cunt throbbed and you had never in your life thought you would get this turned on by being used like this, but by God, his words made you shudder with desire, body hot and ready for anything that Donaka was willing to give you.
With his hand still on your nape, controlling your pace, he nudged you forward once more, holding his cock with his free hand and letting the tip rub against your wanting lips. Donaka wasnât one for much noise, but there was a slight hitch on his breath that told you he was enjoying the soft, almost ghost-like touch on the sensitive and swollen head of his member.
Your lips parted a little, letting your tongue brush against the velvety head and Donaka sucked in a deep breath, especially when the tip of your tongue probed against his slit, bringing forth a pearly white drop of his precum and making him harden fully.
God, your cunt ached in need to be filled but you knew you couldnât touch yourself. Not until he allowed and that wouldnât happen anytime soon. Not until he had his release and part of you wanted to just suck him fully into your mouth, end this torturous teasing. Even if it meant a serious punishment later (or maybe especially because it would lead to a punishment).
However, the bittersweet pleasure of the edging and denial was like a drug too, making your orgasm be nearly blinding so you hanged on, gathering every little bit of patience you could find so you could continue to just lick the tip like a lollipop that you wanted to last forever.
After a few more moments of that painfully slow game, Donakaâs grip on your nape tightened, his blunt nails digging lightly against your skin, and you knew he was ready for more. You met his dark gaze, eyes hooded with pleasure lips parted in a soft pant as he watched you and he didnât even need to tell you what to do.
âSir, may I suck you now, please?â you pouted and kissed the head of cock for good measure, batting your lashes like a needy child and Donaka smirked.
âYes, angel, you may.â
You didnât need to be told twice and engulfed the thick and hard shaft into your mouth, whimpering at the burst of flavor on your tongue as he let out a small grunt of pleasure, his shoulders finally relaxing as he tilted his head back and just enjoyed your work.
You pushed him deeper into your mouth until your nose was almost pressing against the thick dark curls surrounding his member. The open fly of his dress pants scratching your chin as you hollowed your cheeks and hummed. Donaka cursed low and grunted, his hips raising lightly, driving even deeper, and you gagged, tears burning your eyes. Your clit was almost painfully swollen and each rub of the lace of your panties was torture. You needed just a little bit ofâŚ
âTake your hand off that cunt, angel.â
You had no idea how he knew. His head was still tilted back, eyes nearly closed but you didnât dare to disobey a direct command. With a pitiful whimper and one last flick on your needy clit, you pulled your hand away, crossing them behind your back and Donakaâs smirked.
âThatâs better.â He looked back at you, tugging you away until his cock slipped from your lips with a pop, and you gulped a breath. âNo one ever taught you that you shouldnât touch what doesnât belong to you without permission?â
You said nothing because you didnât have an answer to that.
âAnd to whom that little pussy belongs, angel?â
âYou, sir.â Your voice was small and raspy from the abuse on your throat.
âExactly.â
He petted your cheek once, before pushing you back toward his cock, and dutifully, you took him into your mouth again, letting your jaw slack so his shaft could slip in and out as he guided you to bob your head at a faster pace. His cock pulsed against your lips, and you could tell he was close. Soon enough, Donakaâs hot cum would be coating your tongue and you couldnât wait. You were desperate for it.
Before him, you had never allowed a guy to cum in your mouth. Then again, before Donaka, the was plenty you didnât let men do to you. He changed your life, and you knew you would never be able to go back.
His grip on you tightened again as he pulled you closer until your nose was buried against his pubes and you forced yourself to relax as best as you could as he let out a final grunt and pumped his cum down your throat.
The hot and sticky ribbons making you gag again and tears run down your cheeks as you blubbered and squeezed your wrists to hold them still. Only when he was completely spent, Donaka let you pull back, his cock slipping from your mouth, glistening with your spit and his cum as you coughed and gasped for much-needed air.
He only allowed you a moment, before he was forcing to sit on his thigh, your trembling legs spread as he pushed your panties aside and glided his long fingers over your soaked hairs and sensitive lips.
âMy dirty little cockslut is this wet from sucking me,â he mocked with a biting tone, and you whimpered. âDo you want to cum, angel?â
âYes, please, sir.â
His fingers rubbed over your clit, making you gasp and whine, the pleasure overwhelming to the point of hurting but you still thrust your hips up, seeking more.
âPleaseâŚâ you were almost crying now, desperate for it. Exactly like Donaka like it. âPlease, please, please. Oh God, pleaseâŚâ
Thick and fat tears ran down your cheeks and the same hand that had been around your nape, came to your throat, surrounding the choker and forcing you to tilt your face enough so he could lick away your tears and his two fingers finally entered you.
Your cries were high-pitched and needy as Donaka fingered you hard and fast, the heel of his large palm slapping your clit as he curled his digits and the hand on your throat tightened in just the right way.
Your climax hit you like a storm, lighting up every single one of your nerve-ends. Your vision darkened, your body tensed, your back arched and a wild moan tore from your throat as your cunt pulsed and throbbed and you squirted all over his hand and knee.
For a while you were nothing more than a conglomerate of nerves busting with pleasure that seemed to last forever as Donaka continued to thrust his fingers, pressing the rugged wall of your cunt and rubbing your clit, dragging out your bliss until another lightning struck and you came again in what it felt like was just seconds later, but you knew it had to be longer. Time seemed to shorten and stretch at once as you rode his hand, gasping, wheezing, and crying?
You couldnât tell if that pitiful sound was really coming from your mouth, not when your body was electrified like that, your muscles spasming and feeling like jelly and you had to reach behind yourself for Donakaâs shoulders to hold yourself because surely you would slide to the ground if you didnât.
And just as the blinding light of your pleasure was starting to dimmish and you thought you would be able to see and feel and talk and breath again, his hand restarted his motions and you cried because it was almost painful now. That sweet, incessant ache that made you seek it, and you could faintly hear sobs and pleas of stop and no more. You couldnât take another.
âSafeword?â Donakaâs voice sounded clear in your ear, and it was on the tip of your tongue. You knew if it crossed your lips, he would stop, but your vocal cords refused to utter it. âSafeword, angel.â
You pressed your lips together tightly, like a kid with a secret, and shook your head. His lips drew into a pleased smile against your cheek.
âThatâs my girl.â
His kiss on your jaw was almost soft and loving before his fingers restarted their dance inside you. Even faster than before and your hips were rocking against it, actively seeking out your third orgasm despite the aching of your abused clit.
Once again, as the climax overtook you, your body went rigid and seized, your vision whited-out and for several blissful moments, that intense pleasure made time fall away, leaving only the most perfect peace and comfort, like slipping into a hot bath after a long day, letting the scented water wash away any hint of tension in your body before you laid in your bed, the duvet and pillows soft like a loverâs caress, welcoming you to an exhausted, dreamless sleep.
When you finally opened your eyes again, after what it felt like just a couple of seconds, you were in your bed, cleaned and tucked tight, the only evidence of your previous activities was the sweet ache between your legs whenever you moved and a deep, sad sigh escaped your lips.
It was always like this: Donaka fucked your brains out, then he would take care of you, clean you up and tuck you in and no matter how much your blissed-out self, begged for it â and you knew you always did â he would never stay. But this was the deal you made. You took whatever he gave you. You didnât complain and you didnât demand more.
You couldnât. Too afraid of losing what little you already had.
xxx
 If you enjoyed this work, please consider reblogging and/or commenting please. Feedback gives life to us writers!
#donaka mark x reader#donaka mark x you#keanu reeves fanfic#keanu reeves x reader#keanu reeves x you#man of tai chi fanfic
118 notes
¡
View notes
Note
WERE YOU KIDDING ABOUT THE ASK GAME if not i dont have any specific lyrics in mind but i always thought the lyrics to the mill were so cool and maybe you could get some thoughts out of them? :0
YEAH GOD OKAY LETâS TALK ABOUT THE MILL. LETâS TALK ABOUT UHHHHHHHHH [THROWS DARTBOARD]
this line. this MIGHT go on for a while so i will............ readmore
so the mill feels kind of notably different to the rest of the pafl songs, which tend to be unusually literal for lyric, either straightforward retellings of events (punch it, punk!) or character piece monologues set to plot visuals (strike 3) or both (all of them, but for instance particularly comfort zone, which is just dmitryâs horrible manifesto until it gets hijacked by a death sentence in the second verse.) the mill is a lot more like what we expect from poetry these days, which is to say itâs heavy on imagery, low on clarity, and fucking confusing!
Iâll draw a circle in the sand, drive myself around the bend in a desperate attempt to hold on to your battered hand Rocked to sleep beneath the snow, she is bathed in youthful glow âStrong enough to let it go,â he says, but darling, I donât know
a lot of the mill is about circles. this is in the name: a mill is something which turns. a waterwheel is a circle, a grindstone is a circle. itâs even in the melody: the chorus is a cyclic, pentatonic four-note riff that keeps going up and down and up its own ladder, chasing its own tail, not really reaching resolution. and then itâs also in, you know, the story:
the meat grinder!!!! everyoneâs favorite fucking hellhole!!!! it is only semi-explicitly identified in the song but thatâs because itâs a concept from the source material - both tarkovskyâs stalker and roadside picnic feature the meat-grinder, as a location nicknamed thus by stalkers because it is even more fucking deadly than the rest of the zone, all of which is already ridiculously fucking deadly, and if youâve seen the movie:
it is more or less instantly recognizable in the mill as well. so here we have a circle! here we have a mill (the title has about seventy double meanings but this is certainly one of them,) and as it turns out, this mill at least will absolutely kill you. and horribly too. interestingly though, in roadside picnic (the book) the meat-grinder is not a tunnel, and itâs not round - itâs just a nondescript patch of ground which will wring you out like a dishcloth and kill you extremely dead if you walk into it. on the other hand what we have in the book in terms of circles is the golden ball, which is the equivalent of the movieâs the room, which is, well,
in short both stories ultimately hinge upon the idea that there is a something in the zone which can give you your heartâs desire. anything you want. everything you want. whatever you want. it is infinitely powerful; it is infinitely capable. the catch is that it will only give you what you want. the catch is that giving you what you want is not the same as giving you what you are asking for. the other catch is that in both cases you have to get through the meat-grinder first.
(so, by the way, what the fuck, right? does paflâs zone have a wish-granting factory? is it also behind the grinder? where were the original trio going when they got themselves fucked up? and did they get there?)
but the point is: the golden ball, the wish-granting factory, is also a circle. itâs just sort of a sphere. itâs a big round fuckin yellow thing. you know, sorta like:
which is THE ONLY TIME yellow is used in occamâs razor not counting the full-colour shots, and it drives me CRAZY, but it is also me going full conspiracy board so letâs not even worry about it. THE POINT IS.
the circle is the death-machine and the wish-machine. neither of these things are really.... very good. the circle, or at least the arc, is also very closely associated with death:
(ŃĐžĐˇĐžĐ˛Đ°Ń Đ´Ńга ĐżŃодŃĐ°ŃŃвоŃнОгО, ârose arc of pre-dawnâ. if iâve fucked up that nominative please feel free to stone me to death!)Â
in the gdoc notes to message lost ferry briefly refers to the dawn as if it were a good thing, the dawn of hope, which is a usage that sort of agrees with the desolate and deathless hope of strike 3â˛s âeverything will pass / a day will come,â but on the other hand it really is very closely associated with dying. nikolai bites it; nikita bites it; sergei and olga left significant chunks of themselves behind. and the thing about âthis too shall passâ is that itâs always true, as is âeverything endsâ, but of course thatâs âcause the thing that ends might be you. and as we know
dawn is an ending. so that seems concerning!
i think the circle, the arc, the bolt falling back to the ground, is not a good thing. i am getting a little conspiracy board here in general but forgive me, i cannot make you a wholesome answer, my witâs diseased. i think the circle is an enclosed space. itâs an unbroken cycle. itâs the grindstone. itâs the mill. itâs about what paflâs always been about: about being trapped, about having no chances, about being bordered upon. the circleâs the geometric figure of equidistance from a given point, and you can walk on it forever, and nothing will ever change; you will never get closer, you will never get further away, you will never get out! the sun rises, the sun sets, and you are no closer to anything you wanted. itâs worth noting that anyaâs borderline city, the zone-edge port town she complains is trying to crush all her dreams, her mill
is a circle. (a cog in a machine! a grind-wheel! a cage!)
and yura, whose dreams have already been burned out of him, who starts the series already resigned to never getting out of here, calls it âthis dire deja-vuâ, i am specifically resisting putting the accent marks back onto that, which is to say, itâs a repetition that haunts him. itâs going round and round and getting nowhere.
so if we bring it back around: drawing a line in the sand, as the phrase is generally used, means setting a border, means saying this far and no further. often itâs yourself youâre setting the border for. you hit some divide you canât abide crossing so you say this stops here, it may be too early or too late, but i say it stops here. so logically: drawing a circle in the sand means youâve locked yourself in completely.
Iâll draw a circle in the sand, drive myself around the bend in a desperate attempt to hold your battered hand
the whole first half of this song, i think, is olga promising to grind herself down in a hundred ways if it means she wonât be left alone. how hard can it be to never let it overflow? she may feel lower than the low, she may wish she could just disappear out here, into the postindustrial rust, but though it gets harder all the time she will keep pretending. she isnât going to burden sergei, or indeed anyone, with her problems, her fears, her scars. she is hurt, but sheâs used to it, sheâs gotten used to being haunted long ago. she keeps her bad eye covered. she stays within her circle she has drawn. she keeps going round and round. she will take the smallest sliver of human connection and be happy, she promises she will be happy, she promises she wonât ask for more, she will take just the âhello.â
but you knooooow itâs not true. you know itâs grinding her down, that sheâll be milled to nothing pretty soon, and really she knows it too.
i am perhaps seventy percent sure that this line is a reference to the windmills of your mind by michel legrande, which features such lines as
Like a tunnel that you follow to a tunnel of its own Down a hollow to a cavern where the sun has never shone Like the circles that you find in the windmills of your mind
which on one hand seems sort of obscure to be a purposeful reference but on the other hand would be a hell of a coincidence if it wasnât, wouldnât it. either way it characterizes circles ambiguously, but definitely unsettlingly. going around in circles is chasing infinity, but what in godâs name would you do with it if you caught it? what are you even hoping to accomplish? and:Â
the second half of this song is bitterer, sharper - staring down the mouth of the meat-grinder sheâs a little more willing to admit to herself that this is going nowhere. she is running out of cages to keep herself in. she is very tired. itâs easy to say why donât you leave it all behind, itâs easy to say, sheâs strong enough to let it go, itâs easy to say, too strong to die. it is a lot harder to actually live.
this is also where the flashbacks admit to us how badly hurt they really were - sergei with his whole side in shreds, she still hides her eye but at least we get to see itâs bleeding. this moral compass is forever misaligned, she says, so there is damage, and it is lasting. and she canât settle for hello, she canât live like this, she needs someone by her side. the trouble is whether she can believe she has any hope of getting that
as for who âherâ is, or the âsheâ of âshe is bathed in youthful glowâ, i figure thereâs two possibilities: either itâs nadya, who haunts olga too, because nikitaâs abandonment of nadya represents exactly what she most fears for herself, or itâs olgaâs younger, unbroken, binocular self - both of whom were so young, and so easily hurt, and are now unfindable.
and then thereâs this conclusion: âthe sun will rise, until then / iâll be waiting for you on the other side.â which maybe is a sort of hope after all? sheâs reached no real conclusions in the zone - she knows there must be hope but she can only barely believe in it - she thinks she is destined to self-destruct. but on the other hand she still has that, a version of sergeiâs own âa day will comeâ
you may be hurt, but if you can hold yourself together, you can hope for a dawn someday. an ending. a change. but the troubleâs that thereâs more than one kind of ending. and thereâs more than one meaning for other side. there are cages, and then there are cages. and you know what else looks like a tunnel, a circle?
staring down the barrel of the gun.
#pafl#parties are for losers#it speaks#ask#in all fairness and in my defence when i made the joke i said i would write not less than one thousand words and by fuck#this has not been less than one thousand words!#jorgyjuice#THANK YOU FOR THE ASK ALSO THIS WAS REALLY FUN#and thank you VERY dearly to anyone who takes the time to read all this; you own my soul now; feel free to collect at any time#metatext
66 notes
¡
View notes
Text
Gwynriel Week Day 4 - Music
I'm back, my lovelies. Appreciate the patience.
Let's talk MUSIC, because I have established (with OVERWHELMING support) that Gwyneth Berdara would absolutely LOVE Taylor Swift and would 100% convert Azriel. He would play all begrudging and 'you have questionable tastes, Berdara' but behind closed doors and when they're alone together he's all in. And T. Swift has EVERYTHING. They can be lovey, they can be playful, they can be bitter. There are SO many options.
And, of course, I wouldn't be me if writing weren't involved.
I've started the series called 'Gwynriel and Her Highness Taylor Swift' on AO3, which will follow our favorite couple in AU fics with a sprinkling of T. Swift. You can read the first one, 'You Belong with Me', here.
And now I present the next installment:
Safe and Sound
Read on AO3
TW: Brief mention of past sexual assault and violence - no details, just that it happened
Gwyn's nightmares rear their ugly heads and Azriel is there to comfort her. She tells him about what happened the night her sister died and he finally understands the shadows he sees behind her happy eyes. She's afraid it might ruin their relationship only hours after it's begun, but he's there to prove her wrong - with the help of a little T. Swift lullaby.
The night was shattered by a blood-curdling scream.
Azrielâs eyes flew open and he sat up, frantically searching in the dark. It took a few moments for the fog of sleep to burn away from his brain. He was at the cabin. For vacation. Heâd come a day early to make sure everything was on the up-and-up. With Gwyn. They were a couple. Officially. The first few hours had been absolutely ordinary and wonderful.
âStop! Please stop!â
Gwyn. Fuck, it was Gwyn!
He was out of bed and out the door in a second, sprinting down the hall. âGwyn!â he called as he reached the closed door, but the screaming, the crying â it didnât stop. Not giving himself time to overthink he turned the knob and pushed the door open wide. The room was bathed in the faintest glow of moonlight, allowing him to see the flailing form on the bed, tangled in sheets and begging the demons that were in her dreams.
When he reached the side of the bed his heart may have cracked open. Her forehead glistened with a thin sheen of sweat, her eyes were screwed tight, and her cheeks shimmered with tears.
âNo. No, no, no,â she cried through clenched teeth, and Azriel decided he couldnât take it anymore. He didnât know what to do, but he needed to help her, to draw her away from whatever was tormenting her. He reached through her flying arms and cupped her cheeks between his hands.
âGwyn. Wake up!â he called to her, willing her to wake. âGwyn, please, itâs a nightmare. Youâre safe, sweetheart.â Her eyes shot open, teal pools swimming with fear and confusion. Her limbs had stopped writhing, but God he could feel her shaking.
âAzriel?â she whispered weakly.
âYes, Gwyn. Itâs me. Donât be scared.â He let his thumbs brush over her cheeks, wiping away tears that still fell freely over her freckled cheeks. âTalk to me, sweetheart. What can I do?â
She stared at him, chest heaving with deep ragged breaths, as if contemplating what to do. Azriel could understand. This was a vulnerable moment, and even though theyâd been close friends for a couple years this was new territory. He had never heard her have a nightmare, and it wrenched into his gut like a knife. The feeling of uncertainty, of not knowing how to help her, only served to prove how deeply he cared about her. Their relationship was only hours old, but that was only because heâd been a coward and not because he hadnât wanted to be with her - hadn't been falling for her already.
âDo you want to talk about it?â
She sighed and closed her eyes. âNot really. But we probably should.â
When new tears started leaking out from under her thick lashes he released her cheeks and stepped a knee onto the mattress. Scooping her up he leaned against the headboard and folded his legs in front of him, tucking the fiery crown of copper hair beneath his chin. He gave her time, content to trace fingers lightly over the thin t-shirt covering her back.
âAz, I⌠thereâs something you should know. Something you shouldâve known before you decided you wanted to be in a relationship with me.â
His brows furrowed. âYou think it would change my mind?â
âI donât know,â she answered, voice barely even a whisper. The silence stretched again. He couldnât imagine what bombshell she thought might doom this before it even began. âHow much do you know about the night my sister died?â
Azrielâs hand stilled on her back. This was not the direction heâd expected the conversation to go. But he shouldnât be too surprised â it was indeed a nightmare-inducing event.
âNot too much. Just that she was killed in your apartment,â he answered, resuming the soothing stroke of his hands up and down her spine. âNesta said there was more, but that it was your story to tell.â
âI guess itâs your lucky night,â she shrugged in his arms and let out a bitter wet laugh. Azriel just gave her an encouraging squeeze and leaned his cheek into her silky hair.
âCatrin was murdered by her ex-boyfriend. He was abusive, possessive, controlling. He couldnât handle it when she broke it off with him. And he hated me. He thought that their breakup was my fault. That night he broke into the apartment with a gun and shot Catrin in the head. Killed her instantly. But⌠he waited there.â Gwyn took a shaky breath. âHe waited in the apartment. For me.â
Azriel drew back from her, dread coiling his muscles in grim anticipation. She looked up at him, eyes dull with resignation. He had never seen her wear that expression before â it made his insides feel oily and wrong. His hand remained at her back, and he was determined to keep that calming presence there for her. Trailing his gaze down from her face, over her shoulders, and down her arms, he found her fingers fidgeting in her lap. He took his free hand and covered her delicate fingers, his palm large enough to envelop both of her speckled hands. He lifted his eyes to meet her teal pools again, lifting the corners of his mouth in a soft smile and squeezing gently with his fingers.
He was there for her. Whatever she needed he would give it.
Gwynâs lashes lowered, breaking her hold on him. He blinked and tried to control his breathing, remaining dedicated to being fully invested in the woman in his arms. The woman who was baring her soul to him.
âHeâŚâ she gulped a breath and moved her fingers so they were grasping his hand instead of the other way around. She clung to it, grip like a vice as she mustered her courage. âHe raped me. He told me I took her away from him, so he took her away from me. And that I would never, ever forget him.â
There was no air left in the room, Azriel was certain. His lungs wouldnât work, his mouth was full of sand, his fingers tingling with vengeful need. All he could hear was Gwynâs tearful, labored panting and echoes of the terror-filled screams that had ripped him from sleep.
âChrist, Gwyn,â he gritted out. The hand on her back lifted to cup her head and pull her to him. âIâm so sorry.â Jesus fucking Christ, no wonder she got nervous in large crowds and around people she didnât know. No wonder she didnât feel safe out in the world. The cruelty she had experienced, the evil she had been forced to endure â it was unimaginable. And somehow she still found the strength to smile and laugh and be a pure ray of sunshine to the people around her.
âObviously the nightmares are one thing, but⌠but you should know I havenât done anything with anyone since that night. Not until you kissed me.â
Azriel hissed a curse, grasping her shoulders and pushing her back so he could see her face. âDid I frighten you when I did that?â he asked desperately. If heâd only known, he would have approached that differently. He felt cool hands on his cheeks, breaking him from his panicked reverie.
âNo, Az. Not at all.â His heart calmed, and then nearly stopped as she smiled sweetly. âI should have found it terrifying. Honestly, had it been anyone else I probably would have. But, with you it was⌠amazing. Like magic.â
He couldnât contain the toothy grin that blossomed when she said that. Like magic. He had felt it, too, but he just figured the magic part was her. He slid his hands from her shoulders to cup her jaw and leaned in to brush his lips across her brow.
âSo we need to talk about what makes you feel uncomfortable. So I can make sure you feel safe with me.â Azriel let a thumb slide over the freckles painting her cheek. âThank you for trusting me with this, Gwyn. I couldnât forgive myself if I triggered something â if I hurt you.â
Gwyn tilted her head and looked at him curiously, blue-green pools shining with something he couldnât quite identify. âSoâŚâ she began, then trailed off and lowered her gaze. He felt her throat work under his fingers as she looked back to him. âSo it doesnât bother you?â
He regarded her carefully. âWhat do you mean?â Of course it bothered him. Sheâd been hurt, and she was still reliving that pain. He wanted to take it away, to make sure she never felt that way again. And he wanted to kill the bastard that had dared to lay a hand on her.
âThat you have to be so careful with me,â she answered quietly before lowering those thick lashes and turning her chin away from him. He still had his hands on her jaw, but he let her move as she wished. âAnd that⌠that I donât know what Iâll be able to do, in terms of intimacy. At least at this point- â
âGwyneth Berdara.â Azriel gently turned her chin back to him. âI wouldnât give a flying fuck if you wouldnât do more than hold my hand. I care about you, not sex. Now, what do you like? What should I avoid?â Gwyn wrapped her hands around his neck and pulled herself back into his chest.
âI like this,â she sighed. He wrapped his arms back around her and went back to rubbing his hands over her back. âI think Iâm probably okay with most things along the lines of hugs and kisses. As long as itâs not a surprise.â
He chuckled at that. âSo no sneaking up and grabbing you from behind?â He pressed a kiss into her hair.
âI like that, too. The kisses.â Her voice was muffled against his chest, and she giggled when he kissed her crown again. âAnd absolutely no grabbing me from behind,â she confirmed.
âAnd for anything more, we go at your pace. Whatever you want to try, whenever you want more, you need only ask.â Silence lengthened between them, the night filled with only calm breathing and the gentle scratch of fingers over cotton.
âDo you have nightmares often? IâŚâ Azriel paused, the heaviness of shame creeping into his chest. They were good friends, spent a lot of time together. How did he not know that this was a struggle she faced? âI donât remember ever hearing anything before.â
âItâs not that bad anymore. But when Iâm somewhere unfamiliar sometimes the anxiety triggers them,â Gwyn answered, her fingers fidgeting into the hair at his nape. âI⌠part of the reason I said I would come early with you was to see what would happen. And if it was a problem, I could go home without anyone being the wiser. I had already checked with Nesta to make sure you could ride back with her and Cassian.â
The softness of her voice â laced with embarrassment â cut into him. âBerdara,â he practically growled. He grasped her shoulders and pushed back so he could look her in the eye. âYou were going to leave? Why?â He knew the reason. Sheâd said it only hours earlier. I donât want to take away from anyoneâs fun.
âAz,â she started, averting her gaze. âThe prospect of waking up all of my friends in the middle of the night, screaming and begging, is legitimately mortifying.â He moved his hand to cup her cheek, even though she still wouldnât look up at him.
âGwyn, do you think any of us would have a problem with it? That we would judge you?â Even if they all didnât know the depth of her trauma, she was not the only one with demons that attacked in the night. The answering murmur was almost too quiet to hear, but the words rang loud in his ears.
âI donât want to cause a scene.â
Azriel thought over the last day. The road trip, the realizations. The determination that had filled him after he watched her dance behind the steering wheel, eyes glittering with mischief. The relief that coursed through his veins, the sunshine that had warmed his soul when she said sheâd wanted him to kiss her for awhile, too. The soft smiles, her giggles, the comfort they seemed to share. All the while, beneath the surface, demons and nightmares and fear and pain. How was it that she could be so strong, so resilient? The smiles Gwyn gave to their friends, to him, were genuine and bright. Her laughter was always musical and lively, without even an echo of sorrow.
The shadows behind her eyes had come for her tonight. And she had planned to go home, with whatever weak excuse, and fight them alone.
Not fucking happening.
He cupped her other cheek and pulled her jaw up, that same determination from the previous day emboldening him. âLook at me, Gwyn.â He could feel the heat in her cheeks on his palms, and when her eyelashes lifted he was met with shallow pools darkened with uncertainty, shining with wetness. âYouâre not going anywhere, okay? Youâre going to stay here and enjoy your vacation because, like I said before, itâs not as much fun without you around.â He bore his gaze into her with an intensity he was unaccustomed to possessing. She sniffled in response, which only melted his heart further, and blinked a few times â clearly trying to keep tears in check as she managed a nod.
âYouâre a part of this family, Gwyn. We support each other. We love each other. If anyone else were here tonight instead of me, they would have run here just as quickly as I did. And if it happens again tomorrow night, youâll probably have the whole gaggle trying to squeeze through the door all at once.â A few stray tears fell from her eyes as a giggle escaped her. Azriel leaned in, capturing each tear between his lips and her cheeks. âYou donât have to deal with this alone. Let us be here for you. Let me.â
At that, the dam broke. Gwyn reached for him, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and burying her face in his neck. He could feel the warm wetness of her tears on his skin, feel her body shake violently against him. Winding his arms around her back, he rocked them back and forth and whispered into her hair.
Itâs okay.
Iâm here.
Youâre not alone.
He started to hum as her sobs began to quiet, still rocking with her in his embrace. He smiled softly to himself. He wouldnât know this song if it werenât for her. He didnât share his voice with many people, but Gwyn had heard it many times. He broke into soft lyrics as the redhead continued to calm in his arms.
Just close your eyes, the sun is going down
Youâll be alright, no one can hurt you now
Come morning light you and Iâll be safe and sound
âAre youâŚâ Gwynâs thick voice was muffled in his neck. âAre you singing me Taylor Swift?â
Azriel chuckled. âIâll deny it to everyone we know.â Her head tilted back, and the laugh that lifted into the air was one of the loveliest things heâd ever heard. A pealing bell of joy. She brought her gaze back to him and pulled on his neck to lean his forehead against hers. âI may or may not have come to appreciate the creative works of Taylor Swift. Youâve worn me down, Berdara.â He kept his arms around her back, even as her had moved over his cheek. Her teal stare was alight with emotion, the brightness reflected in a small â but radiant â smile.
âThank you, Az,â she whispered before pressing her lips so softly to his. When she pulled back, he mirrored her grin.
âI donât know much about being a good boyfriend,â he offered with a shrug, âbut I feel like supporting your girlfriendâs potentially dubious music tastes and comforting her after nightmares are minimum standards. Standards that I hope to far exceed.â
âWell, I know itâs been less than a day â and I donât really have much to compare you to â but I think youâre doing great.â Gwyn tapped a finger to his nose, and his eyes crinkled. Azriel lifted his chin and brushed his lips over her brow.
âThatâs good. I have a number for you to call if you have any complaints.â He shifted slightly when his girlfriend yawned. âYou think you can go back to sleep?â
âI dunno,â she murmured.
âIs there anything that has helped? In the past? Helped you get back to sleep?â Azriel absentmindedly rubbed a few strands of copper hair between his fingers. Gwyn gave a wry smile, but it faded quickly. âWhat?â
âNesta would cuddle with me, when we lived together. She would hold onto me⌠it was like she would anchor me back to reality. To safety,â her voice was wistful, eyes distant. âBut I couldnât ask you to ââ
âDo you want me to stay with you, Gwyn?â He traced a thumb in circles over her back. âIf youâre comfortable with that, I will. Gladly. If you think it will help.â Azriel could only imagine that his own demons might also be subdued with her by his side.
Gwyn pushed away from him gently and he helped her move out of his lap. He watched her settle back onto the mattress, laying on her side facing him and pulling the blanked up toward her. She kept it lifted and lifted her eyes to him. His mouth curled up and he shimmied easily under the blanket to settle beside her.
âYou tell me, Gwyn,â he whispered. Azriel didnât want to presume how she would want him, instead seeking her guidance.
âUmmm⌠maybe stay on your back?â she replied. He put his hands behind his head and leaned back into the pillow, letting her move to where she wanted to be.
Gwyn sidled over to him and tentatively leaned up to place her head on his chest, tucking her hand under her chin. She wiggled a little bit, burrowing into her position.
âComfy?â Azriel chuckled, receiving a contented âhmmmâ in return. He kept the arm closest to her tucked under his head, but he brought his other hand across him and grabbed the hand at her chin, weaving their fingers together. He brought their hands to his lips, pressing her knuckles against them. âNo more fears, Berdara. Iâm here. Youâre safe.â He settled their joined hands over his abdomen, already feeling her heavy against him. Azriel stared into the dark, a warm blanket of contentment and strength settling over him. He had nightmares, too, things he also kept from nearly everyone. He would share those things with Gwyn, show her that she was not the only one with demons that attacked in dreams and that neither of them were alone. He had never felt so confident in the potential of a relationship, in the potential that he would be understood and accepted and loved. He already knew he would give those things to her - and more. With that newfound confidence he closed his eyes, her steady breathing lulling him to join her in peaceful, painless sleep.
92 notes
¡
View notes
Text
Beautiful Just the Way You Are
word count: 1982
request:Â
warnings: talks of negative self-image. please donât read if this will upset you!Â
a/n: this is part 5 of (undetermined) of me trying to finish requests that have been sent in ages ago. IM SO SORRY FOR THE WAIT. itâs been hard to write but hopefully these will do. please ignore any mistakes, I typed this a bit fast and didnât really check.
ChrisÂ
You and Chris were getting ready to go to one of his closest friendâs wedding.Â
This would be the first time you would meet each other so making a good first impression was a must.
Chris had gone to pick up his suit from the dry cleaners and you were currently scouring through the four dresses your sister-in-laws had lended you.Â
The wedding was a summer wedding and it was gonna be held on the beach.Â
As of recently, the heat had gotten worse each day meaning you didnât want to be stuck in a dress that caused you to sweat like a runner after 12 miles.Â
Both of Chrisâs sisters had noted this and unfortunately all four dresses before you were above the knee, something that made you uneasy.
It seemed that when you were going to meet people or attend public events, your insecurities crept up even more than usual and your mind would shove negative thoughts down your throat.Â
You were gorgeous, no doubt, but with such poisonous thoughts of yourself, you couldn't see any beauty as your reflection stared back from the mirror.
The first dress was a lacy yellow v-neck dress. It slightly flared out to the sides and it complimented your figure beautifully.
The second dress was a black bodycon, which made you want to scream. While to the average eye, your curves flourished under this dress, all you could see was a belly and hips that you wanted gone.
The third and fourth dresses were similar with thin spaghetti straps and flowy bottoms which reminded you of a bell. Â
Unbeknownst to you, Chris had come back sometimes in between trying on the second and third dress.Â
He peeked through the door, admiring how amazing you looked.Â
Chris kept thinking how lucky he was to have such a woman until he heard yells of anger that shook him from his daydream.Â
That was when you tried on the last dress and the final straw was gone.Â
Your anger turned into tears as you collapsed onto the food feeling nothing but pain and worthlessness.Â
In seconds, Chris was on the floor with you, wrapping his arms around your front where your arms were held up to your eyes.Â
He rocked you back and forth, shushing you gently.Â
â(y/n), honey, speak to me. Tell me what I can do to help you?â
Words were worthless at this point and all Chris could make out was âdress.â
He put two and two together and realized that you were upset with the way you looked.Â
For some time now, Chris knew this had been a problem, but he didnât realize it would bubble up this badly.
He knew words of his compliments wouldnât help at all because youâd just say that he was lying.Â
All he wanted was for you to see yourself through his point of view because you were like an angel.
âHey, love, listen to me.â
Chris removed your hands from your eyes and looked at you in the mirror.Â
âYou are stunning, always and forever. Your body does amazing things for you and for me.â He chuckled at the end causing you to laugh a bit, a sad smile on your face.Â
âI know you donât believe me, but I would never lie to you. I made you that promise all those years ago and I will keep it forever, you understand me?â
You nodded just wanting to shrug this whole embarrassing experience off. You were never one to want people to see you like this because it felt like you were vying for attention when you werenât.
âNo, (y/n), I want you to say.â
Rolling your eyes, you replied, âYes, I know, Chris.âÂ
He smiled and kissed your temple, âThereâs my girl. Now câmon, let's keep this dress on and Iâll help you with your makeup.
Ransom
You and Ransom were at one of Harlanâs publishing parties.
The family was up to their usual shenanigans leaving you and Ransom to sip on one too many drinks to stay interested.
One Joni walked away after trying to sell you some of her face moisturizer that cost more than the largest bag of dog food, Ransom snuck up behind you and led you to the garden, away from the sight of any house guests.
âHow about we sneak away and take a dip in the pool?â His eyebrows raised teasingly and it was hard to resist such an offer.
âBut Ransom, I donât have a swimsuit!â You motioned to your maxi dress that was too pretty to damage with chlorine.Â
You set your drink down on the cement bench and went to sit beside it before Ransom grabbed your hand and smirked.Â
âFine by me, here, simple fix!âÂ
In seconds, Ransom slipped off your dress, not even with a tear which was shocking from his usual animalistic movements.Â
This left you standing in your simple undergarments, yet feeling more naked than actually being so.Â
Ransom placed a kiss on your head before jumping into the pool in his boxers and nothing more.
He seemed ever so happy, waving his arms for you to jump in as he shook his now mop-like hair, now looking like a wet dog.Â
Instead, you were sitting quietly on the ledge of the pool, arms wrapped around your waist trying to cover every inch of your exposed body.Â
You felt so terrible like the sight Ransom would see would be so repulsive because that was exactly what you were thinking.Â
When Ransom noticed that you were frozen in your spot and zoned out on some dragonfly floating in the pool, he swam closer.Â
Ransom placed his hands on your thighs and looked up to see tears running down your nose and cheeks, dropping onto your lap.
At his touch, you involuntarily pushed him away and Ransom respected your space, floating back a bit.Â
âAngel, whatâs wrong?âÂ
âRansom, I donât want to be out here like this!â
You were on the verge of yelling, but instead kept your voice at a harsh whisper.
âAre you afraid someone will see us because (y/n) I can assure you they wonât. Plus, theyâve seen worse happen in this pool, trust me.â Ransom laughed, but you didnât and he picked up on this, deciding to remain serious for the rest of the conversation.
âNo itâs not that. I donât want YOU to see me like this!â
The man swimming in front of you was in shock at such negative words coming from your mouth.Â
He looked at you as an absolute goddess and he often wondered why a beauty like you would stay with a mess like him.
Sure he was gorgeous on the outside, but you were both inside and out.
âYouâre just saying that because you feel like you have to, Ransom.â
You huffed and looked the other way, not wanting to even glare at him.Â
Ransom laid his head on your lap in defeat.
âWhat do you want me to do? Worship you? Because I will! Oh (y/n), have mercy on me with your beauty! You are just so-âÂ
At this point, Ransom was speaking as loud as possible and he knew he was getting on your nerves.
You playfully rolled your eyes, âOKAY OKAY. I BELIEVE YOU. Will you just hush now!?âÂ
Ransom looked up with a devious glimmer in his eyes, before he pulled you into the pool and you squealed loudly.Â
âI think you are the one who should hush now, missy!â
AndyÂ
Andy had just gotten off from work and you had just finished making a surprise dinner.Â
He was delighted at the sight of homemade chicken pot pie along with two bottles of old fashioned soda, a small tradition between the two of you.
You both settled down to watch a movie with your plates of chicken pot pie.
Andy had picked a movie that youâd never seen before and within five minutes your happy mood had morphed into insecurity.Â
Turning, you saw Andy intently watching the movie as the most perfect woman appeared on screen and the negativity sprawled from your mind, turning nothing into something.Â
While Andy just innocently enjoyed the movie, your inner saboteur told you that he was more so enjoying the sight of the gorgeous woman on screen.Â
After all he had been stuck with you, so you didnât blame him.Â
Well he wasnât actually stuck with you, but that's what you told yourself.Â
You told yourself that he just felt bad for you and that is why he stayed.Â
Andy noticed that halfway through the movie, you were uncharacteristically quiet and a sour pout on your face.Â
âGosh, imagine looking like that! That would be a dream.â A bitter laugh ended your snide comment and Andy immediately shut off the tv.
âWhy did you do that?!âÂ
Andy just shook his head, âBecause of what you said! (y/n), is there something youâd like to tell me?âÂ
âAll I said was that I wish I looked like her. Whatâs wrong with that?â You nonchalant shrugged and turned away from his hard stare.Â
âHoney, I can read you very well and I can tell that wasnât just a joke.âÂ
You were quiet and Andy continued to pry. He pulled you tight to his chest, murmuring whispers of praise causing you to break and cry quietly.
âSee, even when you cry, you are pretty.âÂ
Steve
The funny thing about insecurities is that it can turn someone into an absolute mess or monster.Â
In this instance it was both.
You and Steve were at a cafe, one that you had been visiting together for years now.
Today, it seemed that the cafe had hired new employees as at least four faces you didnât recognize were waltzing around the kitchen.Â
It didnât bother you until a complete beauty who introduced herself as Cara waited at your table.Â
At first it was like the green eyed monster had crawled out of you and you felt shameful all until gut intuition showed you that she was being a bit too friendly with Steve.Â
Little glances from across the room with flirty waves. At one point you swore that she winked at him.Â
Her tone would instantly change anytime she talked to you and that made your blood boil.
Steve noticed your change in attitude as a borderline scary scowl worked its way on your lips.Â
You were burning holes into the back of her head as you thought about how perfect the two would be together.Â
Steve tried to nudge your half of your sandwich to catch your attention as he was clueless to what was running through your head.Â
âHey, doll. Why donât you eat your sandwich? The flies are crazy and I canât keep them away for long!â He swatted at the nagging flies, laughing at how the tiny creatures were defeating him, Captain America.Â
You didnât hear any of what he said and instead mean words that never once came out of his mouth.
âWhy donât you go be with her. Sheâs so perfect for you anyway.â
You stood from the table and stormed out the door, the tiny bell above it mocking you.
Steve was utterly confused at this random outburst.Â
All he had mentioned was the sandwich, nothing about a girl, especially the waitress, whatever her name was.
Thinking back, Steve realized that she was flirting with him, but he was just so used to being friendly that he didnât notice that he had put up such an illusion.
Especially one that hurt you.
The only word he was able to get out was âwhatâ before he rushed out behind you.
He grabbed your arm and spun you to face him, not angry as he knew exactly how being insecure felt.Â
â(y/n), you are the only one who is perfect for me.âÂ
You just fell into his arms, remembering that you were truly the only one for Steve.
#Steve Rogers#andy barber#Chris Evans#ransom drysdale#steve rogers x reader#andy barber x reader#chris evans x reader#ransom drysdale x reader
109 notes
¡
View notes
Text
Oblivious: Tech x Reader
Request: Could u possibly do a Tech x Reader where the batch is on an ocean planet of sorts and tech and the reader are nerding out over something like tide pools and the rest of the batch is like âhow are these two so smart yet so oblivious to their feelings?â
Summary: You and The Bad Batch settle on an ocean planet for the night, and you and Tech seem to know everything except your own feelings for each other.
Words: 1000+
Warnings: none
Authorâs Notes: Had to do some research on tide pools for this one lmao, and I made up a bunch of fake star wars science that probably doesnât make any sense whatsoever, earth science experts donât come at me pls XD
-
-
-
Laying low has been incredibly difficult for you and The Bad Batch, none of you are exactly the type to âblend in.â Youâve been hopping all over the galaxy, until you come across a planet almost entirely covered in ocean. Itâs habitable, but not many people live on it due to the lack of large segments of land.
Thankfully though, you find an island thatâs big enough for your ship and make a landing. You run out into the fresh air, the smell of salt water and cool breeze filling your nose. Tech follows close behind, analyzing the planetâs climate and resources, and the rest soon after.
âThe tides are going to get much higher over the next couple hours, weâre going to lose much of the land we have right now,â Tech says, moving down the beach. âDonât set anything up past this point,â
âCan we build a fire?â Wrecker asks excitedly.
âWhy would we need a fire? Our ship has a heating system,â
âBecause I want to!â he crosses his arms. âAnd what if the ship runs out of heat?â
âI think thatâs a great idea!â Omega pipes up. âIâve never even seen a campfire before,â
âYou havenât?!â Wrecker takes her hand and points to the small forest of trees on the other side of the island. âCâmon, letâs go!â
âWait!â Tech calls after them, but theyâre too fast. âUgh. The wood is going to be too wet to use anyway, theyâre wasting their time,â
âHey, it doesnât hurt to let them try,â you smile. âBesides, weâll only be here a day or two at most, right?â
âI suppose,â
You skip across the rocks and sand, finding a couple tide pools with several sea creatures in them, âLook over here!â
âCareful, those are incredibly slippery,â
âIâve never seen anything like these,â you poke at one. âWait, didnât you say high tide is later? That means the water will go even farther than this, we might be in trouble,â
âNot exactly. Tides are different depending on the gravitational pulls and phases of the moons, and this planet has three,â
âSo?â
âSo weâll be fine,â
âThis water is fresh, Tech. I donât see how more moons changes the fact that these waves are going to drown us in a few hours,â you sigh. âLook, I get that youâre the intellectual around here, but I had ones like these back on my home planet, I know what Iâm talking about,â
âEvery planet is different, this one isnât due for another tide that high for at least a couple weeks, the pools must just be deeper than average,â
âI guess youâre right,â you trust him, so you refrain from bickering any further. âOh look! I think Iâve seen that fish before!â
âReally?â he cocks his head, looking towards where youâre pointing. âWhile interplanetary travel of non-sentient species is uncommon, itâs not impossible, although in most cases itâs considered an invasive species-â
âNevermind,â you say as you lean closer. âIt just looks similar,â
âAh, I see,â
âYou know, I love the kind of creatures in here, somehow they manage to survive despite the harsh conditions,â one of them crawls onto your hand. âThey just stick to anything they can so they donât get washed away by the water,â
âEspecially somewhere like this,â he nods.
âWhat are you lovebirds going on about now?â Hunter exhales, walking up to you and barely holding back a smirk.
Both you and Tech immediately stop talking, avoiding eye contact. Sure, itâs true you fancy him a bit, but no way are you lovebirds of any sort. You bicker too much to ever admit your feelings anyway, and all your conversations are friendly or just exchanging thoughts and facts. Nothing special.
âYou know,â Hunter continues. âYou guys are the smartest people on the crew, but damn are you oblivious,â
He walks away, leaving you two in silence.
 -
 Against all odds, Wrecker and Omega actually do manage to make a fire for the evening. Omegaâs eyes are glued to the flames, watching in awe and drowning out everything else.
You and Tech havenât talked much since being called out by Hunter, not necessarily because youâre mad or bitter, but simply because you donât know what to say.
Was Hunter right? Were you actually super into each other and you were just too stupid to see it?
Now that you think of it, Tech definitely treats you differently than everybody else. Not just because youâre not one of his brothers, but he genuinely goes out of his way to help and care about you. Heâs super sweet when he wants to be.
As it gets later, most of the crew heads back to the ship to sleep. Youâre honestly not that tired, so you stay by the fire, and Tech doesnât leave either.
âHey,â
âHello,â he nods.
You scoot over until youâre sitting next to him, âWhatâs going on in that brain of yours?â
âJustâŚthinking,â he keeps staring forward at the fire. âFor the first time in my life, Iâm completely unsure about something,â
âHow so?â
âWell, all my life, all our lives for that matter,â he gestures to the ship. âWeâve been born, raised, and trained to be soldiers. Weâre literally created and grown for that purpose. We accept early on that weâll probably never get the opportunity to live a normal life on our own terms. We donât get the luxury of going where we want to go, staying where we want to stay. We donât even get to choose our clothes or our food most of the time. We donât get our own home, we donât get to pick our jobs, we-â he pauses. âWe donât get to fall in love,â
A quiet âohâ leaves your lips.
âNow that the Republic is gone, and we left the Empire, weâre not just soldiers anymore. We have the freedom to do all those things we couldnât do. But how do I know what I should or shouldnât pursue? How do I know what parts of normal life I should experience?â
You quickly lean in and kiss him, âYou try it, Tech,â
He stares at you stunned, struggling to process what just happened.
âIâŚI think I should try it again. Just to be absolutely certain,â
âOf course,â you chuckle, kissing him again.
#tech x reader#the bad batch x reader#tbb x reader#tbb tech x reader#the bad batch#star wars#the bad batch imagine#tech imagine
125 notes
¡
View notes
Text
@harvestshope   //  an epilogue to this thread.
    SHE DIDNâT SLEEP. not a single wink, because even with the king of dreams in a cage, seraphinaâs entire lair had bucked like a spooked horse at the mere thought of sleeping. it was more than just dreams, it had always been more than just dreams. the lack of control that came with sleep, the vulnerability, the lost time -- rest wasnât worth it. not unless she made a trade with the king of sleep, and maybe ask him for tips on remembering how to sleep in the first place.
     but when she arrives, steps light and hands ready to turn blown glass back into sand, he is gone. and all the oxygen, literally, is sucked out of the room as mother nature steps on a piece of splintered iron.
     this proves to be a rather large problem for the custodian placing rubble in a wheelbarrow, who is now crumpling to the floor with her hands clasped over her throat. and as if matters couldnât be worse, mother nature is not sympathetic. oxygen returns, but itâs at such an oppressively high temperature that it hardly makes a difference -- the earth is not a best-case-scenario kind of creature. she isnât even an okay-case-scenario kind of creature.
     she is all claws and teeth as she wrenches their body to the floor by the neck, a wild animal pinning down its prey. elegant. brutal.
     â what did you do with him? â
     â please donât hurt me, please donât -- â
     â answer me. â
     â i have a wife, i have -- â
     thin streams of blood streak down the womanâs face as seraphinaâs nails dig into the otherâs temples, and at once their crazed facial features dull to a frightening blankness. those neurons, and all their connections, will never grow back.
     â where is dream of the endless. â
      â the guy that was here? â her voice is dead. were she capable of emotion, sheâd wish she were, too. â he escaped 6 months ago. â
      the temperature in the room drops to freezing. nature pauses. â escaped? â
      â yes. â
       her grip on the otherâs skull tightens and tightens until she flinches against the warm crimson splashed on her face, at which point she simply throws her now mercifully dead quarry against the opposite wall. sheâs panting. her eyes are darting across the floor in manic, directionless circles. sheâs angry. sheâs furious. she had something to tell him.
        you had 100 years.
       she stands in one jerking movement, and as she does so the wheelbarrow is sent careening in the opposite direction as the custodianâs body, pieces of rock and iron clattering onto the floor in great, thunderous clashes. thereâs a sour feeling in her stomach that isnât going away. if anything, itâs getting worse. and though mother nature has not felt this in a very, very long time, such a bitterness has not left her memory so easily.
        guilt has followed her for a long, long time.
        one year is too long in a cage, and she knows that better than anyone. long, cold fingers pinch the bridge of her nose, and the temperature continues to plummet until deep cracks of freshly formed ice echo through the chamber. she lifts her gaze again, its gold dulled by an ancient weariness, and stares at the broken, now chalice-like remnants of his cage.Â
        at least heâs free, she thinks. glass and ice grind beneath her boot-steps, treading the same path she had all those times before. and what is 100 years to an endless? for her, this felt like days. a week maybe. sheâs impressed, really. she swallows back the bitterness. she canât remember how long she was imprisoned, but she didnât escape in such a timely manner. being an unwanted vessel for nuclear fission certainly didnât help, but even so, if he were here, she would congratulate him. that would be enough. mother natureâs praise, after all, is high and not easily earned.
       the bitterness continues to hang in her throat like disease.
       exhibiting none of the frenzied speed of earlier, she kneels before the cage to examine the now ruined circle. her fingers run across it distractedly, as if they search for some trace, some small, less powerful fragment of him that she could look at without hanging her head in shame. her fingerprints seed with budding mushrooms. rot. leaving feels wrong somehow, but what else is there to do? it is what she has always done. this had been a matter between endless and mortal. she had simply observed. was this a crime now? gathering information?
       you are the only one calling it a crime.
       someone had been kind to her in her captivity. they spoke to her gently, listened to her as she wept, but at the end of the day, he was still a leash piloting his prisoner through the sky as she burned. she has yet to receive an apology from him, and quite frankly, she doesnât want one. itâs been billions of years. itâs too late. six months, however...this is well within a reasonable range to prove out of spite than she is better than her captor and her jail guard both. mother nature cannot process any indebtedness she may feel to morpheus, the being, in any other way. not now, at least. she straightens to full height, wiping something that isnât blood beneath her eye and smearing what is definitely blood across her cheek.
        this time, seraphina hopes, she can remember how to sleep.
#HARVESTSHOPE / DREAM.#HARVESTSHOPE#( V: BURNED BUT NOT BURIED THIS TIME. )#gore cw#violence cw#girlboss tags !!#`` anyway. i thought about having her reflect on how she thinks morpheus might feel but.#`` unfortunately she is just. focused on keeping her side of the street clean. also she's terrible.#`` 'what. its only 100 years. he's fine. we're fine. i'm apologizing for Me and for Me only. no im not crying hop off my dick --'
3 notes
¡
View notes
Text
đđđđđđđ: fanboy!taehyung x artist!reader
đ¤đđđ đđđ˘đđĄ: 13.7k
đ đ˘đđđđđŚ: still bitter about a scandal that ruined your painting career, youâre recommended a getaway by your therapist to a small island off the coast of seoul. expecting a tranquil location to wallow in self-pity, youâre startled when on your first night, you encounter an avid fan of your work. instead of annoying you for an autograph, kim taehyung ends up being the very thing you need to fall in love with art again.
đ¤đđđđđđđ : sexually explicit content, reader suffers from poor mental health but nothing serious, unprotected sex, oral (f receiving), fingering, praise, thatâs kinda it, itâs pretty soft tbh
--
The breeze is light here, broken by the gentle rise of the sand dunes behind you. It runs over your skin like water, a warm current that lasts long after the sun slips below the horizon line.
You sit for hours watching it, the tail of pinks and oranges and ochres that reflect thickly on the top of the water, the shallow crests of low tide. Thereâs a pull in your heart, a twitch at your fingers. The you a year ago wouldâve had her paints out already, an easel with legs precariously shoved in the dry sand. The you a year ago would have been tossing up whether cadmium yellow or cadmium orange would suit the last slip of sun above the water, and whether you should wait til it was gone entirely to save making the decision.
Then again, the you a year ago would never have needed to come here.
The you today just waits, silently, you donât even know what for. Youâd been told this was a getaway. That you just needed some time to recover your muse, or some bullshit like that. But the more time you sit in silence and watch the sky blacken to navy and the stars prick the darkness with dazzling clarity, you think your therapist was wrong. How was this a getaway when all your problems were still festering inside you?
âOh my god, Y/n L/n?â
You groan and sink back into the sand, head cushioned on the warm piles. Just your fucking luck. âYouâve got the wrong person,â you call out with eyes squeezed shut, praying the stranger will leave you alone. The last thing you needed was a green reporter or psycho fan to spill your location to the rest of the world. You can only imagine the headline. Disgraced painter Y/n L/n found hiding away on a tropical island eight months after she ruined the Met Gala.
âOh my god, it is you! Iâm a massive fan, wow!â
Fuck. At least there was a chance theyâd keep quiet. You crack open an eye, staring up at the figure beside you, cast in shadow. From the glint of moonlight, you can see a crown of ruffled hair thatâs a faded teal. It reminds you of the impressionist painting of a mountain lake that threw your work into the public eye. Just as faded as the dye on his hair, that time feels worn and aged, like from another life. A reminder of how far youâd fallen. âLook,â you confess lowly to the silhouette, âI just wanna be left alone, Iâm not- Iâm just here for a break from...everything.â
The figure shifts his weight in the sand, raising an arm to scratch at the back of his neck shyly. âI donât mean to disturb you,â he apologises. With the slight breeze, his baggy clothes buffet around his lean figure and in the darkness he looks like some vengeful angel, towering over you with the moon behind him. But his voice is so soft, so genuine, so- so warm. Perhaps not vengeful, then, but definitely an angel. âYouâre a hero of mine, I wanted to thank you for how much youâve inspired me, saved me. Gosh, itâs crazy that youâre even here, I-â
âIâm sorry,â you force out, sitting up, wincing as grains of sand work their way down the nape of your neck, âreally, I am. But Iâm not the person youâre thinking of. Not anymore, at least.â You hate the way your voice rings out so thinly in the night air, nothing like the deep honey of his. You hate the way you sound broken.
He senses it too; he takes a step back, turns towards the dunes. âI should be going, I guess,â he murmurs. âFor what itâs worth, I hope I see you around. I didnât mean to disturb you.â
You donât respond, wrapping your arms around your hunched knees and staring at the silver ocean until you can no longer see him in your peripheral vision.
â
Itâs over a week before you see him again. Though youâd never admit it to anyone, you keep an eye out for the boy with the teal hair. There wasnât enough light that day to make out his face but still, with hardly any people for miles, you hadnât anticipated heâd be all that difficult to find.
Truth be told, there had been a deep curl of regret and dissatisfaction that took root inside you shortly after you left. He was just trying to be nice, and you could use a friend. Could use someone.
You had asked for privacy when your therapist began recommending a break, a getaway, but you hadnât expected it to this degree. The place you were staying at was a rundown bungalow just behind the dunes, tucked away in a sliver of land where sand met forest, rising up into hills. The only people you saw were the employees that ran it: a maid that stopped by every day at 1pm, even though you had already made the bed and cleaned up after yourself; an older gentleman that delivered you fresh groceries every couple of days in his ancient-looking four wheel drive; and finally, the electrician youâd had to call out a few nights prior after the power went out.
The mysterious fan hadnât been dressed like an employee; then again, it was long past the workday when heâd approached you. Mulishly, you find yourself lugging a picnic blanket and a pillow down to the beachfront every evening, monitoring every inch of the coastline that stretches around this edge of the peninsula.
Itâs only on the ninth night, when youâre folding up your rough blanket with a disappointed grumble, that a sudden yap catches your attention. You whirl around, toes sinking deeper into the light sand, and gasp as a familiar silhouette approaches, stumbling down a sand dune to your left.
He hasnât seen you yet; so focused on the tiny fluffball that tugs restlessly at its leash. Itâs a lot earlier tonight than the last time youâd seen him, and thereâs enough remnants of sunlight in the sky to cast him in a warm golden glow.
Heâs in baggy clothes like last time, a long-sleeved white t-shirt with a v in the center, unbuttoned and sagging over the shoulder of the arm thatâs getting yanked along, and some tan linen shorts. Itâs hard to tell with how he sinks to his ankles in sand with every step, but heâs barefoot, almost sliding down the steep dune more so than walking.
You canât hear him at this distance, but his lips are moving, parted in a boxy grin as he responds to the constant yipping of the tiny dog at his feet. Heâs gorgeous, tanned skin to fit the honey of his voice - the voice youâve been unable to shake from your head - and the roots of his hair are the colour of brown sugar, lightening into the dyed teal ends, whipping over his cheeks and neck in the seabreeze.
He turns off when he reaches the base, following his dog, who pulls in your direction, short bursts of energy that get cut off by the length of the leash. Your heart jumps, and you find yourself waiting in anticipation, breath caught in your throat.
But the moment he glances up and sees you, he halts in his tracks. Stepping back, his smile falls, bowing his head to you apologetically and pulling on the leash so that the small black-and-tan puppy at his feet turns around with him.
They start walking away from you, and you don't have time to think before you're calling out to him, jogging over with your blanket and pillow forgotten behind you.
He stops walking, though he doesn't turn, and when you finally come to a stop beside him, he keeps his head down.
"Look, I'm sorry about yesterday," you rush out, slightly out of breath, "I was in a really shitty mood, and I had kinda come here to get away from...everything in the first place. I wasn't expecting a fan, and I reacted badly. I'm sorry."
Even after standing still, you can't seem to catch your breath. You haven't seen him this close, in this much detail, and it makes the air catch in your lungs. His eyes are an intense burnt umber, dancing over your face with an unreadable depth to them. He's taller than you, but not bulky. Though his shoulders are wide, he's lean, with a narrow nose and soft cheeks. The wind plays with the ends of his hair, revealing glimpses of a strong brow. He's beautiful.
"I didn't mean to bother you," he says after a moment, and you almost jump at the timbre of his voice so close to you, "I should be the one apologising. I'll leave you alone, honestly. I can find another place to go for a walk, or go at a different time-"
"Do you walk here a lot at this time?" you interrupt, the euphoria of finally holding a conversation after so long loosening your tongue. "You haven't been back since that night."
He tips his head to the side, shoulder jerking when his dog impatiently tugs at the leash, quiet snuffles and yips of disapproval ignored in the air between you. There's a flicker of something in his eyes - surprise? Amusement? "You were looking for me?"
"I-" Your voice fails you, and you realise how pathetic you must look. Your shoulders sink. "I was... I wanted to apologise," you land on finally.
That strange flicker in his eyes settles into a grateful warmth. "I normally do, yeah, but I had to go back to the mainland to pick up this guy." With a genuine smile, he glances down to the ball of fluff that's now lying over his bare foot. "I stayed there while he got his first lot of vaccinations. You can pat him, if you want."
You can recognise that offer for what it really is; an olive branch. In other words, he's apparently not holding a grudge against you for being an asshole. You smile gratefully, crouching down to pat the tiny animal. "What's his name?"
"Yeontan," he answers cheerily. "he's nine weeks old!"
You coo, chuckling at the soft fur wriggling beneath your fingertips, at the wet nose prodding at your palm for more pats. "Yeontan..." you muse. "Why does that name sound familiar?"
You hear a sheepish laugh from above. "Your, um, your painting of the old barn in Icheon? There's a kennel that's beside it in shadow, but you can just make out the name Yeontan painted on the front. I-" He breaks off awkwardly, falling silent.
Your hand freezes, and you feel yourself slump from a crouch to sitting fully on the sand, still hot from the afternoon sun. Yeontan. A detail you couldn't even remember painting, yet he'd named his dog after it. The dog continues to cover your hands in slobber and stray fur, but you just stare at it blankly.
"I'm sorry," the man winces, tone low with defeat. "You probably think it's stupid. I swear I'm not one of those crazy obsessed fans! There was just..." His voice changes then, closes up to cut off any emotion. "I shouldn't say. Sorry."
Your shoulders slacken. "You don't have to keep apologising," you say softly. After a moment's thought, you push up off the sand to stand up again, grains clinging to the skin that's damp from the dog's affections. The handsome stranger's face is stricken, reluctant as he watches you get up. You miss the boxy smile he'd held when he made his way down the dunes. You wonder if he'll ever smile that way at you. "I wanna hear. What you have to say."
Hand flexing on the leash, he looks down at Yeontan and back up at you, eyes squinted slightly as the sun glares onto his face; a radiant, sharp orange. "One of the reasons I'm such a fan of your work is the emotion you can actually see on the canvas. I don't even know how to explain it, but I feel it. And with the Icheon barn painting - I actually saved up for years to buy the original - there's something so sad and lonely about that kennel, that patch of shadow. The rest of the scene is so bright and open, it feels like a party that the kennel wasn't invited to. I don't know, it's stupid. But I thought if I ever bought a dog, I'd name it Yeontan so that it wouldn't feel so alone." He faces the horizon as he speaks, wincing into the light, and a broken laugh bubbles out of his throat once he's done. "Like I said; it's stupid."
But you don't think it's stupid at all. "Did it work?" you ask instead, nose prickling as tears build behind your eyes. The more he spoke, the more you remember the painting. It was your last work before the Met Gala disaster, and after everything went down in flames, desperate online tabloids went back to it, citing it as a 'cry for help'. You hadn't really painted it like that though, not really. You'd seen that beautifully painted barn in the countryside when you were driving between cities to visit your parents, and was taken by the dilapidated dog kennel tucked just beside it. Painting it wasn't some sort of clue to your nosedive, but more like a solidarity with that kennel, the dog that once lived there. The story that had been forgotten. And to hear this man had seen it, had wanted to ease the suffering just like you had... The emotions inside you, ones that had felt so dull and monochrome, now churn inside you in indecipherable technicolour, too many to count. But you think one of them might just be hope. "Did- did getting Yeontan work?"
He's looking at you now. He stays silent for a moment, the softest smile tugging at your lips, and it takes your breath away, watching the colours of sunset play across his skin while his brown eyes seek yours out intensely. "Yeah, it did," he answers eventually, his voice almost a whisper. It's only once he starts speaking that you realise the two of you have moved closer inwards without realising, so that it would only take a half step forward to be pressed against him. "But I think talking with you has helped more."
You let out a breath you didn't know you were holding. The whirlpool inside you settles, leaving you feeling lighter than you have in years. You don't know what it is about this man that makes you feel...sane again, but you want more of it. "I think talking with you has helped me too," you confess, voice lilting in uncertainty. "Can... can I see you again? I don't even know your name, but-"
"Taehyung," he answers immediately, and even with the fall of night, the sun well and truly gone, his eyes are bright. "I could come back tomorrow?"
Your toes flex in the sand fighting the urge to jump in relief. "Yes! Yes, I'd like that," you chime, a smile tugging at your lips. "It was nice to meet you, Taehyung."
"The pleasure is all mine."
--
You sleep well that night. You canât remember the last time the peaceful rays of sun have woken you so gently, but you certainly arenât complaining.
Youâd spent the past week or so moping in your cabin until late afternoon and then moping on the beach. Only now, after finally meeting the boy again - Taehyung - you realise how much youâve been wasting your time buried in your own thoughts. Now all you want to do is explore. Youâd been told on the ferry over here that the island was only a few hoursâ walk around the coastline, and that your cabin, a street of shops and a small village of houses were the only signs of life. No bar to drown your sorrows at. No club for finding faceless strangers to make you forget who you were for a few hours. All your coping vices had been replaced with open stretches of nature in all its colours; the cool grey rocky beaches on the southern shore, the lush greens of the hilly forests, the glinting turquoise of the sea, and open plains of pastel sky for miles and miles.
The walk isnât particularly intensive, but itâs long, and your feet ache in their sandals by the time you reach the docks again, having marked a full loop around the island. The dock, empty this late in the morning, leads directly to the main street via a cobblestone path that weaves between dunes, flax bushes, fields and a skinny stretch of trees, and you follow it to the center of the island, resting in a small cafe.
Thereâs no free WiFi here, so you sip at a tall glass of homemade strawberry lemonade and watch the streets through the storefront window. From your seat, you can see the people wander back and forth, the odd few with kids, but almost all are retirement age. Slow-moving couples with walkers and canes, elderly men jangling the keys to their vintage cars (that surely didnât have much road to drive on), women with age-spotted skin and heavy beaded jewellery.
You canât work out how Taehyung fits in this picture. Itâs almost impossible to picture him walking down the same street as everyone else; his dyed hair, clothes two sizes too big, tall and slender frame hurrying down with a dog leash in one hand and a grocery bag in the other-
Wait.
You straighten up, eyes widening as you watch the man himself pauses to let Yeontan cock his leg on a patch of grass by the intersection. Physically, heâs entirely incongruous with the rest of the villagers, but he looks entirely at home, glancing up to smile in recognition at every figure that passes by him. One goes so far as to reach up and ruffle his hair playfully as she talks, and his face brightens with crinkled eyes and a boxy grin, greeting her warmly.
The same feeling of longing and dissatisfaction stirs you from the other time you saw that smile. You want to be the one that makes him so happy. You frown, unconsciously chewing on the end of the paper straw. Itâs too hot in here. Thereâs not enough ventilation, and with the sun streaming in, the heat just pools inside, sticking to your thighs and arms. Thatâs why you leave the cafe before finishing your drink. The heat.
The lady has left by the time you cross the street, and you fake a cough noisily as you pass him, eyes cast away but face turned so heâd easily recognise you.
âY/n!â Your heart warms, keens at the calling of your name, and you turn to him, smiling broadly. Taehyung grins when Yeontan rushes over to greet you too, whole body rocking with the force of his tail wagging. âFancy seeing you here,â he remarks, and you take in a deep breath of air, feeling lightheaded with his attention back on you.
âI decided to explore a bit,â you answer, eyes dropping down to the supermarket bag in his hands, white plastic taut and digging red lines into his palm with the weight of it. âRetail therapy?â
He laughs goodnaturedly, but thereâs a flush of pink high on his cheekbones, standing out beside the strands of green that heâs tucked behind his ears. âItâs actually, uh, something for tonight. I didnât know if youâd- If you still-â He breaks off his stammering with another laugh, this one more self-conscious, and the pink deepens to red. âI thought you and I could paint together. I bought us some materials just in case you didnât bring your own.â You fall silent, mouth slack and parted in surprise, so he continues on, lifting up his hand for a moment, bag rustling, then changing his mind and letting it fall again. âThere isnât a proper art supplies store here, so itâs just from the toy store. I know youâre probably used to proper stuff, but a bad worker blames his tools, you know! Not that you would- that youâre a bad-â
âYou paint?â you ask finally, ending his nervous rambling.
His whole body slackens a bit, like youâve cut some tension from him, his head dipping down to break eye contact. âUm. Iâm- learning,â he answers with an uncertain wobble to his voice.
You tilt your head to the side with an expectant smile. âThatâs really cool. How long have you been studying?â
He swallows, looking up to send you a hesitant smile. âI, um, I studied the instructions on the back of a paint-by-numbers kit in the toy store. Just now.â His voice lifts at the end of each sentence like itâs a question, that same bargaining smile plastered on his face.
You let out a genuine laugh, the first one youâve had in a while. In too long. âIs that so? I better bow down to the maestro then.â
âHey!â he whines playfully, shoulders rocking forward like a toddler feeling sorry for himself. âI learnt everything I know so far just from your art. And did you hear that speech I gave you about The Barn at Icheon? That was pretty good, right? You have to admit, that was good.â
His hand, the one loosely holding Yeontanâs lead, reaches out to grasp gently just above your elbow as he speaks, rocking you slightly like heâs pleading for you to agree. You find a constant stream of laughter bubbling out of your throat as he does so, feeling so light in the sunny midday breeze. âOkay, okay, that was good,â you confess, âyou get a point for that.â
Once your laughter subsides slowly, you find yourself looking up at him with a residual smile, the same of which is spread on his face, eyes glimmering with something fond. He waits for the air between you to fall silent, tongue slipping out just slightly to wet his lips as you hold his gaze. âY/n,â he asks softly, your name like molten sugar on his tongue, thumb unconsciously rubbing at the sensitive skin in the crook of your arm, âwill you paint with me?â
Though the thought of painting still sours inside your chest, with his skin on your skin and his smile just for you, you feel like you could do anything. Thereâs only one answer. âYes, Iâll paint with you, Taehyung.â
--
Painting with Taehyung is less painting with Taehyung and more staring desolately into the middle distance as Taehyung decides to make the clouds purple, bottom lip sucked between his teeth in focus.
âDonât overthink it,â he stresses for the millionth time, glancing over at your blank canvas, âIâm not judging you.â
But itâs not about him judging you. If it wasnât for him, you donât think a paintbrush would have ever found its way into your hands again, certainly not so soon. Itâs just that- you feel an overwhelming burden, a historical pressure of all your mistakes before. If you put brush to canvas now and create a work of art, then was your complete mindblank for the Met Gala all for nothing? Though your therapist advised against it, you had rather become attached to the idea that youâd somehow gotten artistically injured somewhere, and that eventually youâd broken completely, irreparable. It made the constant white void easier. Your first death.
âHappy little accidents,â Taehyung says lightly, dipping heavily into orange and catching a dollop on his wide-leg jeans. Not noticing it, or not caring, he swipes the orange into the canvas in a wonky line down past the horizon line, forming the neck and body of what looks vaguely like a giraffe. âAnd, um, happy little- happy little trees. If you want we could turn around and face the forest?â
Though a glum cloud is settling in your stomach you flick him a soft smile. âSo you watch Bob Ross too? I thought you said you learnt everything from me.â
Using the same brush, he scoops out some black, using a pinkie finger to mix the colours together inside the bristles, a murky brown. âMaybe just a little,â he admits, daubing rough patches onto the giraffe, half of them overlapping the edges of its body. Thereâs an endearing quality to his carefree worksmanship, and you canât deny that his painting looks good, wonky lines and all. âBut donât worry, youâll always be my first,â Taehyung adds, not looking at you but smirking all the same.
The double entendre isnât missed on you, but still, as you sit on a picnic table right on the edge of the village, blank canvas in front of you, you canât bring yourself to laugh at it. All you can see is the paint drying on the tip of Taehyungâs finger, the messy pots of basic acrylics, and the warm smile that doesnât leave his face.
Heâs having fun. How long has it been since painting has been fun for you? Annoyed, you grab the clear green plastic brush from the set, dipping it into black. Muscle memory tingles across your knuckles and down the muscles of your wrist, an instinct to hold the brush in a certain way, tap off the excess, but your frustration overrides it, and you take the paintladen brush and smear it directly across the center of the canvas, a gaping maw of glossy shadow that bulges on the lower edges, gravity pulling at the thick stripe. You go completely still once itâs done. Staring.
Taehyung looks over after a moment, watching you carefully. âIs everything alright? If you didnât want to paint, we didnât have to-â
âItâs terrible,â you interrupt, a frown marring your face. âI fucked it up.â
âYou didnât,â he chastises softly, pushing his canvas to the side and leaning over your shoulder. âItâs a promising start. Maybe the duck pond is black in your world.â
Your eyes slide lower, unfocused. âMaybe the whole ocean is black in my world,â you murmur.
Heâs silent for a moment, Â unsure what to say. âThen how will the fish see?â he asks in a light tone, bumping your shoulder gently with his, but you just let out a broken sob, tears spilling over your cheeks like theyâd been triggered by his contact. Taehyungâs mouth opens in a rounded o, eyes wide, and as the dam breaks, you feel an arm find your back, rubbing soothingly, and long, warm fingers wrap around the hand that holds the brush limply, cradling it. âWe can fix it, itâs okay,â he soothes in a kind whisper, âhere; itâs that mailbox now, yeah? And behind it is the candy shop-â His voice cuts off while he guides your shaking hand to the green, mixing it with white in the plastic pottle to make a pale pastel. You feel the pressure of the brush in your hand shift as he moves the bristles over the canvas in a roughly rectangular shape, but youâre unseeing, crying tears that sting like turpentine into that black ocean behind your eyelids, letting him move you.
The two of you stay like that for what feels like an eternity, you curled in his embrace as he quietly paints for you, commenting on each step of the process so you know what heâs doing, even with your eyes closed. At one point, your energy leaves you, and you collapse into him, pressing your cheek against the stable warmth of his chest, heartbeat audible through his thin t-shirt. He doesnât complain, just adjusting his stance to better support you and resting his chin on your head.
âIâm sorry,â you blubber thickly at one point, tasting salt.
âYou donât have to be,â he assures, âjust keep breathing. Look; letâs put some trees in, hm? One for you and one for me.â
You open your eyes with a sniffle, feeling your hand lower in his secure hold, and you twist around your head to watch him dip the filthy brush in a green which has already been tainted by white and red in places. Your eyes follow it up again, until he fearlessly swipes in the graceful branches of the fir trees which cover the highest points of the island. You look at the rest of the painting, and a disbelieving giggle bubbles out of you, a smile across your face despite everything.
Unlike the mental image youâd been plotting in your head with the narration, this square of canvas has a line of slightly leaning buildings stacked beside each other tightly, colours smearing on the borders. In the middle of the uneven grey strip of cement down the middle to mark out the road, two trees stand proud, mostly green but with bleeding patches of muddy purple and brown too. Entire drops of paint spatter and run, creating a chaotic but vivid daydream of the end of the street in front of you.
âA lot better in your head, wasnât it?â Taehyung asks knowingly. You laugh again, the last few tears pressed out of the corners of your wet eyes. âItâs okay,â he replies easily, âit was better in my head too. But the one in our heads is boring, donât you think? If I wanted to see the street in front of me exactly, Iâd just look up. Or take a photo. But nobody can visit this place weâve painted. Itâs just here, brand new because of us. I think I like that more.â
You sit up, wiping your eyes with a tired smile. âThereâs no way you learnt all that from me,â you deflect, voice still raw from crying. âBut yeah. I think I like this one more too.â
âIâm glad,â he answers softly, letting go of your hand and removing his hand from your back at the same time. You suppress a shiver at the sudden absence of heat. âIâll let this dry and hang it up right beside The Barn at Icheon.â
You laugh again, sniffing away the last dregs of self-pity. âYou better not,â you warn playfully, âas semantically poignant as it is, itâs an awful paintjob.â
When Taehyung smiles, itâs bright and boxy. And itâs just for you.
--
Time passes, but not like in the real world. Out here on this island, you start counting the passage of time by how many occasions youâd met Taehyung. Then, once youâve seen him too often to count, you let yourself lose track of time completely, remembering only the moments spent with him like vignettes on a fragile chain.
The two of you always meet in the town or on the beach, speaking about everything and nothing. One day, while waiting beside the blue metal mailbox for Yeontan to pee (though Taehyung still insisted it looked better black) you tell him of the time you accidentally turned all your clothes yellowy-green after accidentally putting an apron in the wash that had an opened sampler of chartruese in the pocket. On a rainy afternoon when youâd gotten caught in the downfall walking through the forest, Taehyung told you, while wringing out rainwater from his rumpled maroon sweater, that he was meant to be studying agricultural sciences on the mainland, but his grandmother was sick and so he bought a place nearby to care for her.
âOne good thing about being on the island,â heâd chimed cheerily, dark teal and brown plastered to his cheeks and forehead, âis that property is super cheap here. My grandma paid half and I paid half, and now the one-bedroom I live in is all mine.â
âBut isnât that sad?â youâd questioned, feeling the ground turn to mud beneath your shoes. âLiving on the island, I mean? You should be in a big city, partying with your friends, living life. This place is like one massive retirement village.â
Taehyung had just shrugged. âMy grandma likes it. And I like living for someone else, you know? Makes me feel good.â
Long after youâd gone home, warming up by the radiator in your beachside bungalow, those words had stuck with you. You wonder if, with all this time heâs been spending with you, heâs starting to live for you, too. You wonder if maybe thatâs a bad thing.
But still, time passes in this hazy, episodic way. Money continues to filter out of your bank account each week you stay, but you hadnât worried about your finances for years now, enough successful exhibits from your productive days keeping a healthy sum.
Though he never pushes as much as last time at the picnic table, Taehyung keeps you creating. Backs of napkins, tourism pamphlets, the kids colouring sets at the local diner. No matter how scrawled or indecipherable, the soft-hearted boy compliments your work all the same, slipping the scraps into his pocket with a joking promise that heâs going to frame them. Somehow, every unthought, unplanned line of ink or lead or pigment that lights the page feels like one less needle buried deep inside your heart, one small salve to ease the burden. You donât know if Taehyung knows it, but in all the ways that count heâs a better artist than you.
When heâs around you, the world is lusher, more vibrant. Your time alone is grey and muted; a dull beach, an empty bungalow. With him, you feel like the sky is bluer and the trees are greener. The bonfire you sit in front of now casts an intense orange glow on everything around it, including Taehyungâs hands as he deftly impales marshmallows onto a skewer.
Itâs cooler at nighttime these days. At some point, youâd both exchanged sandals for sneakers, t-shirts for sweaters. Taehyung seems to fancy heavy cable knits and thick trousers even in mild weather, and you wonder if heâd still wear clothing typical of an elderly gentleman even if he was on the mainland in a modern city instead of around the older generation on the island.
Tonight, youâd tried and failed a traditional Korean barbecue over the open flame. While Taehyung had shoved his cut of pork right into the fire, ending up with a charred outside and raw inner, youâd diligently held yours above the flames, turning and turning until the muscles in your arm screamed and you had to give up and admit perhaps the meat from the local butcher was cut too thick, and that a bonfire was good for nothing more than toasted marshmallows.
âThis is where itâs at, this is it,â the young man enthuses confidently, each skewer laden with four or five marshmallows, bunched together, âdessert for dinner. The way it should be.â
Youâre content to sit back and let him work excitedly, wrapping the edges of the picnic blanket low over your shoulders and lap. Though Taehyung is always devastatingly handsome, heâs the most gorgeous like this: focused in his element and surrounded by all the colours and textures of nature, a painting come to life. The heat of the flames is curling his hair lightly, making teal ends flick at his temples and the nape of his neck. His hair was growing out steadily, but still he chose not to cut it, and you canât deny the length suits him.
âThereâs more brown than green now,â you mention softly. âSoon itâll look like dip-dye.â
Taehyung glances back at you over his shoulder with a rougish grin, shuffling around so he faces you fully. âWhat; is this your way of saying it looks bad?â
âNo,â you defend with a pout, reaching for the near-full packet of marshmallows. âIâm just curious if youâre gonna leave it like that.â
Taehyung hums like he doesnât fully believe you, and he leans over to shove his hand in the packet at the same time that youâre rummaging for the soft sweets, your knuckles brushing together. You shiver at the contact. Somehow, thatâs been the first time youâve shared skin contact since that day at the picnic table. Wide-eyed, you wait til heâs grabbed a bunch and pull your own hand away, empty and white with powder.
âSorry,â he adds reflexively, but you just shake your head. How are you supposed to tell him that you liked the feeling of his skin on yours? Taehyung pops a pink marshmallow into his left cheek, letting it bulge and slur his speech as he gives you a broad grin. âYou could dye it for me! My hair, I mean. Pick a colour.â
Against your will, you smile back, cheeks puffing at the thought. âI have no idea how to dye hair, Tae.â
Something flickers in his eyes when you say that, or maybe itâs the dancing flames reflected in them. He chews quickly, swallowing with a jerk of his jaw, and licks the rest of the white powder off his lips. âI bet itâs a whole lot easier than painting a picture.â
You scoff, but thereâs no bite to it. âOh, so you didnât want me to paint one of my works on your hair, then? Donât fancy Jeju Dusk on your scalp?â
Taehyung grins at the name, recognising the title of one of your earlier paintings - one that had been relentlessly criticised for its blending of techniques, something that later became your signature. âThatâs my second favorite piece, you know? I have a print of it at home, and I saw the original in the Leeum Museum last year.â
You remember the director of the Leeum fondly. In your beginning years, heâd fought for your works to be shown in some of the frequent exhibitions they held. Even though youâd barely made a name for yourself, and had only recently moved to Seoul, Director Kim Namjoon took you in like a mentee and gave you a job himself as his PA. The experience youâd gotten there, as well as that vital exposure, had kept you business-savvy throughout your career, and once you were in a position to give back, you donated almost all of your original canvases to the museum in his name. Maybe one day youâd return home to Seoul and tell Namjoon of the boy who lived on a faraway island, the boy who taught you to open up again. Would Taehyung still be with you then? Though it hasnât been long, itâs hard to comprehend a life without Taehyung. All you can visualise is a great absence, a lack. You banish the thought from your mind with a shake of your head, glancing back up to see the boy himself boldly setting a skewer of marshmallows on fire in the orange heat. âI hope thatâs your one,â you joke weakly as he puffs out the blue and orange that lick at the blackening lumps.
âArenât you going to ask me what my favorite work is?â he asks instead, ignoring your statement.
You stay silent for a moment, observing the way he discards the charred skewer in his lap and delicately toasts the other one, swivelling the base so that each side of the marshmallow stack warms to a golden brown. Once he pulls it out, he hands it to you with an expectant quirk of his brow. You take the stick with a slightly suspicious smile. âWhatâs your favorite, Taehyung?â
âYour next one,â he answers immediately, gaze locked on yours.
You blame the heat radiating off the bonfire for the warmth in your cheeks as you suppress a smile. âAlright then,â you say decisively.
âAlright what?â
âAlright, Iâll dye your hair for you.â
He grins broadly, eyes crinkling into crescent moons as he starts eating his thoroughly-burnt marshmallows. âTomorrow,â he announces, melted strings of pink and white pooling in the corner of his lips. âLetâs meet at the convenience store and you can pick the colour.â
You smirk at the way he devours the toasted marshmallows with childish glee. âYouâll regret that when you come out of this with highlighter orange hair.â
He chucks his leftover stick into the grocery bag you brought your supplies in, letting himself collapse backwards onto the heated sand. âI think I could pull it off,â he deflects calmly. âJust you see.â
Breath taken away by the peace on his face as he closes his eyes, your mind works dizzily, desperate to find something to keep him talking, to keep this moment between you alive. âMaybe you could get a job as air traffic control. Or a streetlight. Just you wait; itâll be orange orange.â
Taehyungâs face warms in a lazy smile as he hums. He looks so peaceful lying there that youâre tempted to join him, but you choose instead to shuffle back from the fire so that you can see his face better. His hairâs splayed out over the sand, and you can see the warm flickers from the bonfire play over his neck, his jaw, and the tip of his nose. Taehyungâs right; orange does suit him. âI had a dream, you know. Last night.â
You feel - with the gentle breeze and the silence of the sea surrounding you - that perhaps youâre in a dream right now. âYeah?â
âYeah,â his low voice hushes, barely louder than the popping of wood on the fire. âWe werenât on the island, we were in Seoul. Your wing of the Leeum Museum.â
You laugh shallowly, not wanting to make much noise for a reason you couldnât quite pinprick. âI donât have a wing at the Leeum.â
âYou did in my dream,â he defends resolutely, the beginnings of a boxy smile tugging at his lips. âAnyway, we were in your wing, and I remember being so confused because I didnât recognise any of them. But you told me they were all new. They were paintings of m-â he cuts himself off a beat too late, lips pressed together.
Your heart falters, a rush of adrenaline that flows to the ends of your fingers and toes. You fight to keeo your voice steady. âMaybe it was a premonition.â
Resting on his stomach, Taehyungâs hands twitch, his fingers twisting together. His smile flattens into a tense line and his eyelids squeeze shut tightly. âI donât wanna get my hopes up,â he admits quietly after a short pause of thought.
Looking back, you canât remember your thought process, or where your boldness comes from. Maybe something about the way the moment felt detached from reality, a timeless bubble of the two of you that sat adjacent to your real life, separate from consequence. Maybe it was the brief glimpse of pink as he wets the inner seam of his lips. Maybe youâve just wanted this for too long to think rationally anymore.
Whatever it is, you swallow past the dryness in your mouth, bend down, and press a kiss to his lips.
Taehyung goes completely still at first. Youâre cross-legged on the sand, knees faced to his side, and when you kiss him, itâs on enough of an angle that you feel his nose brushing your cheekbone, and you can feel your hair falling down either side of your face like silken rain. He stays still, though, and you press a little harder, just for a moment, before his lack of response shatters your streak of confidence.
With a minute sigh of regret, you lift off of him, ready to sit up again and apologise profoundly. But before thereâs more than a few centimeters of air between you, his hand is suddenly snaking around the nape of your neck, fingers slipping up into your hair as he pulls you back down.
When you collide again with a gasp, his mouth is parted, and his teeth scrape against your bottom lip with his urgency. Losing your balance, you throw your outside arm over him, palm plunging into the sand just beside his head, and let your upper torso rest on his his.
âTaehyung,â you sigh onto his lips, shivering when his free hand rests hotly on your waist, thumb slipping under the hem of your shirt to rub maddenly over the sensitive skin of your stomach. âOh, Taehyung.â
His lips are sticky with the remains of the toasted marshmallows, and tentatively you seek out that sweetness, kissing deeper, letting your tongue slide over the pinkened skin. He holds you so gently, like youâre made of glass, yet his mouth on yours is pure fire, and your breath comes in little gasps, bursts of oxygen that only fan the flames higher. It takes you a few moments to realise the humming in his throat and the motion of his lips are words, so softly spoken, but once you do you slow your movements to a languid stream to better hear them.
â...so beautiful, Iâve wanted to do this for so long, I must be dreamingâŚâ He speaks with his eyes half-lidded, like he doesnât want to fully lose sight of you, uttering words between sweet kisses, strong hands cradling you so carefully. He presses his lips against yours one last time and moves his hand from your neck to your face, thumbing tenderly at your cheekbone. âGod, Iâm so lucky to be by your side,â he gasps. âAnd when you paint new works and attend exhibits, Iâll still be by your side.â
His words are sweet, but something about them strikes an odd note in your chest, and you pull back slightly, shaking off his hands.
He looks at you with wide eyes and swollen lips which are parted in a confused pout. âIs something wrong?â
âItâs my paintings,â you whisper disbelievingly, âisnât it? Thatâs why you think you like me. You like my paintings, and you think itâs somehow the same thing.â
He frowns, shuffling back to sit up, further apart from you than youâd been all night. âNo,â he says automatically, âI like you, I just⌠I think youâre talented, and I want to help you-â
âItâs not your place to help me,â you snap back, and Taehyung flinches. âIâm not some- some out-of-order printer that just needs some TLC to start pumping out pages again. Youâre a fan, Taehyung, not a fucking therapist.â
He lets those words sit in the air until they sour, staring at you with eyes shiny and lips trembling. âI know that,â he says, voice cracking, âI know that. I just- Just because you had issues with the Met Gala exhibit doesnât mean you have to run away and hide, you know?â
Your mouth falls open. âI⌠I didnât have issues with the Met Gala, okay, Taehyung? I blanked. Every time I tried to paint something for the exhibit, it sucked. I hated it. And then, eventually, I stopped being able to paint anything at all. It was like I just- I just couldnât. And the Director kept calling, but I couldnât answer him because I was so fucking humiliated, and you get the day of the Met and the walls are empty because Y/n L/n is a fucking failure. So itâs not- You canât fix me, Taehyung. Iâm just broken.â
The fire spits, crackles, as it smoulders down, nothing more than hot coals that barely light the surroundings. Taehyung, face slowly darkening to shadow, doesnât say anything. Just sits. Waits.
You sniff, looking down at your hands. âMy point is, Tae-â and you scoff at yourself for using a nickname at a time like this, âYou shouldnât like me. I have nothing to give you anymore.â
Sand sticks to your bare legs when you stand, but you make no attempt to brush it off. Though itâs nearly complete darkness, you see Taehyungâs hair shift as he tips his head up to watch you. Rather than speak back, he waits in the pitch black of the extinguished bonfire and lets you go.
Later, in the unforgiving silence of your bungalow, you find yourself gravitating not towards your bed but towards your suitcase, to the small wooden chest of travel paints you had brought never expecting to use.
Itâs easier to paint than to think on your regrets and mistakes, and so you let your mind go black, your palette filling with shades of brown, ochre and beige, as well as a single swatch of teal.
--
The entire next day sees you in a sleep-deprived fervour, the entire main room of your bungalow cleared out and transformed into a makeshift studio, paintings drying on emptied bookshelves, sheets of old newspaper covering the carpet covered in stray spots of colour, the kitchen bench housing your mismatched array of paints and tools.
After finishing your first painting, youâd collapsed onto your bed as the sun began to rise, too exhausted to wash the dried paint off your hands and brow. But it only took a few moments of rest before you felt yourself sinking into a glum quicksand, sucked in by all the emotions swirling in your chest. Suffocated by the sole image of Taehyung, sitting alone on the sand in the dark as you walked away.
So, youâd gotten up, fed the itch in your hands and picked up a brush once more, and let yourself be taken by the mindless haze of work, of colours and angles and perspectives, starting to paint the knuckles on one canvas while you waited for the eyes to dry on another.
Just after 10am, your housekeeper had knocked on the door, and youâd had to play sick so that she wouldnât come inside. If they kept your deposit or charged you damages for a stray lick of paint on some surface, what did it matter?
You threw yourself so intensely into these paintings, that werenât art so much as sighs of relief, or buoys in a churning sea. It was all too easy to let your mind latch onto the task of mixing colours, of choosing techniques, of mastering proportions. Normally, youâd work in front of a landscape, or take a photo and paint it later, wanting to get things right, but Taehyung comes to mind with startling clarity.
Soon, your bungalow fills with artworks - some painted on newspaper, or pages of a book when you run out of canvases. Vistas of those moments with him like clustered vignettes: his eyes with orange glints reflected in them from that night with the bonfire; his hands wringing his sodden sweater the day you got caught in the rain; a boxy smile, the first time he ever grinned at you like that; and finally, just as your hands begin to shake too much to hold the brush steady, a lone silhouette walking down a dune, tiny dog tugging at the leash in his hand. The memories flow in reverse, like some sort of undoing, a wish to go back in time and do things right, to be better for him, to do right by him.
When you set the brush down one final time, fingers trembling with exhaustion, itâs nearly midnight. You realise with a dull pang that youâd forgotten to go down to the township to buy Taehyung hair dye. You realise he probably wouldnât have come down either.
Your face is stiff in places where swipes of paint have dried, and your hair is tangled, thrown up a half-hearted ponytail that keeps threatening to slip, but as you stare around the chaos of the room, at the fevered paintings of him, only him, always him, your heart knows what to do. Whether you like it or not, you canât go back in time and start new, start fresh. But you can go forward, and you know exactly where your feet will take you.
Well, maybe not exactly, because youâve never been to Taehyungâs house. But shoving on some sneakers and wrappin yourself up in a jacket, you figure you can find it. The islandâs population was barely fifty, and all the houses were in the same sleepy neighborhood behind the main street.
Itâs after knocking on exactly twenty-six doors that you realise maybe you should just ask if the stranger knew Taehyungâs address, rather than leaving when somebody unfamiliar answered the door. Shivering, even with the thick padded jacket youâre bundled in, you decide that the next house better be the last. If they didnât know where Tae was, you could just come back and pick up where you left off tomorrow.
The street is so silent that your sneaker soles on the gravel fill the void entirely, amplified in the chilled night air. As you went on, and the moon passed the center of the sky, less and less people even opened their doors, some that did scolding you for waking them at such an hour. Youâd feel bad, only your mindâs entirely locked on one single person.
The next house you reach is small, like most of them, but looks particularly well-groomed compared to most. A gleaming white postbox with the number 13B rests beside the driveway and footpath, both of which are bordered by lush, freshly-mowed grass, almost black in the darkness. Like a beacon, a single lamplight shines white-yellow above the front door, and your eyes ache with the warm brightness as you knock.
After fifteen or so seconds, you hear muffled movement inside, and straighten your back expectantly, mentally running through your speech. A light turns on behind lacy curtains to the left, and eventually a blurred silhouette approaches in the foyer, unlocking the door.
You put on your most sympathetic smile and take in a breath when it cracks, revealing an older woman in mismatching winter pyjamas. âIâm so sorry to wake you, maâam, but I was wondering if you knew a boy called-â As your eyes search the old womanâs face, you freeze. You know those eyes. âK-Kim Taehyung?â you finish, blinking widely at the woman who somehow looks so familiar.
Rather than grumble about the time or huff, she smiles broadly, lips tugging up in a boxy smile. âWell, of course, heâs my grandson!â The smile drops, brows furrowing in concern. âIs he alright?â
You suck in a breath through your teeth, eyes widening. âI- oh my goodness, Iâve heard so much about you,â you gush, her eyes crinkling fondly at your words. âSorry, uh- yes, Taehyung is okay, I just-â You stop yourself, trying to steady your racing heart. âMrs. Kim, you probably donât even know me, but I did something bad and I need to make it right with him and I just⌠I think Iâm in love with your grandson.â The moment you finish, something in your heart settles at the sound of the words lingering in the air.
She takes her time to reply, letting the words sink into her with a thoughtful sigh. âDarling, am I right in assuming your name is Y/n?â
You swallow quickly. âYes, thatâs right.â
She nods with a fond smile, a glimmer in her eye. âThen I think thereâs something you should come see.â
âInside?â After she waves you in and guides you to slip off your shoes and step into some house slippers instead, you find yourself awkwardly following her down a homely, perfumed hallway. âBy the way, Iâm so sorry for waking you.â
She waves it off before you even finish your sentence, sending you a kind wink. âNo bother to me, lovie. Iâm just glad you didnât wake the dog.â
âThe dog?â you mumble to yourself, before halting suddenly as Mrs. Kim pauses in front of a door, hand resting on the glass knob.
âMy grandsonâs been visiting me more lately, you see,â she explains, turning the knob to reveal a room in complete darkness, nothing inside visible. âHe had so much to tell me and so much to do, became as hyper as a boy on Christmas morning! He told me not to go in here, but I couldnât help myself.â
You step inside on her indication, breath caught in your throat as your eyes struggle to adjust. âI donât understandâŚâ
âLovie, donât worry about whatever went wrong with you two. You love him and⌠Maybe Iâm just a hopeless romantic, but itâs clear he loves you too.â And with that, she flicks the light on and the room comes into focus.
A barn. Thatâs the first thing you see. A painting of a bright, sprawling barn with a tiny dilapidated kennel in its shadow, wobbly letters spelling out YEONTAN. On the wall directly across from the door rests the original painting of The Barn at Icheon, close to a meter wide and half a metre high. The question of why heâd keep this prized possession of his in a random room barely bigger than a closet dies on your tongue as you turn, seeing the other walls.
A sketch of a bird youâd seen and wanted to show him, clumsily sketched on the back of a receipt with a pen from the lady at the grocery store checkout; a smudged map of your old neighborhood in Seoul that heâd made you draw on a napkin when you were explaining to him how far away the art supply store was; a tourism pamphlet that you and Taehyung had found on a park bench, drawing little Bigfoot silhouettes on the pictures of mountains and mermaids on the beaches. Every one of these thoughtless scrawls, careless scribbles and hurried drawings are here, each one framed or mounted like in a gallery, in order of the time they were made. You turn around slowly, barely noticing Taehyungâs grandmother in the doorway, giving you a knowing look. Finally, on the last wall, the trail of pieces disappear with a final creation, a canvas.
Feeling tears gather in your eyes, you look at the black smear of a mailbox, the wonky shops, the two tall trees incongruously planted in the middle of the street. And, in the bottom right corner painted meticulously in teal, the same teal as his hair, Y/n and Taehyung.
You let out a sob, turning back to Mrs. Kim. âThank you for showing me this,â you make out in a voice thickened with tears, âbut I really need to see him. Can you please give me his address?â
With a look of warm empathy, she steps forward to clasp your shoulders gently, maternally. âHe told me about what happened, luvie. He doesnât blame you.â
Trembling, you wipe the wetness from your cheeks and sniff. âHe should,â you admit sullenly, âheâs too good for me. Heâs been nothing but kind and patient and caring and all Iâve done is let him down.â Something occurs to you, and you frown in confusion. âWait⌠Did he stop by and tell you?â
Her hands squeeze your upper arms comfortingly before dropping them and stepping back. âOh honey,â she coos, and your heart stops as she steps aside out of the doorway, letting another, taller figure enter the room.
âTaehyung,â you whisper in shock, but before you can even comprehend his presence, his arms are around you, pulling you against his chest in a tight hug. You feel thick layers of pressure and worry evaporate off of you with a single moment, lungs filling with the familiar scent of him, body relaxing with his chin resting on your head and his arms cradling you. For what feels like a small eternity, you let yourself be fully enveloped in him, an indescribable catharsis of finally being in his arms once more. As your tears dry on the soft flanelette of his pyjama shirt and your fingers clutch at his back, you feel a thought transform into a certainty. âI love you, Taehyung,â you confess quietly, and his whole body shudders with a sob, arms tightening around you even more.
âI love you so much,â he confesses lowly, chest rumbling against your ear as he speaks. âAnd please donât ever call yourself broken. Youâre not. I didnât love the art, I loved you. Because the art is a part of you Y/n, whether itâs perfect or not.â
âTae,â you breathe shakily, his name the only word on your lips.
A soft voice comes from the hallway, Taehyungâs grandmother quietly excusing herself to âleave the two lovebirds alone.â You barely notice, lost in the way Taehyung gently rocks you back and forth in his arms, soothing you.
âI missed you,â you hear Taehyung whisper into your hair, nuzzling his nose gently.
Though you shiver at the feeling, you let out a teary laugh. âI saw you a day ago.â
âBut it wasnât the same then,â he insists softly, and a slow breath escapes you weakly. âItâs okay; youâre here now. You-â he breaks off to swallow, and when he speaks again his voice is much quieter, paper thin. âYou wonât walk away again, will you?â
You answer by tipping your head up to look him in the eyes warmly, rising onto the tips of your toes so that you can reach his mouth, pressing a kiss against it tenderly. âNever,â you answer surely, âI promise.â
When he smiles, itâs beautiful - that big, boxy grin you saw that day on the dunes, that day you agreed to paint with him, and so many times since. But it never fails to make you melt, lips automatically returning the gesture. âNow,â he announces with a bemused lilt in his voice. âAs much as I love this makeout session in my grandmaâs closet, it is 2am. Shall we go get some rest?â
Sleep comes quickly once you have Taehyungâs arm around you and your face in the crook of his neck, and you let it take you, knowing youâll have time to savor the feeling of sleeping beside him for many days to come.
--
You take him home the next day.
He hadnât ever been to the bungalow before, but now there was something you desperately wanted him to see. You hadnât cleaned up before youâd suddenly began roaming the streets of the island, and as he stares around at the chaos, you kind of wish you had. âItâs pretty messy, butâŚâ
âNo,â he deflects, mouth parted and eyes wide in wonder, âdonât apologise, this is- wow.â He steps further into the room, stepping over discarded paint tubes, dried canvases and uncleaned brushes. He takes a moment to take in each work. Every single one of them a snapshot of him. âHow- When did you do all this?â
You bite your lip, loitering in the entryway. âFrom when I got back that night until I decided to come looking for you.â
He furrows his brow, fingers gently skimming the top edge of the painting that rests on the easel in the center of the room, the first one youâd painted. His teal growouts, his uneven eyes, the moles dotted so intricately on his face. Your Tae. âYou havenât been able to pick up a brush in months, and then...all this?â
âThis was easy,â you say with a shake of your head, âit was easy because it was you.â
He turns, then, glancing at you over his shoulder with eyes brimming with affection. âYou really love me.â
A disbelieving grin stretches across your lips. âThe midnight confession didnât make it clear enough?â
âItâs not that, I- I can read it,â he explains, stepping back over to you. âThe Barn at Icheon is filled with loneliness, and a lot of your other works talk about fear or curiosity or patience. But this is all love. And itâs me.â
âItâs you,â you confirm with a soft smile, âI love you, Taehyung. So much.â
His eyes light up, then, a cheeky glimmer as his hand reaches out, gripping your elbow and giving it a playful shake. âIf Iâm your mojo then, you should paint something else today,â he bargains, âI wanna see your genius in action. The black mailbox sadly doesnât qualify.â
Your mouth drops open in mock outrage, shoving his chest with a whine. âThatâs not fair! You said you liked it better black.â Looking around at the disaster zone of the bungalow, you sigh. âI also donât think I have any paintable surfaces left. I missed the housekeeper so Iâll probably get a fine as it is.â
âUse me, then.â
âHavenât I painted you enough?â you fire back, but Taehyung just shakes his head emphatically.
âPaint on me. Here,â he says, and his hands leave yours in order to find the hem of his shirt, peeling his shirt off and tossing it into a far end of the room. âA big old waterfall, right down the middle. Rock pool at the bottom.â
âStop it!â You blush fiercely, hands coming up to cover your cheeks as your eyes feast on his chest, the smooth planes and taut skin, a beautiful golden bronze. âTaehyungâŚâ
For the first time, he doesn't press further. Instead, his shoulders sag, teasing facade slipping. "I'm sorry, you don't have to. I'll stop."
Inexplicably, you find yourself wanting to prove you aren't fragile anymore, unbroken just as he'd insisted you were last night. "I can do it," you protest, stepping away from him to fossick for some usable brushes. "Lie down, then."
Taehyung freezes. "Uh. Yeah, yeah, okay, gimme one sec, I'll just-" With the enthusiasm of a boy having his first kiss, Taehyung hunkers down on the newspaper-covered carpet, shuffling some tools and tubes and palettes out of the way. He looks beautiful like that, chest rising and falling shakily with anticipation, warm brown eyes widened on you. "You don't have to paint a waterfall, you know," he assures hurriedly. "Whatever you do will be perfect."
Heart leaping at his words, you feel a streak of confidence deep inside you, and instead of sitting beside him, you straddle his hips with a newly-filled palette in one hand and a brush in the other. "I want you to guess," you announce from above him, eying his chest and wondering how the colours might fill the space. "Guess what I'm painting. It'll be fun!"
Taehyung's throat bobs with a harsh swallow, nodding quickly. "O-okay, yeah, let's do that," he agrees weakly.
You smile warmly, and begin dipping into a forest green, coating the tips of the bristles. Bending down, you mark a single point of green on the top of his chest, just below his collarbone. The moment the cool paint touches his skin, Taehyung shudders, eyes falling shut. "Okay?" you check. He nods again, chest heaving, and so you continue tracking colour, gradual swoops downwards. Each drag of the brush makes Taehyung's breath catch, and you watch as goosebumps break out on his bare arms.
"Feels nice," he mumbles, lips barely moving like he didn't even intend to speak.
Your lip twitches, but still you focus, topping up the brush whenever the lines became too spotty. After trailing down to just above the level of his belly button, you raise the brush again, starting a new form on the other side of his chest, this one smaller. "Any idea what it is?" you question, but Taehyung just sighs airily.
Once you're finished with the forest green, you wipe your brush off on the edge of your palette and go for a deeper shade, pressing in shadows under each swipe of green. It's once you're working on the bottom half of the second structure that you begin to feel a hardness between your legs, the point where you're straddling him. Shocked, you look up, but Taehyung's covered his eyes with the back of his hand, face turned to the side with reddened cheeks.
"I'm sorry," he croaks out once he feels you stop. "Didn't mean to."
With a fond smile, you lean down, careful not to smudge the wet paint, and gently kiss the corner of his mouth. His fingers twitch and his lips part in surprise, but he otherwise stays still. "It's okay," you soothe, "if it's any consolation, I feel the same way right now."
Like a switch is flipped, Taehyung lifts his hand and tucks his chin, looking down at where the two of you are pressed together, then back up at your face. "Seriously?"
You laugh warmly. "Taehyung, I love you and you're currently lying beneath me, half-naked, writhing every time the brush touches you. Of course I'm turned on."
His cheeks flush hotter and he bites his lip. "You can- you can keep going. Keep painting."
Obediently continuing to fill in the shadow across his stomach, you grin. "Still no guesses on what I'm painting? I'm almost done, you know."
He cranes his neck down further, but the angle prevents him from seeing much. "Some-something green? I'll be honest with you, my focus really isn't-fuck!"
You suppress a laugh as he shudders, hands reaching out to clutch at your pants. Having finished the shadow, you'd mixed a paler green to add some light points on the tops, and one of those swipes had just happened to land across the top of one of his nipples, already stiff from arousal. You continue dipping colour here and there, smirking at the paint that covers the dark brown of his right nipple.
"You tease," Taehyung complains with furrowed brows. "Fuck, that felt good. Please tell me you need to paint the other one too."
You hum in mock thought, transferring your brush to the hand with the palette so that you can reach out, swiping a thumb over the sensitive flesh. Taehyung's whole body jerks, his hips beginning to grind under you, the dull friction pulling a pleasured sigh from your lips that's blessedly drowned by his drawn-out moan. "Why the pout, Tae? This was your idea."
"Next time I'm holding the paintbrush," he promises, hips moving slowly beneath you, eyes lidded as they focus on you, "then you won't be so cocky."
His words send a hot rush of arousal through you, and you rock your hips unconsciously, swallowing a moan. "Next time," you repeat breathily, "but for now I'm almost done."
It only takes a few more touches of pale green, followed by two vertical strokes of brown, before you're putting your tools aside, and standing up off of him.
Taehyung groans in complaint when your hips leave him, his casual grey sweatpants tented and a faint sheen of sweat on his forehead. "Where are you going?"
"Come see," you guide, tugging at his hand. "I have a mirror in my room."
He gets up, palming himself with a pout before following you down the hall, pulled along by your interlocked hands. Once in front of the mirror, Taehyung lifts his eyebrows at just how wrecked he looks. Bottom lip swollen from biting at it, hair mussed and sticking up, and a burst of green slowly drying on his torso. "It's...trees?"
"It's us," you explain softly, "like that painting we did together the first time." From beside him, you reach around to gently tap each figure, two tall fir trees, the one on his right taller than the one on his left. "One for you and one for me."
Before you can pull your arm back, his hand comes up to flatten yours against his chest, hands going cold where the paint is still wet in places.
"Tae, you'll smudge it."
"Y/n," he said slowly, head turning to look at you, eyes brimming with affection, "will you let me make love to you?"
Your breath catches, and rather than trusting your voice, you nod wordlessly.
With a deep exhale, he bends down and joins your lips with his, a hand coming up to bury itself in your hair, keeping you close. His lips are hot against yours, passionate and wanting, and your stomach warms with desire. Clumsily, your fingers find the hem of your shirt, lifting it as far as you can before you have to break apart from him, flinging it away once it clears your head.
"The bed?" Taehyung pants in the moments his mouth is free, and you nod, shucking off your jeans before getting onto the mattress in just your bra and panties. "God, you're beautiful," he chants, "how did I get so lucky?"
He slips out of his sweatpants and joins you sitting on the edge, but your eyes linger on his face, the way his eyes soften and crinkle when they meet yours. "I'm the lucky one," you reply simply.
You shiver when a large palm runs up your bare thigh, warm and grounding. "Can I go down on your first?" he asks with a pleading gaze.
You laugh weakly. "I'm definitely the lucky one." In confirmation, you lie yourself back, scooting so your head rests on the pillows.
Hand now having slid down your leg to rest over your ankle, he wraps his fingers around and lifts it off the bed delicately, your knee crooking and legs parting. Smoothly, he slips himself in the gap, lying on his stomach and letting your raised leg rest on his shoulders. With eyes heavy on you, he leans forward slowly and licks a strip over your clothed pussy, a dull kiss of friction across your clit. You groan, head lolling back, and he takes it as his initiative to continue, sucking at the juices that have dampened your panties until the whole crotch is wet, your thighs shaking slightly with your increased sensitivity.
"Tae, please," you breath out, "I wan' more."
A finger slips below the hem of your panties, just over your hipbone. "Should we take these off?" You nod with a needy whimper, lifting your hips to give him easier access.
He sits up to slide them down your legs, calmly spreading your thighs again when you get the self-conscious urge to close them. With only your bra on, you feel so vulnerable, but rather than scaring you, you feel at peace, so happy to be having this moment with Taehyung.
When he shuffles back into place again, he takes his time, his warm breath tickling your inner thighs. At your needy wiggle of your hips, he chuckles and rubs soothingly at the top of your leg where it's crooked over his shoulder, finally dipping his head again to lick at you.
He starts out maddeningly light, the very tip of his tongue flicking slowly over your clit, tentatively venturing out to dip between your folds. You reach out for his hand, needing something to anchor you, and he smiles against you as he interlocks your fingers, keeping you grounded.
"So good, Tae," you encourage, moaning openly when his tongue trails lower and dips between your folds, over your entrance. "Fuck, so good."
Rather than answer verbally, Taehyung doubles his efforts and begins to speed up, lapping at your core and suckling your clit.
Every breath is a moan or a whimper, overtaken by pleasure, but you let yourself drown in it, letting Taehyung eat you out like a man starved. With one hand on your upper thigh and one entwined with yours, he's got no fingers free to play with you, but expertly he brings you to your peak with just his tongue, thrusting it inside you as his nose nudges at your clit.
When you feel your orgasm quickly approaching, your moans heighten and your back begins to arch, hips grinding against him desperately. Taehyung chuckles, the sound vibrating against you and making you shudder, and his hand slips high to press against your waist instead, holding you in place for him. Your thighs tense around him, praises and curses and his name spilling from your lips incoherently.
It's one last nibble at your clit, pulling it into his mouth and dragging his tongue over it, your vision whites out with the force of your orgasm, jerking beneath him and crying out wantonly, overcome with pleasure. He works you through it diligently, groaning as you come down from your high with weak shivers, his tongue never ceasing until you push at his head from oversensitivity.
He lets your leg down carefully, kissing his way up your bare stomach, the swells of your breasts and your throat until his lips are on yours and you can taste yourself on him, feel the ends of his hair tickling against your cheeks.
"That was incredible, Tae," you pant out, feeling boneless beneath him as he takes charge of the kiss, tugging at your lips and licking into your mouth. "I need you," he gasps, and you moan throatily when his clothed crotch grinds against your bare core, the fabric of his underwear catching on your sensitive clit. He's hard, probably painfully so, and all you want is to feel him inside you.
Desperate, your fingers slip behind you, arching your back so that you can deftly release the clasp of your bra, pulling it off hastily before reaching for his underwear. "I need you too, Tae," you plea, "please hurry."
His fingers, slightly cool from the air, slide down your stomach and between your thighs, making you jump as he slips two inside, thrusting them slowly. You're still sensitive, and his mouth falls to your ear, hushing you and pressing encouraging kisses to your temple as you whimper. "Doing so well for me," he praises, "just gotta make sure you're ready, okay?"
"O-okay," you make out, sucking in a breath when he pulls out and presses a third finger inside you, picking up his pace. Gradually, the prickling overstimulation warms into pleasure again, and you rock your hips to seek more friction, free hand coming up to wrap around his neck and shoulders, holding him close.
With no bra on, your full chest is flat against his, and as the paint dries it drags over your nipples, making you arch your back, seeking out the friction.
The warmth between your legs tightens with the extra stimulation, and your breath begins to catch, feeling another orgasm oncoming.
"Close?" Taehyung murmurs in your ear as he widens the gaps between his fingers inside you, scissoring to stretch you even more. You nod hastily, moans getting stuck in your throat, pushed out with every gasped breath. Taehyung hums in response, and you whimper when you feel his fingers slipping out of you completely. Before you can protest, the blunt head of his cock slips between your sopping folds, Taehyung running it up and down to coat himself in your slick.
"Fuck, yes, please Tae, I'm ready," you babble, legs lifting to wrap around his hips, attempting to pull him in closer.
He chuckles, but it's cut off prematurely by a hissed breath of pleasure as he lines up and begins to sink his length into you, a delicious feeling of fullness after his fingers left you so empty. Taehyung enters you slowly, letting you adjust, and you feel completely enveloped by him; his voice in your ear, his hand in yours, his cock inside you.
"Need you, Tae," you whine once he stills, bottomed out, "please move."
"Are you ready?" You wiggle your hips with a groaned yes, arm tightening around him as he pulls back. He stops when just his head still rests inside you, pauses for a moment with a moan as you clench around him, and then plunges back in with one slick thrust.
You cry out, satisfied smile stretching tiredly across your face as he finally begins a steady rhythm, favoring deeper thrusts that make your toes curl. "Yes, Tae, so good!"
"God, you're still so tight," he groans throatily, "so good for me."
On the edge before, you find yourself close after only a few minutes, and you tell him with a shaky breath. Taehyung lets out a relieved exhale as he continues to thrust into you. "Thank fuck," he huffs out, panting a word at a time, "I'm not gonna last, you drive me crazy."
You press your head against his, nuzzling at it as you unwrap your arm from around his shoulders, instead seeking out your clit for the needed friction to push you over the edge. The added stimulation has you clenching, and Taehyung swears desperately, his pace picking up but shuddering as he gets close.
The two of you pant loudly into the otherwise silent room, filling each others' ears with whimpered moans and slurred praises, until you finally catch the tip of your peak, and with one final drag of his cock inside you, you're falling apart, not suddenly and violently like the first time, but rather a slow, hot wave of pleasure that works its way out from your core, down to your toes and fingertips, clenching tightly around Taehyung until he curses and spills inside you, shuddering through his release.
"I love you so much," you whisper once you come down from your high, a contented exhaustion seeping into your bones.
"I love you too," Taehyung says with a final press of his lips on your temple.
---
"This one's gorgeous. I love the broad lines on the ocean compared to the texture of rocks on the shore. This is at the island, you say?"
You hum in confirmation, smiling at your old friend. "You should see, it, Joonie. There's this little cluster of houses and shops right in the middle but the rest is just open nature. Forests, beaches, everything in the middle. I go there every year."
Kim Namjoon, Director at the Leeum Museum in Seoul and avid nature buff, takes one last look at the landscape canvas and grins. "Ah, twist my arm..." You follow him as he moves down the line of mounted canvases, stopping at a familiar portrait. He furrows his brows and cocks his head. "I feel like I've seen this guy before, something about the face... He didn't have green in his hair though, I must be confused."
You laugh at your friend, spying a shock of red through the swathes of people. "You have seen him before," you explain, catching the figure's eye, "you would have seen him here tonight."
In front of you, Namjoon raises his brows. "Oh, really? Who is he, then?"
Over Namjoon's shoulder, you watch Taehyung approach, turning heads with his scarlet dye. He gives you a wink, and you grin back. "He's my husband."
#ksmutclub#festivefrivolity#taehyung x reader#bts x reader#taehyung smut#bts smut#ficswithluv#bangtanarmynet#thekimlinenet#btswriterscollective#btswritingcafe#magicshopnet#smutcentralnet#taehyung angst#taehyung fluff#bts angst#bts fluff#kth#v#namjoon
3K notes
¡
View notes
Text
Title: Quarantine: A Love Story{23}
Chris Evans x Reader
Warning: Cursing, Heavy Angst, Plot Heavy, Slight NSFW
Words:Â 4.3k
Note:Â Italic text signifies a past memory/conversation.
*Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. FICTION! Think twice before you come @ me.
I hope you guys enjoy this. If you enjoyed this LIKE, COMMENT, REBLOG.
As always, thank you for reading!!! â¤ď¸â¤ď¸
***Loosely Edited/Proofread***
***Interactive***
Previous Chapters: Â Q1 | Â Q2 | Â Q3 | Â Q4 | Â Q5 | Â Q6 | Â Q7 | Â Q8 | Â Q9 | Q10 | Q11 | Q12 | Q13 | Q14 | Q15 | Q16 | Q17 | Q18 Â | Q19 | Q20 | Q21Â | Q22Â
~~~~~~~~~~~
-Quarantine Week Thirteen-
-Chris-
 âKnock, knock, room service.â
 Groaning, he lifted his head, squinting at the sun that was shining through the window.
 âWhat the fuck?â
 âKnock, knock, room service,â came the voice again.
 His head was pounding, and the light was not helping. Rolling onto his back, he used his hand to shield the sun before he rubbed his face hoping to clear the haziness in his eyes and head. When he felt steady enough to stand, he walked across the room to the door. Once there, he realized he was naked. Grabbing a discarded towel off a nearby chair, he wrapped it around his waist then cracked the door enough to see who it was. No one was there, just a room service cart. Poking his head out, he looked from side to side, still not seeing anyone.
 âDid I order room service?â
 Not wanting someone to happen to come out of their room and see him, he quickly rolled the cart inside his room, leaving it just before the bed. As he dropped onto the bed, he took the notecard wedged between the coffee mugs.
 I let you sleep in yesterday and work through whatever it was that you were going through, but today is business as usual. We have meetings.
-M
 Groaning, he dropped back onto the bed and stared at the ceiling before closing his eyes. As soon as he did, it was your face he saw. Memories of your last night together flooded him like always. They always came when he had more than ten minutes to himself. So nights were sleepless, showers were torture, and getting any work done was next to impossible. Heâd left because there was nothing else to do. Heâd been getting plenty of emails about possible work in London and meetings to take, but heâd pushed them back time and time again. One reason was the pandemic that was still ravaging the world, but the other reason was you. He wanted to be near you, learn more about you, begin building with you. That didnât look to be what you wanted, though.
 He groaned again and rubbed his face hoping to stop the onslaught. It didnât work. Your voice echoed in his head, and he swore he could feel your hands on him. God, he wanted you here. He wanted to still be in his cabin with you still resting your head on his chest. He wanted to be breathing in your scent, coconut oil, flowers, brown sugar, and pineapples. Your scent was seared to his memory.
 âFuck!â
 His shout echoed in the hotel room. He sat up and stared at the cart with the breakfast spread. Heâd done everything he could.
 âShe just doesnât want me.â
 With that, he stood and began getting himself ready for his meetings. He had three in total, and that itself told him it would be a long day.
 Sure enough, by two in the afternoon, he was still busy and hadnât had the time even to get lunch. The first meeting went on for three hours, and now heâd taken an unplanned zoom one regarding his project with Mark and Joe. Things were always moving behind the scenes, and though the last few weeks were a nice vacation of sorts, it was time for him to get his head back into the game, no matter how difficult it was posing to be.
 As two meetings turned to three, then four, he found himself running on empty, and the longer that went by without you reaching out to him in any way, the angrier and more bitter he became. Never in his life had he been in this situation. Heâd pursued plenty of women, but they all were receptive. They all showed interest of some sort. They all wanted him. he may not have wanted them on the level they wanted him, but there was a minimal basic understanding. With you, he felt he was always the one chasing you. It was disconcerting.
 When he got in for the night, he was exhausted and ready for a shower and sleep. The ringing of his phone said it was not to be.
 âYes, Meg.â
 âDid you look over that proposal I sent earlier?â
 Sighing, he sat and hung his head back. âWhat proposal?â
 âHear me out before you shoot it down. What do you know about Letecia Jemison?â
 âWho?â
 âThe model turned actress,â Meg clarified.
 He sighed again, then put the phone on speaker and typed in the name into his Google search. In seconds images of who Meg was talking about populated.
 âSheâs pretty, right.â
 âMeg, whatâre ya doing?â
 âNothing, just listen. Her team has been in contact with me, and I know her publicist. We've come up with a way to help both of you. With quarantine, everyone has reverted to a home-based lifestyle. This means maybe some names arenât on tongues, and that means the roles are slowing.â
 Already he didnât like the way this was going.
 âMeg--,â he began.
 âItâs just a few photo ops. The press will get a few pictures, people will start talking, and the rest it easy. Plus, I think you two would hit it off; maybe this will jumpstart a relationship.â
 âOh god. Meg. I am not in the market for a relationship.â
 âChris, youâre a good looking guy. Quarantine has been going on for weeks. Not to be invasive, but when was the last time you were in the company of someone who wasnât family?â
 He scoffed and sat back while scrolling through the pictures.
 âMeg. I donât think this is a good idea.â
 âItâs harmless. One or two dates, you get to blow off steam and maybe get something more,â Meg finished.
 The picture on his screen was of this Leticia woman in a figure-hugging dress that accentuated her figure. She wasnât bad to look at; he had to admit.
 âAnd what does she have to say about all this?â
 âAccording to Mike, he said she sounds open to it. If the idea of a photo op sounds deceiving, think of it as a date or spending time with a friend. You can never have too many contacts in this business.â
 Meg always knew how to spin things. Her goal was to keep him relevant for as long as it was in his interest, or he decided to remain in the business.
 âWe have to talk first, Meg. Set up a facetime or zoom, or something,â he suggested.
 âAll right. Iâll text you. Get some rest.â
 After ending the conversation, he stared out the window and immediately thought of you. Even a conversation for a meet up felt wrong to him. Weeks ago, he wouldnât have cared.
 âUnbelievable.â
 Standing, he walked to the bathroom, determined to find some peace for the night.
  ~~~~~~~~
 -Y/N-
Staring at the cabin, it looked the same, but it felt different. Whereas it felt warm and inviting before, now it felt cold and so far away. It had been three days, and you couldnât believe heâd just up and left without so much as a goodbye or see you later.
 âOf course he left. Why would he stay?â
 âBecause heâs in love with you.â
 Spinning, you saw Ms. Lisa standing there. You sighed and looked back at the cabin. The last three days, her, Shanna, nor Carly brought up the elephant in the room. They didnât treat you any differently, but you saw the questions in their eyes. You thought they would just let it be one of those things people brushed to the side and ignored, but seeing her here you knew it would not be that. When she stood beside you, you glanced at her.
 âLetâs take a walk to the beach,â Lisa suggested.
 You walked in silence through the wooded area from the cabin, around the guesthouse, and down the steps to the sand. Once there, you both kicked off your shoes and walked down the beach until you sat. You dug your toes into the hot on the surface but cold underneath sand and sighed out.
 âHow are you doing?â
 You couldnât help but laugh. What was supposed to be a quick chuckle turned into an elaborate laugh that went on for a full minute. She probably thought you were insane. You felt insane. When you stopped, you sighed then swallowed the lump in your throat.
 âIâm fine.â
 âAre you as fine as Chris is?â Your eyes met, but you were the first to look away back to the waves. âI can see just how fine he is.â
 âIâm sorry. I didnât mean for any of this to happen. I didnât plan it, and Iâm sorry you found out the way you did, and Iâm sorry if I broke your trust,â you rushed out. Lisa grabbed your hand and held it in her warmer ones.
 âY/N, no, no, no. You didnât break my trust at all, and you certainly have nothing to apologize to me for. You are a grown woman, a beautiful grown woman at that. Honestly, I saw this coming years ago.â
 You snapped your head to her, giving her a quizzical look. âWhat? How?â
 Lisa smiled and rubbed the back of your hand. âI know Chris and all my children like the back of my hand. I raised them and have paid close attention throughout the years. While itâs more difficult to understand him now than it used to be, I do. Heâs always been drawn to you. From day one, and against your better judgment, youâve also been drawn to him.â
 You sighed again, looking away from her kind face and back out to the ocean.
 âYou never understood it until these last few weeks. You saw his apprehensiveness and labeled it as hate. This quarantine has allowed you to see past that, see him on a level you probably werenât ready for. You also werenât prepared to like that side of him.â
 She was spot on, but you were not going to admit that, not out loud at least.
 âIâm here for you, Y/N. If you want to talk or not talk, Iâm here. Iâm not going to judge you or chastise you. It is not my place, and truly Y/N, I love you like you were part of my family.â
 A tear slid down your cheek, making you roll your eyes. âOh great,â you groaned.
 Lisa put her arm around your shoulder and slide closer, but she didnât speak again. She was letting you decide what you needed rather than her coaxing you in one direction or the other. You didnât know how long stretched with only the sounds of the waves crashing on the shore, but she didnât seem to care. As the sun was beginning to set, you opened up to her, letting her know about your past and its effect on you. You steered clear of recent events with Chris or even the fact that of the two of you becoming intimate. Once you began, it felt like you were letting something go that youâd been holding on to for such a long timeâshame. That feeling of unburdening shifted to you, spilling your guts telling her things you probably shouldnât have.
 You told her how much youâd hated her son for the first year, then told her how much he confused you and had you doubting yourself by the first have of the second year. Then you admitted that that hate and confusion turned to you being annoyed that you thought about him and even liked seeing him when you did. Your diarrhea of the mouth went further when you admitted that youâd probably thought about sleeping with him long before it actually happened. Still, Lisa didnât speak. She let you say all you had to, and it turned out you had a lot to say.
 You expressed your remorse over lying and sneaking around the last few weeks but admitted you werenât sorry about it. That was when you felt able to confess that you loved all the conversations you and Chris had, you loved learning new things, loved seeing the vulnerable and soft side of him that he never showed. You even felt comfortable enough to voice your fears.
 âIâm afraid if I let him in like I let Thro in that heâll destroy me worse than he ever could. I was stupid with Theo. The signs were there, but I bypassed them. I didnât listen to my gut, and by doing that, it cost me more than I ever dreamed. I am not the same person I was then. Everywhere I go, no matter who I am with, I have this barrier between them and me, and Chris is the only one who has ever been able to get behind that barrier. There are so many things that take me away and make it impossible for me to allow him to remain behind this barrier.â
 You sniffled and wiped your cheeks while trying to get a hold of yourself.
 âDo you want him behind the barrier?â
 âIt doesnât matter what I want. The question is, can I afford for him to be behind it, especially with everything I have going on and this new bullshit. Itâs a lot.â
 Lisa nodded. âThatâs where youâre wrong. It matters. We have one life to live, Y/N. Tomorrow or the next is not guaranteed. This one existence is what we have. Our only purpose is to live a happy life, one that is fulfilling, rewarding, truthful, and full of love. To do that, we all have to find our truth, and we have to live in it. We have to unravel who we are, come face to face with our weaknesses, fears, strengths, and live unapologetically in all that glory. You have to do that. If you canât, would you really want to look back on your death bed with nothing but regrets and no time to make it right?â
 You hated how right she was. She wasnât saying anything your mother hadnât told you time and time again. Sheâd tried to drill this into your head after Connecticut, but you werenât listeningâyou couldnât. You still couldnât. Everything in your life was now pointing in one direction, and you still couldnât bask in it. Your past still gripped you and hovered over your head.
 âRemember,â Lisa began drawing your attention to her. she wiped your cheek with the back of her hand the way only a mother could do. âNothing and no one can keep two people apart who are meant to be. No matter how much time has passed, and no matter what plans are formed against them or promises are made. I guarantee when itâs the one, Y/N, youâll have no hesitations. You might fight it, but it wonât change anything. No amount of fighting off whatâs meant to be will make an ounce of difference.â
 You snorted because you remembered her saying the same thing a few weeks ago on this very beach. Sheâd known all along. She must have known you knew because her smile was warm.
 âItâs a sixth or seventh sense. Youâll see when you become a mother whenever that may be, sooner or later, or sooner.â
 You busted out laughing so loud that your laughter carried in the wind and out to sea.
 âAll Iâm saying is he canât do any better than you,â Lisa added, making you laugh harder, a laugh she joined in on.
 ~~~~~~~~
-Chris-
After another sleepless night, he was in a shit mood and feeling like he was going through some form of withdrawals. Heâd grown so accustomed to seeing your face every day or rolling over and bumping into your body that not doing it felt strange, incomplete sort of. When he recognized those feelings, he began to feel angry. He didnât know what he was angry at, the fact that youâd rejected him or the fact that you hadnât even given him a chance. He knew you felt something. You had to. Every time he looked into your eyes, he saw something there. You spoke very little about your feelings, but he remembered the words you had said that last night when heâd asked you what you were thinking.
 âYou. Always only you.â
 Maybe he was grasping at straws, but that meant more than what it sounded like. He felt it.
 âI told you that youâd like her,â Meganâs voice infiltrated his thoughts.
 âSorry, what?â
 âWhere are you? For the last few days, youâve been here but not here.â
 He rubbed the back of his neck, then shrugged. âIâm here.â
 âOkay. Have some fun tonight. Itâs not really work,â Meg advised.
 He sighed and looked himself over in the mirror. After a Zoom call with Letecia that lasted about thirty minutes, he was able to get a better feel for her. She was beautiful and funny. After thirty minutes, he wasnât rushing off the call, so he bit the bullet and suggested dinner that night, all with the ideology there was no harm in a meal in mind.
 âItâs just a quick dinner, Meg. No one is putting rings on fingers.â
 âDonât rule it out,â Meg sing songed.
 It still felt disingenuous, and maybe that was why he wasnât thrilled with the idea, but heâd made a commitment, and he was a man of his word if anything.
 âThe car will be downstairs in about ten minutes, so knock emâ dead,â Meg said, winking at him as she walked out of his room.
 Once alone, he was finally able to take a breath. Hitching his hands on his hips, he hung his head low and sighed again. âGet your head in the game, yaâ clown.â
 He heard the ringing of his phone, and he felt it was someone from his team or even Meg trying to pump him up. When he looked at the screen, it was a number he didnât recognize.
 âHello?â
 Silence.
 âHello?â
 He wasnât in the mood for some robocall. Just as he was going to hang up, he heard sniffles.
 âWho is this?â
 âIâm sorry.â
 Heâd recognize your voice anywhere. The war within him began. Part of him wanted to console you and push aside any hurt he felt to make you feel better, but the other half was what kept him quiet. He didnât want to make this any easier. He supposed it was a little of that resentment seeping through. The silence stretched from minute to minute until neither of you had spoken for a full five. Every minute the war within him waged.
 âWhat do you want?â
 âIâI--,â you stuttered before sighing and sniffling some more. No words actually came out.
 Another minute of silence passed, and it was his anger and annoyance that piqued, not his sympathy.
 âY/N, what!?â
 âI fucked up,â you shouted, then immediately got silent again.
 âI fucked up bad, and IâmâIâm sorry.â
 He took a slow breath in and tried to get control over the part of him that wanted to yell. As a child, Mary-Go-Rounds were his least favorite carnival ride, and nothing had changed.
 âDid you hear me, Chris?â
 âI heard you. Iâm justâwhat do you want from me, Y/N?â
 He walked to the seat by the window and dropped his head in his hand.
 âI donât know what you want from me. I let you bring me as close as you want, then you tell me to back off and give you space. I am kind and respectful to you, and you push me away and tell me about my whorish ways. I treat you with nothing but care and love, and you tell me to shut up pretty much. I donâtâwhat do you want from me?â
 âI have a lot going on right now. I, thereâs so much you donât know and understand about me and my life, and I--.â
 ââSo tell me. I donât know where along this path you thought that all I care about is sex, but thatâs wrong. Itâs never been about sex with meâus. Tell me what the fuck is going on.â
 Silence. The only thing he heard was the return of your sniffles. A few moments later, you cleared your throat.
 âI care--about you.â
 The hiss of his breath slipped out, but it was an accurate depiction of his frustrations.
 âCare about me? Wo--Okay. Has the last few weeks meant anything to you?â
 âChris,â you whispered.
 âSee, I donât even need you to say the words back. A few days ago, I was wrapped up on that, but tonight itâs notâI felt that maybe Iâd been rushing you, and I didnât even mean to say them, but more and more, I just feel like a fucking idiot when it comes to you. Iâve been thisâopen book to you, and youâve shown me next to nothing. So I guess I need to know once and for all, plain as day. Has the last few weeks meant anything to you?â
 This time your silence was louder than anything heâd heard. After ten seconds, he should have hung up, but he sat there for a minute, then two, all the while, his heart just broke.
 âThey do mean something,â you whispered.
 He felt like a contestant on some gut-wrenching game show, and he was on the edge of his seat and filled with so much anxiety.
 âDo you want me, Y/N?â
 You sighed loudly, then whispered his name.
 âAll you have to do is choose me like Iâm choosing you,â he finished.
 There was rustling and muffled voices that he couldnât quite make out. What he could make out was your last name, and the words âcaseâ and âupdate.â
 âI gotta go. I canât do this right now; I really canât.â You were crying.
 Then the call ended. He sat there for several long minutes going through so many different emotions, pain, sadness, confusion, hope, then anger. That was the emotion he left his room with, anger. Long gone were the words of his motherâs text from earlier, âDonât make permanent decisions with temporary hurt feelings.â
 At dinner, Letecia was great. She was funny, charismatic, sweet, and flirtatious. They talked about each of their experiences in the business, which led to talk about what different directors and producers were like, which led to joking about them. The conversation easily flowed from one thing to the next with little to no awkwardness. Still, his mind was distracted. He kept replaying the conversation heâd had with you barely an hour ago. When his brain couldnât make sense of it, he moved on to comparing you to Letecia.
 He compared your voices. Hers was more high pitched, yours softer. He compared your smiles, yours more genuine and bright, hers looked freer. He compared your eyes. He liked yours better. He compared your scents. They were both pleasant, yours won out, but he was not against hers. By the time dinner was finished, he knew Letecia didnât stack up to you. He knew it with every fiber of his being, but there was something in him that had him progressing with the night. He could see her attraction to him, and he had to admit that he liked being wanted.
 When they left the restaurant, they climbed into the waiting car together and laughed the entire way back to his hotel, a suggestion of hers he hadnât objected to. Once they pulled up to the hotel and began walking to the entrance, Letecia leaned to his ear and whispered something flirty that told him where the night was headed. As soon as theyâd gotten comfortable in his room, he got her a drink, and they talked a little more before sheâd made a move to climb on top of him. Letecia pulled him into a flirtatious kiss, one he didnât pull away from. She took his hand and placed it on her ass, taking the lead. It was like this was a first for him. His actions were slow and delayed. Nothing felt natural, and he hated it only felt that way with you.
 As if to prove something to himself, he held Leteciaâs head steady and kissed her with intent to forget your face. Her moans filled the room, and soon she was sliding odd his lap to sit on the floor between his legs. He watched as she unbuckled his pants and helped him lower his pants. Once the garment was at his ankles, Letecia wasted no time lowering her mouth onto his shaft. A groan escaped him as he watched her bob on his length, all the while slurping against his skin. It took him several minutes to get into the groove of what she was doing because his focus shifted perilously between her and you. No matter what, you resided in his head.
 The feeling of doing something wrong constantly nagged him, distracting him from feeling much of anything though Letecia tried her best to draw a reaction. He dropped his head back, hoping that maybe not looking at her would help matters. It didnât. His memories fluctuated between you doing the same things to a different reaction and the reality before him. He tried to forcibly get his head right, reminding himself that heâd done this plenty of times, and it shouldnât have been hard. Even that didnât help.
 When Letecia stood before him to remove her burgundy dress, he skimmed her body, taking in every detail. It was underwhelming when he thought back to you, and the sight of her, while beautiful, didnât excite him. She came closer and kissed him teasingly before walking behind him. When he looked back, he saw her crawl onto his bed then lie down to spread her legs, showing him what he could have. It was decision time.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Tag List:
@chaneajoyyy @sonjashuterbugjohnson @kikimiyazaki @bellaamor88 @toniilaney @jamesbarnesappreciationsociety @ajspencer1892 @ashanti-notthesingerâ @90sinspiredgirl @titty-teetee @evemej @areubeingserved @theskullgoddess @caramara3 @champagnesugamama @minton131 @pananegra @scoop93535 @try-n-pronounce-it @momobaby227 @alyxkbrl @dumbchick @behindthesehazeleyes27 @blackmissfrizzle @chris-buttâ@nervousninjatheorist @dangerouslovefanfic @give-me-a-million-dollars-plsâ@thinkxlovexloud @swinchestersgirl @angrybirdcr @d1ff3r3nt-b34uty-officialâ@twinx007 @a-dizzle777 @ab-baybay @patzammit @anandalambert @kreolemami @aysha1447@cutewylie @disaster-rose @wondersofdreaming @lo-cheu @livinglifeformemyselfandi @magdelen69 Â @renfrewscorner @thevelvetseries @mery-be @hakunalive4eva @snowpiercer21â
@youurkryptonite @mizcaptainphoenix @bobbdylann @amennariee @emilykjh @littlepreciousangel @ssaarroonn @thummbelina @sweetlittlegingy @art-estrangeâ @torntaltos @rynabarnesrogers @rororo06  @likesfairytalesâ@anotherblackfangirl @bernie-k @theonewithherheadintheclouds @hista-girl @coldmuffinbanditshoe @jennmurawski13 @deathstroke-terminated-deez-guts @mrsbarnes- rogers @maxcullen @shadyskit @itsallyscorner @someone-really-bored @thejemersoninferno @cristinagronk16 @shakemeupthanks-blog @productofchina @acciolove724 @straightforwardly @zsuzstyina @acevansss @amelatonin @evansgirl7 @vintageembrace @maverickabull  @almosttherebutnot @jd-now-jq @winchwm @periodtcevans @est1887 @deadlymistress24 @thotti3par7on @sunkissedebony97 @turn-thy-paigeâ@nerdybitchpudding
@priya212 @sadishdelray @jesseswartzwelder @pivictorious @anat2507 @raveviolet @rdjparker @actorinfluence @sadishdelray @ljstraightnochaser @winterboobear11 @awaywithtime @evermcfearless @tashawar @dwights-new-plague @renfrewscorner @euphoric05 @baby-iyania @041802 @marvelatthis30 @martinafigoli @spxcecxramxl @brownskinafro @ani808 @creolemami @queenwinchester2 @dragonballluver @kailyndavillier @thelilbutifulthings @problackasfwilson @miss-jackson500 @ibe-erynn @mizzzpink @thejeneralvicinity @siempremamita @theladybiers @literaturefeen @richonne4life @scifi-fantasist @tenaciousperfectionunknown
@disconectedswift @i-lie-here-charmed @bamakakechick @chuckbass-love @captainchrisstan @dragonballluver @buchanansebba @timotheessoleil @onetwo3000 @letsdothemonstermash @euh-say-what-now @dragonballluver @myakai13 @jillanaholland @queenwinchester2 @likesfairytales @kemkem101 @cessamjrmr @letsdothemonstermas @blackmissfrizzle @melanicia @badkittybang @queenwinchester27  @jd-now-jq @doublesidedscoobysnacks @sophiealiice @mirmirmur @redhairedfeistynerd @nico-diangelo-grey @amazonian-strap-queen @imaslutforcaptainamerica @ibe-erynn @wintermoons @tstark-94 @cookinggurl43â @shar74nett @shining---h somethin  @deadpixie22 @jasmindaughteroftheworld @smediumsmeatbae @letsdothemonstermash @almosttherebutnot @munteanhore @blackgurlkillinit @madixii @guardian-tn @sohalia01@xoxloaveasre @lickmymelaninn @crist121 @jovanaprime @tashawar @rainbowkisses31 @chrisevansfanfic @wonderlandfandomkingdom @partypoison-00 @rynabarnesrogers-readingâ@danna-wana @live-laugh-love-ki
@queenoftheworldisdead @reveviolet  @pretendlifeisnormal @dragonballluver @southerngracela @fanfictionaffair @sullyosully @naturalthrone22 @kittykatlow @peggyslegion @readerforwocfics @almosttherebutnot @yourroyalthickness @beccacupcakesxo @rhyrhy462 @littlepreciousangel @queenshikongo3 @simply-heaven @chezdricks @mangos4u @cltex84â @petty-bitch-akira @buchanansebba @cevans-fics @littleheavensangel2 @niquemorris @pretendlifeisnormal @derogatorylanguage @leopardandpink @chuckbass-love @imaslutforcaptainamerica @offrostandstarlight @jillanaholland @ukmkhan @sweetst24 @musicallyinclinedthings @liquorlaughsloveâ @toni9â
@ramp-it-up @october505 @k347 @liquorlaughslove @thotti3evans @reignandrain @shar74nett @littlebabexdebby @laricebabe @est1887 @songtoyou  @msblkfire84  @bforbbgirl @acciolove724 @shipatheart @captainchrisstan @ramp-it-up @brownskinafro @jhayes6984 @badbo1-evans @ak329 @msblkfire84 @jovanaprime @poshgirl2 @marvelatthis30 @cleopatra-knowles @littlepreciousangel @youremysuperstar @alookintohersoul  @xsweetdellzx @cxmfort @i-just-like-fanfics @storiestoldbyjazz @jennmurawski13 @imthewarmpenguininthemiddle @helenasmirkedno @labella420 @roseasweet  @6lackfiction @chezdricks @krrose3 @parkker-barrnes @lilac-tea-time @elisaboricua
@secretswiftymarvelfan @kaiya-ch4n @zeelmol @maeleeme @7soulstarsâ @talley84 @thesecretlifeofdaydreamss  @kalesrebellionâ @msblkfire84â @queenshikongo3â @tantricevans  @harrypotheadnerdâ @mrs-captain-evansâ @cevans-ficsâ @pretendlifeisnormalâ @tenaciousperfectionunknownâ @fanfictionaffairâ @blackgurlkillinitâ @cessamjrmr
***There are a few that are bold that I tried to tag but your @ wasnât coming up. Iâm not sure why. Iâm sorry.***
#quarantine: a love story fic#q23#Chris Evans#chris evans fanfiction#chris evans x reader#chris evans x you#chris evans x black reader#black fanfiction#angst fanfic#slow burn fanfic
347 notes
¡
View notes