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ilikemesometaetaes · 4 years

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Set Me Free (M)

Min Yoongi Oneshot

•••> Author: @ilikemesometaetaes

•••> Summary: You are just an ordinary woman with a strange aura about you that Yoongi can’t seem to resist- even past the compulsion of his mentor. The question is: why?

•••> Pairing(s): Yoongi/Reader

•••> Requested by @itsgottabeyoo-ngs : “Hi daddy, One shot request with vampire Yoongi x brat reader. Bonus points for adding in choking or spitting idk make it filthy k thanks love you byeeeee xoxoxoxox”

•••> Word Count: 10.95k

•••> Rating: 18+

•••> Warnings: smut, oral (female receiving), unprotected sex, murder, attempted murder, slight choking/strangulation, dirty talk, biting, blood drinking, spitting, violence, horror, vampire/human relationship, cursing, mental attachment, thirsty Yoongi, Yoongi thinks he’s scary, but he’s totally not

Thank you for the request, babe! This one is a bit to unpack, as you can see. I hope you enjoy :)

~#~

Yoongi never claimed to have his thirst under complete control.

He stands before his brothers once every week for the feed, snarling as he consumes his share of blood, while the others bear witness so as to provide him ceremonial protection- a vampire is very vulnerable while he consumes blood. The polydipsia made one lose all form of reason and sense of mind, driven to the brink of animalistic insanity when it was in the process of mildly quenching the eternal hunger.

Polydipsia, used to describe his level of thirst, was the word made just for him in his own little world.

It wasn’t normal thirst, like a human, but the savage-like impulse to drink and drown until he could swim in a river of blood and take deep lungfuls of the crimson fluid. The impossible desire to consume and be completely consumed by blood until he became it himself always loomed over his mind in his early days as a Deadblood- a vampire youngling- causing him to search for a word that could completely describe his affliction.

Then the Greeks begun transforming their language, perfecting the word that he could use to chronicle his need. He had mulled over the thought throughout the few centuries that the word came into existence, truly connecting with it on a level that was deprived of him when his soul was taken from his body.

But the word was not only used to describe normal thirst; it described the abnormal desire to drink as a symptom of disease- and a disease is what Min Yoongi had.

From the days he explored the lands of Goryeo as a young teenage boy, he knew that disease racked every inch of the world. Street beggars, riddled with sicknesses and incurable illnesses, asked him for coin, food, clothing, and any necessities that could potentially carry them through the night into another sunrise. But the one thing that they begged for the most was water.

Liquid life. Yoongi thinks back on the ironic turn of events and how, even as a privileged boy of nobles, he understood just how desperate a person got when they were deprived of the one, singular fluid that supported life as he knew it.

As Yoongi approached adulthood, he was promoted and bestowed larger honors in the name of the Min clan, allowing him to provide more for the beggars and lower-class individuals that he came across on the streets every day- not that his father would find out.

Until he did.

Yoongi recalls the moment he knew that his father figured out that his son was spoiling the family riches on the lower class. They weren’t sitting down for dinner and having a conversation nor taking a stroll along the river like the two of them normally would- it was quite surprising, really. Yoongi had to applaud his father for the creativity of the circumstance.

He knew that his father figured out his whereabouts when he found himself bleeding out in the middle of the woods with three arrows, adorned with the Min clan crest carved into the wood, sticking out of his chest. He was sent to look for his supposedly lost little sister under the direction that she was probably at a watering hole- which Yoongi had never heard about- about forty-five minutes from the edge of Goryeo’s walls.

Many people ventured outside of the city to fend for food and necessities, or to find civilization elsewhere, so it wasn’t surprising to him that his curious baby sister wanted to see for herself what life was like outside of the city’s limits.

As Yoongi lay dying on the soil of the earth, staring up at the greenery of the trees above while they lightly swayed in the breeze, he realized that everyone, regardless of social-class or physical health, was fighting the same, universal disease: death. No one could escape it and no one was safe. At least, that’s the epiphany he had in an effort to comfort himself while he felt his heart painfully struggle to beat with an arrowhead lodged into it. Copious amounts of blood spurt out with each pulse of his damaged organ.

And then the universe decided to set him free from death with a cure worse than the disease itself.

Yoongi doesn’t remember who his creator was. He doesn’t remember how long he spent on the forest floor with the arrows still in his chest. He doesn’t remember waking up.

His memory of his new life started from the moment his consciousness returned, in the exact second that he found a set of vocal cords clutched in the palm of his hand, dripping with crimson, after apparently ripping them out of a young boy who was actively collapsing in front of him. The boy, who Yoongi immediately recognized from the streets of Goryeo, was choking on his own gore as he clutched at his now nonexistent throat, staring up at his killer with a jumbled expression that silently begged for help yet withdrew from terror.

It took Yoongi five years of trekking everywhere and no where while attempting to control his thirst before he found new meaning. He mostly had a hold on the scorch in his throat by staying away from the city and surrounding villages before he met another and figured out what he became.

The woman- no, girl?- appeared young yet spoke as if she had seen countless winters, the wisdom of a million middays glowing behind her carmine eyes. She was the first person he had met who did not end up dead within the first two minutes of scenting them on the wind.

“You are a vampire. You survive purely on the life essence of others. You are still a young Deadblood. Judging by your age, you should become a Redblood soon.” She sat with her back to him, overlooking the valley below the then-unnamed Odaesan mountain that they sat perched upon. “Do you know who created you?”

“Created me?” He asked. “What do you mean? My parents?”

She turned, her vibrant red eyes continuing to shock him. Did his own orbs look like this?

“I mean, who turned you?” She seemed to look at him incredulously, shocked by his lack of knowledge. “Who gave you their venom- their shi?”

“I…” Yoongi tried very hard to remember anything before the burning sensation that scraped like rocks against the insides of his bones and flesh, but all he could see and feel was fire and agony- and then blood. He couldn’t help but think with a grain of salt, disbelieving of the method in which he was born into his new life. “I don’t know. I just remember from my first kill.”

“Strange.” The other vampire muttered, returning her gaze to the valley. “Strange, indeed.”

Yoongi was always the silent type, only interacting when he needed to as a habit formed to avoid the questioning glare of his father when he returned home late on certain occasions.

But he couldn’t help the burning desire of curiosity within him, a welcome distraction from the need to feed within him. He had so many questions.

“You may ask your questions, Min Yoongi.” The woman sighed, not even bothering to spare him a glance whilst she spoke. The man was shocked to find that she knew his name without him telling her.

“How do you know my name?” The new revelation took precedent in his mind, hoping that she was not an enemy of his clan.

“A valid question.” She mused. “Anticipated, but valid. I suppose I’ll answer your question to the best of my ability.”

Yoongi shifted his position in preparation, a new habit that he formed in his new life. He learned from the first time he moved to stretch that his body did not need to be stretched as it usually did. He never ached, never cramped, never tired, and never lost energy. Despite the lack of his emotions in their usual form, he knew that it should have been unsettling to find such a new change within him, so he did the sensible thing of pretending that he needed to.

He pretended he needed to breathe- after two hours at the bottom of a lake he stumbled upon in his aimless journey, he was amazed to find that he required no oxygen to continue existing- and that he didn’t need to sleep nor use the bathroom. He would practice taking breaths, trying to inhale and exhale evenly without becoming allured to the pungent yet undeniably attractive scent of animal blood so that he could finally smell the forest again. He pretended to go to sleep and wake up with the urge to relieve himself of the noneixstent pressure in his bladder despite not having any of the instincts he once had.

The woman spoke, answering his first question.

“I can hear your thoughts. They’re not necessarily specific, but I can hear when you are wistful- like you are now- or when you are curious or sad or angry. I can hear the causes of these emotions.” She paused. “It comes with the gift of my second life. A form of protection, if you will.”

“Why would I need protection when I am invincible? I’ve seen the things I can do and what my body can endure.” He briefly recalled repeatedly jumping from a cliff, automatically landing on his feet no matter how hard he tried not to. Before, he had a will to survive with a choice of dying, but now? There was no comprehensible choice. “There is nothing that can hurt me.”

Yoongi couldn’t help cocking his head to the side like a confused dog when the woman let out a breathless laugh.

“Because, young one,” She looked at him with her eyes again, a look of mock endearment filling them. “You are not invincible.”

For a moment, Yoongi did not believe her. He believed that the liquid running through his veins was pure ichor, an essence of the gods, but when he returned her look of sincere truth, he understood that dying was still very much possible.

Thanking the gods, Yoongi looked to the ground and began toying with his fingers at his revelation. He could stop murdering people, willing to die in order to do so.

The woman shook her head. “No, Min Yoongi. You do not have to die to stop killing humans. In fact, it is the reason I have not killed you yet. You are unaware of the possibilities.”

His head perked up at the comment, suddenly eager to learn.

“How? How can I live without killing?” All he could see was the young boy that he had murdered in cold blood; the boy’s warm brown eyes staring up at him as he watched the life drain from them burned into his memory- he didn’t even know the boy’s name. The boy could not have been older than his own sister.

“I never told you that you could continue to live without killing. Of course, you have to kill. But you do not have to kill people.” The woman nodded her head down the mount. “Do you smell that? Do you smell the life that lives throughout this mountain?”

Yoongi attempted to focus on his senses but could only feel the thirst once again tormenting his throat. As soon as the woman shifted his attention back to the aroma of life, he salivated. Of course, he smelled the animal’s scents, but he could also detect traces of human life upwind that completely took away his desire for anything but humans.

“Push the thirst aside to open your senses. Embrace them. Embrace your power and your abilities. Focus on those.”

Again, he tried to push the scorch in his throat to the side, only to find that it was an impossible feat seeing as he had not fed in several months. He wanted human blood so badly.

“Poor child. I did not realize how weak you were.” She let a grimace morph her features, the first true expression of genuine emotion that Yoongi had seen on her. “Come sit in front of me. I will help you.”

For a moment, Yoongi hesitated. Was she going to kill him? He was not sure, but after a few more thoughts to himself, he realized that he had nothing to lose. Following her direction obediently, he moved to sit with his legs crossed in front of the woman.

“Now, close your eyes and listen to my voice.” She raised her hands to his head, placing her fingertips on his temples, and began whispering while he let his eyes flutter closed.

He felt as if he was mentally hit by a charging bear.

The woman’s words echoed in his mind, seating themselves amongst every corner and crevice that they could touch before Yoongi could understand what was happening. Shocked by the feeling of being intruded upon, he tried to push back against the mind-numbing force of her words, uncomfortable and feeling violated by the sensation. Instead of stopping them, her voice just broke down his amateur attempt at a mental barrier and pushed its way further into his brain. He was helpless to her superior mental awareness and gift.

“You will not focus on the thirst. You will focus on your abilities. Focus on the blood of animals and the blood of those already dead.”

And Min Yoongi had no option but to obey for he was forced into a dieted life.

But as he stands, thousands of years later, in the middle of your kitchen whilst watching you silently with the inferno of the blazing sun in his esophagus, he couldn’t help the need that overcame him. He could not obey his mentor; miraculously and horrifyingly, the gift of his mentor did not work with you.

He was impelled by his mentor’s gift, effectively removing most of the bloodlust he had for humans. In his lifetime, after the unavoidable command was bestowed upon him, he had only killed a handful of humans when he was consumed by the thirst after living in self-induced exile for so long. But standing before you, he may have needed to add a finger to that handful depending on what you did next.

Yoongi first clocked you on his radar the moment you walked into the small coffee shop he was occupying for the later part of the morning.

Building a friendship with you was quite easy.

You were bright and warm and everything wonderful upon meeting him. Your smile was just shy of naive, yet he couldn’t help the alien tugs on his heart when watching you giggle.

“How old are you, Yoongi?” You asked while circling the straw in your caramel macchiato.

“Old enough.” He chuckled, looking down with what you perceived as shyness.

“Oh?” You laughed with him. “And how old is enough for you?”

“I could ask you the same question. How old do you think I am?” He met your eyes, once again shocking you with their beautifully vibrant shade of brown.

“Well…” You trailed off, studying his facial features closely- the hint of a permanent smile line, fresh haircut, and no wrinkles alluded that he couldn’t be over thirty. “I’m gonna say… twenty-five?”

The man across from you smiled. “Very close. I’m twenty-seven.”

So he wasn’t that much older than you. You could totally do him.

Yoongi noticed the flash of lust that ghosted through your pupils for a split second, recognizing the dilation of them as you glanced at him. He watched you stick your chest out a bit more, begin fiddling with your hair more often, and part your lips while you let the thoughts of sexual satisfaction run across your mind.

“Twenty-seven, huh? That’s not bad at all.” You smiled, letting your tongue lightly swipe along your bottom lip unconsciously.

Yoongi zeroed in on the action with a piercing gaze, watching as the muscle seemed to move in slow motion tauntingly, daring him to dig his fangs into it savagely before tearing it from your mouth to feel the blood pouring from your lips onto his face.

His body reacted sensibly, blood rushing like fake adrenaline to awaken his better instincts- rushing everywhere- and making his jeans become uncomfortably tight as they restrained his filling manhood.

Blood drinking was as exciting as it was satisfying for a vampire. An extremely personal and holy moment, consuming lifeblood was the most raw and sexual moment to experience. A vampire could not experience real sexual desire without it.

He dug his fingers into the faux leather of his side of the booth until they broke through the material to restrain himself from attempting to attack you in the middle of the day.

Quickly, gaining his sense of mind once again, he tore more holes into the leather to round out the punctures so that it could appear as if the holes were from wear and tear.

The scent of your blood transpierced by the hormones and adrenaline beginning to flow through your veins made it just that much more implausibly alluring. Yoongi admitted that you were a beautiful and kind woman from the conversation throughout the morning. He also knew that you had a deviant side due to the surprisingly quick appearance of your lust-filled gaze.

Yet he couldn’t help the urge to murder you on the spot.

He knew that he couldn’t touch you. The supernatural safety of the sun that shone on your body prevented him from laying a finger on your skin without his own lighting aflame. He learned the protection of sun rays on humans the hard way.

His fifth human victim, a monk who travelled the heights of Mount Odaesan- Yoongi’s sanctuary and home- for a religious trial, travelled early in the morning as the sun was rising. Yoongi smelt the sweat dripping from the man’s skin instantly. In the small cove he called home, he tried to resist the urge to kill the man for he hadn’t smelt human blood in several years.

His mentor’s words were ever present. ‘Focus on the blood of animals and the blood of those already dead.’

Despite having those words affecting his instincts, Yoongi had managed to convince himself that the monk was a dead man standing once he smelled remnants of a virus tainting his scent, effectively bypassing the impulsion of the woman’s mind control.

Yoongi found himself rushing at the man without a second thought, fangs bared and fingers curled in preparation to tear the man’s limbs from his body. However, before he could get within two feet of the vulnerable monk, he was thrown back by an invisible and boiling hot force that left him screaming in agony and flying through the air.

The monk quickly ran back down the mountain in terror, yet Yoongi could pay no mind as he lay on the forest floor, ready to die once again as his skin singed and fell from his flesh like swamp sludge.

As his throat tore itself raw from his wails of misery, his body writhed in and out on itself in complete and utter anguish. The smell of burnt flesh overwhelmed his nostrils, pungent and nauseating in every possible way. How he was able to focus on something other than the pain was beyond him.

Despite the burning, Yoongi could feel his aflame skin beginning to heal itself. Clawing through the dirt, he felt the blood stored in his stomach rushing through his veins to the broken and severed ones, rebuilding them and recreating the network of arteries necessary to begin restoring his expanse of skin.

Before long, the pain subsided and Yoongi was no longer screaming. The entire ordeal lasted approximately twenty minutes- long enough that Yoongi no longer heard the footsteps of the monk and long enough for him to process the events that had just happened.

He was thankful that he became a Redblood with the ability to use consumed blood throughout his body, unsure of what would have happened to him if he had been a Deadblood at the time. Deadbloods burned through consumed blood quicker than a spark from a flint could ignite kindling into a flame.

He definitely needed to ask the woman, Zizi, about it. And he definitely needed to track that monk until sundown so that he could get rid of any loose ends.

Yoongi grimaced slightly, remembering the occurrence like it was yesterday, as he sat across from you.

You were still looking down at your cup in blissful unawareness of his inner turmoil and life that he’s lived thus far. You definitely were not dense enough to not notice his gaze on your skin, but you were definitely ignorant of the fact that he was thinking about what would happen if he could just get you to move a few feet to the right to gain cover from the direct line of the sun. He just needed to get you into the shadows.

“Y/N,” He called your name. You instantly looked up in response. “How old are you?”

“Old enough.” You teased him back with his own words. He let a small smile thin his lips before he looked down to hide it. When you followed his gaze and noticed that he didn’t have a drink, you jumped to the opportunity.

“Can I buy you a drink, Min Yoongi?” You asked him.

“Oh, I’m not particularly craving coffee at the moment.” He paused and held his breath, as if trying to find the words to say. “I just like to sit here sometimes and enjoy watching the street.”

“Well,” Ask him! Ask him out! Yes! Do it! Your head screamed at you to be confident. You knew he was the shy type; you would be waiting all day for him to make a move and you just didn’t have the time nor patience for that. “Let me get you a drink at my bar?”

The man looked mildly impressed for a moment. “You own a bar?”

“A small one.” You swiftly added. “It’s not a big popular one or anything but I didn’t want a place too big. I like the smaller things.”

Yoongi couldn’t help but smile. You were a kind and beautiful woman living a simple life. He dreaded the moment that he was going to have to kill you.

“I take it you’re pretty well off then?” He asks. “And please don’t take this as me digging around. I’m just curious.”

“Don’t worry about it. Yeah, actually.” You laughed and sat back in your chair, looking out the window onto the street as people and cars passed by. “I’ve always been pretty lucky for some reason. The gods always seem to be in my favor and give me what I want.”

Yoongi smirked for a moment. If she wants me, she can have me. Then, I’ll have her.

When Yoongi found himself in the prime position to attack you in your kitchen, several weeks later, he knew. He finally had you where he wanted you.

A handful of dates that he found quite pleasant were all it took.

You turned out to be just what he thought- a strangely attractive and alluring woman, the scent of your blood aside. You exhumed an odd magnetism about you that Yoongi had never felt from a human. He regretted the decision of waiting so long to kill you seeing as he was considering letting you live. But he knew that he couldn’t do that.

With your back turned to him, busying yourself with dinner, he could easily snap your neck so that you wouldn’t scream and struggle- and you would be dead almost instantly. A quick and nearly painless death was what you deserved. He didn’t want you to suffer at all.

However, just as he crouched in preparation to lunge at you, you spoke.

“Are you ready for dinner, babe?” You asked him.

He smiled devilishly, venom filling his mouth as he salivated. “Yes, I am. I’m starving.”

You chuckled. “Okay.”

“Go and sit down at the table.”

It was the most simple of commands. Telling Yoongi to sit down wasn’t an order. You weren’t demanding him to do it. You never demanded anything of him. It was a mere suggestion in your eyes.

Yet Yoongi felt his body moving to the dinner table without a second thought, unable to resist obeying your words.

What in the everliving fuck.

He sat quickly, impotent to move from his spot while he waited for you to bring the food from the counter. His thirst obliterated his throat, causing it to seize up and restrict any air that he could previously breathe, but he sat in wonder as you seemed to hold power over him that he had never felt before.

You turned with both of your dinner plates in hand and he quickly smothered the panic on his face, wondering what in the world had just happened.

“I’m not at all a chef, but you better eat everything.” Yoongi tested your words, seeing if the inclination to finish your food was present, only to find a slight mental nudge- as he expected. You didn’t tell him to do anything; you merely made an ‘or else’ statement.

No longer desperate to kill you for the time being, Yoongi sat still and waited for your next words. Once you sat the plate in front of him, you uttered a joke.

“Dig in.”

And dig in Yoongi did. He picked up his fork and scooped into the pasta you made without any willingness to deny you.

The pasta wasn’t fantastic in any sort of the word- It was plain, although it could be due to the fact that it wasn’t at all what he truly craved and needed. It was like eating a piece of stale bread while he was offered a perfectly cooked and outright juicy steak on a silver platter. The food that he ate wouldn’t be consumed by his body and used for nutrients; the shi in his stomach would burn it to nothingness within the next few hours.

Uncontrollably, Yoongi shoved mouthful after mouthful into his mouth- he couldn’t stop. Once he finished chewing one bite, his hand was immediately bringing him another, and then another. Despite lacking the need to breathe, Yoongi felt himself suffocating with each bite as the realization that he could do nothing except eat his food settled in his mind.

“I see you were hungry.” You laughed, unaware of his predicament. Yoongi’s eyes shot up to yours and silently hoped you would give him another command so that he could stop the foolishness.

You, however, just sat there feeling sort of proud of yourself- not only for making an edible meal, but for making one Yoongi seemed to enjoy. Even though it was slightly shocking to see him out of his usually cool character, acting like a man suffering from hunger, you couldn’t help but find it undeniably cute.

Eating slowly while watching him, you let your feelings for him come to the surface.

Yoongi was utterly beautiful. His black hair that fell over his face while he was cleaning up the last bits of his plate was just long enough to cover his eyes, yet as he looked at you without reservation, you felt he had a clear line of sight straight into your soul.

His skin was nearly flawless save for the light and narrow scar that cut into his right eye. Others found the scar intimidating and ugly, but you found it rather attractive. Yoongi, with his uncanny physical allure, was undeniably the most beautiful man you had ever seen.

Your body was alight with joy and content. In the few weeks that you got to know him, liking him was incredibly easy and having him in your home, in a domestic setting, lit your heart on fire with the possibility of falling in love with him.

He was incredibly easy to love, you discovered. Everything about him begged you to fall for him. As if the universe created him just for you, Min Yoongi was the epitome of perfection- in your eyes, anyway.

Briefly, you had shown a photo of him to your mother. She became unsettled instantly by his appearance.

“He’s so pale. And a little scary-looking.” She squinted at the photo you took of him when he wasn’t looking. You never brought him up again to your mother, disliking the fact that she didn’t like your potential boyfriend and found him scary.

The picture just happened to be your favorite- being because he didn’t like pictures and it was the only one you had of him.

He kindly asked you to not take photos of him. When you prompted him as to why during one of your more intimate moments at your bar, he only answered playfully as he held you close to him, lips begging for you to kiss them.

“Because I don’t want to leave evidence.” He whispered, breath tickling your nose. His body was warm and sturdy, muscles rippling under your touch as you clung to his shoulders.

“Evidence from what?” You asked breathily. The heat in your panties had increased tenfold over the last few minutes as his eyes grew hungrier with want. Yoongi’s fingers dug into your waist painfully, pulling you so close that you barely had room to expand your lungs to breathe, yet you couldn’t help the edgy feeling of how rough he could be with you.

“From when I eat you up.”

Thinking back on the memory, you shivered involuntarily, hoping that tonight might be the night you actually get to have him. He’d made you wait for a little over a month and you had no idea why. You definitely felt him straining through his pants a few times. But no kisses or anything further than the pressing of your bodies was accomplished.

Yoongi finished his plate and sat upright briskly, pulling you from your wishful thinking with a jump.

“Y/N,” He nearly growled, shocking you. “What else do you want me to do?”

The fork you were holding clattered to your plate instantly. Wow. He’s sizzling hot.

“I-“ You stuttered a bit. “I- uh.”

“Spit it out.” He hissed. You jumped again, trying to find the words to say with the heat growing in your panties.

Quickly, you answered him. “I want you to take me to my bedroom.”

“Thank god.” He groaned, getting up slowly with a smirk on his face. “Is that just a request? Because I can walk out now if you don’t actually want this.”

“Take me to my bedroom, Yoongi.” You stood slowly, carefully, as if you were afraid to trigger him.

Yoongi pushed in his chair and moved towards you at a speed that was almost inhuman. You yelped in astonishment as Yoongi attempted to control himself- he couldn’t bring you to your bedroom at his natural speed or else he would have a very motion-sick human to worry about. Instead, he trembled with the effort to resist your command at full force, knowing that the only way it was possible was due to the fact that he was still, in fact, taking you to your bedroom.

Picking you up was easier than breathing. You weighed absolutely nothing in his arms because of his advanced strength, so when he felt you trying to assist him in carrying you by holding your body stiffly, he huffed out a laugh whilst he walked.

“Relax, woman. You are as light as a feather.”

You blushed under his words, leaning into his chest to hide your cheeks.

“Stop that.” He growled, entering your bedroom. You looked up at him and he couldn’t tear his eyes from the blood that rushed to your cheeks. “I can’t resist if you do that.”

“Then don’t.” You whispered. Your heart pounded in your chest, begging him to hear it. “Don’t resist.”

His fangs came forth immediately, for he could not resist your command while he flew to your bed to throw you down. Despite your unknowing of what you were telling him to do, he fostered no opposition to what he was about to do.

The roughness of his throw startled you for a moment as you looked up at his vastly approaching figure, only to grow terrified when you caught sight of his face.

The veins protruding out of his temples and cheeks pumped blood straight into the whites of his eyes, turning them completely bloodshot, as they framed the now-crimson irises. Long incisors protruded from his mouth as he opened it with a hiss, revealing the way his human teeth shifted apart to allow his inhuman ones to break through the gums. Instantly, you parted your lips to scream.

Yoongi was upon you instantly, hand covering your mouth and silencing your cry while he snarled menacingly, yet he couldn’t help but feel remorse for killing you.

“I’m sorry.” He whimpered through his animalistic demeanor. “I can’t stop.”

You were screaming below his hand and, instantaneously, he had an idea.

He was leaning forward slowly, able to slow himself in the process of not resisting you. “Y/N,” He strained, changing the frequency of his talent, and waited for you to silence yourself in order to listen to him. He took his hand off of your mouth slowly after he heard your heart calm itself past your weeping. “Tell me to stop.”

“Stop!” You sobbed whilst clawing at his chest and kicking at his legs. “Don’t kill me!”

Not a second passed before Yoongi flew off of you, throwing his back to your wall with a loud thud while he cursed lowly.

You scrambled to the headboard of your bed, pressing your back against it in an attempt to gain some distance between the two of you. Your eyes were wide, chest heaving with your breath short, as you looked at the man in front of you.

“I-“ Yoongi stuttered for the first time in decades. “I’m sorry.”

“Your eyes!” Your burst out. You were unable to contain your fear and shock, so you displaced it into your curiosity. “Y-your- Your face! Your teeth!”

Yoongi stood against the wall, breathing just as hard as you, with his eyes cast to the floor in the process of trying to control his facial features. He could no longer kill you. The thought revolted him- every time he considered drinking your blood, the idea was banished from his mind with a sense of nausea following. Good god. She is unaware of her ability yet I am completely at her mercy.

“I apologize. I couldn’t help myself.” He breathed. What Yoongi forgot to take into account was the fact that he began implementing the gift of his second life on you the moment he stepped foot through your threshold, so your mind was completely scrambled by this point.

It was nighttime now; he could not leave your house no matter how hard he tried. He knew of the fallacy that vampires needed to be invited in and he found himself giggling from time to time at how close humans got to the actual lore of his kind.

He could enter your house, uninvited, during the day. He could lurk every corner of your abode without a bother, yet when night fell and the sun finally set, he would be stuck inside until morning. He knew he would be staying the night in your house the moment he agreed to have dinner with you. If he attempted to enter through your door during the night, however, he would have no luck- the night’s protection would convince his brain to walk away from your home without any further reconsideration until he was a good distance from it.

He was in the first position now.

He wished that he could leave you and disappear from your life without a trace so that you could live a peaceful and happy life without him, but he was afraid that it was impossible now with sundown a mere two hours prior. Your powers were no match for the natural protection of the earth. The both of you had a long night ahead of yourselves.

So he used his ability. Yoongi gave you control- rational thought, rather. His gift allowed him to grant organization of the mind and precise focus to others, but he could also take it away.

Upon entering your home, he began the process of slowly but surely ebbing away your barriers and logical thought- he couldn’t do it too fast or else you would panic like you were now. With a presently impossible-to-kill human whose heart was beating out of her chest and a command to not kill you forcing him into submission, he was obligated to prevent you from having a heart attack that was caused by him.

With laser-like focus, he channeled his gift straight into your open mind. Yoongi rebuilt the walls he had previously broken down over the past few hours, restocked your jumbled thoughts into their proper spaces, and flowed his energy through each corridor of judicious conception so that you could continue to develop your focus into that of supernatural proportion. He hoped that you, with a new mind, would tell him to get away from you and to kill himself. Dying by the hands of such a robust ability wouldn’t be too bad of a way to go.

You, however, never had such a decisive mind. Your mind was never clearer and you had never felt such clarity in your thoughts before. It allowed you to feel the magnetism that he radiated.

You knew he was a vampire. You don’t remember how you knew or how you recognized it, but you knew that he was not the first of his kind you had come across. Maybe it was the obvious fangs that gave it away.

“Yoongi,” You whispered. “You’re a vampire.”

His eyes, now back to their normal gorgeously coffee-bean shade, flicked up to yours in surprise.

“You know what I am?” He spluttered, flabbergasted. “You don’t think I’m a demon? Or the devil?”

“I’m not stupid. I know a vampire when I see one.” Your tone did not waver nor shake despite being a potential victim to a vampire. Was it the adrenaline?

“Then you know that I am a danger to you.” He said lowly, shock still evident on his face, while he began gravitating towards your bedroom door to leave.

“No. Stay.” You found yourself pining for his presence while he froze up in his spot. You eyed the action analytically. “If you were a danger to me, I wouldn’t be alive right now. You had plenty opportunity to kill me.”

“That’s the thing,” His hands pressed to the wall and scratched into it with the effort to move further from you. “I don’t have much of a choice anymore.”

“And why is that?” You relaxed your body and slowly slid your way across the bed towards him.

“Because I can’t.” Yoongi actually gasped for air as you stood from your bed to slowly approach him. “Y/N. Don’t come near me.”

“Why don’t you have a choice?” You ignored his warning, fully aware of the risk you were taking yet uncaring of the consequences. You were too focused on the fact that you actually wanted him.

Yoongi could not move from his spot, a side effect of your command to stay, but he refused to meet your eyes. The irresistible scent of your blood clashing with the order to not kill you fucked with his mind in ways he never experienced, creating an excruciatingly splitting headache between his temples. He wanted to drink from you so bad yet he could not move a single muscle.

“You can tell me to do anything. You can tell me to stay away from you. You can tell me to leave you alone. Hell, you can tell me to kill myself and I’d do it.” He ground out, attempting to press his back further into the wall as he felt your body heat against his skin. You came too close. He could smell your hormones lacing through your blood, triggering a wash of his shi over his dry tongue and a yearning to tear you apart overriding his senses.

He wanted to sink his fangs into your flesh so badly that he was beginning to scare himself. Allowing his venom to seep into your system would undoubtedly send you into ecstasy; you would only feel a pinch of pain as his saliva instantly burned through your nerves and set them alight. He could kill you while you were in pleasure; you wouldn’t feel anything but bliss as he drained the life from you.

“And why do you, a powerful creature such as yourself, allow me to have this power over you?” You asked. Was he in love with you? You definitely could love the man with how much you felt drawn to him but, for crying out loud, it had only been a few weeks.

“I don’t allow it. You are a gifted human. You possess this power over me.” Although Yoongi enjoyed having a calm conversation with you, he couldn’t help but feel bad that he used his gift on you. It was almost an unfair playing card- a “get-out-of-jail” card.

Because you should be running, terrified and screaming, even with his ability active in your mind. Maybe he had used it too much? Yoongi recalled the one time he went overboard with his gift, driving a man to suicide as he focused too much on the meaning of life and the regretful things he had done. Immediately concerned, Yoongi reached out a mental tether- a rare talent amongst his kind- to gauge your stability.

What he found, instead, was a dark and curling line attaching to his, pulling it in as quickly as Yoongi offered it. Before he could reel back away from it, it was fully intertwined and pulling his line to attach to you, only to rear back and completely obliterate his senses when it entered his head.

No. No no no. It’s impossible.

Yoongi was moving forward and caging you against the bed at full speed before he could stop himself, nestling his body between your eagerly opening legs as a hiss escaped his lips. Immediately, he realized that he broke through your command unwavered. The thirst came back at full force when you moaned from the friction on your heat.

“You’re-“ He tested the sensation of true, sexual arousal with a slow grind of himself into you, gasping with a jerk of his dick when his action squeezed his member between his body and yours. “You’re my-“

You moaned again, sitting up slightly to try and capture his lips with your own, unable to control the desire that surmounted in your heart. When he resumed his look of shock, backing away from your advance so that he could look at where your bodies touched, you spoke through the heady emotion. “I’m your what?”

“It can’t be.” He whispered. After a single beat, he leaned down and pressed his lips to yours with a crushing pressure that split your lip instantly.

The pain seared across your bottom lip and distracted you for a moment, emitting a groan deep in your throat that he matched when the taste of your blood exploded onto his tastebuds. Instead of swallowing it like he wanted to, he brought a hand to your chin and opened your lips to spit your blood, along with his venom, back into your mouth so that it would take your pain away.

For a moment, you held the mix of liquids on your tongue, unsure of what to do as no one had ever spit in your mouth before. You looked up to him with confusion extremely evident in your arched brows.

“Swallow it.” He growled.

The taste of iron and an almost sugary sweet tang of saliva was too strong for you to keep sitting on your tongue, so you did as he told you to before he kissed you again to repeat the same action. Slowly, you got into the rhythm of swallowing what he gave you.

Before long, he simply gave you his tongue, allowing you to suck the saliva from his mouth greedily. You didn’t understand why, but the taste was addicting and adding to the pulsing feeling that radiated between your legs. Were you getting lightheaded? No. This sensation was much more blissful and exciting.

He pulled away after sucking on your wounded lip once more, spitting the mixture into your awaiting mouth for a final time before sitting up to look down at your body.

His venom was already taking effect. He could smell it on your skin as it flowed through your veins and filled your system just like a virus would. It would be simple to turn you at this point. You would be his for eternity, bonded to him in ways only the Fated One of a vampire would. Yoongi shook the thought from his head as he wasn’t even sure that you were, indeed, his.

“What am I to you?” You asked genuinely, swollen lip slightly obstructing your speech.

“Don’t worry about that right now, Y/N. Right now, I am going to fuck you, okay?” He met your gaze with his dark eyes filled with confidence, knowing that you would be unable to deny him if his belief was true.

“Yes. Yes, please Yoongi.” You breathed, begging him almost drunkenly. “Please. I’m yours.”

His mind was nudged forward by a different force this time, warranting unknown instincts to play into action.

He felt his center of gravity shift. His skin grew tight and uncomfortable around his body from the emotion that wished to burst through the surface. He breathed with you. Perfectly aligned were your rhythms; his heart soared alongside your own galloping one, desperate to match you in every aspect. The sensations in his body were difficult to ignore as he felt the ancient and sacred pull of a bond lacing itself through his limbs.

Instead of pondering over the reality of it any further, he slid his hand from your chin to your shirt and pinched the fabric between his fingers. You nodded in reassurance.

Your clothes tore form your body like paper. Wrapping his fingers around your arm to keep your body in place, Yoongi ripped your thin blouse from you easily. Your breasts, made plump by the bra you wore, caught his attention the moment they were revealed. Perfect.

Instead of looking like a moron seeing exquisite breasts for the first time, he moved his hand to your dress pants so that he could rid your body of them. In under ten seconds, Yoongi had you almost bare below him. Perfect.

Not even realizing it until you brought your thumb to his lips to swipe his shi from the corner of his mouth, Yoongi shook his head at the fact that the sight of you wriggling and bare-skinned beneath him made him literally drool, but his instincts went haywire when he watched you place your thumb in your mouth to suck his venom off yourself with a low moan of appreciation at the taste.

Yoongi’s hands couldn’t move faster as he tore the clothes from his body, stripping himself bare to reveal himself to you. He wanted to give you everything. To open his mind and spread everything out for you to see- he hoped you could handle it.

You, on the other hand, were laying below him with the desperate need to have him inside you.

You wanted him everywhere. You wanted him to sink himself into you- it seemed to be the only fathomable option. You wanted him to hold you and kiss you and surround you with everything him.

As you stared up at him with a needy look in your eyes, you couldn’t help but want him in every facet possible.

You saw yourself making love to him, holding him, kissing him- loving him. The new sensation brought on you by the psychic connection- that was all you could call it when you felt the mental attachment- brung passionate emotions through your body in an onslaught that you could barely handle. It was too much to deal with without him inside you to be with you through it yet you didn’t know if you could handle what would follow.

Yoongi could smell you through your panties; a delicious scent of the most raw tease he had ever allowed himself to indulge in. Unable to help himself, he moved down your body quickly, throwing your legs open- rather roughly- to give himself room to press his nose straight into your heat. Your aroma filled his nose as he expanded his lungs, triggering his natural instincts to push out his fangs and load his vision with blood to enhance it despite his eyes being closed. Fuck, he wanted to consume you.

You keened at the contact, closing your thighs around his head to trap him there. You felt his groan vibrate on you, driving you closer to the brink of insanity.

Without any further time wasted, he grabbed onto your panties and ripped them from you to expose your pulsating pussy to his mouth without moving his nose away from your intoxicating scent. Not a beat passed before he dug his tongue into you to scoop up your DNA-laced juices. Fuck.

Yoongi lost himself in you immediately. You whined out a small cry, unable to keep yourself from grabbing onto his hair and yanking when all you felt were his lips and tongue laving over your opening relentlessly. There was no skill nor technique in his movements; he was simply devouring you without a mind to pay attention to your bundle, yet you couldn’t stop the sensitivity from boggling your mind and driving you to an instant orgasm.

His hands squeezed your thighs around his head and, for a brief moment, he opened his eyes to look at you. The color of his eyes staring back at you was unexpected- a solid, snow white color filled his orbs and contrasted starkly with the red hue of his engorged veins and bloodshot scleras.

“Yoongi,” You whimpered from another swipe of his tongue and suck from his lips. “Y-Your eyes.”

He pulled away from you instantly at the comment, eyes widening and wet mouth hanging agape, while you let out a groan of relief- or sadness- at the lack of attention to your incredibly sensitive core.

“What color are they?” He asked.

“White.” You struggled to speak, voice cracking under the post-orgasm glow.

He took a moment to look down at your heaving body and messy pussy, jerking forward slightly at the sight of your delicious juice smeared all over your thighs. Once he had a handle on his thirst again, Yoongi met your eyes as the white faded from his irises. “Then you are her.”

“I’m who?” You reached for him, needing to hold him anywhere you could get your hands on. Yoongi caught this action immediately, the same desire to grasp you evident in his hand rushing to meet yours. It was natural to intertwine your fingers while he leaned over you to press his lips to yours in a short, uncharacteristically loving kiss.

“You are my Fated One- my mate. You hold my soul in the palm of your hand, as I do yours.” He murmured, feathering his lips over yours as he spoke.

Under normal circumstances, you don’t think you’d be able to comprehend his words with your current position with him. You were exposed to him and he was exposed to you, making you feel vulnerable and turned on beyond belief. Yoongi was reaching behind you to unclasp your bra while you took in what he had said. His thumb was brushing over your bare nipple before your bra even hit the floor.

“So-” You had to clear your throat again. “So you’re mine? Like, completely?”

He chuckled warmly at your question and you couldn’t stop yourself from reciprocating the smile.

“Yes, Y/N, I am yours.” He brought his hand down to grip your thigh and move it to the side. “I belong to you.”

Yoongi placed his dick against your folds and you watched him so do. You felt his tip capture onto your clit several times as he lathered it with your arousal languidly, preparing himself so that he could slide into you easier. “However,”

“However?” You looked up at him with a questioning look accentuated by your eyebrows.

“You are also mine.” Yoongi stopped his movement so that the head of his cock finally caught onto your opening, kickstarting your heart into a pace that you were afraid would kill you. “Do you understand that?”

He didn’t wait for you to answer.

Torturously, he began to push inside you. You widened your legs to accompany his approaching hips. As you warbled out a cry when he decided to drop his control and fill you completely in the next second, Yoongi began speaking again.

“Do you understand that everything about you,” He reared back and pushed inside you again, forcing your legs open to take him while he did so. “-is mine?”

You couldn’t respond. Your emotions were running rampant with your mind overflowing from too much stimuli while he fucked you. He spoke again without your reply and you could only pull him closer to you and take the feeling of his cock caressing your insides.

“Your lips,” Thrust. “your eyes,” Thrust. “your hair, your hands, your skin;” He punctuated each part of your body with a ram of his dick into you. “Everything, Y/N.”

Yoongi took a moment to look down at your joining bodies, smirking softly at the sight of how easily he slid inside. “-Especially this greedy little cunt of yours.”

You watched his smirk drop while he bit his lip and ground himself into you, lips parting again with a low moan whilst keeping his gaze transfixed on the sinful sight. You watched him in awe as his cock plunged so deep that it felt like it was in your throat.

He snapped his eyes to yours quickly, repeating his prior question. “Do you understand?”

Expecting to be interrupted by a thrust, you sucked your bottom lip in your mouth and braced yourself, only to be grabbed by the neck while he leaned down to bring you face-to-face. You could no longer breathe as he pulled his lips back to reveal his fangs. “I asked you if you understood, Y/N.”

With your airway restricted, you could only nod with your lip still stuck between your teeth. Did you taste blood? Promptly, you remembered that Yoongi busted your lip, yet you were confused as to why you hadn’t felt the pain of it since he first kissed you.

“And are you okay with that?” Yoongi began to nose his way down your neck once he turned your head to the side and slowed the rhythm of his hips. Right before you could answer, he released your neck to look at your face, allowing a large rush of air to enter your lungs just as you were attempting to give him an answer.

“Yes!” You released your lip to scream out at the welcome sensation of oxygen and the feel of his dick pushing it right back out of you. “I’m yours! Everything is yours!”

“Good, my love. Good.” He whispered, smiling down at you. His smile was wiped clean off his face in a heartbeat, his thrusts into you completely ceased, as he zeroed in on your lips. You licked them subconsciously, immediately tasting blood and internally cringing at the flavor of iron coating your tongue.

Yoongi attached his lips around your bottom one quickly and you felt him suck it into his mouth. Your walls squeezed tightly around his at the sensation of his tongue swiping over the spli in your engorged lip again and again. You knew that your lip would be swollen yet you couldn’t find yourself to care because it, surprisingly, didn’t hurt at all. The small bits of Yoongi’s saliva that slipped into your mouth were enough to keep you on edge, tasting like raw sugar at that point.

He began moving inside you again, starting a slow and steady pace. You whimpered into his mouth as he began taking his fill of your blood and you mirrored his thirst with the need to taste his mouth again. Your lips pressed closer to his in order to, hopefully, get a bit more of his spit.

You felt your orgasm building laggardly. It was creeping in at a speed that you were able to prepare yourself for your ascent towards ecstasy. You tightened your legs around his waist and dug your heels into the globes of his ass, pulling him in.

It wasn’t until you were bordering on your climax that Yoongi pulled away from your lip with your pop and sat up to focus on fucking you, his peace of mind obviously waning.

You saw it in his face; you saw the way he couldn’t control his veins from darkening his face; you saw the way his eyes burned white and the way he was attempting to hold himself back from attacking you.

So you did him a favor.

“Yoongi.” You mumbled past your swollen lip. “Bite me.”

Min Yoongi had no option but to obey your command.

He surged forward, pressing himself against your clit deliciously and bottoming out as he lunged for your neck with his fangs fully protruded and a warbled hiss scratching its way out of his throat. With barely enough time to prepare, you bared your neck to him once more and clutched onto his arms for dear life, hoping it wouldn’t hurt too bad.

What you weren’t expecting was for it to feel unreservedly good.

The sensation took you by surprise, warranting a loud moan to escape from your lips before you could stop it. Why did his fangs feel so good in your flesh? It should definitely be hurting. But all you could do was moan and whine like a madwoman as you felt his lips close over the puncture wounds and begin to drink your blood straight from your flesh. His tongue continuously swiped over the teeth marks in your neck, keeping them clear from your body’s natural ability to scar itself and begin blocking the escaping blood. Every lick he delivered sent a pulse straight to your clit and an automatic instinct to tighten yourself around him.

Your pussy quivered around him uncontrollably. You were so close to cumming that you could practically taste the release on your tongue. In the few moments that Yoongi took his sips from your body, his slow propulsions forward into you had become more rough and insistent- as if he was trying to split you in two. Even as you felt your life essence leave your body, you were being filled time and time again by his cock at a deep and passionate rhythm.

At the first sign of getting lightheaded from blood loss, you came- hard.

Your juices squirted around him every time he reared himself back and your eyes rolled to the back of your head while you craned your neck back into your very-bloody pillow. With no where to go, unable to still him with his supernatural strength, you were only able scream out his name.

His speed increased through your orgasm and your sweet exclamations of pure bliss drove Yoongi into a lunatic, freeing himself of control and using his uncanny speed to fuck into you. Your extremely drenched pussy, still convulsing around him was battered and raw, yet he could not find it in himself to care as he desperately surged into you over and over again so that he could fill you with the cum of several centuries. Picturing the image of your cunt spewing his release from it had him closing his jaws and pulling on your wounds harder to get more blood from you.

He knew that he couldn’t drain you. Hearing the pulse of your heart weaken slightly was enough to make him detach his teeth and lick over your wound so that his shi could assist it in healing- it would be completely sealed and unblemished in the next few hours. Instead of worrying too much about your neck, he reared back to look down at you again while he grabbed onto your hips with fervor.

You saw the drops of blood running down from Yoongi’s mouth and chin drip onto your breasts and stomach, creating an erotic and utterly unwholesome image of carnage and horror on your body, but you were unable to help yourself in feeling unsettlingly drawn to the wicked image. With a new flash of desire exploding through your body and reawakening your lust, you reached up and grabbed his neck, pulling him back down to trap him in your embrace.

The oversensitivity of your last orgasm was enough to send you hurtling to the edge of another orgasm- You just needed his fangs in you one more time. Silently begging for it, you kept your grip on his nape and softly nudged him back in the direction of your neck.

Yoongi was close. You could tell. But even past his stupor, he spoke.

“Y/N. I can’t. I took too much.” He almost whined with need, struggling to form words past his fangs.

“Just-“ Your body jolted wildly as he desperately tried to cum. “Just do it!”

Yoongi was able to deny your command, which he figured was due to not being a specific one, yet he couldn’t bring himself to leave it unanswered as his body built in preparation to release.

“I fucking can’t!” He was close to roaring at this point, gums aching to meet your flesh as he pressed his fangs into you and filled you with his essence. He wanted to so badly.

“Drink from me, dammit!” Your eyes were welling with tears of frustration, needing that small push from him to make you orgasm again- his dick hammering your cervix was too much to handle without that small bit of pain to ground you. And without hesitation nor the choice to deny you, he did.

Your orgasms were perfectly in sync as he placed his fangs back into your wounds, delicious blood spilling across his tongue once again. Liquid life. It was the perfect few words for how you tasted.

Your pussy ached with the force of how tight you squeezed around him and Yoongi groaned lowly against your neck as he pressed himself so tightly to you that you knew his hands would be leaving bruises on your hips and ass.

“Yoongi.” You sobbed as his cum filled you, pulsing spurt after warm spurt of the hot liquid onto your abused cervix. The thought of him taking your blood while he gave you his cum was too sinful for you to bear, an outburst of emotion causing you to chant his name over and over again. Never before in your life had you felt so complete and free.

You could feel your blood levels draining as you slowly came down from your climax, knowing that you would not be awake for much longer if he kept drinking.

“That’s enough.” You whispered tiredly, head becoming truly lightheaded. Yoongi, unable to rescind his teeth from your neck, kept drinking from you as the thirst and aggression of the first mating actuated his movements. “Yoongi.”

He tried to pull away- he really did- but the feeling of your blood coating his tastebuds was like finding a quarry in the middle of the Sahara Desert. He lacked the true thirst for humans for thousands of years- and now he was suffering the polydipsia for blood all over again.

“Yoongi, stop.” You commanded, testing your supposed ‘power.’

Yoongi ceased to drink from you yet his fangs were still embedded in your skin, vibrating with pleasure and need. As he stopped, he couldn’t help but whine and then growl savagely with want. The vibration of of his throaty sound in your flesh did things to your body. Unable to resist the temptation, your body clenched involuntarily around his softening cock.

Yoongi groaned again, retracting his fangs and face from your neck, and sat up once more to look at your body. With a slow hand, he stuck out his index and middle finger to smear the droplets of blood on your stomach in small circles aimlessly, picturing you as a canvas made just for him to ruin. “You’re quite the minx, aren’t you?”

“What do you mean?” You giggled deliriously, needing sleep as soon as possible.

“I mean,” Yoongi reached down to smear a droplet of blood across your hip before digging his thumb and fingers into the bone and the flesh of your ass harshly. “Your cunt is playing games with me right now.”

“How so?” You tilted your head to the side in mock confusion.

The vampire pressed his lips into a thin line and sighed almost disdainfully. You gasped as you felt his dick jerk within you, filling to stiffness once more and awakening a new cloud of lust despite the exhaustion you felt. “Well, if you want to play clueless, you can play clueless. We have eternity to teach you how to not play games with me, my mate.”

For eternity? You kind of liked the sound of that.

~#~

If you’d like to read more of my work, feel free to check out my Series Masterlist! If you’d like to read my first fic, check out the DHYB Masterlist!

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anystalker707 · 3 years

Text

I'm here, love

Pairing: Ray x [fem] Reader Word count: 1 916 Genre: Comfort / Fluff Summary: Reader isn't handling it well when she goes with MCR for a tour for the first time, but Ray is always there for her. TW: Anxiety attack

Requested by anon

Tour has been going on for some time already, almost a month, but it actually feels like forever. All the agitation can be really immersive, turning the attempts of keeping track of time difficult, even more since we mostly follow a nighttime schedule due to the concerts. We’re almost always heading to a bar or club after the concerts, so it’s basically falling asleep at two in the morning to wake up at noon or something in the best days. Certainly not the best thing.

Today is thankfully one of the break days in which the guys don’t have any concert and we arrived to the next city earlier than usual, what means we’re lazing around for most of the time.

“…because he’s not here, duh!” Ray’s voice becomes audible as he leaves the bus, grinning as looking back at it and shaking his head after Mikey says something, though I’m not able to understand any of it. Only a small smile remains on his face whilst he approaches me, taking a seat on the ground with me. “Hello, love,” he says softly, pressing a kiss to my cheek.

“Hi.” I smile, pecking his lips, and put my phone down.

“What are you doing?” He raises an eyebrow, looking around for a moment like if trying to find what kept my attention until now.

“Nothing, really,” I say softly, leaning my head against his shoulder. “Do you want to go do something? I wanted to, but didn’t want to ask while you were busy with the others.” The thought of interrupting the four’s talk and probably attracting all that attention wasn’t exactly appealing, I’m secretly thankful he finally left the bus.

“Aw, you didn’t have to wait for all this time.” Ray’s eyebrows furrow lightly as he pecks my cheek. “And we could go look for a café or a restaurant, how does that sound? It’s almost lunchtime, after all.”

“Sounds good!” I smile, liking the opportunity of spending some time alone with Ray.

He seems just as happy as standing up and offering me a hand, which I take to help myself standing up. “So, how are you feeling? With the whole tour thing, I mean.” Ray wraps an arm around me when we start walking down the parking lot, concern laying under his apparently normal expression.

I hum, looking away for a moment. “Oh, yeah, I’m alright. I’ll let you know if I need anything, thank you.” I press a kiss to Ray’s cheek, trying to demonstrate my appreciation despite the subject making me tense up a bit.

Ray is more than aware of my problems with anxiety, already having helped me through its ups and downs, and both of us already predicted how the whole tour thing would interfere on it, mainly because it’s my first time tagging alone during one. We already had a hard time before the tour itself – I got too panicked at the whole thing since I barely knew how it would work –, hence he’s been worried and making sure of always checking on me.

Truth is that I’m not as alright as I’ve claimed to be. The tour has already reached my nerves and I can already feel this familiar buzzing under my skin, threatening to intensify, making me lose it yet again. It, however, won’t happen; I’ll not let that happen. Ray won’t even know.

We’re soon walking into a restaurant, the smell of food filling the ambient and, somehow, it feels good and bad at the same time. Not a surprise, since the anxiety usually has me either eating compulsively or not eating at all, so I think my body decided it’ll be better if I stay inside that bus for hours with an empty stomach, right?

We take a seat and place our orders – I balance my choice between something that my body won’t reject and Ray will not complain about, what seems to work.

“Y’know,” Ray breaks the silence between us, “what have you been thinking about watching us live?” He glances at me, expectant. His question doesn’t fail in making me smile since he’s probably referencing how I used to keep bugging him with questions about the tour concerts.

“Awesome, of course!” I grin, letting my eyes fall to my plate as I drag the food around for a bit. “It’s just amazing, I love it, seeing you playing is just…” I shrug, feeling my cheeks heat up whilst Ray breathes a chuckle, but I’m unable to look at him just yet. When I do glance at Ray, he’s grinning. “You know how much I like it.”

“I just wanted to check,” he says smugly – I snort, shaking my head playfully.

“Already regretting bringing me with you, tho?” I raise an eyebrow, finishing to eat and leaning back on the chair.

“Never!” Ray says indignantly, shooting me a look. “I’d have taken you with me before if I knew you wanted it that bad!” He pauses to take a sip of his drink. “Like, I missed you an awful lot and the tours tend to be fun. Though there are a few problems, but…”

“Yeah, I’ve noticed.” I press my lips together and nod as he does the same.

We sit in silence for a moment, only until Ray finishes eating and soon calls the waitress. She grins as coming closer, a block of notes in her hand and a pencil on the other. “Well, you two have ordered for…” she trails off, mumbling under her breath as scribbling a few things down on her paper before grinning and handing Ray the bill; he nods, reaching for his wallet. Meanwhile, the woman looks at me, wide eyes looking at me from up to down with that fake excitement. Okay. What’s wrong? Maybe she’d judging my clothes? Or that I’m with Ray?

I try to ignore the woman, turning to Ray. “Hey, I was thinking we could—”

“Keep the change,” Ray tells the woman as handing her the money, ignoring me. Fuck. “And do you know any convenience store or café nearby?”

The two engage into a conversation and maybe it’s the instability and stress due to the whole tour-anxiety thing or whatever, but I can feel my heart heavy due to it. My plan is to continue there, of course, leave with Ray so we can spend mor time alone with each other, a plan that I give up on as soon as feeling a sting in my chest. I just stand up and leave.

Why did Ray ignore me? What did I do wrong? He got tired or annoyed, perhaps. …Or, yet, I’m just overreacting. Hell, I know Ray wouldn’t do that to be in purpose because he is usually so loving.

A sigh escapes my lips as I glance back and I really want to come back – I would, if I wasn’t so far from there already. It’s the best to just give him some random excuse later.

Holy fuck, but, honestly, everything only went downhill from the moment I decided to tag along.

First of all, I panicked at the sole fact I was going to come with them to the tour then got extremely awkward during a whole week and half, barely talking with anyone asides from Ray – what got Mikey annoyed at some point, what I’m sure of even if everyone denies it. And then we went along with all the minor events, like me being the last one to get back to the bus, almost getting lost in the venue and simply being unable to talk to anyone asides from the band and the staff, among other inconveniences.

Everyone must be more than done with me, to be honest. And there’s still a whole other month before we can go home, I don’t think I’ll be able to go through all of this with the mess I am.

I sigh in relief at seeing the bus and am about to walk inside it when Gerard show ups out of seemingly nothing, looking around, but his attention quickly falls on me. “Oh, (y/n)— Hey, were you crying? Something happened?”

The question makes me freeze, just now noticing the tears threatening to slip from my eyes and consequently making me feel like all of my blood instantly drained to my feet. “I-I—” I stutter, unfortunately simply unable to finish the sentence, and end up just running away from there, going to an isolated spot of the parking lot to calm down. I don’t want anyone seeing me having another attack, make them even more annoyed and attract all that attention.

Air just escapes my grasp, seemingly impossible to continue in my lungs for longer than a few seconds whilst the tears simply do not stop, even if I don’t even want to be crying or anything, fuck off.

I take a seat on the grassed area, under a tree, and bring my hands up to my eyes.

Cleaning my mind is just impossible, I just keep thinking about how everyone is going to be shooting me these stupid concerned looks when I’m back to the bus and how I’m only going to continue being another source of stress to them during the rest of the tour. Ray should’ve just left me home as usual and—

“…(y/n), listen to me, (y/n)! I’m here!” Ray’s voice cuts through my thoughts and I can feel his hand around my wrist, the other one on my back. “Hey, baby, it’s okay. C’mon, breath with me,” he says softly before starting to set a breathing pace I can’t help but to stick to.

Hell, when did Ray even get here?

I’m getting better when my breath hitches in my throat at the thought I’m only annoying him and I can’t help but to let out a weak sob his time. Ray only starts to rub my back. Even if I’m crying, I do feel better than I did earlier, now slowly becoming more aware of my surroundings while all that filled my mind moments ago were these awful thoughts along with all the panic and worry.

“I’m so sorry,” I whisper shakily, bringing my hands down to bury my face in the crook of his neck, trying to synch my breathing with his.

“You don’t need to be sorry, love,” Ray says softly, thumb running along the back of my neck in a weirdly soothing manner. “Don’t be ashamed of it or anything, this whole thing is really stressing. Even us had problems with it at first, so everyone understands how you must be feeling.” His voice helps me calming down, giving me something to hold onto to keep myself in reality asides from his touches.

“Thank you, then,” I reply, my voice still tight.

“It’s okay. I do it because I love you.” Ray pulls away lightly and smiles at me. His hands cup my cheeks, warm against them, whereas he wipes my tears away with his thumbs. “And I want to see you fine, okay?” He presses his lips against mine in a light kiss I’m thankful for. “Let me know about it the next time you feel like this, please.” A quiet sigh comes from him as he furrows his eyebrows at me, worry obvious there. “Are you feeling better now?” I nod. “Really?” he asks and I nod again, pecking his lips like if to prove it. “Okay…-“ he smiles, relieved, “-…how about a coffee now, hm?”

64 notes · View notes

psalloacappella · 4 years

Text

Red (oneshot)

Title: Red Pairing: SasuSaku legit i don’t write anything else Word Count: 3400~ Rating: E, for like explicit, not for everyone. NSFW. Ya get it. Tags/What you’ll see: Sakura getting the office and oral she deserves

Summary: An old dress, a new office — Uchiha Sasuke offers regards to both.

Ao3 | FFN | ↓

(I have to preface when I post this that my top-tier amazing friend convinced me to do so and reminded me not to delete it this morning in the cold sober dawn lol. I consider this absolutely self-indulgent)

“Ah, Sakura?”

Jade eyes alight and ringed with red, her subordinate regrets interrupting what seems to be a bout of sickness or sadness; she’s been busy lately. They all are.

Spine bent in bass clef camber, in exhaustion, she straightens at his words into a ramrod illustration of diligence. Over scrolls and haphazard paperwork, empty mugs sitting in their own fossilized dregs, she snatches up a fountain pen to preserve her dignity and reputation. At her age she’s been handed enormous tasks that she only imagined in her wildest dreams, and most of those, in the past, were of love and marriage and not the nightmares and duties which replaced them.

Extreme stress manifests in mysterious and chaotic ways; she intuitively knows this, especially today, as she basks in the quiet glances, the way their eyes follow her long, long legs leading into ankles in heels that feel like cages. Her choice of a dress underneath her white coat today feels like a wanton beacon, but her battle reputation precedes her, legendary and terrifying; no one will dare blithely approach legs like those or earn the ire of her dangerous hands, so delicate until they’re crushing mountains and throats.

Electricity, a buzzing in the marrow of her bones; she taps the pen on the desk in a stilted rhythm.

She regards the young medic with a hazy gaze for a moment, then waves a hand. “Sorry, I’m just—”

He steps over the threshold; Sakura raises her chin, lips taut.

“No no, I’m sorry,” he insists. Under her bright eyes he feels the beginnings of idiocy and bumbling; his boss makes him tongue-tied, stupid. Younger than him, in a league of her own as she stands at shoulders with new legends; lethal, inured to all the stories about herself.

He notices the ochre on her lips like an invitation.

“I wouldn’t come too close today,” she says. Grants him a demure smile, the type that doesn’t quite fool her friends but still works with fools like him. “I’m not feeling the best. It could be contagious, and that wouldn’t be helpful to our operations right now.”

“Yes, of course.” Agreeing, nodding fervently with the obedience of a particularly compliant breed of dog. “If I may — you work so much. Too young to be feeling so tired.”

A laugh, it bubbles — starts from her chest as a giggle and drips from her lips as honey. Makes her quake, mottled red seeping through the skin of her chest as a sieve, collarbones sharp.

She looks feverish; she looks like a dream.

In turn she struggles to keep the waver out of her voice, knowing she’s lit up as fulgent as rouge festival lanterns and there's no way to kill the current.

I’ll never live this down — have to get him out of here

The cough she musters up is weak and if this was Ino, or gods forbid, her teacher, they’d call it pathetic. For a young man trapped in her sphere of admiring attraction, it does nothing but induce sympathy. But her legs are shaking, the situation is dire, and she’s loath to have another round of torrid rumor on the flapping lips of civilians and staff.

“Ah!”

At her cry, she lets her temple fall into her hand and her subordinate rushes forward. Gasping, she raises her other one, trembling.

“No, please. That sounded worse than it was. Just a headache coming on. In fact,” she rasps, “if you can let Shizune know I’ll be taking the next hour to recoup? A nap, maybe that’ll help.”

“I don’t know if I can leave you like this.” His tentative step earns her sharp gaze again, pursed lips that start his mind wandering in a way that makes him blush. Physically shaking his head to clear it, he nods slowly, finally, backing out of the doorway.

The hollow sound of Sakura’s kneecap hitting the underside of the desk rings in the space. Her gullible underling starts forward again, but the foreboding slap of her hand on the desk stops him cold. Acute, like it’s one to the face.

Sakura brings her knees together, swift, crushing his damn near regal bone structure and the handsome high bridge of his nose between the muscle of her thighs. A warning.

She glances down at him, he’s slicked with sweat — the glimpse of his glittering black eye and swirling purple one bring her too close to a wave she can’t indulge; she’s still this unwanted visitor’s boss until he closes the fucking door.

“Just me being clumsy! Do as I’ve asked and let her know, and,” here her breath hitches, hand leaving the desk, fingers burying themselves in dark messy hair, “th-thank you for worrying. I appreciate it.”

She’ll pay for the smile she gives this man, a sparkle of hope, like he’ll ever earn his boss’s favor in that way, as if he’ll measure up in any lifetime to the man that has her heart, the man on his knees under her desk.

“Sure. I mean,” horrified at his own too-familiar tone, “of course, right away, ma’am. Miss. I—”

“Oh go now. ” It stutters out in jete musical meter, resembling pain — or other things. “Please.”

She doesn’t have to tell him to close the door, though she’s surprised he didn’t find another excuse to stay with her. Oh, he has it bad. But there’s no time to think —

Sinking into her chair, her hands grip the armrests with an intensity that forces music from them, cracking underneath her fingers. And now all the words of the last few minutes tumble from her lips, an unintelligible medley of curses and pleas cradling the half-formed shell of his name.

Without warning, she yanks him back by the hair and almost comes right there: His eyes scalding her, the mess on his stupid and incredibly fuckable face, a talented and dangerous mouth settling into a smirk as he thumbs an errant bit of her off his lip.

“That was close. Ah, so are you.”

He says it with such smugness and vanity. Quivering in her office chair under nothing but his stare, still in the grips of the unrelenting buzz and hum he’s enticed, and he absolutely notices.

“One of these days, we’ll be caught!” Tries to sound stern even as he rolls his neck and shoulders with a pithy nonchalance. “Stop that. So arrogant, preening like that—”

“Me? That’s rich.” He lazily trails a finger from her swollen, hot clit to her opening, lingering and lush to force all the heat and sounds he’s craving — her fingernails dig into her thigh while the pallor of her skin and dress seep and marry, reflections of one another. “Why did you wear this, Sakura?” Nudges the fabric with his nose, and she mumbles something hazy under his resumed touch; lost in orbit, in a void, in a place unearthly.

He starts the routine again, pressing his mouth to the inside of her thigh. Frowns at the irritating strip of fabric that constitutes clothing; it’s been twisted and pushed aside anyway. Her skin burning against his face, a lean cord of muscle taut underneath her pale skin. Vaguely threatening, but she’s yet to crush him to death and he’s on the second round of bringing her there and back again, and close calls such as those seem to stoke something smoldering. Some days, it feels like the only thing worth pulling himself out of bed for.

He fucks like he fights: Relentless, consuming. But that essential difference for the former is he never gives an inch; here, he pours it all in, something like an endless apology. Maybe she knows and that’s why she wears the red dress he won’t admit he prefers and paints her lips and runs the entirety of this village hospital system with grace and her own brand of gentle ascendancy — why he’s desperate for just the ragged edge of danger.

One of her legs shudders, the frenzied tap-tap-tap of her heel stammering against the floor in a cadence fit for instruments. “Sasuke-kun.”

Between the presses of his lips leading a hot, agonizing march back to her core, an arrogant noise in his throat escapes, rich and amused. “So this — is your new office?”

“Mmm,” she confirms, still clinging to the chair. The only support she has; the room’s spinning and every cell is vibrating, pink eyebrows knitted as she fights to remain upright and solid and somewhat human because the door’s not locked and she knows he knows, knows he doesn’t care and frankly neither, really, does she. Melting like basalt in unending, stifling heat.

Calloused fingers walk up the soft skin of her calf, catching and searing, sundering the delicate layer where they brush to release the pent-up steam underneath.

He’s fire; she is earth.

Always, all of him ablaze — possessive in its own discipline but a thing begging for taming. He builds the pyre here, as he has been for the last hour or so, to focus himself, patiently coaxing it into something chaotic but fruitful. Lately all he’s felt is the joyless, sober embodiment of a tool to be used though perhaps this is the same, a compulsion by any other name.

But it can’t be, not with her looking like this. Striding down her hallways with purpose while bending the horrors and ills of the world to her indomitable will. Certainly this dress is no accident, as it never is, not with him coming off a mission full of blood and necessary evil.

Dragging the thin, sorry excuse for fabric down the burning skin of her leg, Sasuke’s tongue finds her clit with terrifying precision and rips a moan from her throat, pulling a jerk of her hips against his mouth. The shockwave shared, vibrating as wires intertwined, a forcible current.

Leans back, takes her in: Her trembling, knuckles white from the fatal grip on the arms of the chair, knees sinking inward toward one another. The sight of this rich red dress against the stark, starched white of her coat blending with the mottled pinks and crimsons painting her cheeks and chest. Unraveling before him, extraordinary, even while this space belongs to her.

This, sometimes, feels like undeserved forgiveness.

Because she is always, always in living color.

Adjusts his own knees, shifts, a catch of air in his throat as he accommodates the hard length of his own caged cock. They’re no stranger to claiming desks and other surfaces as their own, but she has strings on him and there's authority in here now, where she holds men at the door with a flicker of her gentle jade eyes borne of the grueling process which created her.

Sliding the useless fabric into his pocket, raises his chin to her. Stares as she bites her lip and struggles for composure, though it’s difficult under the gaze of a man like this.

He waits, and the only sounds are ragged breathing from both.

“Please,” she whispers. Quivering, even at the ask. “Before someone comes back.”

“You worry so much,” he says. “Relax.”

“I’m sorry, I just—”

“What did I tell you,” he hisses, “about apologies?”

She blinks, startled, and her lips part. A sparkle, a brilliance emerging in her eyes as she clenches and unclenches her fingers. Still, they shake a bit, the anticipation and remnants of the rise and current before still lingering, lying in wait. Predatory. A wetness floods to her lips and she swallows it down, leveling her eyes to his glittering, savage gaze.

With a deep inhale, she spreads herself before him, knees apart. Blushing invisible, lost in the red that’s already dappled every inch of her, she exhales the rest of her timidity with an edged, sharp expression and hopes she’s being clear—

Sakura just barely glimpses the fierce red in his gaze before he answers with his tongue, deft, ardent, and divine.

Breaking the chair arms beneath her delicate hands again, scrabbling to stay on the beautiful planet before it turns her loose. Sinking, again, the boundaries of atoms dissolving — they are nowhere but bliss.

Like before, the careful building of a fire, the agonizing escalation: He drops a kiss here, employs a firm tongue there, skirting the easy option in favor of the tease as he peels her back, layer by layer. Running it the length of her slit, heart skipping a bit at the dangerous quake of her thigh muscle; how long it's taken to differentiate between pleasure and impending crush. Again, the sensation of crawling into the den of something prized and feral. He feels it, her writhing and the pace and canter of her breathing and she’s liquid gold, fucking melting —

Her hips jerk, hard, when his tongue swirls around her clit, the cry coming from her jagged as broken glass and trembling like music, all things that make his own situation difficult to manage but he will, because these sounds entrench him firmly in reality. Alive. Knees screaming on the hardwood floor, unyielding as his cock cradled only by fabric and not as he wishes, by her hands or her red, red lips like the kind she’s wearing now.

Instead he slows her down again, pendulum swings between teasing and a furious rhythm that coaxes the full spectrum of human sounds from her beautiful throat. Rewarded for it with a whiny gasp as if breaking the surface of water, mingling with his own as he catches his breath. The end of it careens into words, something rough, he’s not even quite sure what he’s saying but he imagines, neither does she.

This—fucking dress—!

Nice, isn’t it?

Gets you attention

But only from you, S-Sasuke-kun

And her hand lands on his head again, thin fingers yanking his hair and guiding him as he splays her open, lays her bare. His name never quite fully leaves her lips, dancing with fragments of alternating pleas and curses. Just for that, for something he’d never thought he’d ever hear in his life, he grimly knows he’d write a fucking sonnet just to hear her like this — and with his tongue, he does, or at least approximates. The tremors of her shift deeper now, approaching release; she’s so slick it feels vile, indulgence in sin. All of which is smeared on his lips, his face, tasting of tang and salt; how many times has he been told he’s selfish? Guilty. Greedy, too, as he pauses to breathe—

looking up at her, he has an idea but can’t possibly know the extent of this, how she’s absolutely wrung out and beyond this dimension, hell, this galaxy, every inch of her humming in tune with the universe and brimming with absolute, inescapable heat, muscles taut and and begging for climax. Though the soft edges of her green eyes that see through him and everything else, rolling back, mouth open and lips parted in mimeo of an oracle, sunken in the weight of divinity, might give him some clue.

Don’t stop, please—!

— he’s there, with his fingers buried and soaked and deep, playing that just-right rhythm with a thumb on her clit that’s been worked to the edge and back again over the span of her busy afternoon. Hairs part from his scalp without remorse; her nails scrabbling and fingers clinging as she prays and sighs and curses occasionally, quietly, into the limp back of her hand. As if she’s really still trying to maintain a semblance of professionalism in the throes of being launched into orbit.

So very close. He knows by the slightly erratic rhythm, the pulsating of muscles inside and out and around him, tight and he steals a quick breath to endure and ease his fingers out to redouble effort with his mouth because the way she’s sounding, that sharp icy note on the ragged edge of pleasure and pain, tends to be the signal, the tipping point. The tremor her free hand sends through the bones of the chair. Knees apart as far as she can manage and desperately meeting him at the hilt —

Steady through until the end.

Release comes as glass shattering, atoms splitting. Unintelligible words trapped in amber, in a moment, in desire. With a mouth full of fire, he rides it with her through every wave, persisting through her slow and ebbing tumble back down to earth. To him.

He leans back at last, groaning at the pain in his knees. Watches her tremble and twitch, wringing out the very last dregs of her orgasm, displacing everything coherent left in her head.

Seconds stretch into minutes, and he gets to his feet as she languishes in a pool of pleasure, steeping as scalding tea.

At some point her hand rises to her own lips, limp and wavering, to clean her own unabashed drippings with an expression of dizzy surprise. The white dissipates from her vision and she finds his eyes on her again, one still richly red in its sole mission of memorizing the glowing after.

“Oh.” That’s all she says, breathless.

Sasuke brings fingers across his own mouth, rolls his jaw side to side, and something about his expression of smug satisfaction resonates, strings of a plucked instrument, a pull again of desire that threatens to ruin the sanctity of this brand new office and the role that comes with it.

For a moment she leverages the chair to rise, then loses strength — she lowers herself back in it, arms still quaking.

She reaches for him, plucking at his shirt. Hair flyaway, askew from her frenzied fingers, still in his mission gear.

Yanking him down by the collar, she crashes her mouth against his, red and hot, the tang and taste of herself immiscible with his own. Whatever sound he makes, this growl or rumble or ache, splits them open.

What pulls them apart is the grating sound of their former sensei’s voice: “I heard from a bird that someone in here was sick?”

Sasuke feels them in the room now and pulls away. Half-turns, finds himself leaning on her desk in a way that’s almost too casual, but necessary — his knees are shot through. Sakura smiles too widely, masking a secret; after all, both still feel the pinpricks of liquids drying in the new air.

“From your darling subordinate,” Kakashi twinkles, grinning underneath his mask.

“That one who follows you around like a puppy,” Naruto supplies, pouting.

Kakashi tilts his head toward him, both still lingering over the threshold. “Terrible, hm?”

Naruto misses the jibe and instead turns his wide ocean eyes on her new space. Whistles. “Man, Sakura-chan, this office is niiice. I’m jealous.”

“You’ll be in your new one soon enough,” she says, and there she is, her usual self. “I have faith. Anyway, this office comes with responsibility.”

“Well if anyone can do it, it’s you.”

“He was under the impression you were sick. Looking at you now, though,” and here Kakashi pauses in a manner all too deliberate, eyes sweeping over Sasuke’s cloak and belongings in a chair, and ends it with looking right at him, “you seem all right. Exhausted, I imagine.”

Her flush threatens to undo them both.

“He’s . . . sweet. To care.”

“He’s a fool,” Sasuke mutters.

“Perfect, you’re dressed nice,” Naruto crows. “How did you know we’d come make you celebrate? You didn’t eat, I bet you didn’t!” He eyes Sasuke up and down, at his unusually ruffled appearance, and clicks his tongue. “You didn’t even go home first, did you? Shitty boyfriend.”

The damage he committed on his recent mission pales in comparison to the crimes Sasuke wants to indulge now.

“Anyway, we’ll wait out here. After all,” Kakashi says, inclining his head, “this is your space now.”

Sakura exhales long and slow as they step out into the hallway. Covering her face with her hands, she groans. ��No matter my job, I’ll never escape embarrassment, huh?”

Standing at last, she readjusts her clothes and kisses the underside of Sasuke’s chin. She reaches for his pocket and he moves easily out of her grasp.

“Sasuke-kun!”

“Pointless now. I’ll keep it.”

No matter what time, season, dimension, he regards all of her — the dress, the lips that held their color, the new flush simmering on her neck and chest — and craves, endeavors, to always love her red.

#sasusaku #psalloacappella #sasusakufanfic #smut #sasusaku smut #uchiha sasuke #haruno sakura #sorry it's shameless #whatever ya'll #give me good head or give me death

150 notes · View notes

candlelight27 · 4 years

Text

Chapter 2: Reach For My Hand

Summary: Sylvain has been ignoring you since you met him. You had been in love with him since you met him. College is about to offer you a fresh start. New academic year, new life. You were ready to forget him. But fate seems to have other plans… (COLLEGE AU)

Series: Seeking Your Warmth If Only For A Day

Warnings: Objetification (?), anxiety attack, curse words

Pairings: Sylvain Jose Gautier x Female Reader

Word Count: 4562

AO3: Reach For My Hand

A/N: Sorry it took too long. My writing process is unpredictable. Besides, it was a boring chapter at first and I think I managed to make it interesting? Anyways, I hope you enjoy this chapter! If you have suggestions, requests, theories or whatever leave a comment of come talk to me on tumblr - same username.

Your first week of university had passed all at once. Time flew between jotting down notes, going back and forth, meeting all your new teachers and, overall, trying to survive. Thankfully, Lysithea had shared all her notes with you, so you weren’t that lost – since Claude was keen on gossiping with you in the middle of lessons…

…And since Sylvain proved himself to be a huge distraction. And an active one, in fact.

The ominous day Byleth paired you with him, Sylvain had approached you after class. Hands in his pockets, his chest a little puffed and a glamorous grin on his face, he had the perfect pose to be on the cover of a teenage magazine. And with his casual tone, he nonchalantly asked you for your number..

“We better stay in touch to finish the project”, he added. Your heart skipped a beat – or two or three – and you nodded. You hoped that excitement would go unnoticed. There was the slightest shyness in his voice, but you discarded the thought. It was absurd to consider you’d awaken even the smallest amount of insecurity in him, regarding the fact that he was the embodiment of confidence.

“Sure”, you smiled and grabbed a pen. Sylvain stopped you muttering a ‘wait’ and took out his phone. He opened a tab for a new contact.

“Here, write your number.” You took it and started writing. Then, it hit you that Sylvain actually knew how you were called. He had edited the blank space, where you saw all the letters that spelt your name standing triumphantly. He even had added a heart emoji next to it. So, even if he had never acknowledged your existence, he was aware of it.

“Write me whenever you feel like it,” he said with a wink. Your name rolling out of his lips was the most beautiful sound you had ever heard.

As he went away and followed Mercedes out of the classroom, Claude rose his eyebrows.

“Well, that went better than expected. Our plan is running smoothly,” he hit you with his elbow.

“Your plan, Claude. I never agreed to it,” you sighed, while he just chuckled and let it be.

But that wasn’t the end of the phone matter. Not at all.

The next day you met your new teacher, Catherine. She was interesting, and she made her lessons about the Evolution of Warfare quite enjoyable – which was itself a great deed, in your opinion. However, there was a downside, and it was that the blonde woman talked your ears off with her millions of tales that weren’t that interesting and definitely not exam material.

It was early and you were barely awake when you felt the light vibration of a message on your mobile phone. Who could be at that hour? You looked next to you. Marianne was as still as a corpse, Claude was probably asleep and Lysithea was fiercely taking notes, so it was not any of them trying to be discreet. Ingrid would never use her phone during a lesson, so she was ruled out too.

With caution, you unlocked the screen of your phone and placed it on your lap.

Unknown 09:45: Are you bored too?

Did Dorothea change her number again?

You 09:46: Who are you?

Unknown 09:46: Look right 😊

You did. And you came across Sylvain waving at you. You saved his number quicker than you’d like to admit.

You 09:48: Good morning, Sylvain

You 09:48: And yes, I’m bored to death

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw a smile gracing Sylvain’s countenance, and you felt like a schoolgirl all over again.

Sylvain 09:49: Is Claude asleep? For real?

You 09:50: Most likely…

And that was the beginning of your academic doom.

It turned out that Sylvain was a compulsive text-writer. He wasn’t shy about sending you millions of messages at any time. And you, foolish as always, responded every last one of them. Against your will, as you typed on your phone, butterflies flied around your stomach.

The first days, he limited your interactions strictly to Catherine’s lessons and breaks. But as the week progressed, you found yourself going to sleep a little later just to share a few more words with the infamous flirter.

You two didn’t have meaningful conversations at all. You talked about high school, books, films, you shared jokes and silly occurrences… Yet it made you feel that an already existing connection tying you with Sylvain was awakening. It was absurd, to think there was a bond that had been formed before between both of you, but you couldn’t cast aside that sensation. Like a distant memory of a dream you once had. Like the primal needs our bodies feel. You felt there was something that linked you with him, and it was ancient and significant.

When Claude discovered what you and Sylvain were up, he was delighted.

“Don’t you realize that’s just what we needed for our plan?”, he opened his eyes and leaned in closer, so your classmates wouldn’t hear him.

“Again, your plan, Claude”, you shook your head. “And you seem to be making it up as it goes.”

“Well, that’s my charm, darling,” he laughed, and went on playing with his phone. You threw him your best deadpan look.

With so many distractions, the weekend arrived in the blink of an eye. It was rather cloudy when you woke up, and late, because it was Saturday and you didn’t have any obligation. You rolled in bed, throwing away your blanket and yawning.

Then, you heard a thud next to you. It was your phone. You remembered you had been talking with Sylvain when you fell asleep. You deliberated if maybe it wasn’t better to ignore him for a day. You were starting to get your hopes up, and you wanted to avoid another disappointment. But as if your hands moved on their own, you opened the conversation to see what you had missed.

Sylvain 01:13: What do you mean you HAVEN’T seen Loog and the Maiden of Wind???

You 01:15: ??

You 01:15: What’s wrong?

Sylvain 01:17: It’s Ingrid’s favourite film!

Sylvain 01:18: More like, she loved complaining about how they got all the scenes from the book wrong

Sylvain 01:18: Still she made me watch it like 1819341973 times

You 01:19: She wanted me to watch it

You 01:20: I just happen to have really good excuses 😉

Sylvain 01:25: Well you are going to watch it with me

You 01:26: Why would I?

Sylvain 01:27: It’s called solidarity

You 01:27: I don’t have that

(Unread) Sylvain 01:31: ☹

(Unread) Sylvain 01:31: Please, suffer with me

(Unread) Sylvain 01:33: C’mon I promise I’ll be good, I won’t bite you

(Unread) Sylvain 01:33: Unless you ask me 😉😉😉

(Unread) Sylvain 01:35: So I’m going to believe that you’re asleep and are not in fact ignoring me

(Unread) Sylvain 01:34: Good night, princess <3

You sighed and got up. What were you getting yourself into? And what were you trying to achieve? ‘Don’t implicate yourself too much’, has said Claude, but you were already in too deep. But your friend probably knew as much and was plotting something entirely different.

Ignoring your best judgment, you started typing.

You 09:53: Good morning!

Goddess, you felt stupid.

“Good morning”, greeted Ingrid when you left your room. “I got some pastries for breakfast.”

“Nice.”

You sat next to her and started to munch on the first sweet piece you found. The television filled the room with a comforting background noise. You were half listening the weather and the news. Your phone suddenly beeped, indicating you had a new text message. You looked at the screen with discretion and unlocked it with an unbothered appearance, trusting Ingrid wouldn’t ask questions.

Sylvain 10:01: I unilaterally decided we’re watching the film today, princess

You couldn’t hide your expression, and Ingrid looked your way.

“Who are you texting?”, she tried to use a teasing tone. “I’ve never seen you so hooked on your phone. Is it Claude?”

There was no use in lying, so you’d answer thruthfully. You could even get some intel about Sylvain without revealing your game if you played your cards well.

“Oh, no. It’s Sylvain?” You feigned disinterest.

“Is he bothering you? I could scare him off,” she offered, with her eyebrows furrowed.

“What? Don’t do it.” A small and nervous laughter escaped your mouth at the idea.

“Don’t tell me he’s done it”, Ingrid said, and she rested her head on her hands, her attention focused on you.

“What has he done?”

“Charming you!”, she replied as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“Ingrid, I was paired with him for some project. That’s all,” you assured her.

“Well, just don’t fall for him. He can be very disgusting sometimes. He’s a good friend, but he’s not a good boyfriend.” She hummed. “As far as I know, of course.”

“Don’t worry,” you smiled, appeasing, “I’ll be fine.”

“It’s weird, though. He never texts anyone on his own accord. He always says it’s a waste of time.”

“It’s for the project. No biggie,” you affirmed, yet you knew you’d have to keep in mind that fact.

“Ah, that must be it,” Ingrid shrugged. “He may be always chasing skirts, but he’s very diligent with academic matters.”

You 10:15: I have a better idea

You 10:16: Let’s go to the library and start Byleth’s project

You weren’t ready for watching a film with him. In the best-case scenario, you’d faint like Bernadetta on your high school days.

Sylvain 10:17: The library? In this era of technology?

You 10:17: Yes.

Sylvain 10:18: Okay, fine

Sylvain 10:19: You are right, old-fashioned university professors love their bibliographies filled with books :/

Sylvain 10:19: But you owe me one film

You 10:19: … we’ll see.

You 10:19: Let’s meet at the library at 6 p.m.

“I’m going to the library with Sylvain today,” you commented to Ingrid.

“Do you mind if I invite Ashe over?”

Well, you weren’t expecting that. You noted mentally to compare notes with Dorothea, because now you didn’t have any doubt that there was something going on between her and Ashe. Never ever had she invited a guy before that wasn’t Felix, Sylvain, or Dimitri.

“Oh, yeah, go ahead, I don’t mind,” you encouraged her.

“Cool!”

You were getting ready, mulling over what you were going to wear. You didn’t want to try too hard, this wasn’t a date, but nevertheless you wanted to look good – despite the fact that if anyone ever asked you, you’d completely refuse that thought had crossed your mind. It was absurd, but denial helped you to keep going.

As you struggled to decide, you heard Ingrid biding you goodbye and the door being closed. You supposed she was going to meet Ashe and bring him to your place. You grinned to yourself. Immediately after, your phone started ringing. It was Dorothea. She had a distinctive melody that she sang herself for you. What on earth could have made her call you? She was the queen of voice messages.

“Yes?”, you began.

“You better tell me what the fuck is happening!”, she yelled with her usual dramatic twist.

“What is happening?” You were quite confused and tried to go over all the things she could be referring to.

“Don’t play dumb. First, Ingrid is all starry-eyed when she talks about Ashe and now you have a date with Sylvain? Is the water in your apartment poisoned?” You wondered how she found out, but Dorothea had a sixth sense for love affairs.

“Well, Ingrid is the one with an actual date,” you pointed to divert her attention. “I’m just going to the library because-”

“Because a project? Why does it sound so familiar? Ah, yes, it’s what I told my parents when I was going to make out with a classmate in high school. And don’t distract me throwing Ingrid to the wolves.”

“What do you want of me?”, you exclaimed out of frustration.

“A confession!”

“Who are you? Seteth?” You could hear Dorothea’s sweet laugh at your joke.

“How could I be so stupid? Your crush has been Sylvain all these years!”, she was creating a fuss on the other side of the phone. “I’m not going to lie, I didn’t expect that, not in the least.”

“You are assuming way too much.”

“Shut up! I guess Sylvain is a whole reason himself to keep it a secret, but you should have told me.” Dorothea made a pause. “My poor baby suffering all those years in silence! Aunty Dorothea is here to comfort you!”

“Quit the joking. Now tell me what I should wear for my not-a-date”, you said indignantly.

“Oh, right. Do you recall the Red Canyon? You definitely should put on that thing you wore. It will catch his eye, but it doesn’t seem way too elaborated.”

“Thank you, Dorothea, you are a genius. Are you reading my mind?”

“Really? I can see right through you”, she giggled. “You haven’t changed. And I would you why you are so worried about your clothes when it’s not a date, but you’d just mutter any excuse and ignore me altogether.”

“I don’t know what you are talking about.”

“Now, inform me of you not-a-date with Sylvain when you’re finished right away, okay?”, she finished with her motherly intonation.

“Fine, fine! Goodbye, I have to go now!” You saw the time and it was really late.

You got dressed in a hurry and grabbed your laptop, some notebooks and a couple of pens.

By the time you arrived at the library, Sylvain was already there. He was looking around, his bag grabbed laid causally on his back, hold by the handle with his strong fist. His other hand was resting in his pocket.

While his appearance was laid back, you were a bundle of nerves. As soon as your gaze found him, you felt a knot form in your gut. You denied that the young man could have that kind of effect on you, but the evidence was overwhelming. Why did it have to be so difficult in person? It had been so easy when you didn’t have to see his face – so handsome it was unnerving. You were the opposite you had been on your telematic conversations, far from your calm, charming and charismatic charade.

He was wearing a simple long-sleeved t-shirt and jeans. It was a mystery for you why he didn’t opt for a modelling career. You forcibly reminded yourself that despite his beauty, he was a Don Juan, totally uninterested in you. You chanted Claude’s words ‘see what happens, don’t implicate yourself too much’ as you approached him.

Suddenly, his tan eyes focused on you as he recognized your figure, so you composed yourself the best you could. His lovely lips displayed a soft smile.

“Hey, Sylvain”, you greeted with an affected amiability. Still, you were tense.

“Hello there, princess.” He winked at you. “It’s nice to see you outside the classroom.”

“Yes, it’s refreshing,” you nodded.

You entered the big building with Sylvain at your side. Neither of you said anything, justifying yourself in the mandatory silence of a library. Some girls giggled as you walked past them, pointing at you two. And you noticed Sylvain looked a bit annoyed. The next thing you noticed was your teacher Catherine distracting the black-haired librarian with her nonstop chatter.

You turned your head to comment something to him, but he grinned, and you forgot your words. You simpered back, and he seemed content with that.

At last, you were in the ‘working-group’ area. The library itself was almost empty – but Dorothea told you it would be filled to the brim during finals week. There were some students chatting and taking notes, but not too many since most of the would be probably going to bars, pubs, and discos. And it was right then when it hit you that Sylvain was not in some sort of date or in a quest to gain the favours of a pretty girl.

So far, you had detected two oddities in his behaviour. Texting and spending a Saturday evening in the library. And the common factor was you.

“Where should we start?”, asked Sylvain as he took a seat, startling you since you were absorbed in your thoughts. You mimicked him and made up your mind.

“Let me thing”, you said. At the same time, you took your laptop from your bag and turned it on. “Since we have to talk about the early history of Faerghus… maybe we can cover the foundation first?”, you suggested. Sylvain had a notebook and a pencil and started scribbling an outline of the project. “We’ll need… a biography of Loog. Or two. And a history book about the 8th century.” You peeked his handwriting. It was neat, with small letters. His S’s had an characteristic flourish.

“I have a good book on the Crescent Moon War, which is also a theme featured in our project”, he said, staring at his sheet. “Well... it’s Miklan’s”, Sylvain grimaced as he added that part, “but I can borrow it.”

“That’d be great.”

“Do you know what’d be great?”, he looked at you. “Watching Loog and the Maiden of Wind! I don’t know what you have against films. It would have been a perfect way to spend our Saturday.”

“Again?”, you laughed.

“It’s for research purposes. No fishy business here.” He placed the palm of his hand over his chest. “Scout’s honour.”

“If I accept will you focus on out project?”, you bit your lip.

“Yes! I promise.”

“Okay. How about we watch it once we’re finished?”

“It’s a deal.” He winked again, looking satisfied with himself. Then, he stood up. “I’ll look for the books we need. In the meantime, you can search on the Internet some good articles on the controversies of Loog’s biography.”

At the moment he vanished, you breathed deeply to calm your heart, since you could almost hear it thudding in your chest. This meeting had been more awkward than you had expected, at least on your part. You wondered if Sylvain was feeling it too, the rusty mechanism of two people who knew each other but had never held a whole conversation in real life.

And all the same… It didn’t feel bad, being next to Sylvain. It was great, even if you were on edge. If you didn’t know it was impossible, you’d describe that sensation as familiar. A déjà vu of some sort, as though you had gone over this stage with Sylvain a million of times and every time your pulse shot up.

You tried to concentrate on looking for articles. You found a couple of them that could be useful, singed under big names of the field that would increase the credibility of your work.

You were absentminded during the rest of your search, trying to figure out how to be natural in your next conversation with Sylvain. You were a little insecure, even when Sylvain seemed to be comfortable with you. Your head was full of what ifs.

“I got our books!”, Sylvain announced cheerful, interrupting your worry.

He sat again next to you. And you swore he was closer than he was before. You could feel the heat emanating from him, warming your arm. And you could hear him breathing. His scent reached you. He had used just deodorant, which along with his natural smell was intoxicating. His shoulder bumped into yours in what looked like a premeditated manner.

“We could split the work. Maybe we could work together on the main structure and the final draft, and work on the information on our own…”, you said as you tried to concentrate on the pile of history volumes rather than any matter related to Sylvain. Otherwise you’d forget how to speak.

“That seems fair.”

Sylvain made himself comfortable, resting his chin on the hand opposite to you. This way he had a perfect view of what you were writing on your computer – and your face, but you refused to believe he was that interested in you. He was invading your personal space in every way and he didn’t care.

“What do you prefer?”, you asked, all professional. You weren’t going to move away.

“I don’t mind, love,” he shrugged. “What do you prefer?”

“Sylvain, we are a team. You should give your opinion.” He remained silent and you dared to turn your head away from the screen of your laptop. He was smiling, but his eyes were half-close, as if figuring out what you were thinking. “Sylvain?”

“Ah, yes.” He blinked. “We’re a team.” He stopped, savouring the word. “I’ll take the Crescent War Moon in that case.”

He then wrote a couple of lines on his notebook. You could see he was writing down a list of ideas on bullet points. You did the same on a sheet of paper you had on you. After a couple of seconds, he talked again.

“Thanks for taking into consideration my preferences,” he placed his arm around the back of your chair.

“Why wouldn’t I?”, you questioned seriously. You were at total lost with him, so you leant in closer. You couldn’t care less, you were just playing his game. He acknowledged it, because you could see him narrowing his eyes at your movement.

“Let’s say some people is not as nice.”

You didn’t answer. What could have you said? It was not what you were expecting him to reply.

Breaking the bubble that you both had formed around you, two girls appeared out of nowhere. They were the ones you had seen before when you entered the building. Instinctively, you distanced yourself from the redhead.

“Sylvain?”, one of them started. They both were wearing fake grins.

“Do I know you?”, Sylvain asked, showing a bit of discomfort.

“Of course? We had a date in summer!”, the girl continued. She hadn’t taken the hint. “So, my friend and I were wondering if you wanted to hang out tonight, go to a bar, then you could come to our apartment, you know…”

You opened your eyes in surprise at the girl’s forwardness. And judging by Sylvain’s astonishment, he wasn’t expecting either such a direct and shameless offer. Did Sylvain have to deal with that too often? It made you feel uneasy. Of course, Ingrid would say he’d deserve it, because he had cultivated his reputation himself, but every part was so wrong. The way they talked to him as if he was a piece of meat, they way they looked at him.

“I’m afraid I must decline your offer, darling,” he talked in his most conciliatory voice.

“What? Really?”, said the other friend, huffing. “You said he’d agree.”

“Well, I’m working on a project with my friend, so… I’m quite busy.”

“I can’t believe you are rejecting us, Sylvain,” she made a disgusted face. “Anyways, your choice. Enjoy your new girlfriend, but I guess it will last like one week before you can find someone better.” Then, they turned around, looking behind a few times and gossiping.

“What the hell?”, you wondered, bewildered.

“Just my routine”, he sighed.

“We can continue another day, Sylvain”, you tested the waters. You sensed something was wrong and that he wanted to go home, and you had the feeling that he wouldn’t admit it by himself. “It’s getting late anyways.”

“Oh, yeah. You’re right. Let’s go” He put the piece of paper inside one of the pages of a volume he was going to take. “We can meet other day to put everything together.”

“Of course.” You started putting away your things back in your bag. Sylvain was no longer smiling.

“Can you pass me that book?”, he pointed at the red one you had on your side.

You took it and offered it to him. He extended his hand, and when he placed his fingers around it, they brushed yours. Your heart started to beat fast.

Yet before you could make sense of the occurrence, a stabbing pain stroke you. It felt like a spear had pierced through you, right below your chest. It was so real, so shocking, tears started to form on your eyes. You felt blood coming out, but when you looked for it, there was nothing there. The pain was beginning to expand, a wildfire burning your torso.

You put your palm where you felt the pain, unable to breathe. Suddenly, Sylvain realised something was wrong. You were opening your mouth to take in oxygen, but it was in vain.

“What’s happening?”, he could be shouting your name, but you couldn’t listen because the only thing you heard was a rush on your ears.

He grabbed your arm, but it only made it worse. It made all those strange phenomena more sharp and real. You whispered a faint ‘let me go’, and Sylvain moved away immediately. His steps were so fast he hit the chair and it fell down.

All of a sudden, when his skin wasn’t in contact with yours, everything subsided.

“Are you okay?”, Sylvain asked, alarmed. You hadn’t seen him that serious in all your life.

“Yes. I…”, you didn’t finish the sentence. Instead you recovered your breath slowly.

“Stop making so much noise! And don’t break the furniture!”, a kid appeared from behind one of the bookcases. His hair was dark brown, and he wielded a broom that he used to threaten. You felt a little embarrassed, so you muttered an apology before grabbing your things and almost running to the exit. Sylvain followed you closely.

“Are you okay?”, Sylvain repeated once you were on the street. As far as you could tell, he was concerned, but more than worry, his eyes displayed suspicion and curiosity.

“Yes. It’s nothing, I just had a problem breathing… maybe it was the dust”, you brushed it off.

“It might have been an anxiety attack. Some people have a lot during their first year at university”, he noted. His smile came back, reassuring. It was incredible how his demeanour could change so quickly. “What a day, huh?”, he laughed. “We should meet again soon. I had fun despite everything.”

“Despite the awkwardness too?”, you replied, both playful and too exhausted from the experience to second-guess your interactions with him.

“What do you mean? That was the best part!”

“C’mon Sylvain!” You denied with your head.

“I don’t know, okay? It just felt nice. You make good company.” He was staring off inro space, and you hoped in the most obscure part of your heart that he was being honest.

“Oh, and you realize that now?”, you teased.

“Better late than never,” your classmate added.

“I suppose.”

Step by step you started walking in the same direction. You were in silence. Each of you had much to make sense of. You weren’t paying attention to the time, until you reached a familiar crossing.

“I’m going this way”, you said as you signalled your direction.

“I’m happy we got paired up in class,” he stated. He was just as handsome as when you met him, but he had a sadder air.

“Me too. See you later, Sylvain.”

“See you.” He stood there, watching you disappear into a corner. Then, he talked to himself. “What a day…”

#sylvain x reader #sylvain jose gautier x reader #sylvain jose gautier #fire emblem three houses fanfiction #Fire Emblem Three Houses #reader insert #sylvain x female reader #Female reader #college au

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worldwidemochiguy · 5 years

Text

the man in the moon (Yandere! Yoongi)

Summary: You can’t help but gaze at the stars and he can’t help but gaze back at you.

Word Count: 1.7K

Masterlist

Warnings: Yandere, Kidnapping, (kind of) Stockholm syndrome, Dissociation, bad writing.

Authors note: I got the idea and then made this and tbh it’s kind of shitty which makes me sad bc it could have been a cool concept but ah well lol.

The man in the moon is my man

He never say nothing so I know he understands

He’ll never break my heart

I know he’s here to stay

Tell all the other boys to go away

I’ll take the man in the moon

- Man in the Moon, by Voice of the Beehive

Yoongi had a fairly repetitive schedule. He would wake up and then… well. That was basically it. He preferred not to go outside, deeming the bouncing gait he had to adopt to travel around as ‘undignified’, even if there was no one else around to see it. He spent his days in his meticulously shuttered compound. Covering the windows was necessary, given that the moon was far slower at rotating than its orbital partner, Yoongi thought with contempt.

Rather than having a cycle of darkness and light over 24 hours, it took his planet almost a month to complete a ‘day’. Even Yoongi was incapable of sleeping when the sun’s full glare was seeping through the thick window panes, and after enduring a week and a half of the torture, he went around with a hammer, an armful of boards, and a budding vendetta against the sun.

Eons later, Yoongi’s skin was infinitely paler, his eyes were infinitely piercing, and his life was infinitely dull. Yoongi sometimes dabbled in casting his gaze onto the Earth, the ugly planet he was stuck forever facing towards. Normally, what he found was severely lacking. Stupidity, and greed, and petty squabbles seemed to be all the human race knew how to do. But, for lack of a better option, he kept on looking. And then he found you.

From the moment he saw you, he knew you were different. He almost thought you were a fallen star, stuck in a place you didn’t belong just like he was. You were clearly brighter than any other filthy human marring the Earth, and you only became increasingly so as you aged.

Yoongi’s eyes followed you everywhere, he saw when you learned how to ride a bike, when you got your high school diploma, when you got your first promotion. He resented every second of the hours you were woefully hidden from view. It was ridiculous; he could peer through hundreds of thousands of kilometres of space and locate you with ease, but as soon as you disappeared behind the curve of the Earth, you were out of sight?

Yoongi couldn’t bear it when he couldn’t see you, even if he knew you were going to bed in that time and therefore had less of a chance of getting hurt. He was very protective of you. How could he not be, he reasoned, when he had saw you grow up before his very eyes. Of course, he had previously watched billions of souls come into existence and age and wither and die, all without sparing a thought. But he could never let that happen to you. He could not let you be another distant creature, always in his sight but never in his reach.

It was difficult for Yoongi to watch you living your life without him. The first time you kissed another man, he felt an anger that had never before reared its head rip itself out of him. It raged along the shorelines of the Earth, coaxing in fearsome waves from the deep. It ripped along the streets, blowing with the force of a thousand gales. The moon almost tilted off its axis, turning its back on the Earth for far longer than it should have done.

Yoongi saw the devastation his rage resulted in. The loss of thousands of lives. The destruction of property built by the hands of men. He only felt a flicker of satisfaction. It didn’t matter, it wasn’t enough, he would never be able to harm those around you (those who wanted to hurt you) without also hurting you in the process. You were too far, the only way he could touch you was with a broad wave of violence. And that is how Yoongi came to his conclusion.

He could not harm those around you without harming you. You were stuck down there among danger. The solution was simple: he needed to draw you to his side.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“He’ll never break my heart, I know he’s here to stay,” You sang, or — more accurately — shouted, using your deodorant stick as a makeshift-microphone since your friend had already snatched the hair brush. “Tell all the other boys to go away!” You screamed the lyrics together, dancing around your cramped living room.

“Mina!” You called, pointing the stick at your friend, “Solo!”

She cackled and then sung along with the song blasting on the radio, laughing so hard she could barely get the lyrics out. When she pointed at you again to finish the song off, you did so with flair.

“I’ll take the man in the moon.” You crooned. You both paused dramatically as the bassline faded out, before collapsing into giggles on the carpeted floor. Mina had come over to try and cheer you up after your boyfriend had forgotten to show at your anniversary date, again, and she had obviously succeeded.

“Y’know,” you started, once the laughter had died down, and Mina hummed in acknowledgement. “My parents would always tell me about the man in the moon.”

“Tell you what?” Mina asked, rolling over onto her stomach and resting her chin on her forearms.

“Well… they would tell me stories about him.”

“Such as…?” Mina prompted, and then burst into giggles as you chucked a pillow at her for her impatience.

“Such as… that he existed. Like, he was sent there as a punishment.”

“Punishment? For what?”

“I don’t know,” you floundered, “For, like, being weird or something. Anyways, the point is-” you stressed, “I’ve always felt like there was someone watching me. From up there.”

Mina’s immaculately groomed eyebrows flicked up.

“So you seriously believe there’s a man on the moon?” You flushed and sat up, shrugging your shoulders slightly.

“I don’t know, it’s just… weird, I guess.”

“It’s not weird, you’re weird.”

Mina was expecting the pillow being swung at her face that time, and fought back valiantly with a throw cushion.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Your body cast a shadow along your moonlight-bathed room as you leaned your forehead against the window. Up there in the sky, the moon continued to shine as it always had done, your eternal silent companion. It was a full moon that night. You noticed that as you brushed a finger against the glass separating you and the night sky. It was difficult to believe the moon was so far away, it almost felt like, if you only opened your window and leaned out, you could cup it in your hands.

It was almost a compulsion that led you to lift the latch. Like the pull of the tide, you leaned away to twist the handle and then drew back to breathe in the night air. You couldn’t trust your eyes, as it almost looked like the moon had swollen, now bigger, brighter, closer. It became blurred, hidden as your breath formed translucent clouds which eddied on the cool night breeze, swirling faster and faster. You pitched your body further out of the window, taking one arm away from its steadying position on the windowsill to reach out. To brush the moon, as it started to take on an almost unnatural glow.

Like a moth to its burning cold flame, you were drawn in, your eyes wide, your face gleaming white as you approached the moon. A pair of eyes were stretching across space, fixed on you unerringly, coaxing you out. You felt a hand enclose around your outstretched palm. It tugged you forwards slightly, and you lost your balance, tipping into the open arms of the night.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Come on, sweetheart. Wake up. Can you wake up for me?” The kind, almost intimate words were uttered by a voice that sounded like it hadn’t been used for some time. The hoarse, gravelly tones echoed in your head as your eyelashes fluttered. Immediately, there was a cold hand cradling your head, and another beneath your back, helping you to a sitting position as you squinted, still unable to take in your surroundings.

Slowly, your vision cleared. A man was bent over you, his striking dark eyes swimming with concern. His skin was… so white it almost hurt your eyes to look at. The paleness seemed to have even leached the colour out of his hair, leaving him as an almost wraithlike figure.

“W-where am I?” You croaked, your own voice rough as if it had been a long time since it was last used. You glanced around the room, trying to find an indicator of the time, or of where you were. You could find none.

His lips quirked slightly, and he guided your body back down to the bed.

“You’re safe.” He told you. “That’s all that matters. Now sleep.” As he commanded it, your eyes shut and everything went dark again.

The man brought you strange things, food that was not food, gifts that felt almost unnatural — a doll that followed you around the room with its eyes, an hourglass that never ran out of sand. You couldn’t seem to break out of the limbo you sunk into when you fell out of your bedroom window and into this strange place. There were no windows, and when you asked the man — Yoongi, he told you to call him — what time it was, he simply smiled and told you he didn’t know either, and didn’t care to find out.

Sometimes you woke up and felt those eyes on you, and he would be watching you. He would always smooth your hair back — which was starting to grey, or was it just paling, like his? — and tell you not to worry. He never told you what he wanted from you, and after a time (you don’t know how long) you stopped caring. You passed through many rooms, all of them the same, all of them lacking windows, until you found an exit.

You went outside and saw Yoongi, standing sentinel on a rocky outcrop. You climbed over to join him, and turned your gaze to see what he was looking at. There stood the Earth, small and inconsequential from your standing. By now, you could hardly remember what it had been like to live there. Yoongi turned to look at your blank face, skin as pale and glowing as the moon, and he smiled. He was alone no longer.

#yandere bts #yandere fic #yandere bangtan #yandere yoongi #yandere suga #yandere yoongi x reader #yandere bts x reader #bts x reader #bts fanfic #bts fic #bts fanfiction #bts imagines #bts suga #bts yoongi #bts Yoongi x reader

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unusualbill · 4 years

Text

Nothing For Us

@goblincxnt it’s here 👀

Warnings: Compulsive behaviors, mentions of death

Last exit in Pennsylvania

The words repeated in Roman’s mind. The sign was a warning telling him this is your last chance, turn back now.

He glanced at Peter, who was busy timing for their exit. He caught the wolf’s eye, who in turn flashed him a warm smile.

How did he end up here? Driving down the interstate with the boy who broke his heart. Left for hours in an aching silence, save for the stereo.

He couldn’t bear to say a word, not yet, not until they were somewhere where they could truly be alone. As Roman traced mindless circles on the upholstery, Peter took one last look at him before making their exit, offering one final chance to leave and go back home. Roman attempted to speak, the words catching in his throat and leaving him breathless for a moment.

It was too late.

Gentle drops of rain began to fall as they made their way down the highway, picking up soon after Peter took one last exit through small town, West Virginia.

“You hungry?” The wolf asked, breaking the lasting silence.

Roman nearly didn’t recognize that he was being spoken to, lost in thought about the day’s beginning.

“Hmm? Yeah, I could eat.” He answered, his voice hoarse from lack of use.

Peter pulled into the parking lot of a local burger joint, smiling softly at his traveling companion. He clicked off the radio, leaving them in silence once more.

Roman braced himself for the frigid rain as he stepped out of the car. The cold air burned his lungs as he took a breath, stretching his legs. As he looked at Peter, his mind drifted back to the night before.

“We should go,” The wolf’s voice echoed the heartache of many moons ago “There’s nothing for us here”

“Go where?”

The wolf cracked a smile, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

“Wherever the wind takes us.”

“You coming inside?”

Roman snapped back to reality, standing in the freezing rain next to a littered french fry carton.

“Yeah,” He nodded “Yeah…”

He followed Peter into the restaurant, a silver bell on the door jingling behind them. He glanced around at the sea of shabby tables before finding a spot that was vaguely clean.

The restaurant appeared to have been nice looking once, 30 years ago, though it was styled after a 1950’s diner. Done up in over-the-top cherry red, and black and white checkerboards.

Roman mindlessly ripped apart a discarded straw wrapper as he watched Peter give their order, his leg bouncing. He thought about asking to turn around or hitchhiking back home, but Peter returned to the table with their food and a smile. Damn that smile. Roman decided he’d stay, for now.

“You alright man?” Peter asked, settling in at the seat across from Roman “You’ve been quiet the whole ride up here.”

“Yeah, just thinkin’.”

The upir picked at his fries, silently refusing to look at Peter.

“You didn’t have to come if you didn’t want to, you know.” Peter said, watching Roman closely “You could’ve stayed.”

Roman shook his head

“Nah...It’s just that—” he chewed his lip for a moment “I’ve never really been this far from home before, y’know?”

Before Peter could answer, he was interrupted by a stout redheaded waitress, —whose name tag read Louise— arriving at their table, coffee pot in hand

“Can I top y’all off?” She asked, gum popping and fake southern accent layering heavy over her New England own. “Fresh cuppa coffee?” Her cherry red press-on nails tapped against the stale coffee pot.

“Uh, water. Thanks.” Roman replied, gesturing to his half-empty glass.

“Cherry Coke.” Peter smiled, taking the last sip before passing his glass over, along with his half empty coffee mug.

Roman looked around the restaurant, watching the other patrons and reading the road sign decor before his eyes finally landed on the wall beside him, which was covered in grayscale photos of people looking both miserable and triumphant.

“That’s our hall of fame” Louise beamed “If you order the Appalachian Avalanche apple pie and eat the whole thing in under fifteen minutes, your meal’s free! Y’all wanna try it?”

Roman eyed Peter, and then their waitress, shaking his head. He wasn’t in the mood for something sweet.

“Nah, not this time.”

As their waitress left his gaze returned to the wall, gravitating towards a specific picture. It was Norman, in his younger years, looking as though he was about to lose his lunch. Roman wasn’t surprised by this, surely he had a life before Roman was born. It was the hand on his shoulder that caught his eye, the smiling face next to his sickly looking uncle.

It was J.R., he looked to be around Roman’s age, and was smiling brighter than in any picture Roman had seen of him before.

“Y’know, my cousin actually finished one of these things before,” Peter said, interrupting Roman’s train of thought.

“I was about seven or eight, and my cousin Tommy—Scrawny little guy, no meat on him at all—had gone with us to this little hole in the wall down south. And there was this huge burger, bigger than your head-” Peter paused to pantomime just how large the burger had been, taking some creative liberties, of course “And Tommy- Tommy always thought he was hot shit, so he orders this thing and they set a timer on the table. Twenty minutes.”

Roman watched as his companion told his story with great passion, laughing and smiling as he spoke. He found himself lost in that smile, the rest of the world tuning out.

“So now he’s one bite away and looking a bit green in the gills, one bite. He’s only got forty-five seconds left. So we’re all banging on the table and screaming ‘Come one Tommy! You got this! One more bite!’ and the rest of the joint joins in and he got it down with two seconds to spare! Two!”

Roman sipped his coffee “He get his picture on the wall?”

“The whole family did!” Peter beamed “There’s a hall of fame for people who can keep it down for at least thirty minutes afterwards. Tommy didn’t make it to that one…”

Roman snorted, popping a french fry into his mouth.

“It’s still hanging there, I’ll have to show you when we make it down that way.”

The last fleeting thought Roman had about turning around vanished with that proposition.

“I asked Nic if I would ever have to do that and he told me only if I was the kind of man who needed an ego stroke. He said ‘The bigger the ego, the smaller the courage.’”

Nicolae’s words of wisdom hung in the air before Peter started laughing upon realizing what his grandfather had meant.

“I’ve known some guys with some pretty small courage then” Roman quipped.

“Oh, like you don’t have the biggest ego.” Peter teased

Roman rolled his eyes.

“Let’s just get going, alright?”

Roman began to pull out his credit card when Peter grabbed his wrist. He tensed up at the feeling of the wolf’s calloused hand on his own.

“You said your mom was gonna try and find you right? She can track that.” Peter said, referencing a conversation they had the night prior.

“Sheeit,” Said Roman “You’re right.”

Roman counted the cash in his wallet, only a couple thousand.

“How far will this get us?” He whispered, flashing his cash.

“Further if you quit waving it around.”

He tucked it back into his wallet, scanning the restaurant to see if anyone had noticed. The patrons seemed to be unbothered by his wealth, caught up in their own conversations.

“We’ll talk about it later.”

Peter pulled out a wad of crumpled cash, counting out enough for their bill and leaving it on the table next to their trash.

As they pulled out of the parking lot, Peter reached into the ashtray and pulled out a quarter, handing it to Roman.

“What’s this for?” The upir asked

“Flip it. Heads Carolina, tails California.”

Roman raised a brow, unaware of what his friend was referencing.

“Just flip it so I can pick which direction I’m going.”

Roman ran his thumb across the embossed face of the coin before flicking it into the air. Heads.

“Alright, we’re headed south.”

As miles of open road stretched out before them, the radio began to fade. Pop songs turned to garbled static as the town grew smaller and smaller in the rearview mirror.

Peter fiddled with the knob, switching to the cassette tape that was inside the stereo. A song from the eighties began to play.

The car was somewhat of a family heirloom, passed around to whichever family member needed it at the moment. Most recently it had been Destiny’s. Peter had made arrangements to borrow it in case Roman had wanted to come with him.

Although its pale brown color and faux-wood paneling were enough to nauseate the average man, Peter had fond memories of him and his mother traveling across the states in the beat up old station wagon.

Roman stared out the window, watching as trees turned to blurs of green as they drove.

“Horses.” Peter pointed to a nearby field of horses and goats.

“What about them?”

“I dunno man, that’s just what you say when you pass horses. They’re pretty or some shit.”

“Oh…” Roman looked back at the horses in question. Peter was right, they were pretty.

Roman’s eyes threatened to close as he stared at the open road. The sun was beginning to set, and the upir had been awake since the previous night. He had intended to sleep that morning but his nerves had gotten the better of him.

“If you’re tired you can sleep in the backseat,” Peter offered “Just let me find somewhere to pull over first.”

Roman nodded, trying to stay awake. He couldn’t remember the last time he had fallen asleep on a car ride.

“There should be a blanket back there somewhere,” Peter said, slowing to a stop on the side of the road.

The backseat was cluttered with soda cans and other gas station garbage. Roman swept it onto the floorboards, stretching out on the velour seat covers.

The seats had gone years without a deep clean and thus were slightly crunchy to the touch.

Roman traced his finger along a small hole in the fabric, left there by a cigarette butt many years ago. The feeling of melted plastic was oddly calming to him.

The blanket was thin and rough, and the edges were frayed from years of use. It was once a gift, made with love, but had long since lost its luster. Roman thought it impossible to find a comfortable position with the scratchy mess.

He was asleep before Peter even hit the highway.

When Roman awoke it was dark. The rhythm of the windshield wipers brought him back to reality.

“What time is it?”

“About three o’clock”

“Sheeit.”

Roman sat up slowly, shaking the remaining sleep from his head. He rested his head against the window and watched the rain fall.

“I just realized there’s a few things I need to get, you wanna come in with me?” Peter asked, gesturing to the sign for a nearby supermarket.

“Yeah, sure. I need to get a pack of smokes while we’re at it.”

“What state are we in?” Roman asked as they pulled into the parking lot.

“West Virginia still, we’ve still got a while ahead of us.”

Roman checked his hair in the rearview mirror before stepping out of the car. He covered his head with his blazer and waited for Peter to join him in the freezing rain.

Peter locked the car doors and tucked the key into his pocket.

“After this, I figured we should get a motel, the storm is only going to get worse and I don’t think we should drive in that.”

Roman nodded and walked with Peter into the smalltown supermarket.

The air conditioning hit Roman’s wet skin and sent a shiver down his spine. The air smelled like stale bread and lemon cleaner. Roman found himself wondering where the employees were.

Peter grabbed a shopping cart and placed his wet jacket inside. After a moment, Roman did the same.

“So, what do we need?”

“Food, stuff we can eat in the car.”

“Beer?” Roman asked

“Nah, not here. Too expensive and we’ll need to get some new IDs.” Peter’s fake ID only said he was 18, since his mother was usually the one buying alcohol for him.

“Right.”

Peter pushed the cart towards the snack aisles, one wheel spinning loosely on its own accord.

The sound of wet footsteps on the linoleum floor felt like little knives inside Roman’s brain. The squelching was enough to make his eye twitch.

“You okay man?” Peter asked, looking up from the potato chip shelf.

“Yeah, yeah. Tired.” the upir lied. Truthfully he felt as though he could feel every sound in the universe through his teeth, the fluorescent lights assaulting his eyes.

Peter studied two bags of chips carefully before shrugging and throwing both in the cart.

Roman stared at the checkered floor tiles, making a conscious effort to only step on the white ones. He didn’t know why, all he knew was that the idea of stepping on a green tile filled him with a deep sense of dread.

“Playing hopscotch?” Peter asked, moving on to the aisle that contained beef jerky.

Roman shook his head.

“No, I just have a bad feeling about the green ones I guess.” He said, feeling rather silly for admitting it. But despite his rationality, he knew deep inside that the danger was all too real.

“Ah, Okay.” Peter looked across the aisles “The deli doesn’t have any green ones, wanna get us some sandwiches while I ask someone to get one of those coolers down for us?” He gestured to a row of coolers that sat atop the freezer aisle.

Roman nodded and began walking carefully in the direction of the deli.

“What kind do you want?”

“Nothing fancy, anything with meat so none of that veggie crap.”

Roman held his breath as he skipped over the green tiles until he arrived at the deli, its flooring a solid mustard yellow, it appeared to be either faded or incredibly dirty, Roman wondered if that was intentional.

He smiled at the middle-aged woman behind the counter. She did not smile back. She had a vacant stare and her nametag was falling off.

Brenda, Roman read.

He waved awkwardly before putting his hands in his pockets and looking over the prepackaged sandwiches instead.

Each sandwich was wrapped in white paper with a date stamped across it. Roman grabbed two at random, checking to make sure neither was vegetarian, before heading off to find Peter.

Peter was talking to a store manager and trying to fit the cooler into their cart.

Roman started towards him but stopped in his tracks as the mustard yellow tile ended, a sea of checkers before him. He didn’t want to draw attention to himself but he also didn’t feel safe stepping on the green tiles.

He took slow careful strides towards Peter, trying his hardest to nonchalantly avoid those evil squares.

Peter saw him and ended the conversation with the clerk, meeting Roman halfway.

“Hey, sorry I didn’t come find you. You okay?” Peter placed his hand on Roman’s shoulder.

“Yeah, it’s fine,” Roman looked at his shoes and the white tiles underneath them “The whole thing is pretty stupid anyway.”

He offered Peter the sandwich in his hands, Peter took it and inspected it before placing it in the cart next to a 12 pack of orange soda.

“No, it’s not. Not if it makes you feel safer.”

Roman opened his mouth to argue but couldn’t find the words. He was so used to his mother telling him that his actions were nonsensical and embarrassing that he had never thought that they could be anything else.

“C’mon, let’s go check out. We need to make it to the motel before this storm gets any worse.”

Peter stood near the open trunk of his station wagon, pouring the remainder of a bag of ice into their new cooler. Roman was sitting on the bars of the cart return smoking a cigarette. The rain had let up for a moment, the pavement still freshly wet under Peter’s feet.

Roman flicked his cigarette butt into a nearby puddle and grabbed a soda from where Peter was stocking the cooler.

“Man, c’mon! It’s not even cold yet.”

Roman shrugged and cracked it open, taking a sip. He eyed the orange label, wishing he had grabbed a Cherry Coke instead. By the third sip, it began to grow on him.

Peter finished stocking the cooler, setting it in the corner and closing the trunk.

Roman slid into the passenger’s seat, waiting for Peter to start the car. As he shut the door the rain began to fall once more, starting softly but quickly picking up.

“Shit,” Peter started the car, turning on the windshield wipers

“I saw a sign for a motel back that way” Roman gestured helpfully.

Peter nodded and put the car in gear.

Roman watched out the window as the city lights turned to watercolor blurs in front of his eyes. He’d never seen so much rain in one night.

Peter followed the main road until they arrived at a motel whose sign proudly boasted that they had color TV. He put the car in park, counting out enough money for two rooms. He instructed Roman to stay in the car and watch their stuff while he went to the front desk and got their keys.

Roman closed his eyes and listened to the sound of the rain against the windows. The steady rhythm of the windshield wipers and the low rumble of the engine was almost enough to put him to sleep again.

He had almost drifted off when Peter knocked on the window, gesturing for him to get out.

“They were down to one room,” He yelled over the heavy rain “You don’t mind sharing do you?”

Roman weighed his options: sleep in the same room as another man, or sleep in the parking lot of a seedy motel in the middle of a thunderstorm.

The upir answered with a shrug, grabbing his bag from the backseat and taking the key from Peter’s hand.

“Are you going to help carry stuff in?” the wolf asked.

Roman was already on his way to the motel room.

As Roman opened the door to room 227, he noticed a smell. A foul, sour smell. He turned away in disgust, gagging before he covered his nose with his shirt sleeve and trudged forward. He was almost afraid to touch anything in fear of locating the source of the stench.

As he set his bag down, he forced himself to take a breath, and in doing so he realized that he knew that smell.

It was the smell of death.

#bri babbles #nothing for us #hemlock grove #hemlock grove fanfiction #Romancek #roman godfrey #peter rumancek #this is my absolute favorite story to write and I'm so excited that it's finally here

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hvilested · 3 years

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Are You a Maladaptive Daydreamer? Here’s How to Quit

Tess in the City

Are you a maladaptive daydreamer? Keep reading. / Photo Credit: Jr Korpa

What Is Maladaptive Daydreaming?

Maladaptive daydreaming is a psychiatric response, often due to trauma. The trend seems to be that it’s a survival technique/coping mechanism that is essentially extreme escapism. Identified by Professor Eliezer Somer, maladaptive daydreaming creates a space where people can escape into their minds while sometimes simultaneously becoming trapped by the coping mechanism which has become maladaptive meaning “not providing adequate or appropriate adjustment to the environment or situation.”

Some of the signifiers that you might be a maladaptive daydreamer; you:

Daydream for many minutes or hours in a way that interrupts your everyday tasks and intrudes upon you actually living.

Find daydreaming a compulsive habit that’s automatic and addictive.

Make facial expressions, pace, mutter, whisper, voice imaginary conversations aloud, cry, or laugh reacting to what you’ve imagined.

Create storybook worlds where you’ve devised all the characters and play them out in your head.

Recycle characters from books, TV shows, or real people from your real life to populate your fantasies.

Are kept awake at night by your daydreams.

Note: Not all of these are necessary to be a maladaptive daydreamer. Frequently, maladaptive daydreamers have a combination of many of the above. What makes maladaptive daydreaming harmful is if it’s intruding upon your day-to-day life and if it’s addictive.

Professor Somer developed the Maladaptive Daydreaming Scale (MDS) which allows daydreamers to rate the severity of their symptoms and gauge the intensity of their daydreams, their ability to control their daydreaming as well as the compulsivity of it as a behavior, the amount of distress they feel by intrusive daydreaming, their perceived benefits of daydreaming, and how much daydreaming impacts their ability to carry out every day activities.

How Do You Interrupt or Quit Maladaptive Daydreaming?

Get to the roots. Treat the trauma. Photo Credit: Jr Korpa

Start Treating the Underlying Trauma

This might not be the quickest method to stop maladaptive daydreaming, but it might be the most effective longterm method. If unhappy daydreamers are more content in their fantasy realms than their everyday life, then it’s important to reflect on why that is. Since maladaptive daydreaming does seem to be linked to trauma in many cases, it makes sense to get to the root of its origins, and treat the trauma. Maladaptive daydreamers can turn to therapy, trauma release exercises you can find on YouTube (the best trauma experts of our time know that trauma needs to be released from the physical body, and it’s best to do this in conjunction with talk therapy and other methods), EMDR, trauma release yoga, other somatic exercises, medication as needed, dance, laughter, community, cognitive behavior therapy, dialectical behavior therapy, healthy dietary changes, abstinence from alcohol and drugs, positive affirmations, positive psychology, spiritualism, and joyous and healthy behaviors. Many trauma survivors who learn to live beyond what’s happened to them use multiple techniques to re-align with their wellbeing.

Identify and Reduce Triggers

It’s important to identify your triggers. When do you start maladaptive daydreaming? Is there a specific time period you usually do it? Do specific tasks like brushing your teeth, listening to music, or taking walks seem to initiate daydreams? Do you find the daydreams are more encompassing when you’re isolated, scared, sad, tired, happy, hungry, energetic? Limit any triggers, and if you do have specific triggers that are unavoidable, use some of the techniques below to interrupt the flow into daydreaming. Remember: just because something has historically triggered you doesn’t mean it has to forever.

Have Direct Open Dialogues with Yourself

Instead of talking to an imagined person in your head, be direct with yourself. You can do this aloud, or in your head, or on paper. Recently as I started getting into a loop, I paused and asked aloud “Do you want to live in your head or in the present?” and then I laughed. I closed the drawer I had left open from some other task, stood up, and returned to this article. Remember to be kind to yourself. Be silly as you correct course. It doesn’t have to be the end of the world that this is one of your challenges. We all develop tools and techniques that allow us to survive, and if they become maladaptive, hopefully, we replace them with healthier coping mechanisms. The fact that you’re reading this article means you’re on course to do just that!

Just because something has historically triggered you doesn’t mean it has to forever. / Photo Credit: Jr Korpa

Switch Gears Into Analytic Action

If you can successfully switch gears into an analytic action, then you may be able to keep yourself there or at least cut the daydreaming short for awhile. According to National Geographic, daydreaming requires the empathetic part of your brain, and engaging with that part of your brain actually disconnects you from the analytical part of your brain (which helps you make reasoned decisions and focus on cognitive tasks, like getting work done). When executive functioning turns on, your empathetic part of your brain turns off and vice versa, so if you can interrupt the empathetic part even by convincing yourself to do five minutes of some task your procrastinating on, that may be enough to lodge you into that task for longer.

Count in a Foreign Language or Recite a poem

Some tasks are so repetitive that they become easy daydreaming vehicles, like teeth brushing. I don’t know if counting in another language works because it interrupts the empathetic part of the brain but when I deviate a daydream while I’m brushing my teeth into specific, focused language then I short circuit the daydream. It might have to do with it also not being possible to maintain two thoughts at once. Maybe this is also why the narrating aloud technique below also works well.

Remember to be kind to yourself. Be silly as you correct course. Photo Credit: Jr Korpa

Narrate Your Actions

One of my techniques to disarming the maladaptive daydream reflex is when I feel myself drifting into another daydream, I start narrating aloud what I’m doing (first person narrative). If I’m putting things away, and I begin experiencing another place, then I might say “I’m picking up this stool. I’m moving this stool across the room. I’m folding this shirt. I’m picking up these socks.” I usually don’t have to do it for too many sentences before I begin to get more grounded in the room I’m actually in. I think it’s also important to bring yourself back to the “I.”

Track Your Time

This may sound extreme, but it works extremely well for me when I remember to do it. Tracking tasks as I’m doing them by the minute grounds me in the present. If I write 8:04AM and that I’ve begun writing next to it, and I begin writing, I might feel myself drifting off if I start playing a song or receive a text that makes me think about something else, but because I’ve already conscientiously thought about time, I’m more likely to return to my time tracking list to keep pursuing my day. So, I will try to do this as specifically as possible while writing minute details to remind myself: oh, this little task I’m doing isn’t actually what I want to be doing, or if I get lost in tasks for too long, time tracking also helps me curb that.

Example:

6:30–6:59: Woke. Brushed teeth. Read some poetry

6:59–7:27: Edited

7:27–7:39: Showered, dressed

7:39–8:44: Journaled, walked for 18 minutes with Nisaa’s book, started eating breakfast

8:44–8:52: Organized files

8:52: Coffee time!

9:00–9:20: Habit Spreadsheet

9:36–944: Ordered Paper and ink for printer :)

9:44-10:32: Work

10:32–11:15: Read

11:15–11:49: Scheduled upcoming events

11:49–1:09: Worked on literary magazine

1:09–1:28: Reviewed goals

1:29: Read

2:00–2:47: Catch up call with a friend

2:47–3:34: Updated some files

3:40–4:12: Organized papers

4:12 — 6:OO: Work

6:00— 6:40ish: Call

6:40ish-7:09: Showered

7:08–7:29: Work

7:29–8:31: Relaxation; read, listened to music.

It may seem an unreasonable way to spend your day writing tasks while you do them but so is imagining yourself in places you’re not and imagining yourself with people you’re not with. I would rather ground myself by taking some extra time to actively stay in tune with how I spend my time than not complete the tasks I really want to get that are important for my work, my writing, my existence! Some other things you might think about if you try this one: write your daily goals at the top of the page that you’re keeping track of your time on (I recommend three big daily goals like Michael Hyatt suggests). That way you’ll remember where it is you want your day to go. I don’t time track every day (I should), but I do find that even doing it for half the day helps me stay on track.

Talk to Your Doctor

Jayne Bigelson and Tina Kelley wrote an extensive piece for the Atlantic “When Daydreaming Replaces Real Life.” Within that piece, they detailed that one of the most effective medicinal treatments for maladaptive daydreaming is an OCD medication/antidepressant called Fluvoxamine. I’m not a doctor, and my first suggestion isn’t typically medication (here it’s the last), but if you’ve tried all other methods, this might be a fair road to take.

We all deserve to be present in our own lives. Photo Credit: Jr Korpa

Conclusion

Maladaptive daydreaming may feel an embarrassing thing to admit you do. I felt a little embarrassed writing this initially, but then I thought about the consequences of hiding. If what helps me can help others, how can I morally be silent? There’s no shame in identifying the methods by which you survived. Learning to be grateful and accepting of what helped you get to where you are creates more ease as you navigate your way out of these mechanisms into healthier states of being.

We live in a traumatized world, and as my therapist once said: “It’s normal to react abnormally to abnormal circumstances.”

That doesn’t mean you have to stay on that course. You can start where you are and learn a new of way of living. And, I will continue writing articles that support your wellbeing. Follow me here on Medium to stay updated on future posts around trauma, wellbeing, and writing. And please, take care of yourself.

#addiction #maladaptive daydreaming #md #mental health #trauma #ocd #intrusive thoughts #depression #stress #anxiety #imagination #be present

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safaiagem · 4 years

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2020 Year End Fic Review

Thanks for the tag @obsessivewriter let’s get into this thing.

How many stories did you complete?

I finished 16 stories during the year of 2020 though one was a WIP was already a significant amount of the way into and another finished out the year ~2 chapters away from completing.

What is your total word count for the year?

I wrote 446,120 words in 2020.

What fandoms did you write in this year?

Game of Thrones, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy, Rogue One, The Witcher, The Old Guard, Teen Wolf, and Inception. I was an equal opportunity writer this year.

Did you write more, less, or roughly around what you expected you would?

Probably more just because this was one of the first years where I was writing almost every single day.

What’s your own favorite story of the year?

That Which Is Lost By Not Trying is pretty special because I’ve been sitting on that idea for literal years. It’s follow up Hidden in the Shadows was a ton of fun to write. She Who Pays The Piper Calls The Tune had some of my biggest 24 hour responses to a fic ever which really meant a lot.

Did you take any writing risks this year?

Yeah, I wrote for two dead fandoms more or less with Rebirth Is Born of Neither Flesh nor Blood in the Teen Wolf fandom and Why All Those in Charge Are Not Trusted to Drive a Car in the Inception fandom.

Do you have any fanfiction goals for 2021?

Absolutely finish Think Upon Revenge and possibly flip a double middle finger to all of Games of Thrones depending on how the next couple of weeks go. Then I have some more Star Wars fics planned, possibly some more Witcher stuff, and at least two one-shots for The Old Guard.

What is your most under-appreciated story?

Rebirth Is Born of Neither Flesh nor Blood. I’ve always been proud of that series and not only am I extremely happy with how the final story panned out I’m very proud of my ending.

Biggest fanfiction related disappointment of 2020?

The Game of Thrones fandom. I have ranted about this plenty of times but I have never gotten more snarky and mean comments in my life than I have from the Game of Thrones fandom to the point that I’m struggling with the last two chapters of Think Upon Revenge. I just can’t believe the level of entitlement. If you had asked me a year ago I would be praising the Game of Thrones fandom because I had nothing but good experiences while writing a majority of Revenge is a Wild Justice so for there to be such an extreme turn around in less than a year just depresses me. I know your books are taking forever and the show ended on a bad note but why take it out on people providing you free content you are under no obligation to read or continue to read?

Biggest fanfiction related surprise of 2020?

Just how much I managed to get done is a big one but how beautifully The Sweet Compulsion of Music series was embraced by people. I really went into that only meaning to write a one-shot and the response from everyone was just amazing. That series wouldn’t have come to be without such a strong response from people and I hadn’t ever experienced something like that before.

Angela tagged everyone I would tag so consider yourself tagged if you want to fill this out.

#my writing #safaia's fics #2020 year end fic review #ask meme

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lovemesomesurveys · 4 years

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800 questions part 16

***Turns out it’s more like 792 questions since there’s 8 blanks, but whatever.***

751) What compulsions do you have? I don’t have anything that are “repetitive behaviors or mental acts that a person feels driven to perform in response to an obsession. The behaviors are aimed at preventing or reducing distress or a feared situation.” This can be very debilitating for some people, so it’s not a word to use lightly.

752) What makes you angry? I don’t get angry easily, it takes something serious to do that.

753) If you could see any band, which would you like to see? I’m sad I never got to see Linkin Park with Chester.

754) Who would you say are more attractive, English or Europeans? Uh, aren’t English and Europeans the same? Correct me if I’m wrong. I think you may have meant Americans or Europeans, but regardless of what you meant to say I don’t think one nationality is more attractive than another. I can find someone attractive of any nationality, race, etc.

755) What would you say is your favourite album of all time? Hybrid Theory will always be one of my favorites.

756) Do you dislike hairy people? No, I don’t dislike people just because they have a lot of hair. Jeez.

757) Are you much of an adventurer? No.

758) Do you like your own name? Sure.

759) Would you ever sign a Prenuptial agreement? I don’t even plan on getting married.

760) How long has your longest ever phone call been? I used to talk on the phone for hours in middle school and some of freshman and sophomore year. Ha, and to think I haaaate talking on the phone now and have for such a long time that I forget there was a time before when I actually liked to.

761) Have you ever stolen anything? When I was a kid I thought the candy in the big candy bins at the grocery store were free to take. Whoops.

762) Could you ever have an affair with a married person? No. I do not want to be with someone who is in a relationship at all. I’ve heard people say, “it’s not like they’re married” as though it makes it okay and no.

763) Could you ever split up a couple for one reason or another? I wouldn’t want to split up a couple.

764) What is your family Christmas like? Christmas Eve we have a nice dinner and watch Christmas movies together and then early Christmas morning we open our presents and stockings.

765) Do you prefer sporty or academic members of the opposite sex? Who I like and would want to pursue something with would go further than stuff like that. I want to get to know them for who they are as a person.

766) How much would it cost to buy your love? Can’t buy me love. Yes, cue The Beatles song.

767) Who was your least favourite teacher at school and why? I had two really awful math professors in community college. They were incredibly rude and didn’t teach well at all.

768) If you met a Genie who offered you three wishes, what would you wish for? (more wishes does not count) End to the pandemic, my health was better, and my family had their debts paid off.

769) What’s your current Mobile phone model and do you like it? I have an iPhone XR. I was fine with it until it started acting up. The new one just came out that’s why, but I can’t afford to upgrade right now.

770) The very last half of the survey and they skipped out on 8 questions. Lameee. It’s more like the 792 question survey. 771) 772) 773) 774) 775) 776) 777)

778) Have you already thought about your babies names? I don’t want to have children.

779) Have you ever been fishing? Only once. I didn’t like it <<< Same, actually.

780) Have you ever had your national flag painted on your face? I don’t think so.

781) Do you have any strange body things? What would be a “strange body thing”? My body is weird, though, both externally and internally.

782) What was the last social faux pas you made? I don’t recall. So, I looked up some common social faux pas cause I couldn’t think of one at the top of my head and one that I do is I tend to try to finish people’s sentences. They’ll tell me a story and I’ll sometimes say what I think they’re going to say. I know it’s annoying so I try not to, but I think my brain is always trying to stay ahead or go too fast, hence why I myself jumble over my words and leave out words when I write/type. It’s especially annoying when I’m wrong with my guess lol they’re like, “well, if you would just let me finish the story...” Whoops. :X

783) What makes you nostalgic? I’m a very nostalgic person so sometimes I’m just feeling extra nostalgic and anything can do it, but ya know typically stuff like movies, TV shows, music, photos, old videos, smells. Anything that just makes me think of old memories. Last night while I was trying to fall asleep I put on an episode of Winnie the Pooh on Disney+ and awwww it just brought me back to childhood right away. I love Winnie the Pooh, he’s so adorable. <3 Another recent example is I watched a few episodes of Goosebumps on Netflix. 784) What’s the scariest thing you've ever done? Taking a gondola ride over 9,000 feet was pretty terrifying. The views were spectacular, though.

785) What fairy tale character would you most associate with? Alice from Alice in Wonderland. She was lost and confused and honestly same.

786) How much do you tend to swear in public? I tend to just swear to myself under my breath most of the time.

787) What are your strengths? Uhhhh.

788) What are your weaknesses? I’m pessimistic, negative, self-deprecating, stubborn, a worrier, unmotivated...

789) What brand are your trainers? Most of my shoes are Adidas.

790) If you ruled your own country, who would you get to write your national anthem? I don’t want to rule my own country.

791) Who is the most intelligent person you know? My brother.

791) What’s the craziest thing you've ever done for someone? Hmm.

792) How did you get your name? My dad had recently heard the name on a TV show he watched and liked how it sounded, so he suggested it to my mom. When I was born my mom said she looked at me and said, “yep, she’s a Stephanie *insert middle name here*. My first and middle name just came together in that moment.

793) What’s the best piece of advice anyone has ever given you? I’m always told not to worry about stuff before I even know anything about what I’m worrying about or the outcome of it, how worrying doesn’t help anything, but I’m the worst about that. My mind wants to start worrying and freaking out right away and assuming the worst. :/

794) If you had to describe yourself as a flavour, what would it be? Salty and bitter? lol. The saltiness is from all my tears, ha.

795) If you had to describe yourself as a car, what would it be? Old and broken down.

796) If you had to describe yourself as an animal, what would it be? A sloth.

797) Do you think laughing at someone else’s misfortune is wrong? Uh, yes?? That’s a real shitty thing to do. Hope you don’t find yourself in that same situation one day.

798) If a loved one was to serenade you, what song would you most like them to sing? I don’t know.

799) Would you ever let your parents pick out a partner for you? No. That’s definitely something I want to choose myself.

800) Have you ever tried spam? (the meat product) Ew, yes. It’s gross.

#personal #text #survey #surveys #800 questions #751-800

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xxwritemeastoryxx · 5 years

Text

I’ve Got a Plan

Author: xxwritemeastoryxx

Pairings: Elijah Mikaelson x Reader, Damon Salvatore x Reader (frenemy)

Requested by: Anon- Okay I don't know if you're taking requests but I've been listening to Billie Eilish's Bad Guy on repeat all day and I cant stop seeing a whole scenario. Reader is trying to get Elijah to see shes into him but he's either oblivious or unwilling so she goes and parties/dances (suggestively?) with Damon and then jealousy kicks in. The thirst is real and I love protective/jealous Elijah.

Word Count: 5.5K

Warnings: Drinking (Alcohol and a bit of blood), jealousy, possessiveness, thoughts of killing a character, you know the usual XD

Author’s Note: Y’all, this got away from me. I wasn’t expecting to write this much for this one, but it happened. I blame all the ideas that clouded my head once I read the request. I do hope this is what you had in mind Nonnie. Enjoy.

(Gif Credit goes to rightful owner!)

For a vampire that has been alive for almost 900 years, you knew that most of the emotions that you felt would just be a fleeting moment. Many of which you couldn’t care less about. Love was the only emotion that you tried to not feel. You knew the emotions and the memories that came with it could have long lasting affect if things ever went badly. Especially when life seemed infinite as a vampire.

It was probably why you had found it easier to keep a hold onto the darker things in life. You thrived as a vampire compared to the helpless human you had been before your death. This new life had changed your perspective on so many things. You made it so that those that knew your name would tremble in fear. You took what you wanted and survived through the centuries doing just that.

That was until you met a certain Original. For one that was used to causing chaos and destruction in your wake, he made you feel different. The feelings you had told yourself that you would never feel, they dug their way in and it scared you to no end. But you let them in hoping that it wasn’t just you feeling that way.

No matter what feelings had taken hold within your heart, they no longer mattered in this moment to you. You wanted nothing more than to forget the emotions that went with the name. To forget the memories that went with the face. Just for a few hours anyway. It wasn’t exactly like you can completely forget about the man you had known for more than half your existence.

But you were right there on the edge, about to say to hell with everything. That was obvious with the with the number of refills you had with in the last hour of the glass of whiskey sitting in front of you. It was a chance to drown your sorrows before taking your leave. Because if you didn’t leave, you knew you’d be prone to causing a bit of bloodshed without any care.

We can't.

Why are you fighting this?

You know why, Y/N. It never ends well and things are better left as they are.

The memory of the words that had been said hours ago played on an endless loop in your mind. If it was possible to hear a heart shatter, it happened in that moment when you stormed out of the Mansion and found yourself headed towards the Mystic Grill.

While you had hoped that it would be almost empty, that way you could ignore what little people were there and get lost in a bottle, it was the opposite. The place was packed with locals. But being the only bar in town, you stayed needing some form of alcohol in your system.

The music was loud and the bass could be felt from the moment you had entered the place. The areas that usually held the tables and chairs, along with the area that held the pool tables, had been converted into the dance floor. The booths left untouched to give space for those that wish to sit or eat. The Grill looked like a completely different place compared to what it looked like yesterday.

Where you currently sat at the bar, is where you had been for the last few hours. You hadn't minded just sitting there. No one dared to bother you, especially when it only took a bit of compulsion to get them to easily leave you alone.

You made the decision that tonight would be your last night in Mystic Falls. You felt as though you no longer had any real reason to stay. That your presence would just make things more complicated than it already had been. With the pain that was currently residing in your chest, you figured it would just be better to leave this place behind and move on to somewhere new.

"You look like someone just murdered your pet bunny in front of you." Damon's voice broke the thoughts that had been on a continuous loop in your head.

Your Y/E/C eyes looked towards him. His signature smirk was plastered on his face as he took a seat next to you. Unlike the rest of the people in this town, you were somewhat friends with Damon. You had been for decades.

"No, but you are very close." You said with a shrug before bringing the glass up to your lips and taking a drink. The alcohol burned your throat as it went down and you welcomed it. Anything to distract you from the hurt.

"Let me guess," He said as he signaled the bartender to bring himself and you a drink. "You're all mopey because one of your diabolical plans to take over the town fell through."

You were by no means one of Mystic Falls’ favorite visiting vampires, that had been obvious. You had killed your fair share of locals during your stay in town the last few months. You’ve been threatened and shot at, but for how old you were, you weren’t easily taken down. Every time they attacked you, you retaliated in some way, causing them to take a step back.

On a scale of Damon to Klaus in the not giving a damn scale of who you killed, you were right in between them. Okay, maybe closer to the Klaus end of the spectrum if you had to be honest. You could continue to go on as you had, but eventually there would be no one in the town left to do anything. Though once the Mikaelsons began to settle into the town, you were asked to reign in your usual antics by Elijah and Klaus. They didn't exactly want you to ruin the plans they had during their stay in this town.

"Ha!" You scoffed shaking your head. "Guess again." You wished it had been that some scheme of yours had fallen to pieces. Hell you wished it had been anything other than what the real reason was.

Before Damon could even joke around again, he watched as your shoulders slumped the moment the front doors opened. He watched as your eyes seemed to fill with tears before you looked away, hoping the tears wouldn’t escape. When his attention turned towards the door, he watched Elijah and Klaus walk in and make their way towards the opposite corner of the place.

"Ah, I get it now." He said before looking back over at you. "After all the flirting you had been doing the other night at the ball, things didn't go where you thought they would."

You suddenly found the bottom of your glass to be fascinating, not wanting to acknowledge that Damon could just as easily put things together. But then again, when hadn't he? He may have been more of a frenemy to you, but you both knew each other pretty well.

Where you had told him how he should move on from his obsession with Katherine, Damon had always given you advice as well. He just didn't know at the time that he was giving you advice about a certain Original vampire. At least it wasn't until the ball Esther had thrown that Damon had begun putting two and two together.

"He made it very clear that it would be a bad idea." You sighed softly. You hated even thinking about the conversation or how much it got to you. But the words had been said and there was nothing that could be done about them. "After all these years he's still more concerned about what happens to that brother of his than his own happiness.”

“His loss.” He shrugged his shoulders before picking up the glass in front of him and taking a drink.

While he would usually find the information you were giving him to take down the enemy, this was you he was currently talking to. Damon had very few friends and while the two of you would easily be on opposite sides when it came to the people in this town, you were a friend more or less. He wasn’t going to tell his group of friends that the way to get Elijah to do something was currently sitting next to him. You were his friend first before the others were.

“It's why I’m leaving town.” You brought your glass up to your lips to finish off the liquid before grabbing the fresh glass that had been placed in front of you. You down the liquid quickly before placing the glass back on the bar.

“You’re really going to leave town over him?” There was a bit of hurt in his voice that you had picked up on. “Why not stay for a friend?”

A chuckle passed your lips. “Oh Damon, we both know I have a short fuse. My current emotions are playing with that fuse. One wrong move to piss me off and-”

“We’d have a blood bath on our hands because of that lit fuse.” Damon said with a slight nod.

“Your friends wouldn’t like that very much.” You said with a shrug. “Then again this town could use a change.”

“Don’t even think about it.” A huff passed his lips as he looked over at you. "What made you reign in that lovely personality of yours that I enjoyed so much?"

"What made you reign in yours?" You asked as you gave him a knowing look.

_____

"Fraternizing with the enemy." Klaus said as he took a seat in the booth. "I must say she's got some guts."

Elijah really didn’t see the point in coming to the Mystic Grill when Klaus had asked him to accompany him. It wasn’t like they enjoyed coming to the place like the rest of the locals did. The awful music that played through the place was enough to make him wish he had stayed back and let Klaus go alone.

But Klaus had mentioned needing to keep an eye on a particular set of people. Elijah had summed it down to Klaus really only wanting to keep an eye on Caroline. Yet as he looked around, she and her friends were nowhere to be seen.

"They've been friends for decades Niklaus." Elijah said annoyed as he took his seat across from his brother. "Her loyalties have been established upon your decision to move in to the neighborhood."

Klaus laughed and shook his head as he looked towards his brother. "Are you sure those loyalties haven't changed after the lovers spat the two of you had a few hours ago?"

Elijah's stiffened in his spot before looking over towards his brother. While Elijah had believed that the conversation you two had was safe from prying ears, he didn't think his brother would have thought of trying to listen in on it. Yet Klaus was telling him he knew about it.

"That was a private conversation." He noted almost glaring at Klaus.

"Oh I wasn't listening in." Klaus said with a shrug. "It's just hard to ignore the fact Y/N looked rather upset leaving. In all the time we’ve known her, I’ve never seen her like that. Pissed off maybe." He shrugged as he looked over at you. “But never like this. I must say, it’s not a good look on her. ”

Elijah sighed as he shook his head. He hated the words that had left his mouth earlier. He wanted nothing more than to return the feelings that you were expressing to him, but he couldn't. He couldn't bring you into this life of his. He saw first hand what happened to the women that he loved. He refused to see the same thing happen to you.

So he pushed you away. He saw the hurt in your eyes the moment he had said the words. He watched as the light of hope your eyes held had dimmed. He hurt you in a way that he had told himself he never would.

His attention turned towards you and Damon. He could see the way your head was hanging as you looked at your drink, your finger lightly running along the rim of the glass. Even as you spoke to Damon there was a slight pout on your lips. He wanted nothing more than to get up from his seat and go over there to speak with you. To make sure that things between the two of you were okay. But he fought himself on leaving the very spot he sat in.

Klaus had been right though. The way you currently looked wasn’t something he was used to seeing on you. Your personality reminded him of a lot of Klaus from time to time. You were ready to take on the world if it meant you got what you wanted. The confidence you usually displayed was nowhere to be seen as you sat at the bar with Damon.

_______

Damon shook his head slightly as he looked over towards where Klaus and Elijah currently were. While it was only for a moment, he couldn't tell what it was that they were doing there. But if the party that was going around them was any indication, they might have been there to enjoy it as well.

It was when Damon’s attention turned back to you that an idea came to his mind. He just had to get you to agree to it without giving you details. "What if I told you there was a way to get him to change his mind about the whole thing?”

You rolled your eyes. "What are you going to do? Go over there and convince him to be with me, I highly doubt that would work."

A smirk grew on Damon's face as he stood from his seat. He held out his hand towards you. Your eyebrow rose as you looked at him do so. With the slight tilt of his head gesturing the dance floor you began shaking your head at him.

"No, not happening." You protested before reaching for your glass, disappointed to find it empty, again.

"Just trust me on this." The smirk had disappeared on his face, leaving a small smile. "I've got a plan."

You eyed him for a moment before finally nodding. While you had no idea what this plan of his was, there was a part of you that was all for it. It wasn't like anything could get any worse than they already were.

The moment you placed your hand in his, Damon pulled you up from your seat and lead you to the dance floor. As he did, you swore you could feel eyes on you the whole time. But you didn't want to look around to find the source. Not that you had to, you just knew that it was Elijah.

As you reached an open spot, Damon had began to dance to the music that had been playing through the speakers. You had stood there to yourself, not really sure if you were in the mood to dance.

"Come on, Y/N!" He said as he grabbed your other hand trying to get you to dance with him.

A laugh passed your lips as you shook your head. Giving in you began dancing with him. It didn't take long for you to enjoy yourself a bit. Your hips moved with the beat of the music. Damon spun you around for a second before bringing you back to him, your back against his front as the music changed.

With the song change the lights changed with it. What was once a slightly dimmed place, grew to almost darkness. The bar lights and strobe lights giving off some resemblance of light throughout the place. The place signalling that it was now free of anyone under the age of eighteen, causing to the party goers to erupt in cheers for a moment.

____

"You're staring." Klaus's voice carried to Elijah, who had been getting a kick out of watching his brother fight himself over wanting to go over to where you were.

Elijah would have argued that he wasn't staring, that he had simply been observing. Knowing his brother, he would have said it was pretty much the same thing. From the moment he had watched you take Damon's hand, he hadn't stopped watching. It was one thing for you to talk to his least favorite person at the moment, it was another for you to go and dance with him. The sight alone made his blood begin to boil.

"She is free to do as she wishes." Elijah said never taking his eyes off you. Though he meant the words, they really didn’t sound convincing to either of them.

"You know you could always go over there and get her attention." Klaus said with a smug look on his face. He may have not understood why the two of you had been fighting, but he knew Elijah cared for you. He had been close friends with you to see you cared for his brother as well. "Although she does seem pretty content right where she is at."

Klaus's words had caused Elijah's jaw to tick as his eyes never left the both of you. He had watched as a laugh passed your lips every now and then at something Damon said, the way you danced against Damon, as his hands moved up along your sides.

Elijah had never believed himself to be the jealous type. But there in that moment, as he sat there watching, he wanted nothing more than to rip Damon’s heart out just for touching you as he was. His eyes narrowed as he watched Damon whisper something in your ear before a smirk pulled at your lips and you nodded your head.

That smirk that played on your lips was one that he was all to familiar with. While he couldn’t see your eyes in that moment, he knew they held a devilish gleam that always came with that smirk. Anytime that smirk came into play, it wasn’t long after that you would find yourself at the head of some chaos being caused.

_____

Damon's plan had finally made sense to you. While you never voiced your realization, Damon saw when you put it all together. The grin that played on his lips was enough to make you laugh. But it made sense as to why he didn't tell you right off the back. You either would still be drinking the bar away, or someone might of overheard the conversation and the whole thing would have fallen apart.

The whole time you had been with in Elijah's eyesight. And while you would have normally threatened Damon for some his hand placements, or the occasional feel of his lips on your neck, you knew it was actually harmless. You and Damon had never crossed the line with each other and you doubt you ever would.

For the last few minutes Damon had been trying to convince you to share a drink with him. Not of the alcohol variety of drinks that currently sat behind the bar just a few feet away from you, but the drink that could easily be obtained by the surrounding bodies that were dancing close.

At first you had protested the idea. You had made a promise that you wouldn’t do anything to the locals. How Damon had even suggested it had made you curious at how he was suggesting knowing he would hear it from the others as well. But it was what Damon had just whispered into your ear that had your smirking and agreeing to the very idea.

“You’re the bad guy, remember. Plus if he is going to continue to just watch and not do anything, it’s not going to hurt to have a little fun on your last night in town.” His lips had been right there by your ear as he spoke, his hands sliding lower on your waist. “Plus, when is the next time we’ll get a chance to party together?”

The words were dangerous. You knew that the moment you heard them. But the way the words appealed to your darker side, it had you agreeing in an instant. For weeks you had held back. Tonight there was nothing stopping you from doing what you want if you were on your way out.

Damon had left your side for only a moment. He came back with a woman he had 'invited' to dance with the both of you. At first you had only danced with her, making her feel comfortable with dancing with someone she hardly knew. You and the stranger had danced the duration of the current song before Damon had pulled the both of you towards him.

A laugh passed both of your lips as he did. The woman had been trapped between the both of you. You watched as Damon had placed his hands on her face, compelling her. Her head tilted to the side slightly and you watched as Damon had bit into her.

Brushing her hair away from the other side of her neck, you felt your mouth water at the thought of the blood that lay just under the surface. Even the scent of blood that came from the wound Damon had created was enough to say to hell with everything. You could easily feel the veins move along the skin under your eyes.

You weren't sure if it was the continuous feeling of being watched or that you knew if you looked up from the crowd that surrounded you that you'd see Elijah in your line of sight, but that is exactly what you did. You could see the way his eyes narrowed as he watched you. From there you could see the way his fist was clenched and see the tick of his jaw while Klaus sat across from him with a smug look on his face as he turned to look towards his brother.

It was the first time you actually looked at Elijah longer than a second since he walked in the door. While earlier you hated the thought of him seeing you while you drowned in your self pity, now it was different. The darker side of you wanted to see the look on his face as you fed from the human in front of you. The darker part of you was practically screaming that his words wouldn’t have a hold on you if you didn’t care. That this was who you were and Elijah knew that. A smirk pulled at your lips, showing the tips of your fangs as you gave him a wink before leaning your head towards the woman's neck.

Your fangs barely reached her neck before you felt someone grab a hold of you and pinned you against the far back wall. You were away from the crowd of people and if anyone happened to look this way, it would look like you two were simply talking. Your smirk returned to your face as you looked up at Elijah. Damon’s plan worked. You thought as you looked up at him.

"Something the matter Elijah?" You asked knowing very well what was wrong.

"What do you think you are doing?" There was a mix of concern and anger mixed in his voice. He couldn’t believe that you would go and feed in a public place such as this. Especially when the town already had multiple reasons to kill you. One wrong move and that would be it.

"Enjoying myself." You shrugged your shoulders. It wasn't like you actually did anything. If he had waited any longer you would have. “Is that not what one does when coming to a party?”

"Are you not in the least bit worried that this could have been a ploy to get you killed?"

A laugh passed your lips. "Like little Elena Gilbert would put a local through what was about to happen just to kill me. I would have expected something if it had been someone they knew." A thought crossed your mind. "If you had actually paying attention while you were watching, Damon had compelled her and then drank from her first ensuring her blood was clean of any vervain."

The mere mention of Damon had Elijah narrowing his eyes at you again. You weren't stupid. You knew what buttons to press when the moment called for it. You also weren't oblivious. You knew from the moment you looked over at him before attempting to bite into the woman that Elijah had been jealous.

You've known Elijah for centuries. You probably knew him a whole lot better than his siblings did. The face he currently wore as he had you pressed against the wall had been jealousy. While Elijah didn't get jealous often, you knew what it looked like on him. And boy did you enjoy seeing it in the moment.

“That doesn’t mean he does not have some plan in place.” He needed to hear something. Anything that would confirm that Damon was against you. Anything that would give him the green light to rip Damon’s heart out without a second thought.

“No ulterior motive this time. Just to have some fun and live a little.” You shrugged slightly. “While I would have just been fine with drinking through the bar’s supply, Damon just happened to be there to encourage the fun.” You swore you heard a growl coming from him. It had been mixed in with the music that had been playing, but it wasn’t hard to miss with your hearing. “What’s wrong Elijah?” The smile on your face never leaving your face. “Hate that I’m enjoying myself Damon?”

“I’d prefer if you spent your time with someone else.” He said as he watched you. The smile on your face as you taunted him with the fact that you had just been spending time with Damon was driving him crazy. It was fueling the jealousy he had already been feeling. You weren’t exactly helping the situation. It was clear to him you knew exactly what you were doing.

“And who exactly should I be spending my time with?” Part of you said you should keep your mouth shut after the question passed your lips. But the other part of you was still upset about earlier that didn’t care if anything you say is hurtful. “The person I wanted to spend my time with tonight told me he thought it was a bad idea for us to be together. So why stick around for that?”

While it only lasted for a second, you had seen hurt flash in Elijah’s eyes. “He clearly wasn’t thinking you’d run into the arms of Damon Salvatore after telling you that.” This time a growl left your lips at his words.

“I didn’t run into his arms.” You said placing a hand on his chest to push him away, but he didn’t budge. “If you want to see running into someone’s arms, I can damn well show you what that looks like, Elijah.”

While you really had no idea who’s arms you’d actually run into as he had suggested, you wanted to get away from Elijah for a moment. To get a chance to clear your head. Because if you didn’t show him exactly what he accused you of doing, the alternative in your mind was ripping out a few hearts and sinking your fangs into a few necks as you left the place.

To say your fuse was lit was an understatement. It was lit and quickly eating away at what little reserve you had left. Elijah could see that in your eyes and hear it in your voice. Letting you step away from him now would be a bigger mess. Not that he wanted you to leave his sight any time soon.

Before you can even attempt to push him away again, his lips descended on yours. It actually shocked you at first, considering you were about to act on your words, or your thoughts for that matter, in some form or another. After the shock had worn off you began to kiss him back.

There was nothing gentle about the kiss between you two. The emotions you two had been feeling had been put into the kiss. Elijah’s jealousy was evident as he fought to be the one to control the kiss. While you were angry towards him and upset, you weren’t about to let him get the upper hand, even if the both of you were enjoying it.

It wasn’t until an unsettling thought crossed your mind that you pulled away from his lips. You looked up at him, wanting to make sure he was paying attention to the words that were about to come out of your mouth. "I swear if you end up saying that this was some kind of mistake later-"

You didn't get a chance to finish your sentence before Elijah’s lips were back on yours. You weren’t sure if he was only kissing you to stop the thoughts that filled your mind or that he just didn’t want to think about what would happen later. Though for now, it was enough to silence the thoughts of what the future might hold.

As your hands ran up his chest before one of them came to rest at the back of his neck, his hands had began to move down your sides. As his hands came to rest at the back of your thighs, he lifted you up slightly, allowing you to wrap your legs around his waist. The moment he had you where he wanted, his lips left yours.

“Mine.” He said into your ear before his lips began to travel down your neck.

A shiver went through your body at the words, causing a small smirk to form on your lips. It was only hours ago that you had begun to believe that you’d never hear those words come from him about you. It almost made you laugh that it had taken him being jealous to act on his feelings.

The sound of a throat clearing had been enough to pull the both of you out of your own little world. It was a reminder that you definitely weren’t alone. From your spot, you could easily see who had been interrupting you. You rolled your eyes before looking back at Elijah to see him look rather irritated at the interruption as well.

"If you are about to start removing each other's clothes, now would be the time to tell you that there are vampires here that can easily hear what's going on even if the humans can't." Klaus said as he leaned against a pillar.

"And while you two may not care about who may be able to see, I sure as hell don’t want to see it.” Damon said as he stood by Klaus.

A laugh passed your lips the same time a growl left Elijah's lips. While you had gotten a good laugh at it, Elijah obviously didn't like that Damon was close by. Not with his jealousy still in play.

One quick look at Damon and Elijah slowly released his hold on your legs and allowed you to plant your feet back on the ground. His hand reached for yours, immediately intertwining his finger with yours.

“We’ll be leaving right now.” Elijah said as he stepped away from you before gently pulling you away from the wall.

A smirk pulled at your lips. “Your place or mine?” That had caused Elijah to give you a smirk in return.

Damon groaned at the question seeing as you were currently staying in one of the extra rooms in the Salvatore home. While you had been spending a lot of time at the new Mansion the Mikaelsons had moved into, you hadn’t actually made the move into it.

“I’d rather not go home and hear whatever you two are in the middle of.” Damon noted with a roll of his eyes.

“Your place it is.” You said before Elijah could really react to Damon’s words. Elijah’s hold on your hand tightened for a moment before he began leading you past Damon and Klaus.

Damon raised his hands up the moment he watched Elijah glare and bare his teeth at him. You held back a laugh, not wanting to start anything between the two in that moment. There was definitely no way that Damon was going to get involved now. He had only done what he did to help you and that was as far as it’d ever go.

Klaus laughed and shook his head at the display. He had never seen Elijah become so possessive over someone before. It had been entertaining to say the least and it was something he definitely wasn’t going to let Elijah forget. Plus it would definitely come in handy later when he knew you’d be on his side and Elijah needed a bit of persuading.

You look over your shoulder as Elijah pulled you through the crowd of people. You could see the smirk on Damon’s face as he shook his head at you. Your own smirk pulled at your lips as you gave him a wink before Elijah pulled you out the door. It caused Klaus and Damon to shake their heads at the action.

I’ve Got A Plan: @mschellehitt @kpopgirlbtssvt @xanderling (If you would like to be moved to a permanent taglist let me know.)

Always & Forever Tag: @rissyrapp20 @taylordrunkonwhiskey @thewolf-and-thesheep @wayward-dan @neeadinghugs @fafulous @cassienoble2000 @kenmen02 @elizamonet @dora-the-grownup @itswingedprincess

Stag Tag: @elejah-wonderland @cheers-my-dears-16 @xxsoveriegnsarayaxx

The Originals Tag: @zillahvathek

As usual, bold tags mean that for one reason or another, I cannot tag you in this. If you would like to be added to, or taken off, the taglist please let me know.

#The Originals #The Vampire Diaries #Elijah Mikaelson #Reader insert #One Shot #Elijah Mikaelson x reader #Damon Salvatore #Klaus Mikaelson

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anotherworldash · 4 years

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1. Do you have a word-count goal for the upcoming year?

2. Will you participate in any fandom exchanges or fic challenges, etc? YES! I’m looking forward to write for KuraneoWeek2021 and Neon Nostrade Santa Event 2021. 3. Do you anticipate writing for a new fandom this year? Which one? Lookism! But I’ll see where the canon story goes. Also, Gossip Girl. 4. Do you think you’ll stop writing for a fandom this year? Which one?

So far I’ve only written for HxH and Lookism. So, no. 5. Which WIP is first on your list to complete this year? Will you post a snippet? Probably the Kuraneo Vampire AU(After Hours). “Is that your offering for the devil?” Zenji looks at the bouquet of flowers with disgust ,“Have you got no shame? Do you think this prison is an inn, young wrench?” 6. Which yet-to-be-started fic is first on your list? A Kuroneo Loli Story and Kuraneokuro threesome fic I write with @thelegitnumbkid 7. Will you change anything about the way you interact with other writers?

8. Is there a story idea in your mental vault that you’ve never been brave enough to try writing? Is this the year? Can you tell us about it? No. I am going anonymous here so I have no fear writing the most fucked up story including the one that included baby killing kink. 9. Short term goals… what do you hope to complete this week or in January? Several paragraphs of Kuraneo Vampire AU fic(After Hours) and Kuraneonkuro threesome fic 10. Will you keep a record of all the fics you write and/or post this year? No cause AO3 and ffnet automatically do it for me? 11. Would you like to try any new fanfic genres or tropes this year? Yes definitely, “Oh Crap, There Are Fanfics of Us!” , “Sex Compulsion” and “There is only one bed” are on my mind. 12. Will you change anything about the way you edit or rewrite this year?

Ahm yes writing in past tense is easier for me. I wish I had done that for Kuraneo Vampire AU.

13. Aside from fanfic, are there any other fan works you’d like to try creating? Fanart, or fanvids, gifsets, or podfic?

Fanart 14. Have you ever lost large chunks of your work in the past, due to not backing up your work? Will you change your methods this year? Yes, never write on social media. 15. Do you foresee any personal or professional obstacles this year, that would keep you from creating fanworks? Yeah, I’m kinda busy everyday and with the lockdown restriction removed, I’ll have less me time this year. 16. Do you have that one fanfic that you wrote a ton for, ages ago, but never posted? Will this be the year, come hell or high water, that it WILL get finished and posted? The ones I write with @unuxunu , kuraneonkuro school AU, kuraneonkuro telenovela AU 17. Do you typically answer all comments/reviews individually? Do you plan to change the way you interact with your readers this year? | Yes and no 18. Do you typically post multi-chapters as you write, or finish it all and then start posting? Would you like to change your posting method? Multi-chapters. No 19. Would you consider non-fandom writing events, like NaNoWriMo or writing contests? No 20. Any plans to work on original fiction this year? Yeah I wanna continue working on my local horror fiction, it’s not posted on this account tho. 21. Will you try writing software, like Scrivener or those programs that won’t let you stop writing? No 22. Do you plan to take writing classes this year? No, but I don’t see why not? 23. Would you like to go on a writing retreat? No, I think the time I have now is sufficient. 24. By the end of this year, you want your fandom to think of you as “that author who _______.” Write Kuraneo and Kuroneo religiously 😈😈😈 25. If you answered questions from this list last year, find your answers and compare your goals to your results. How’d you do? I will see this at the end of 2021

#2021 plan #writing

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bibliocratic · 5 years

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a prompt fill for @agnesmontague, which in honesty barely fills the requirements asked for. (it has snow in it?! :D)

(post-160, mind the tags, jonmartin)

The temperature has plummeted like a stone poorly struck off water. The vaulted ceiling of empty un-garnished sky is grey, and Jon wonders if it might snow.

He limps further on his misdrawn trajectory, reeling and floundering with exhaustion. He feels beached and empty, and he counts his out-breathes like milestones, and around him the waves offer the expansive greeting of nothing but more steps, more sea.

He shouts again, Martin. Over and over, the sound dribbling out over his lips with the seasoning of blood he's coated in. Martin, Martin. The shush of water riding up shoreline steals the sounds of his exclamations, retreats jealously. The fog crushes with all the density of a forest grown wild.

He's not even sure he's speaking aloud at all.

Martin, the shape of his mouth forms. Martin.

He's dripping blood like some charnel visitation on this cold-wrecked shore. Most of it isn't his. Jon felt the acrid, panting excitement of the Hunt as teeth vied to split his voice from his throat, but he tore all they were from them first. The weight of their knowledge sits like a heavy meal in his stomach, the bloom and burst of blood gouts decorating his shirt and trousers.

The damage was done though. Martin out of his eye-line for a handful of scant moments, already felled by a thumping claw that raked across his chest. Jon couldn't see him, Jon couldn't protect him, and that was all the Lonely needed to approach and embrace its most favoured and rebellious child.

Show him to me! The words escape the snarled wool of his thoughts to be enacted on his tongue. He feels the effort of Compulsion leaching the spotted and dessicated fumes of his strength so already over-stretched. The words floor him like heartache, cut the strings of his limbs so he slumps graceless onto the damp and sucking sand of this impervious and undemanding beach, his agonised cry stolen before it can trail from his lips.

He raises his head, (Martin, Martin) and it is such a weight.

There's something ahead. Collapsed, gloved in the thickest part of the fog, a great structure committed to ruin. Jon's fingers drag grooves into the silt that the sea will thoughtlessly paint over as he hobbles closer.

He can sense the blanketing numb totality of the Lonely, and it will not take Martin, it will not.

“Martin,” he gasps, “Thank god, Martin, Martin....” The sounds run together into senselessness.

It is hard, to push Martin over onto his back. His limbs leaden, unwieldy, the sand coating his jacket and trousers like he's being made into the foundations of this nowhere place. Jon's arms are spindly, and he swears and rages aloud in a desperate frustration, come on come on, as he fails in his quest, the first, the second time.

There's more blood than he was expecting, and Jon's insides cauterize into a terror.

He tries to rouse him without success. He tears off his own scarf to compact against the slashing wounds of the Hunt's talons, directly across his chest like a sickening bandoleer. Martin's eyes are open, their colour dissipated to merge with the surroundings, brown lost to the grey of fallout ash.

Jon doesn't have the energy to spare.

“Look at me Martin, please,” he says anyway. He feels things inside him wrench, stutter.

“J'n?” Martin mumbles, and he almost sobs, to hear the reedy cold-shocked presence of it. “Is that... are you...?”

Time plays a cruel and teasing liar in this place. For Jon, it might have been close to an hour, searching the shores of this place. For Martin...

“I'm here,” Jon babbles, nauseous with relief. “I'm here, god, I came as soon as I could.”

Martin is blinking away the sediment build-up of unshed tears and they roll down his face, shrivelling in the strict grip of the cold.

“I thought,” he says thinly, “I thought I was going to die alone.”

“You aren't going to die,” Jon bites out, and it only has the ghost of a furious intensity but the sentiment soaks in it. He feels the Loneliness recede, with a slowness that's impartially mocking. “You aren't going to die. I won't let you.”

The colour-stripped beach gives away to more familiar territory, the landscape they were traversing before the Hunt sprung their trap. There's a pathway, lined solemnly with bowing trees, opposed by a dry-stone wall, and the mud compacted by the cold. And it is cold Jon is realising. The bitter nails of it scratching the exposed flesh of his face.

Lazy shapes twist and bob on the air before his eyes.

“Martin,” he says, shaking him. “Martin, hey, look. Snow. It's snowing.”

I don't think I've seen snow, for, well, for years now, Martin had told him as they tramped further south, and they felt the terminal worsening of the weather in the scrubby harsh vegetation, the short weak-willed promise of daylight lessening daily. Don't get it much, do you, in London. Either it's, you know, too cold, or it just falls as rain. Or that slushy stuff.

We better hope it doesn't, Jon had replied, don't know what form it will take. And it'll make travelling harder.

Martin had nodded, and hummed, but had looked off wistful, with a long gaze like staring off a pier to the snow-capped mountains to the west.

Why do you want it to snow so much anyway? Jon had asked curiously, and Martin almost buried his freckles with the intensity of a sunrise blush that snapped across his cheeks. But he had told him. And Jon had smiled, and said unbelievable, his fondness swelling in him like a river bursting banks.

“Come on, Martin,” Jon says, watching the shades of him trickle back from monochrome, filling up the etched bramble-shock of his dark hair, the scattering of freckles cast over his face like thrown dice. The violent lines of red over his coat. “We need to... you need to get up. We'll find a... there's a village. It's not far, I promise it's not, and there's a house on its outskirts, empty. We can, we can even get a fire going, yeah? But you need to get up. And then when we've.... when you're patched up, we can do all the things you wanted to do if it ever snowed. Every daft romantic thing. I promise. Come on, please.”

Martin's attention is slipping in and out. The snow is getting worse. Jon moves Martin up to raise him from the frozen ground, to heft him up so he's cradled on his lap, bundled into the claws of his grip. Martin cries out softly, almost confused, and Jon's apologies are religiously fervent but borrowed to coalesce with the rising wind.

The snow is starting to layer over them. Jon's body trying to crane over, a cramped den of heat, but it's not enough, and the tumult is beginning to drive down fast. Martin's breaths are coming out in weakening plumes, and they need to move. They need to. Jon doesn't have the strength. His own vision wavers like a weakening signal. Martin is starting to shiver, from cold or from shock, and Jon, despair slip-streaming through gaps like smoke to choke the caverns of him, doesn't know which is worse.

The landscape stretches out around them, relentless and featureless, and there is no one coming.

Martin's head lolls down, like he's dropping off, like they're back at the safe-house, and he's grown dozy and pliant from the fire in the grate. And Jon thinks, not, not like this, it can't be like this.

There's a hole at the core of him, dug out rotten by a burrowing worm. Jon's manned the perforations it left, the chiselled circles it drilled to puppet him to its will, and he's guarded it with such dedication, such a fear of relapse. He had pressed a knife into Martin's palm and made him promise to end him, should it ever take him completely again, if there was no other way, and Martin had retracted, angry and upset and appalled, and Jon had kept insisting, please Martin until he'd unhappily agreed. He dreams of words scoring up the side of his throat as he scrabbles to keep them down, of an oil-slick of another's voice on his tongue.

Not like this, Jon repeats, and wrenches open the door he's kept shut with such will. Inside, for outside his body is hardening like a crooked statue around Martin's slow-breathing body, he screams a name into the emptiness that is not empty as the flooding sensation of everything dashes him against the rocks of his comprehension.

Submerged and gagging on the flotsam-and-jetsam wash of terror, he feels a delighted flicker that oozes a muggy heat through him. Bubbles the space so he's mercifully cut off and trapped all at once with the entity he has summoned.

To what do I owe the pleasure, Archivist?

The attention of Jonah Magnus snakes up against him, coils through and around and in him, like a thread being ravelled through his skin. Jon shudders and flinches and Martin's dead-weight is a grounding to a reality he's scrambling to grip to the cliff-edge of.

You know what, he seethes, bites out. He thought at least here, the pieces of the game might have been pushed to the sides of the board.

I would see it for myself, Jonah responds lazily, as though it's an errant scattering of an idea he's just been visited by.

There is a snarling, like a catching of wool on wire, and Jon gasps with a broken shout at the impression of being twisted out like wet cloth as Jonah's mind pushes his own to one side. He feels the sensation of blurred vision inside of him, of two gazes peering out of one set of eyes. Jonah makes a vibration in what might be his throat as he looks imperiously down at the paling body in Jon's arms. He recedes dismissively as a wave like he's seen all necessary, and Jon is left mind-rocked and re-stabilising for a moment.

Oh Jon, Jonah says, and there's a smugness that cuts thick there. And you tried so hard to keep him safe. That's all of them now, isn't it? Just like Gertrude in the end, so careless with your things.

There's a house, Jon bears down with splintering patience. I don't have the.... I need, I can fix this, I just need strength. You can do that, you can... you can lend me some, to get us there, and then I can, I can save him.

As humanitarian as your cause no doubt is, Jonah replies with all the curled-lip aloof callousness of Elias, I fail to see my role.

Jon breathes out, feels the frigid crackling material of Martin's coat of his fingers. He isn't fooled. The voice of Jonah Magnus is a pulsing, gangrenous intrusion inside his head, growing thick like mould the longer he is left undisturbed. Jon can feel every texture of what he feels that could pass as emotion, the stifling gloating, his heady delight at having won, at being so easily offered up what he has sought in the wastelands and barrow-lands and hinterlands of this desecrated world so ardently.

The possessiveness at having his archive returning to him is a damp and clinging sensation, and it scores a canyon through Jon's decreasingly present mind. Strikes a match in him. People can strike a lot of things, he considers. Strike gold, strike fear.

Strike a bargain.

All the horrors that Magnus wants somewhere to store as he Watches and feasts over a ruined world.

Jon told Martin what he would rather, instead of that owned, sickening half-life.

You know what I'll give you, Jon says.

There must be limits, he thinks, to what he'd do for Martin, but they've never found the edges of them. Both of them have found the dragons in the corners of their maps, and still the sea goes on.

Jon is not surprised by this depth, the certainty of the choice he is making. No, it's that he's being asked to prove it so soon. Again, and again, and again.

Jon presses his chapped lips to Martin's forehead, listening to the man groan faintly at the pinprick of warmth.

You can have what you've been looking for, Jon responds, and Magnus is too ingrained in Jon's head for him to hide the obnoxious beacon of his delight.

Martin's stopped shaking from the cold. Jon's still trying to pull their bodies together, merge them into the same space, shield him from the bitterest of gales. Magnus observes his stumbling human efforts, the way his limbs are quaking from the strain of carrying on, the exhaustion dropping stitches in the weave of him.

Jon sees Magnus' thoughts stray like a wandering gaze, and he slams up against them like the snapping of a rotten branch, the crack of a log being caught by flame.

If he's safe, Jon challenges bluntly, because he can see the plans sprouting up like weeds in infertile grounds, forming primordial in his head, the potential for even more leverage over such a stubborn archivist. If he is alive, unharmed, left alone. Free from you, or anyone else. Then, I will.

“J'n,” Martin's mumbling, and his lips are muddied with blue. “J'n?”

“I'm here, I'm here.”

“It's... It's snowing?” Martin blinks, confused.

“Shush,” Jon replies, his own lips poorly structuring the words around his shivering. “I'm.... we're getting out of here, just stay with me. I've... I know what we need to do.”

He doesn't look well, does he, Jonah Magnus pours through his ears nastily. What if the End should take him? What then, Jon?

Jon demonstrates exactly will happen if Martin dies by shoving the answer like overstuffing a postbox into Magnus' head till he gags and chokes on it.

It's a simple response, a simple certainty. It leaves Magnus sounding a little breathless, a little less in control, and Jon is bitterly pleased.

Then it seems it would be in both of our interests that he... continues, as it were, Magnus responds carefully.

Jon doesn't dignify that with a response. Martin hisses in a broken, shuddering breath and Jon is reminded of mechanisms snapping, and they don't have any more time.

It must be desperation in him now, but it feels too like the yawning sky to ground him.

Do something useful, and help me, he snarls at the squatting occupant in his mind.

Magnus hums, and his presence ruminates, stagnates fatter. Sharper. Spreading fungal to invade corners left undefended.

Ask me nicely.

Bloody well do something, or we'll both be dead, Jon bites back like something caged and cornered. And good luck finding another Archivist then.

There's a splitting jolt, a rumble of something crackling, a dis-figuration of petty dissatisfaction that would be painful if Jon wasn't already so splintered, if his body wasn't already so numb. He counts the freckles across Martin's face and bears through it.

This is what Jon does. He keeps Martin safe.

This is just another Peter Lukas. Another monster who wants more of him than he will give them.

Ask me nicely, Jon.

Shame coils hot and feverish in Jon's guts at the twisting knife of Jonah's gleeful request, that's basking in the triumph of this moment.

Jon presses his face into Martin's ice-crackling curls, and murmurs his name, murmurs apologies, feeling the tears that harden on his face as quickly as they begin to slip down. He presses one, two sealing sorry kisses to his brow and wishes they'd had the time to witness the snow together.

He mouths something into Martin's hair that's swallowed by the wind.

Please, he says, the words sticky in his chest, knowing Martin will never forgive him for this. Help me. Please.

Jonah Magnus' voice is toothy and beaming and punctures the soul of him in victory. And Jon knows he has lost.

#jonmartin #tma #the magnus archives #cw non-graphic injuries #cw possessiveness #tw that fucking arsehole elias #there is a conceptual happy ending to this but i didn't write it #so this is what you got!#angst

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serendipitous-magic · 4 years

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Question Game - AKA Oversharing Hour

I was tagged by @the-angry-pixie! And I’m a chronic oversharer, so this was fun. I’ll put most of it under a read more line because there’s a LOT.

1. Do you prefer writing with a black pen or blue pen?

Black. Dunno why.

2. Would you prefer to live in the country or city?

City city city city city city city city. I’m already going fucking batshit as it is, trapped in suburbia. I want to be able to actually do things, anything. Anything other than just being around the house and / or work. (And I felt like this before the pandemic started.) If you live in the city you can walk out your door and be somewhere else within like 5 minutes. A city park, a cafe, a train/subway, a local attraction, a museum, an artist’s booth, an outdoor market, etc. etc.

Living in suburbia is like, well, to go literally anywhere you have to get into your car first and drive like 10 minutes minimum to get out of the neighborhood, and then if you want to go anywhere that’s not the grocery store you have to drive 20 minutes to get to another area of town, and then once you get there that’s the only place you can be without getting into your car again and getting a nice shot of anxiety from having to drive in traffic and have aggressive drivers roar up on your ass because you’re going 5mph above the speed limit and they want to be going 15mph above, and god help you if you have to merge, and oh by the way this is your only option to get around because public transit doesn’t really exist in any useful way in Big Suburbia, and nothing in within walking distance of your house except like 2 playgrounds and maybe one (1) gas station. (I hate it here lmao)

If I was trapped in the country I’d probably be chill with it for about a week, and enjoy the break, and the on day 8 I’d snap and go on a murdering spree out of stir-craziness.

3. If you could learn a new skill what would it be?

I want to learn German and eventually be fluent in it. But since I’ve already started trying to learn and I don’t know if that counts, I’ll say cinematography. As in the actual working of the camera and lighting and all that. I can dream up some pretty striking images but actually getting the camera to do the settings needed to capture them is another story entirely.

4. Do you drink your tea/coffee with sugar?

Nope. I drink coffee and tea both, and I don’t put any kind of sweetener in either of them. I used to put a shitton of sugar in my coffee and honey in my tea, and then I had some mild eating disorder struggles in college and I never got back in the habit of putting stuff in my hot drinks after that. It just tastes wrong now, after being used to plain black coffee.

5. What was your favourite book as a child?

Either the Harry Potter series or The Hobbit. My grandma would take care of me a lot when I was really little because my parents both worked full time to support us, and every single time I was at her house she’d sit us down at the dining room table and read something to me. Not Junie B. Jones or anything, either, but real, big, thick books. I loved the shit out of Harry Potter and The Hobbit; I would request them repeatedly. We pretty much went back and forth; we’d read Harry Potter, and then The Hobbit, and then when a new Harry Potter book came out we’d read that, and then The Hobbit again, and so on and so forth.

6. Do you prefer baths or showers?

Showers. I love baths, they’re magical, but ain’t nobody got time for that unless it’s a special occasion. I got too much shit to do to spend an hour lying in the bathtub.

7. If you could be a mythical creature, which one would it be?

Vampire. Purely on the basis that if I was immortal maybe I’d finally have time to get my to-do list done and accomplish things. I’d miss the sunlight though.

8. Paper or electronic books?

Paper. Here’s the thing, I really want to enjoy ebooks, but they just don’t hold my attention at all. Maybe I’m too conditioned by the internet to have a short attention span when I’m looking at a screen, idk.

9. What is your favourite item of clothing?

I have a dark gray hoodie from the Seattle Aquarium from when I went on a road trip across America with my BFF a few years ago. It’s still my absolute favorite thing. I also enjoy my hiking boots a lot. (I wear them all the time, really they should just be called “everyday boots” haha)

10. Do you like your name or would you like to change it?

I like my name and I would also like to start going by something different. Probably just because I’m a restless soul and I feel the best (and least trapped) when I’m on the move or when things are changing. The second I get somewhere I want to be somewhere else. That’s just how I am. Gwen is a cool name (I’ve personally met maybe 3 people in my whole life with the same name, face-to-face), but there’s a lot attached to that nickname that I don’t necessarily want to carry with me when I eventually escape my hometown and start down a new path.

11. Who is a mentor to you?

A friend and former professor whom I usually refer to online as Producer Man. He’s a producer (as you may have guessed) who kind of took me under his wing after I was in one of his film classes in college. We work together on film projects now and he’s teaching me bit-by-bit (usually by way of long, rambling, tangential stories / lectures) about the industry. He’s a really good guy. Like, he for sure has a case of Old White Guy sometimes, but his heart is absolutely in the right place. “He’s a little confused, but he’s got the spirit.” He’s always leaving $10 tips at coffee places and working himself to the bone to get his students connected to jobs and internships that will help them with their careers.

12. Would you like to be famous and if so, what for?

Yes, my stories. Actually, “famous” is not the right word. It’s just that fame is so tightly associated with success in our society. I want to be successful. Whether I’m widely known or not is pretty inconsequential to me. I want to make stories and I want them to have an impact. Books, film, etc. It’s about as simple as that.

13. Are you a restless sleeper?

Oh yeah. I have trouble sleeping as much as I should because I usually kind of jerk awake in the morning with this vague feeling that I forgot something or that I’m late for something. Also I stay up later than I should because I’m a night owl, and yet I like being up early because early mornings are great. And usually if I dream at all it’s something kind of stressful, like I dream that I forgot something important or did something wrong. I’m a Stressed Bean.

14. Do you consider yourself a romantic person?

I think so, yeah. I’m pretty obsessed with the idea of romance (I mean look at my OTPs), but heteronormativity got me fucked up enough that I’m bad at actually navigating real romantic feelings or relationships because society never prepared me for The Gay.

15. Which element best represents you?

Fire, probably.

16. Who do you want to be closer to?

My mom. We fight a lot and there tends to be a lot of tension between us. It’s a long complicated story. It boils down to, she really hurt me when I came out as not-straight at 15 and she lost all of my trust and even though she’s working on being less homophobic we’re still kind of trying to repair that divide seven years later.

17. Do you miss someone at the moment?

Dude, I miss everyone. I’m an introvert and I’d love to be at a big party right now. I miss socialization. (As does everyone.)

18. Tell us about an early childhood memory.

The first time I experienced deja vu, I was about eehhh 6? And I legitimately believed, for several years of my life, that I had future-predicting abilities. Like, supernatural-level future-predicting abilities. Because I didn’t really know what deja vu was, so I thought, every time it happened, that I had already ~seen~ that moment in my dreams or something. 🤣

19. What is the strangest thing you have eaten?

Hm. (My immature ass brain yells “DICK.” No, brain. Those were dark heteronormative times. Also, grow up.)

Probably some of the sushi in Seattle. I actually love sushi, it’s just that when it has full-on legs and eyeballs I start getting a little squeamish. I like the rolls and the kind where there’s some fish meat laid out on a nice little bed of rice, that’s delicious. But when they brought out the whole shrimp with legs still attached, I was like “How in the (redacted) am I going to chew / swallow that.”

20. What are you most thankful for?

That I happened to be living with family when this pandemic hit. I was supposed to move out (and across the country, actually) as of... like 4 days ago, as it happens. That was the plan. Plane ticket was gonna be booked for 7/15/20. Obviously, things didn’t quite work out that way, because of the pandemic and a few other reasons. But I can’t imagine if I had been in an apartment living with roommates, or in an apartment on my own struggling to get by, when this happened. A lot of people couldn’t pay rent and lost their homes. I was very, very lucky to be where I was, when I was, and very lucky that I have family who let me stay in their house pretty much indefinitely while this clusterfuck of a year happens.

21. Do you like spicy food?

Yes! I looooove spicy thai food especially. I miss the massaman curry from a local Thai place so much 😭

22. Have you ever met someone famous?

Um. Maybe? I met Veronica Roth once at an author talk in the library where I work, although it was before I worked there. And I met some guy from New Zealand who’s famous for his sword fighting skills because my dad does sword fighting stuff. Don’t remember his name though.

23. Do you keep a diary or journal?

Yep. I have to write down everything or I forget. (I often say I have the memory of a goldfish.) Also, I have this compulsion to record and preserve my experiences in life, because I feel like our time on Earth is so fleeting and if I don’t write down what’s important to me, I’ll forget it and lose it.

24. Do you prefer to use a pen or a pencil?

Pen. Pencil gets smudged.

25. What is your star sign?

Scorpio, which is ironic because they’re supposed to be ~hyper sexual~ I guess, and I’m like gray-ace or something in that zone.

26. Do you like your cereal soggy or crunchy?

Crunchy. Who eats soggy cereal? Are you okay? Do you need help? This is an intervention.

27. What would you want your legacy to be?

My stories. Life and sentience, as we experience it, is made up of just that: experience. And I read somewhere that, on some level, the human brain doesn’t differentiate that much between real life experiences and fictional experiences. I think that’s true. If you read or watch or hear the right story, it can really touch you and change the way you see life, or even change the way you live life. Stories have an incredible amount of power, both in individual people’s lives and in larger society. A huge amount of power. I want to be able to give people experiences that will Enrich Their Lives (do I sound like a lifestyle coach yet? 🤦🏼‍♀️), but also stories that actively do good in society. Positive representation, body positivity/neutrality, diversity, healthy relationships (Hollywood has a real problem with that). Hope. It’s the best thing I can think to give society, and storytelling is what I love to do.

28. Do you like reading, what was the last book you read?

I love reading. I wish I did it more. Part of my problem is that I get caught up in the hectic Rat Race of modern society and I never feel like I have time to sit down with a book for hours. Another problem of mine is that I start too many things at once, meaning I currently have like 5-10 (I lost count) books that I started reading, and I want to finish all of them, which means no progress ever gets done on any of them.

I last finished The Goldfinch, and I am currently working on The Secret History, Good Omens, Dune, a book my dad wrote, Directing Actors, Shot by Shot, The Way of Kings and I forget what else.

29. How do you show someone you love them?

Physical affection, acts of service, words of affirmation, quality time, and gifts, in that order. If I’m close to someone, whether romantically or not, I want all the affection. And I’m kind of dying in quarantine.

30. Do you like ice in your drinks?

Depends. I usually don’t put any in, because it’s just gonna water down the drink and get in the way of drinking it (you know when the ice attacks your face?), but I don’t really mind ice in my drinks.

31. What are you afraid of?

Helplessness. I Have Control Issues. ✌️ Also stagnation.

32. What is your favourite scent?

Amber. Or any scent that’s kind of autumn-y. You know what I mean. Some other examples include dryer sheets, wood smoke, cigarette smoke (my big sister used to smoke a long long time ago, and although I never saw her do it, I still associate the scent with her), pine resin, rain, that Mahogany Woods scent from Bath and Bodyworks.

33. Do you address older people by their name or surname?

If they introduce themselves as Pam I call them Pam. If they introduce themselves as Mr. Brown I call them Mr. Brown.

34. If money was not a factor, how would you live your life?

If “money is not a factor” means I have an infinite amount of money to spend as I wish, then: buy land, build film studio complex on land, found company, hire fellow creatives, make movies.

If “money is not a factor” just means that I don’t have to work 40 hours a week to afford rent, then: move to Chicago, rent a nice studio apartment, write stories, maybe work 15 hours a week at a used bookstore or coffee shop to get me out of the house and socialize. Go to museums, go to the park, walk along Lake Michigan, go to gay bars, ride the train, brave the Illinois winters, own a cat, paint, play guitar. Build my actual career on writing / storytelling. Probably also do some filmmaking.

Alternatively: buy an RV (not like an American Trailer Park shitty RV, I’m talking the NOICE ones), buy good film equipment, be a freelancer, live in RV driving around to wherever the next filming location is. Life is a road trip and I’m doing what I love. Writing, storytelling, filmmaking. My home would travel with me. Writing in cafes; roadside attractions; early mornings on the road with coffee in the cup holder as the sun comes up; being able to go anywhere to film; always experiencing something new.

35. Do you prefer swimming in pools or the ocean?

I’ve lived in a landlocked state my whole life, so I guess swimming pools. And, listen, I CANNOT get water in my mouth at the beach without wondering exactly how many kids have peed (or worse) in that water. (I know that’s a thing with pools too, but pools get cleaned.)

36. What would you do if you found £50 on the ground?

Wonder what some poor European is doing in America right now. But if it was $50, I’d probably yell “DID ANYONE DROP THIS?” and then take it if no one speaks up.

37. Have you ever seen a shooting star?

A few times, yeah.

38. What is the one thing you would want to teach your children?

Grades are not the end-all-be-all. Skip some homework assignments to spend time with friends. Skip class sometimes. I’m serious. If you make school your top priority, even over your own personal life, you will come away with good grades and a lot of regret and missed opportunities. Learning is HELLA important, and very very little of it happens inside a school building. Get a 15 hour weekend or after-school job in high school, befriend your coworkers, and have fun with it. Use your paychecks however you want. Join a school club - one that you’re actually interested in. Do stupid shit. Light your textbooks on fire after graduation or go to the 24 hour Wendy’s at 2am with your friends or kiss that person you met at summer camp or sleep on the porch because it’s too hot to sleep inside. Be smart and safe, but follow your whims. If you let yourself fall into routine, apathy will poison you.

39. If you had to have a tattoo, what would it be and where would you get it?

I already have a couple small ones, but the one I want next is a four-leaf clover. Don’t know where. Maybe my right inner wrist or maybe an ankle. Or like behind my ear. Luck has saved me so many times. (See above, with how I happened to be living with family when COVID hit.)

40. What can you hear now?

Swamp cooler downstairs, the clock ticking in my office, cars outside, people moving around the house. I’m surprised the neighbor kids aren’t shrieking their absolute heads off as per the usual.

41. Where do you feel the safest?

When I’m alone and unobserved.

42. What is the one thing you want to overcome/conquer?

TMI warning, but I absolutely despise public bathrooms. How am I expected to pee when there’s somebody sitting like three (3) feet away, with only a partial wall between us, hearing everything that’s going on? My fight or flight response simply will not allow it. It’s too awkward and therefore Not Safe. Either that public restroom has to be empty except for me, or it has to be so loud and bustling that ain’t nobody hearing anything. Anything in-between and I’m in hell.

43. If you could travel back to any era, what would it be?

The ‘80s. Let’s be honest, even that far back makes my life (as a woman, and as a gay person) hella difficult. But, consider this: it’s the ‘80s. Furthermore, consider this: a part-time job might have actually supported me and paid rent back then 😱 Holy fucking shit. Sign me up. I just wouldn’t want to go any further than than like 1980, because again: lesbian. Being a woman in the past = even harder than it is today, being gay in the past = even harder than it is today, being a gay woman in the past = oh no.

44. What is your most used emoji?

In order of descending frequency:

😂🙄😊😁🤦🏼‍♀️👀😬🌈🤷🏼‍♀️😙

45. Describe yourself using one word.

Creative

46. What do you regret the most?

Wasting my entire teenage experience. (See #38.) I did quite literally nothing with my life except homework for like 18 years. If I had taken even a tenth as much time for myself as I did for school, I would be so much farther along as a person today.

47. Last movie you saw?

In the theaters? ........ uh. Shit, I don’t actually remember. It’s been like 5 months. (As it has for everyone.) But the last movie I watched was Lights Out, because I’ve been watching the director’s youtube channel. You could tell it was low-budget and that the director was still kind of finding his stride, but it had a lot of heart behind it and the creators clearly gave a fuck, which made it enjoyable. I am firmly in the camp of “not everything has to be a Magnum Opus or have a multi-billion dollar budget to be a good movie.” If I engaged with it and got some sort of emotional experience out of it, and if it had a good message, I consider it a good movie.

48. Last tv show you watched?

I don’t usually watch a whole lot of TV shows (who has the time?) but I think the last thing I watched was either The Witcher or that new Unsolved Mysteries miniseries on Netflix. Oh and I was watching Dead to Me because I just love Linda Cardellini’s face and I want to wrap Judy up in a blanket and cuddle the shit out of her and protect her from all things 🥺 My precious beautiful unstable sweet murder baby.

49. Invent a word and it’s meaning.

Apapanic. It’s where you’re so stressed about things that half of your brain is panicking but the other half is so overwhelmed that it circled all the way back around to being calm to the point of apathy, so you just kind of sit there like

#about me #tag game #except as usual i'm not gonna tag people because I don't have to social energy to ask people to do things #sorry i know that's kind of cheating #if you wanna overshare just say I tagged you lol #personal #tmi

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elizawright · 4 years

Text

My experience with Aspergers

OCD and Anorexia 2/2:

Right now the painful part, this is probably the most difficult to talk about because it’s still so fresh and still very much active in my daily life. My Anorexia story I would say officially began around December 2018 however as I’ve mentioned before I’ve always struggled with eating. It started as just being a very fussy kid, in my early teen years I used to obsessive compulsively diet extremely strictly for periods of time. I think this in itself could be considered Anorexia or at least I was at the very edge of being. A year later I would completely 180, over eat and put on a lot of weight. A year later from that I would once again strictly diet this time making myself throw up if i “over ate” in my mind or ate something “bad”. I distinctly remember being 14 on holiday in Florida. My family kept encouraging me to eat fruit loops for breakfast (I would only eat bran flakes) and of course I desperately wanted to but it was very scary to me. So I did eat them one day and being 14 and uneducated on food I had a panic. Though I was panicking I didn’t ever tell anyone Insted I hid away, found a toilet and forced myself to throw up. Now this is years before I was officially diagnosed with an eating disorder but to me, this doesn’t seem healthy. Looking back I feel quite sorry for little me feeling I had to hide away and be sneaky, I wish I had told my mum how I was feeling, but I didn’t. Anyway, back to my official timeline. So 2018 was the year I did my gcses, it was a different year, I was so focused on my studies I began to over eat as a coping mechanism, this caused me to put on quite a bit of weight. Now I was never really fat but i was overweight, I would guess 13 stone (to put in comparison, when diagnosed with anorexia 6 months later I was 7 stone something, that’s a loss of 5 stone). In November that year I got my lovely boyfriend. When we first started dating I felt quite ashamed that I weighed more than him. Of course he didn’t care, I don’t think he even ever thought of it, he just liked me for me, but the intrusive thoughts which are oh so common to me told me otherwise. I began to notice in the morning my belly looked it’s flattest which I figured was because I hadn’t put any food in my stomach making it bloat so I began not eating in the mornings. If I was going to see my boyfriend who obviously as a young teen at the start of a relationship I wanted to impress I wouldn’t eat. I wouldn’t eat while I was around him then as soon as I got home I would eat as normal. This is where it all began. My boyfriend used to recall to my mom “she never eats breakfast and never eats at my house! I try and feed her but she just won’t eat.”

So like I said life carried on like this for a few months, I didn’t loose a massive amount of weight, maybe half a stone, but things changed drastically after a holiday to Egypt. On the first day I was struggling and obsessing over my appearance as usual, obsessing over every roll I could see. Looking back now I looked great! I had big boobs and hips, but at the time I didn’t see any of that all I saw was fat. Well the next day after this I caught a really bad case of the flu. I was bed ridden for the entire rest of the week barely well enough to get home. As we were in Egypt we had no way of getting any medication at all not even paracetamol so I was completely wiped out, it was the worst illness I’ve ever faced were literally everything that could happen, happened. Now because of this I didn’t eat for the entire week.

Once I arrived home and I began the process of analysis of my body as per usual I noticed I had lost weight. I put two and two together realising a week of not eating made me really quickly drop a ton of weight. The cogs began turning and I told myself the short amount of pain (being the hunger) my future self would thank me for. So I began restricting. Using the bike analogy it began at a quick pace but slowly got faster and faster. Soon I was eating no more than 400 calories a day, anymore than that and I would get depressed and anxious and stressed (for comparison the average women needs 2000 calories a day just to maintain weight) I was terrified of nearly all foods. Butter, bread, literally everything I can think of. I weighed out everything out to the T never eating a full packet of something. Which if I’m honest, I still do weigh everything, I also still count calories obsessively. This is what I mean by I’m not fully recovered I’m a lot better, but still suffering and fighting.

Now at this point my mental and physical health began to really suffer. I was normally really good at school getting outstanding grades in gcses but now with a levels I wasn’t able to get work completed or done, I couldn’t concentrate, I would fall asleep in class because I was tierd constantly, I wasn’t my normal talkative enthusiastic self because I was so drained of all energy I’m honestly so shocked my teachers didn’t make more of an effort to help me. I remember one time a teacher telling me I looked very ill and pale so forced me to eat a banana they had brought for their own lunch which was a struggle for me to do. Luckily for me a teacher i still dont know reported to the head of sixthform about being worried for me. They had been gone 3 months and within coming back had noticed the drastic change in weight I had had. It goes to show how much weight I lost as I was always wearing baggy clothes to hide it and she still noticed. Now that I’m mentioning it all my clothes were massively oversized because I no longer fit my entire wardrobe. I would try and wear stuff like leggings as they made me feel comfortable and happy in myself but my head of sixthform would shout at me and force me to change. I recall a few teachers and students coming to me asking if I was alright as they had noticed my rapid weight loss, I told them it was just stress. I was completely in denial I had tricked myself into thinking it was normal, I have no idea how I even lasted as long as I did at sixthform like this. So as the story goes I got taken into the teds team which is a recovery center for children with eating disorders

I was extremely reluctant to go, I was stand off ish and rude to the doctors and my family which is something that is not in my nature at all. Looking back all they wanted to do was help me but at the time I thought everyone was against me were trying to trick me into being fat. This was clearly the anorexia talking and not me, it was completely in control. While there I was freezing cold so they had to turn the fan off. I was honest as I could be and told them most of what I previously told you but it still didn’t actually sound like a concern to me. I down played it as much as a could because I didn’t want anyone’s help. I can still remember that horrible feeling of being so stubborn and refusing to even acknowledge what the people around me were saying I was so caught up in the anorexic trap. Now about a year ago from this I had been previously weighed as I had started a new version of medication, like I said I weighed in at around 85kg, 13 stone. I got weighed again on this day and was in the 7 stones, I had lost nearly 6 stone in 3 months. That’s crazy looking back at. I was told if I didn’t turn myself around soon my periods would stop and I would have to go into hospital to be force fed. They warned me as I was in the hight of my teenage development i was right at the edge of doing permanent growth, brain and fertility damage. I love children and can’t wait to be a mother someday and I really highly value my intelligence so this was the kick up the bum I needed to start my recovery. I came back a week later to create an eating plan and in that time I had dropped another couple of pounds in just a week. I was very stubborn during the hour we spent making an eating plan, we pretty much fought back and forth me and the doctor disagreeing on everything, the eating disorder had complete control over my mind and I was pretty much in auto pilot. Eventually we came to an agreement which I still was very reluctant to follow, but I had worked out the calorie intake and it felt at level that was “safe” for me. I was also just happy to not have to worry about making food anymore as my mum was now in charge or making everything I eat. Before this I was eating on average a banana, half a packet of cuscus and a plain piece of brown bread without butter and a spoon full of baked beans with no sauce. On top of this I drank an unhealthy amount of coffee, so much I became addicted, to help me loose weight, keep me full and give me the energy I didn’t have.

I remember so vividly the first day I followed this new eating routine my stomach had shrunk so small I was physically in pain by the end of the day. I was to eat 2 spoons of yogurt in the morning, an egg sandwich at lunch on brown bread, an apple, half a dinner and one weatabix at night. By the weatabix I was in physical pain from being so full. But I pushed through it. A week later I had still lost weight but not as much as the normal rate went. This is when I was told I had to add in extra and I reacted terribly. I flat out refused to follow it anymore and said I was quitting the program. For a few months I refused to follow the new program sticking to the old one I felt safe with and still lost weight with. With things like anorexia it’s something I feel can never be solved by anyone else it’s something you have to do yourself. I think I improved just overtime by chatting with the teds team and the dietitian and educating myself. This next part of my journey is kind of difficult to talk about as I don’t remember it much, I was so tired and drained it’s all kind of disappeared from my memory. Eventually through education I began to slowly add things to my eating plan. I added crisps (but only under the condition they were healthy ones under 100 calories) changed the yogurt to 2 weatabix as it was easier to measure and less of a “scary food” to me.

So yeah, since this is just a short (at least as short as I can make it) synopsis of my journey I’m just going to skip to now. Some day maybe I’ll talk about the one and a half year gap there is between then and now but that would take too long for the moment. Now I am still suffering with eating. I’ve put on a bit of weight but I’m still classed as underweight. I still follow a very strict daily routine with what I eat, I still weigh things out, I still calorie count, I still analyse my body but I am a hell of a lot better than a year ago. I still struggle when it comes to eating “fatning” of “sugary” foods but on occasion I do eat them. I try and eat something every day like a breakfast bar or granola bar. Although I am a lot better now, I’m mostly tortured by the anorexic intrusive thoughts.

I struggle oddly with extreme hunger! Something I hadn’t felt at all while I was in critical condition. I did some research and I found out this happens to most recovering anorexics and their body is literally starving and desperate for food. I have been left with loose skin which makes me extremely embarrassed and unhappy, I hope someday to get rid of it as it’s a big factor of my destress. I hope this story can help educate people without eating disorders and give you an incite into our minds. Someday I will go into more detail.

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walkerismychoice · 5 years

Text

All I Need to Know for Now (Raleigh X MC)

Book: Platinum

Pairing: Raleigh X MC (Aria Campbell, Minor Avery X MC)

Rating: NSFW/18+

Note: Given my previous fics and head canons about Raleigh and Aria’s relationship, I wasn’t quite satisfied with the MC’s happy-go-lucky reactions to Raleigh’s antics this last chapter and wanted to add in more about their love triangle. I re-wrote the relevant parts of chapter 13 from this perspective. Some of the dialogue is transcribed from the chapter, but much is new or changed. I also changed up the sex scene some for fun and omitted much of the chapter that didn’t need re-writing to fit my version of the story.

Word Count: 2932

Aria doesn't know what to do with herself. Yes, she'd had a moment and acted completely insane, butting into Jaylen's performance of her song, but it's not like it's out of the ordinary for celebrities to snap and get even more popular for it. Seems she's just famous enough for people to care, but not quite famous enough to be able to get away with it. Bad girl pop star apparently doesn't look good on her.

So now she's stuck at home with nothing to do. It would be the perfect opportunity to write new songs, or finish some old ones, but every time she tries, she's got nothing. The stress of wondering if her career is over as quickly as it began is taking a toll, and she's adrift in small town no-man's land with no purpose or direction. So when her doorbell rings unexpectedly, she's not sure if it will he more bad news or a welcome distraction.

"Alright, Aria, have you missed me?"

"Oh my god, Avery! I can't believe you're here!" Saying she's surprised would be an understatement. She feels the urge to pinch herself to make sure this isn't another dream that will venture into nightmare territory.

"Hope you don't mind that I stopped by, but I redirected my flight on the way to the Indio music festival. And I brought a few friends..."

“Hey, kid. Long time, no see.” Hank stands behind Avery, in his typical working stance, arms folded with his aviator sunglasses on.

Next to him is Zadie, as stylish as ever and way overdressed for Aria’s neck of the woods. “You know, I thought you were exaggerating every time you said how boring your hometown was, but now I see the reports are accurate.”

Aria chuckles because Zadie isn’t wrong, but then she sees him step out from behind the group and her stomach flip flops with a feeling she can’t quite place.

“Hey, Aria. Are you gonna let us in or...” Raleigh asks coolly in his typical ‘I don’t give a fuck if you do or you don’t’ tone, but the smile on his face suggests he’s happy to see her.

“I’ve missed you all so much!” Aria exclaims, and she has, she really has. But she’s also overwhelmed by this impromptu visit, and her time away from Raleigh and Avery has done nothing to clear up her indecision about the two. They’d both sent her a couple of texts but they were fairly brief. Avery hand been supportive as expected, and Raleigh was... Raleigh. He’d worked out another PR relationship to take the media focus off of Aria, or so he said. There were plenty of other ways to do that, like, oh, for example, destroying millions of dollars worth of artwork which he also did do. She’s not sure which is worse or if she has the energy to put up with his antics, even if they are just for show.

Aria glances between Avery and Raleigh. She’s drawn to Raleigh despite it all, for reasons beyond her comprehension, this physical compulsion begging her to jump into his arms. But then there’s Avery - sweet, dependable, supportive Avery - looking at her with such adoration and longing it just feels right. She flings her arms around Avery’s shoulders, kissing him slow and deep. She can’t see Raleigh’s face but she can almost feel the heat of his glare, or at least that’s what she imagines the feeling to be. Avery’s hands find her waist, and he sighs into her mouth, Aria reflexively pressing closer to him. She feels him smile against her lips, and for a moment, she’s completely lost in him.

Aria pulls back, blushing fiercely. “Well come in!” She offers without making eye contact with anyone or waiting for a response. She needs to get a hold of herself before this gets even more awkward.

But then it does get more awkward when Avery spots the poster of him on her wall, and Aria’s kicking herself for not taking it down in all this time she’s been home. Raleigh jokes about there being no poster of him, but if Aria’s not mistaken, there’s more than just a hint of jealousy there. As mortified as she is, she can’t help but find satisfaction in Raleigh’s reaction.

~~~

The gang has been in Avery’s limo traveling to some unknown destination for almost half an hour now, departing shortly after dropping off Aria’s fan mail and filling her in on Ellis buying Jaylen’s label. Apparently he’d felt so bad about selling the song, when he couldn’t buy it back he bought the whole damn thing. It doesn’t change the fact that it’s still not Aria’s to sing, but maybe this will make things better in the long run.

The limo pulls up outside a gorgeous lake home - an Airbnb rental Aria presumes - but Avery immediately informs her otherwise. “Ladies, gentlemen, friends, welcome to my humble summer home.”

“It has a state of the art security system too!” Hank assesses. “I’m going to enjoy it here.” Leave it to Hank to notice that first over all the breathtaking scenery.

“How long have you had this?” Aria questions, stunned that Avery would own property so close to her hometown.

“Since this morning,” Avery answers with a sly grin. “I just bought it.”

Aria is speechless. Avery bought a lake house just to have a place to go to cheer her up. Compare that with Raleigh getting a fake girlfriend and creating property damage to smooth things over, and one of them is the clear winner as far as Aria is concerned. Not that this is a competition or anything.

“Alright, enough talking, more getting in the water,” Raleigh chimes in, not allowing Aria to dwell on it much longer.

Not having known where they were going, Aria hadn’t packed a bathing suit, but of course Zadie has her covered. The skimpy white suit isn’t the most practical for water sports, but at least judging from Avery and Raleigh’s reactions, she looks amazing in it.

They race on the Jet Ski’s and hang around the dock for sometime before boarding a rented sailboat with drinks in hand. This day is shaping up to be just what she needed. As they approach the center of the lake, Avery proposes an underwater breath-holding competition, which ends up being between himself, Raleigh an Aria. Aria just hopes neither of them pass out trying to be the better man.

Aria’s uses her breath control techniques to oxygenate herself as much as possible before dipping below the surface. She’s not sure how much time has passed, but all three of them are starting to squirm. Avery’s the first to give up, heading to the surface for air. Raleigh floats closer, eyes locked on her as an intimidation tactic she presumes, until he suddenly closes the distance between them and firmly plants his lips on hers. As he grabs her hips and presses his body against hers, she can’t help but kiss him back - a kiss that literally takes her breath away to the extent she has to give up and emerges above the water line just before Raleigh does.

“You did that on purpose just to get me to lose!” Aria splashes Raleigh playfully.

Raleigh winks at her. “It didn’t seem like you minded."

Avery swims over, a look of questioning and concern on his face, like he suspects a hint of what went on but doesn’t want to know. He gives Aria’s hand a squeeze and then cradles her in his arms as they bob in the water. “At least you beat me,” he offers as consolation, bringing his lips to hers for a fervent kiss. It’s nice, but after just kissing Raleigh, it’s lacking. It feels strange having Avery’s lips where his just were, and she's thankful for the water washing any trace of him away. Avery helps Aria back onto the boat and hands her a towel to dry off. “I hope you got the release you wanted today.”

On the one hand, yes, she’s happier than she has been in quite a while. On the other, she’s more wound up than ever. “I did. Thanks so much for coming out all this way to visit me.”

Avery smiles softly and tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. “Of course, Cadence. We’ll always be there for you.”

“Alright, less conspiratorial whispering, more water sports!” Raleigh proclaims as he climbs back into the boat, his timing impeccable once again.

~~~

Everyone gathers around the fire after dinner and a long day in the sun. They talk, laugh, eat smores, and when Raleigh picks up the guitar and starts to play, it turns into an impromptu singalong, with Aria, Avery, and Raleigh harmonizing beautifully. With no expectations or weight on her shoulders, it feels good, really good, to be singing again. But when Raleigh hands her the guitar to play, the wounds are still too fresh. Fortunately her friends are understanding and they don’t push the issue, knowing she’ll get there when she’s ready.

Before long, the others begin to head inside. “I suppose it’s time for me turn in as well.” Avery announces, nodding his head at Aria as he rises. You coming?”

She can’t tell if there’s any sort of expectation in the invitation, but whatever the case, she’s not going inside until she can have a proper discussion with Raleigh. "In a bit. I just need more time to...think.”

Avery’s face falls just a little, recovering with a weak smile. “Alright, Darling. Let me know if you need anything.” A silent moment passes as gentle waves lap against the shore, moonlight dancing off the rolling water.

As soon as Avery is out of earshot, Raleigh scoffs and shakes his head. “Darling? He never gives up the prince charming act does he?”

Aria shrugs. “Maybe you’d be wise to take a few lessons from his playbook.”

Raleigh’s eyes narrow. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Well...I hear you’ve been getting into a lot of trouble in my absence.”

“What can I say? The town’s boring without you.”

“Ugh, is everything just a game to you? You may think it’s funny to destroy property and disrespect people as part of your bad boy image, but I don’t. It’s time you fucking grew up.” Aria pushes up from her Adirondack chair, already over this conversation.

“Wait!” Raleigh tugs on her hand. “Please sit back down, and I’ll explain.” Aria rolls her eyes but sits back in the chair. “I felt awful when you were sent home. If I’d have done what you did, I’d probably end up with a slap on the wrist and more fans and album sales than before. It wasn’t fair, and I hated the negative attention you were getting, so I thought, hey, I’m basically untouchable, why not create some headlines myself to take the focus off you?”

“And that’s the best idea you had? Why not make headlines for doing something positive instead of being destructive?”

Raleigh scoots forward, placing his hand on her knee. “You know the good doesn’t get nearly as much press as the bad. Look, I’m not Avery. I’m not the type to ride into town in my white limousine and save the day by buying a beach palace to keep you in.

“I’m not asking you to be prince charming, or a knight in shining armor, or... whatever. I just...” Aria struggles to put it into words. She’s not asking for a savior or a lifelong commitment, she just needs to know that she means something to him before she falls too deep and ends up with a broken heart.

“Aria, No matter the means, what I did, I did for you, because I care about you...and it worked. Between the property damage and my new fake relationship, your incident with Jaylen is old news.”

“Well if that relationship is as fake as ours was, I’m still not feeling very reassured right now.”

Raleigh cocks his head to the side with a smirk. “Are you jealous, Campbell?” Aria doesn’t respond but serves him an icy glare. “Aww, babe, come here.” He pats his leg and holds his arms open wide.

She’s still mad and doesn’t want to give in, but him calling her babe again makes her weak. She sighs deeply before getting up and settling into his lap. “You’re still on thin ice, Carrera.”

“Aria, you have nothing to worry about. She doesn’t hold a candle to you. She’s just doing us a favor. I’ve missed you.” Raleigh traces tingly patterns up and down her thighs, goosebumps forming under his touch.

Aria peers into his eyes, biting her lower lip. “Okay, you can kiss me now.”

Raleigh chuckles. "You've gotten bossy in your time away, huh?"

"Maybe....But you like it."

Raleigh threads his fingers through her hair, pulling her mouth to his, kissing her seductively, tongue gliding over her lips. “I’ve been thinking about this all day, Aria. All the things I wanted to do when I got you alone...”

She feels him harden beneath her as she plants another kiss on his lips. Now with the air cleared between them, she won't deny she's been thinking the same. Aria sinks to her knees and looks up at him through her lashes as she unbuckles his pants. "Well, you know what I've been wanting to do to you?"

"What's that?" Raleigh asks with a knowing smile as he lifts his hips to help her undress his bottom half.

Aria wraps her hand around the base of his cock and swirls her tongue around the tip making him twitch. "I want to make you feel good," she purrs, Raleigh letting out a groan as she takes him in her mouth slow and deep. Maybe she hasn't been thinking about this all day. But ever since he kissed her and she caught a glimpse of the outline of his hard length through the swim trunks clinging to his legs as he emerged from the water, it's been difficult to think of anything else.

"Fuck, Aria. This is better than good. You are incredible," he breathes, hands fisting in her hair, guiding her up and down his shaft. She cups his balls, taking him in as deep as she can go until he pushes her away. "Come up here before I explode."

Aria wipes her mouth with the back of her hand and climbs into his lap, straddling his hips. "What now?"

"I want you so bad Aria. Now we both get to feel good." Raleigh lifts Aria's sundress over her head and his eyes go wide. "You aren't wearing anything underneath!"

"Oops! Did I forget to put on underwear?" Aria feigns innocence.

Raleigh shakes his head. "You're lucky I didn't know that earlier." Without further warning he thrusts up inside her, Aria gasping as he hits her sweet spot and then pauses for confirmation. "You, good?"

Aria grins. "I'm fucking fantastic." She sinks down deep and rolls her hips, grinding her clit on him as he fills her completely

They move together, their steady rhythm gradually picking up pace. Raleigh plays with her breasts - licking, sucking, rolling her nipples between his fingers and thumbs, sending sensations of pleasure straight to her core and fanning the flames of the fire inside her. She knows she's close so she moves faster, grinds down harder as her moans get louder. "Raleigh, I-"

"Whats that? You want me to stop?" He teases.

"Don't you fucking dare," she warns with a laugh.

"And deny the chance to make you come? Never. I want to hear you scream my name," Raleigh commands, grabbing her ass and pushing in deeper with each thrust.

She closes her eyes and throws her head back, seeing fireworks behind her eyes as her entire body ignites. "Oh my god, yes, Raleigh!" She cries out into the night as her walls tremble around him.

Aria buries her head in his neck, and Raleigh picks up her slack, bouncing her her up and down his hard length. And then he lets out a strangled moan, his whole body shuddering as he finds his release.

Raleigh pulls her against his chest as they both come down from their high. "You are full of surprises, Aria."

“I gotta keep up with you somehow.” Aria kisses him sweetly one more time. She shivers and Raleigh grabs the beach blanket from the ground, shakes it off and throws it over both of them. She closes her eyes, not even realizing she’s drifted off until she opens her eyes again and sees how much the fire has died down.

Raleigh throws some kindling on the fire with his free hand and smiles down at her. “Hey, beautiful.”

She's feeling vulnerable yet open in his arms. No more fooling around, no more games. It's him she wants and he needs to know. "Raleigh, I'm glad you're here. I missed you so much these past few days. It's like I got jolted into an alternate reality you weren't in."

“I.. I missed you, too.” His expression grows somber, serious for once before his smile is back again. “But you don’t have to worry about that now. We’re here now, together.” He strokes her arm tenderly as he holds her close, pressing his soft, warm lips to her forehead.

It’s not a promise of any certain future, but Aria can’t say what tomorrow will bring. Knowing he’s all-in in this moment is good enough... for now.

#playchoices fanfiction #raleigh carrera #raleigh x mc #platinum #n*fw #ns*w

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