#you don’t leave at the first sign of your partner spiraling | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

lovelywritersgarden · 2 years ago

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Hi! i wanted to request a batfam where the reader is the youngest batsibling (maybe 14-15) and is nervous to introduce their first bf or gf to her family. they are all really confused why she's so nervous until they meet readers partner and realise they're the child of one of the gotham villains. eventually they realise that readers partner isn't evil like their parent(s).

Azalea Isley

WC: 2405

SYNOPSIS: Your girlfriend comes from different circumstances. You just hope your adopted family will look past her not-so-perfect family and open their minds. Maybe a flower can survive in a batcave? heh. maybe it’s just wishful thinking.

Pairings: GN!Reader x OC, GN!Batsib!Reader x Batfamily

Azalea Isley, or Zales, as you call her, has been your girlfriend for one year, two months and six days. You met back when you were 13 while on patrol. You ran into her when looking for her mother, Pamela Isley, aka, Poison Ivy.

“Robin, search the North wing, S/N, take the South. I’m going to scout the middle. Ivy is tricky and has eyes everywhere. Stay vigilant and stay on comms.” Batman bluntly ordered.

After escaping Arkham Asylum, rumors of Ivy’s whereabouts were spreading like fire, er uh, forest fire. People were saying she had been spotted hiding out at her old workplace; The Gotham Botany Preserve. It’s abandoned now, but naturally, it was your job to investigate.

You discreetly made your way to the South wing, feet silently walking as you listened for any signs of Ivy’s presence. You made your way down the cathedral-like hallway. The cascading walls were covered in thick, dark green vines climbed up towards the ceiling, and weaved around the stained glass windows that lined the hall. A yellow hue of light came from the door that sat slightly ajar at the end of the hall. You saw a shadow fall over the crack in the door, so you pressed yourself against the wall and held your breath.

“I’ve got movement.” You whispered into your comm.

“I have eyes on Ivy.” Damian said. “Someone else must be here.”

“S/N, do not engage. We don’t know who or what that is. Fallback.”

“Okay. On my way to your location now.” Curiosity got the better of you and your actions contradicted your words. Bummer for Batman ig. You slowly pushed the door open and looked around. The abandoned greenhouse had been turned into a make-shift bedroom. Beautiful fully bloomed Bougainvillea spiraled down the pointed ceiling and sporadically grew against the green glass. Leaves littered the floor and petals fell as the door shook some of the vines. Honey yellow lanterns hung on the walls giving a golden warmth to the room, and a small bed was to your left, tucked away.

“Woah…” Your hands unconsciously dropped from their defensive form.

Letting your guard down, what a rookie mistake. Hard vines wrapped around your body and pulled you off the ground. You let out a yelp as your legs were pulled above your head and suspended you above the ground. The vines tied your arms against your sides and held your legs together, completely eliminating movement. You groaned as the blood rushed to your face.

‘Damn Batman would kick my ass if he found out that I disobeyed a direct order, AND got my ass kicked by some foliage while doing so. i kinda deserve this tbh.’ You thought.

Out of the shadows, stepped a young girl. She was about your age, roughly 5’ 6” and was beautiful. So beautiful that even the most thorough words on a page would be far too simple to describe the way she lit up a room. She had dark fuchsia hair that cascaded down her shoulders and fell to the middle of her back. Her green eyes and pale complexion matched that of her mother.

“Who are you? What do you want?” Her hands were shaking, as if they didn’t hold immense power. Still, she was scared of you. She wasn’t used to this by any means. She avoided conflict and violence as much as possible. Her mother hid her away, not that she wanted to leave. She was Rapunzel and wanted to stay Rapunzel. Though, her mother never lied to her about the horrors outside. Call it what you will, Stockholm syndrome, fear, truth, at the end of the day Azalea Isley didn’t like people.

But eh. Who cares? You had a smart mouth and beautiful women oftentimes made you run it as much as possible. You took a breath and began speaking calmly as to not startle her.

“My name is S/N. I am a hero. What’s your name?”

“You lie.” She spat. ‘oh’

“S/N is not a real name. Tell me the truth.” The vines tightened around you. You gasped out.

“I can’t tell you my name! Don’t your parents give you rules you can’t break? This is one of mine.” She contemplated your words.

“As you decide if I’m lying or not, could you loosen these? I'm dyin’ here.” She swallowed and reluctantly loosened the vines, but kept you hanging.

“I am Azalea.”

“Like the flower?” She gave you a pointed look. “Right. Sorry, dumb question.” Her face relaxed into a small smile.

“Momma says there’s no such thing as a dumb question. Only dumb people.”

“Ivy? Yeah, that’s fair. Will you let me down?”

“No.” She came closer to you and began feeling your face and hair.

“That’s fine.” You replied, your voice coming to a whisper.

“I have not met a person like you before, S/N. You’re very warm, and your face is turning pink.”

“That’s normal, don't worry.” Your eyes met hers with a stupid grin.

Since then, you have met in secret every couple of days, both of your parents staying somewhat oblivious to your secret romance. Today was the day you decided your ruse needed to come to light.

Ow.

Your teeth bit through the skin on your lip. The anxiety of the entire evening was eating you alive. Your knee bounced under the table your family sat around in silence and anticipation.

“So, Y/N.” Bruce began. “Any specific reason you wanted this family meeting?”

Your eyes shot up to meet your adoptive father. You took a breath and decided it was best to be as blunt as possible.

“I have a girlfriend.” You crossed your arms. Your brothers held onto the silence for another beat.

“Oh it’s about time.” Jason said. “We’ve been waiting for you to come clean for like a year.” Your chest released the tension it held, and your face lost its color.

“What?! You knew?” Your eyes widened. How much did they know?

“Yeah, we kind of figured, N/N.” Tim said. You quirked an eyebrow. He shrugged. “Sneaking out without notice is hard to do in a family like ours. But we also figured you’d tell us when you were ready.” You nodded. They still don’t know though. Or they’re just being really cool. Nah, the batfam? No way.

“I invited her over for dinner tonight. I want you guys to meet her.” You fiddled with a leather bracelet. “I want you to have an open mind when you meet her.”

“Of course we will.” Dick said, putting a comforting hand over yours. You averted your gaze from the group as he held your hand.

“She means a lot to me.” cliché

A few hours later, you were getting dressed. Zales didn’t have a phone, but you knew she was coming. You buttoned up your shirt and ran a hand over your face. Please go well. In all honesty, you knew it probably wouldn’t go well. But hey! What’s life without risk, eh?

The table was set and you made your way towards the foyer to meet Azalea.

She rang the doorbell, and diligent as ever, Alfred opened the door with a knowing smile to welcome her in.

“Hello Miss Azalea, and Welcome to Wayne Manor. We have been expecting you-“

“Zales!!” You ran around Alfred, enveloping your girlfriend in a hug. She laughed, and hugged you back.

She pulled away, but continued to hold your hand. She can feel your anxiety flowing off of you in waves. She turned back towards Alfred.

“Thank you so much, Mr. Pennyworth. I am sorry sweet Y/N here seems to get a bit too ahead of themselves sometimes.”

Alfred nodded, softly smiled and guided the two of you to the dining room. Azalea looked around at the grand manor. The wooden paneling that neatly lined up with the pristine carpet that was cleaned especially well in order to welcome a new guest courtesy of Alfred. <3 Talk about marrying into the right family.

“Allow me to fetch the others.” Alfred said before politely exiting.

She grabbed your hand.

“Regardless of what happens my love, it is all going to be okay.” You nodded.

As you reassured each other, a crash was heard from the other room. You cringed and the voices of your brother’s bickering rang out.

“Shut up replacement, outta my way before you get smacked the fuck up.” Jason began.

“You irk me.” Tim crossed his arms in a pout.

“Both of you, be quiet.” Bruce said, crossing the hallway to enter the room. As the five men looked up, you and Azalea stood. You gave her hand a reassuring squeeze.

“Hi.” Azalea said, riddled with nerves.

“Bruce, Dick, Jason, Tim, Damian,” You began, pointing each one out to her, “this is Azalea,”

“Isley, right?” Bruce said. His gaze hardened and his jaw clenched. The renowned Batman Glare™ didn’t make Azalea back down. She knew what she was getting herself into. So instead, she stood tall.

“Yes, Isley. My mother is Poison Ivy.” After another glaring standoff, Jason suddenly broke the silence with boisterous laughter.

“YES! This is so golden.” He reached a hand out to Zales. “Jason Todd, pleasure to meet you. I am the household headache.” Tension slightly died down in Azalea’s shoulders, she laughed and took his hand.

You loved Jason. He was an arrogant, loud, shoot-first-think-later person, but he was the most loyal person you knew. He always had your back, besides he’s seen his share of kids in bad environments. Hell he’s been there. He has no room to judge and never would.

Bruce continued to stand stoically. Dick smiled, and walked over.

“Hey! I am Dick Grayson, and don’t take whatever Bruce and Damian say personally, they’re always like that.” He put a hand on her shoulder. “Welcome!”

Dick was very motherly. He had his fair share of misfit kids in the teen titans, and Artemis stands to this day as one of his best friends. He has faith in people, and in you. Dick gave you a comforting pat on your shoulder.

“Three to go! Good luck, kid.” He walked past the two of you and sat down at the table next to Jason.

“Alright! Who’s next?” You clapped your hands together.

Tim looked around at the two most stubborn men in his family, or in the world, and then decided he should go next.

“Hey, I’m Tim.”

Tim’s reaction worried you to say the least. The uncertainty of how he would react made your stomach churn. At least you knew Bruce and Damian would be difficult. Tim, however, is usually open-minded. He is also protective. But above all else Tim wanted your happiness, besides, you’ve kicked his ass enough times for him to know not to worry about your safety. If you need help, you know where to go.

He took her hand and shook it. “You don’t need to worry about me. As long as you treat Y/N the way they deserve to be treated, then I'm no problem at all!”

Damian didn’t step forward when his time came.

“I don’t like criminals.”

“I am not a criminal.”

“By association, you are.”

“Oh shut up, Damian.” You snapped, coming to her defense. His eyes flew to meet yours, but he made no move in either direction. “Your mother is one of the most notorious assassins to ever exist, and your grandfather ran a league of them.” You crossed your arms. “You have no room to judge her about association.”

Damian huffed out of his nose and moved past the two of you with a resounding “Tch.”

Your eyes lit up and you spun around to your girlfriend.

“That was good for Damian!” You smiled excitedly. Damian might be a little rough around the edges, but he didn’t fight you. He is just looking out for you, and if you trust her, well, he still wouldn’t trust her, but he wouldn’t treat her as poorly as before. “Now! One more, the final boss.”

“Y/N.” He said.

“Bruce.”

“How long has she known our identities?”

“Like a year, and I only told her mine. She figured the rest on her own.” Eh. Mostly true.

He raised an eyebrow towards her.

“Hello.”

“Hi!!” She smiled.

“I don’t like your mother.”

“My mother doesn’t like you either, so it’s a good thing this doesn’t have anything to do with either of you.” She motioned between you.

Bruce hummed and moved forward. The three of you joined the boys at the table where dinner was served by the one, the only, the amazing, Alfred.

Dinner was awkward at the beginning, but whenever the conversation got moving it was easy. Your brothers liked her, it was Bruce who continued to be standoffish. However, he slowly, painfully slowly, warmed up to her throughout the night. Though it wasn't obvious to the naked eye, as Bruce’s kid, you saw his eyes soften every time you brought up a happy memory with her. She was making you happy, he knew that.

Dinner came to a close and the family was saying their goodbyes to Azalea. You stood by the door and hugged her.

“I’m so glad this went well.” You said, wrapping your arms around her. She kissed your cheek.

“Even if they didn’t like me, there wouldn’t be anyone’s opinion that could keep me from you.” You pulled apart, just as Bruce was coming down the stairs.

“Azalea. May I have a word in private before you leave?”

“Bruce I do-“

“It is okay my love. Yes sir.” Azalea motioned to the room over.

You sat on the stairs and tapped your foot, anxiously and impatiently. DAMMIT! So close to this going well. If he screws it up that would be major suckage.

When they returned, both had content smiles on their faces.

Azalea hugged you again.

“I will see you soon my love.” She then turned to Bruce. “Thank you for a wonderful evening, sir. It was a pleasure to meet your family.”

Bruce held up a hand.

“No need to thank me, the pleasure was all mine. Goodbye Azalea.”

She kissed your cheek.

“I love you.”

“Wh- I love you too- but what did you talk about?!”

Azalea laughed and cupped your face.

“Nothing much. Goodbye” She winked and walked out the door, a car pulling up outside.

“Bye I guess…” You held the door open for her, making sure she made it to her ride.

You turned to Bruce with an eyebrow raised.

He shrugged. “What? It’s my kid’s first relationship, I am not going to ignore that just because of their parents. Absolutely not.”

“Bruuuceeee, what did you say to her?” You groaned.

“I don’t remember.”

“Liar.”

He smiled and put a hand on your shoulder.

“Does she make you happy, Y/N?”

“Extremely.”

“Then I approve.”

“Thank you, Bruce.”

~ ��~ ❀~ ❀~ ❀~ ❀~ ❀~ ❀~ ❀~ ❀~ ❀~ ❀~

A/N: tbh this was so fun to write. i ADORE botany (duh my username) and you gave me the perfect chance to use it in a fic! Great req btw i love the whole romeo-and-juliet-esc vibe of their relationship. Y/N and Azalea>>> fr flower power. thanks for the req! If you have anything else let me know!! <3 I’ve been out of town, but now that i’m back my writing can start back up! cant wait for more. Also mha fans should keep an eye out later this week!!

#batfamily #batfam #bruce wayne #tim drake #jason todd #dick grayson #damian wayne #y/n x oc #dc comcis #batfam x reader #gn reader #platonic #jason todd imagine #tim drake imagine #dick grayson imagine #bruce wayne imagine #batsibling

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kadavernagh · 5 months ago

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TIMING: Current LOCATION: Zane's beautiful house PARTIES: Regan, Zane, and Jade SUMMARY: Zane is a vampire. Regan is moving in with him. Jade has some thoughts about that. CONTENT: Medical blood

“I can start by just showing you your room?” And then maybe close the door behind her to take a moment to wonder how in the world he’d gotten himself into this situation.

It was an impressive estate for Oldtown, the two-story home that included an expansive front yard, even if it didn’t look particularly well tended to. Zane really lived here alone? And on a nurse’s salary? None of it mattered very much to Regan. Her criteria for a new place to live in were simple: she had not previously lived there, and she would not be alone when Farraige na Buanachta tried to vacuum her into its depths. The pit came for her in the dark; it came when she could not predict it like a death; it came with the undeniable force of a scream.

With a bag in each hand, Regan spurred herself down the front walkway before she started to feel the tar between her toes. This would fix it all.

She cautiously set the bags down on the front doorstep (they had her necessities: bones), and rang the bell. It was something Regan should have anticipated, the knife sliding under her epidermis and probing around beneath her skin the second Zane approached. It happened around Metzli, and Leila, so of course it happened around Zane, too. It wasn’t until she learned more from Jade that she had language to pair with it (however inexact and inarticulate that language was). Undead. Vampire.

And… oh, this was going to be a problem, wasn’t it? Not only the constant shaving of her flesh from this sensation, but the fact Jade was on the way with more of her things. Regan gulped, any eagerness in her eyes dimming at the realization as she looked at Zane. What could she say to back out now? No, this could be salvaged. “Hello. I’m here to move in, as discussed. Oh, uh, I own more than this, by the way,” she gestured to the bones, “my bone partner is bringing a car with the rest soon.” And Zane could not be there when Jade arrived. “Hey, why don’t you show me around? I can have her deposit my things here.” Regan nudged Zane inside his own house, hopping in after him. She paused. Then she stuck her arms back out and grabbed the bags, not willing to leave them behind. “Take your time. Show me every groove and furrow. Do you have any perfume? Cologne? We should put that on, both of us, as a bonding activity.” Though Regan doubted that would throw Jade off the scent.

—

There was a definite need for Zane to learn how to set boundaries. Not setting them had first led to an array of newly turned vampires showing up at his doorstep thanks to Emilio and now, a doctor that had seemed much too interested in him being a vampire was moving in. It should have been easy to tell her that he wasn’t looking for a permanent roommate, that the house was already occupied and most importantly, that Regan was… eccentric in a way that unnerved him a bit. But no, for Zane the easy way had been to crumple like a soggy piece of paper and let Regan move in.

It was probably a bad sign that she looked just as skeptical about this idea as he did when the door swung open. “Of course,” Zane replied on autopilot, even as his stomach twisted at the mention of ‘the rest’. How much was the rest? Was Doctor Kavanagh bringing the entire contents of an apartment? Before he could spiral into the thought, Regan was ushering him inside and asking about… perfume? To know the workings of her mind probably necessitated a very specific PhD but Zane was completely at a loss. “Strong smells kinda… give me a headache?” he tried, still stuck on the ‘bonding activity’ part of her reasoning. Zane knew very well that doctors tended to be odd but…

“I can start by just showing you your room?” And then maybe close the door behind her to take a moment to wonder how in the world he’d gotten himself into this situation.

—

Despite the ‘cadaveristic torpor’ of it all, Regan did truly like Zane. In her opinion, a bond had been forged between them when they defaced Halloween decorations together in the name of accuracy. If she could keep him away from Jade, this had the potential to work out. If only he moved a little faster. Regan was practically shuttling ahead of him as he took her through a sensibly decorated front hall that emptied into what was likely one of Oldtown’s biggest dying– living rooms. “I don’t care for it either. It covers up smells I appreciate much more. But we don’t have to wear it for long, only during… um, initiation. Orientation! This is like orientation? Did you have one of those when you went to–” Regan clipped the question. Why was she thinking about college? How many years had that been? It felt like she’d reached beyond Ireland’s fog and plucked someone else’s memory from the clear skies on the other side. “Forget that. Oh, my room? I don’t need that now. I will choose it later.”

Zane led her upstairs anyway, which seemed like an unusual way to begin a tour, but Regan wouldn’t judge. Jade might have done the same; she had no respect for linearity. As they passed by what looked like a bathroom, Regan stopped following Zane and veered into the room to poke around. That mirror was not going to last long. Neither was the shower pane. “Where is the cologne?” She asked Zane, once he realized he’d lost her, and turned back.

—

Yeah, his new roommate (how? why?) was definitely acting stranger than usual. Regan seemed nervous, really nervous, which didn’t fit with what Zane had seen of her so far. The way she’d handled the worker at the Halloween store, heck, even the way she’d handled moving herself in here had been decisive. Her being awkward just wasn’t sitting right. Was she regretting the decision to move in with a vampire, maybe? She’d known about all that beforehand so it didn’t make sense that she would have asked in the first place. Well, none of this made sense, especially not this hyperfixation on cologne. “We just played some name games and went over the syllabus?” he answered before she was rescinding that question entirely and moving onto choosing her own room. Oh, no.

Zane was vaguely aware that Regan was not paying attention as he pointed out rooms, trying to explain which were taken and where his own room was and great, she was gone. “Regan?” Worry colored his words - he hadn’t managed to prep all of the current inhabitants on this new development and it didn’t seem too out of character for Regan to pop into someone’s bedroom. Thankfully, she’d only diverged into the bathroom and Zane sighed, joining her in the doorway. “Next to the sink,” he answered, regretting it instantly. “But maybe we skip it for now?” It wasn’t surprising that his hesitant suggestion went ignored - if only he could bring some of his authority from work into his personal life. Maybe if he could, this whole nightmare could have been avoided and his eyes wouldn’t currently be burning from what was frankly an obscene amount of cologne. “I don’t think you’re supposed to use that much…”

—

The cloud covering the bathroom smelled of fresh citrus – the vague kind that various bottled scents employed, not quite orange, not quite lime. It tickled Regan’s nose, and it would have obscured any important scents during an autopsy (which made it a no-go in Regan’s book, even though she was no longer an ME). But it could work. It had to. Because– “Come here. You’re the one who needs it more than I.” Zane could wonder if Regan was calling him fragrant. She didn’t care. She sprayed the bottle near Zane’s face a few times, satisfied that the scent would cling to his pores, probably for the next several days.

“What else is it prudent for me to know? Is there a designated area in the yard where I should be leaving dead animals?” Regan set the bottle back on the bathroom counter with a gentle clack. “How about the garden? It will be well-fertilized.”

Her Jade senses were tingling. They were not as exact as her ability to detect death or other fae (or as literal), but she had developed a knack for predicting Jade’s proximity over time. She’d be here with the rest of Regan’s things, soon, and– Regan cast a glance at Zane, pressing her lips together. How long could she really expect to keep Jade from figuring this out? She’d be over all the time.

Regan inhaled a deep breath of cologne. Even through the remaining mist of the fragrance, she could feel Zane pulling at each tiny hair on her skin. Jade would be no different. This… this would not work. And she couldn’t put Zane at risk (risk?) just so she could have a decent, like-minded roommate. She was selfish, but not that selfish. Backing out now would be an insult to Zane’s hospitality, though, and she couldn’t tell him that he was the issue. So Regan would be the issue. She could be kind like that.

“New plan.” Regan clapped her hands together, louder than intended. “I think they should be inside, instead, the dead animals. Which one is your bedroom? I assume it is the biggest. There should be space in there, yes?” Her nose itched again. Her whole face tickled. Her sinuses. And– Regan sneezed, a high-pitched slice through the air that made the bathroom mirror crack right down the center. Maybe she hadn’t needed to say the bit about the dead animals after all.

—

At least he didn’t need to breathe. His eyes still hurt and the whole house would probably smell for days but Zane was trying really hard to focus on the positives right now. Like how he was positive that this had been a mistake and maybe Regan needed a psych eval? Was she having an early midlife crisis? With the job change and moving and whatever smell issue she was currently having, Zane really did wonder if she needed a different kind of healthcare professional than a nurse. “Thanks…”

Wiping some of the excess cologne off with the back of his hand, Zane struggled to keep up with the change of subject. “We don’t really get a lot of… dead animals but… sure, backyard sounds as good of a place as any. So, should we check out the rest of the house or-” He winced at the sudden clap and then again at the words that followed and somehow, this was getting worse. “Inside? My bedroom isn’t actually the biggest but I don’t think that’s a good idea, Regan, with the smell and the-”

That… wasn’t a normal sneeze. His brain felt rattled, a high pitch buzz lingering in his ears as Zane stared at the newly formed crack in the mirror. “What…” Even through the buzzing, Zane heard the tell-tale sign of gravel crunching under tires in the driveway. Sure, okay. One crisis at a time. See how much stuff Regan has brought over, then question Regan about how her sneezes seem supersonic. Then have a discussion about dead animals inside the house… Zane felt tired in a way he hadn’t felt since becoming undead. “I’ll go open the door for them,” he said hoarsely, moving to escape from the smog of cologne and the sight of the cracked bathroom mirror.

—

As the two of them stared at the cracked mirror– oops– it was quiet enough that Regan heard wheels crunching over gravel. That had to be Jade. And for the first time ever, she wished Jade wasn’t here right now. What was she going to assume about Zane? Zane, who dedicated his life to helping humans, just like Jade herself.

It was probably better to confess she had caused the cracked mirror now, rather than pretend it was a coincidence that it paired with her sneeze. She had (barely exercised) manners. She could apologize. And, right, having Zane agree this is a bad idea was the goal. So it all worked out. “Sorry! Always unfortunate when that happens. I have seasonal allergies. I recall you indicating you lack any emotional attachment with your lightbulbs, so that won’t be a problem, will it?” Jade was still a problem, though. Only right now. Not in any other context.

“You know what, maybe I should get the door. I like…doors.” Regan said to an empty bathroom. Oh. Bás síoraí. Regan rocketed down the staircase after Zane and a heavy trail of cologne, but he was already practically at the door (fast– he must have worked out a lot, or his nursely duties involved a lot of literal heavy lifting).

“Wait, don’t get the–” Door. That was already opening.

—

Being supportive was one of the things Jade was the GOAT of. Like, she was a self-proclaimed hype woman, so it was no shocker she was trying her best to help Regan navigate her new life as… banshee lite. (Regan might coin a better term). Jade wanted nothing more than for Regan to realize there were things other than banshee duty. That, just like Meztli, she could carve her own path too. Which, at the moment, included finding new roommates. Yup. Cause Regan wanted to get out of their… her cabin. And that was so cool and chill, and she was definitely not taking it personal. Like, duh, why would she wanna live with Jade (warm, great hair, amazing kisser) when she could choose a total stranger (cold, probably bald, better keep their mouth far, far away) instead? The latter obviously sounded way more adventurous anyway.

Jade would be supportive, she wanted her lady to thrive, so she offered to drive some of Regan’s stuff to her new apartment. It was kinda exciting, once she got over the whole…rejection of it all. (And did she ask Regan to live with her elsewhere instead? Not at all, why was that relevant?). Plus, she was hoping Regan’s roomie was at least interesting and cool. Jade was also looking forward to chatting them up, to make sure they treated Regan right. They better not give her funny looks just cause of her hobbies or interests. She needed Regan to be in the second best hands possible.

The taxidermied head she’d bought that guy on the internet stuck out from the first box Jade grabbed once she climbed out of the car. She didn’t even have to ring the doorbell to hear shuffling inside. Someone was already approaching to answer the door (interesting!). She peeked from over the box when the door swung open, the megawatt smile she had on her face slowly dying out. Hazel eyes flickered to the man standing in front of her, the roommate, and realized something wasn’t right. Actually, forget that, something was straight up wrong. And just… Jade’s spirits deflated when her skin thrummed in that telltale way. Now hold on a minute…

Why was Regan chilling with a vampire? Actually, scratch that, did she even know? She had to feel it too, right? “Um. Hello, um,” she stammered, and when had she ever used hello before? Mouth dry, she looked out for Regan, who was coming up behind the man. Jade’s eyebrows pinched in a way Regan would be able to identify. What’s going on? Maybe she didn’t actually feel it. She wouldn’t blame her, the smells coming out of the house were hitting Jade like a truck. Or anyway, maybe the whole Ireland vacay ruined Regan’s death radar. (A couple instances that contradicted her idea popped into her head). Her eyes darted back to the vampire. Nope, wait, she knew what happened. They like, probably arranged this over the internet, duh. And of course, he was helpless against Regan’s disarming charm. And Regan had been clueless to his nature. Yup. She liked that scenario. It was messy for sure, but like… there was a way out of it. Except… except what if, that was how this guy lured all his victims? Maybe he acted as a sweet himbo on the internet and then bam, secured his next blood bag.

Jade wanted to barge in, snatch Regan away and pretend this meeting never happened. Keep his filthy fangs away from her sweet blood. (Cause fae had sweet blood, alright? Not cause… she wasn’t into that) (Unless Regan…). Right, they’d get out of there and have a serious discussion about adding an undead filter next time she searched for roomies. And then, obviously, she’d return to end him. Some other time cause like, she’d left all her stakes in her other jacket and all. (She conveniently tried not to think of the emergency stake she carried in her belt). Great plan.

Jade didn’t move. And the box she was carrying didn’t weigh enough to make her uncomfortable (she was even planning on holding it with one hand, give Regan a little show. Not anymore!). So she stood there, blinking like an idiot. Regan wanted roomies, and she wanted to find herself, and she’d lost so much that Jade only wanted Regan to thrive and… there was a knot in her throat. Cause this felt like a lose-lose situation. She counted to five, a shaky exhale escaped her lips.

Was she gonna play dumb for the chance Regan secured a room in this admittedly very nice house? This was a vampire who could lose control at any moment. And Regan would be there with her naturally enticing neck, in immediate danger. But also… Well, Regan didn’t want to be in the cabin (with her) anymore so she didn’t wanna extend that torture… Jade’s eyes danced between the two people in front of her, unsure. Unsure was pretty much all she felt these days. Not that anybody had to know her business. “Wow… I think the fumes of that scent got into my brain cause like” she shook her head, pretending that had been the reason for her daze. “And I thought I liked citrus scents. Anyway, hi! I’m Jade,” and any smile of hers was a good smile, but there was a twinkle in her eyes that was definitely missing in this one.

—

Alright, so they were both odd. The nameless… what was the phrase Regan had used, bone partner? - was watching Zane like she’d been expecting someone completely different, the smile on her face visibly fading. Geez, alright. Was it maybe the cologne? Was that part of some inside joke, Regan messing with this woman by way of copious amounts of cologne? If so, Zane didn’t quite understand why he had to be dragged into it. “Hi,” he returned hesitantly, eyes shifting down to the dead eyed gaze looking up at him from the box in the newcomer’s hands.

Zane huffed out a laugh, spurred mostly by desperation over this situation, and that was a mistake because the aforementioned fumes attacked his senses again. “Yes, the cologne… That was… well, Regan can tell you what that’s about later. I’m honestly not really sure. Uh, come in.” Sidestepping to let Jade and her box of taxidermy enter, Zane craned his neck to try and catch a glimpse of what had been brought along. Only things that seemed to fit in a normal car. Zane wouldn’t have been surprised to see an actual moving truck out in the driveway. One thing to be thankful for.

“So… yeah. I’m Zane. Regan’s new roommate. Apparently.”

—

Regan stumbled up behind Zane, her heart tripping over itself. She pushed her bags back outside on the doorstep. What was that about wishing Jade wasn’t here at the moment? Scratch that. Her body told her it had been a lie. Maybe it was Zane she didn’t want right here, except it was his house, which was problematic. Why was wanting so complicated? Couldn’t everything just be what it was? Fate-mandated? Once upon a time, she did not need to consider wanting, because it was questioning fate. Now she didn’t even know what to eat for breakfast because she questioned everything including her Greek yogurt.

“Hello!” Regan exhaled all of the breath remaining in her lungs and waited for Jade to say something (actually, had she overhead a hello from Jade before? weird). But Jade had confusion written all over her precious face like she got the wrong food order (as a recipient – Jade was an ace at delivery, obviously). Something was wrong. And Regan leaped toward the safe assumption that was not particularly safe: the cologne hadn’t worked. Jade knew what Zane was. And she knew Regan knew. That was what her eyes were asking, right? Why? How? What? “Um, this is Zane… he lives here. That is probably apparent.”

Jade was in… some kind of trace. A staring spell. Regan cocked her head. Did Jade get seizures? No, that would have come up between the ‘allergies’ and gastrointestinal issues, both induced by her parents. She sidled up to Jade, nudging her shoulder (gently) and setting a hand on the box to help, though she’d never known Jade to need help carrying anything. “Thanks for bringing things over,” she said, mostly fishing for a response of some kind more than the need to say anything. When Jade introduced herself Regan almost wished she hadn’t. She could hear it, that calculatedness behind her tone. Jade was mapping this out. She was planning. She was probably thinking about her crossbow, or maybe a short-ranged option, in case Zane… what? Attacked for no reason? “He works at the hospital,” Regan said pointedly, “he is a nurse.” And no threat. “Helping patients, saving lives? All in a day’s work for Zane. He is a hernia among men. Uh, hero. Upon discharge, his patients surely think ‘wow, that nurse seemed remarkably well-adjusted, even though he was a pushover.’ They probably tell their families about Zane. Who is a nurse. At the hospital.”

Any prejudices Jade held were melting away, Regan was certain! But she was still uneasy about this. She leaned in on Jade’s shoulder, happy to be near the taxidermy, too, and looked toward Zane like this was a completely normal exchange. “Aren’t you, Zane? A nurse? Do I have that right?”

Time to go.

“Jade, a stór, I was just telling Zane about how I break mirrors. Glass everywhere. I am terrible to live with.” Her eyes flashed toward Jade again, desperate for her to play along (was it playing, really?) and probably not for the reason Jade assumed. Regan thought she could have lived with Zane, but she didn’t think Jade could live with her living with Zane. And what would that mean for Za– no. She batted that line of thinking away; she was skilled at doing that. It didn’t matter. She was going to egress from this roommate situation. “And not only mirrors, you know. Do you have fine china? Get rid of it. Glass cups? That will not work. Once, my snoring broke a window.” There was more, but Zane already indicated not caring about his lightbulbs, and he could probably see in the dark, anyway.

“And what if I am allergic to your cologne? You use so much of it.”

—

Zane. The vampire’s name was Zane and Jade already wanted to forget about it. And actually, Regan almost made it possible, as she moved (or was pulled) into Jade’s gravity. There was a nudge, a hand reaching under the box, fingers brushing, and for a beat all Jade could feel and see was right in front of her. Citrus scent forgotten. Her eyes got lost in Regan’s, only dipping to her mouth when she heard the ‘thank you’. Then they sparkled, in anticipation. So… did she get a kiss, or? Nope! Cause Zane was still here, it turned out, as Regan so kindly decided to remind her. In his house or whatever. The small reverie between them popped abruptly, like a balloon, and the citrus wafted to her nose again. Zane.

Who… wait, he worked where? “The hospital… the…” she repeated like her ears were failing her. (Like that ever happened). Zane the vampire was a nurse. He worked at the hospital. You know, where people bled? Where there was a blood bank and… geez. Did this guy hide in plain sight, at a place with his own all-you-can-eat buffet? Oh, she hated this. Her belly agreed. It knotted in ways she’d forgotten. This was so sick and twisted. Alarms were definitely going off in Jade’s head now. “Oh wow, that’s like, so brave. Being a nurse, I’m guessing you love those night shifts, huh?” she blurted out to cover her racing thoughts. They were so loud, it wouldn’t surprise her if the guy could hear them with his enhanced hearing. Regan called Zane a hernia, which, everybody knew (of course), was one of the highest compliments Regan could offer. Wow. Despite what Jade had recently learned, Regan believed in him. So, like…how well did Regan know hunky Zane then? (That’s right, she could see the pecs) (She was a slayer, not blind). The ramble had felt so specific though, like Regan was trying to cover her bases. Trying to appease Jade without being upfront about it. Did she know? And still, went and agreed to meet up with him? And still wanted the room? (Over living with her bone partner?)

There was no time for the hurt Jade felt to travel from her heart to her eyes cause more words were coming. Regan was speaking, and despite everything, she would never ever wanna miss a word coming out of her favorite lips. (Mmm… nope. Second favorite). “You don’t sn…” Jade cut herself off, noticing the glint behind Regan’s eyes. Alrighty, she felt like a pancake, being flipped from side to side in the pan that was life. Wait so, Regan didn’t want this place? Was this… reverse psychology? Where she convinced herself she didn’t want something but she totally did? (It sure brought back some fond memories). But good grief, thinking was like, so overrated. Her head was starting to hurt. Okay, cool, cool, she was totally following now. The right corner of Regan’s mouth was twitching, which meant she didn’t approve of this place anymore, for whatever reason, and whew, she didn’t have to ask Jade twice for her to try to give her a hand. (Or a leg, or…)

“Right!” she nodded enthusiastically at Zane for the first time. “I’ve never met a worse roomie than her. Yup, that’s why I… I’ve been trying to kick her out of my place, you know?” she chortled, and, had she not been in front of a vampire, Jade would’ve slapped his muscular shoulder. Instead, she used her free hand for better things, like reaching for Regan’s waist. Her gaze immediately flickered to her side, finding Regan’s despite the taxidermied head trying to get in the way. “She’s so loud, trust me, I mean, who’d wanna live with… her?” and yup, they had a ton to discuss once they escaped Zane’s overbearing hospitality and his passion for citrus scents, but the uncertainty didn’t erase the smitten look on Jade’s face. Or didn’t stop the warmth spreading in her chest. Where was her kiss, actually. They were due for a kiss. They had been in the same room for more than two minutes, the math wasn’t mathing. “You’d get nothing done, lemme tell ya…” she licked her lips, tearing her gaze away from the prize and back to Zane. “Like, even if you don’t care about all the glass she’s gonna break, which, oh buddy, you should. If you’re a nurse, you need lots of time for work and stuff, don’t you? She’s not gonna make it happen for you. She’s super clingy. And, oh…yup! Her nose… so beautiful, but so sensitive. We don’t want allergies.”

—

What? No, seriously, what was happening? Zane tried to pick it apart one detail at a time - the weirdly charged tension between the two that made him want to leave his own home to give them privacy, the strange amount of attention Regan was drawing to his job, the way Jade seemed to not like him in the slightest and finally, the literal worst sales pitch for any roommate ever. Which Jade was now doubling down on and Zane’s headache felt equal parts due to the cologne and the whiplash of this situation. Even if he was the type of person to cut into conversations (he wasn’t) that wasn’t an option here - Zane was literally speechless.

The part about Regan, with an apparently beautiful nose, being clingy was the last bit of nonsense he could handle. “Okay! Alright, sorry, can we just-” Zane waved his hands, as if that might possibly make the whole situation magically end. “What is going on here? Like, actually, what is going on? Why is stuff breaking? What’s with the awful roommate stuff? Why did you get so intense about the cologne?” he demanded, mildly hysterical at this point, gaze moving from Jade to Regan, not caring which of them provided an explanation. “I want to help, Regan, I really do but this is just…” With a sigh of defeat, Zane retreated into the house with a shake of his head, the end point of his hospitality reached.

—

If Regan needed any further confirmation Jade knew what Zane was (she didn’t need it) then the comment about night shifts would have done it. Because ‘vampires’ liked the night, didn’t they? Like bats. Not that Zane appeared to have much in common with those little, flying mammals (though maybe his eyes were a little small).

Jade was practically grinding her distaste between her teeth. This was the type of anger that was hard for her to bite back, probably bridled only by confusion and Regan being right there. When Regan had asked how it felt for Jade, being around the not-quite-dead, she hadn’t described it as unpleasant. So… was Jade’s discomfort based only in distrust? She certainly hated learning that Zane worked at the hospital; Regan had thought it would make him out to be a positive example. Great rot, had she missed the mark, which was embarrassing considering she had a high-acuity mental map of all things Jade that she’d charted over the last year. She had failed to predict how negatively Jade was going to respond to this. How was that possible?

But Jade’s eyes twinkled like beautiful gleaming spleens when they met Regan’s. Were they on the same wavelength again? Regan felt like she’d fallen off a balance beam; it was difficult not to question all of her other assumptions. But… yes. The small huff meant Jade was preparing to say something important. Regan was going to be correct again. She had this. She could continue to tout her status as an expert on her bone partner, which was a point of pride rivaling her MD. She nudged herself closer to Jade, careful not to bump her and risk everything being dropped. That was another challenge, but they could overcome it (not the possibility of the box toppling over… the lack of bumping).

All was well again. Jade picked up on the act. And she was a stellar actress, right up there with Bill Nye (if he were to act). She could tell Zane that yes, things break frequently around Regan, and then Zane could decide he was emotionally attached to his lightbulbs after all, and she and Jade would go… back to the cabin? Regan hid her sinking frown.

It was good Jade was holding everything because Regan would have dropped it when Jade started talking.

Worse… roomie? Regan deflated entirely. Kick her out? Jade was following her lead, her act. Regan knew that. She was also aware that Jade had never come close to ‘kicking her out’; Regan was the one who was clawing to be somewhere else. But… those were words she had never anticipated hearing come from Jade’s mouth (which had never failed Regan before). Her arm flopped off the box, and she was only faintly aware of the hand around her waist. Even the taxidermied beaver head did little jostle her out of whatever this was. Something she hadn’t been panged by for a long time.

Who’d wanna live with… her?

Regan melted more, enough that maybe she should be put into one of those boxes, too. Did Jade really think she was clingy? Did she care about the glass? Had she been harboring this since her roommate’s figurines shattered? Maybe they had been Jade’s figurines the whole time and she lied out of politeness. “Yeah, um… clingy,” Regan agreed flatly to Zane, “like putrescine on a rug. And I do. Break everything. As I explained.” The beautiful nose comment slid right by her. Jade might have been unhappy about all the time Regan was spending on her laptop in the human simulation program. And– had she been too needy? Too obvious in her pining when Jade had late nights or busy days? What were the other problems? Because there had to be other ones. The raccoon she’d left by the stairs the other day? The wings? It always came back to the wings.

The cologne made nausea swirl in her belly now, appropriately acidic for a citrus scent. Jade’s scent – which normally brought blood to the surface of her cheeks – might have been enough to elicit nausea in its own right now, too. What is going on, Zane wanted to know. A reasonable question because Zane was reasonable. Regan wasn’t certain she knew either. She had missed so much. Did she know Jade at all?

Regan cleared her throat, putting some distance between her and Jade. “I am bad to live with, zero out of five scars on Yell,” she said slowly, “I am better to die with. So you should find a different roommate. A high quality one, such as yourself.” It was rare that Regan spoke this way – most self-depreciation never made it out of her skull. Now it screamed. “I am aimless, disfigured, and overconfident in my knowledge of those I reside with. I am nauseated and do not know why, because I am constantly confused. I am a leanbh.” Regan turned away, arms crossed, gaze grazing Jade’s for an unbearable second then shooting off into the distance.

Zane was gone. Even if she hadn’t heard the confident slam of the door, she would have felt those pinpricks receding into the house. Regan only tilted her head back when it sank in that it was over – she and Zane would not be roommates, because Jade would not have liked him. But there was something more there, wasn’t there? She had worried about Zane’s safety. The silence that followed grated on her almost as badly, because she and Jade should have been filling it. Jade never knew silence; Regan thought it an insult.

With a sigh, Regan turned back to Jade, her eyes dancing around to avoid direct contact. She busied herself with one of the bags of bones she’d intended to fill the house with.

“It, uh, smelled in there. Inhospitable.” You sure said that quickly.

“Thanks for playing along.” Was it playing?

“Anyway, we should move all of this back into the car.” You should, because I will break it.

“We return to the cabin, yes?”

No, the word rang through Regan’s skull, and she was not sure if she heard it in her own voice, or Jade’s.

#c zane #c jade #writing #medical blood tw

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yoan-portfolio · 2 years ago

Text

You can do better… but when should you stop

Can relentlessly searching for “the one” ultimately leave you with zero?

Another fling has come to an end. Your bank account suggests therapy is not an option so you are laid on the bedroom floor. You have been on the phone for the last 3 hours and it burns your cheek as you listen to another one of your friends trash the guy’s haircut. Like, why would you even date someone with a mullet? Your mom thought he was too old for you, and your cousin three times removed, that you called God knows why, said men in business courses were a red flag anyway.

But as all the mixed reviews pour in, it hits you. Among all the rants and jokes you hear a common phrase - “You can do so much better”. And you believe them - you are in your twenties, hot, (mostly) trauma-free, and got a killer supply of puns… What a catch!

It’s not a wild concept to imagine yourself with someone who would really deserve you, either. You see it on TikTok (you know the 12 signs you can do better videos that always find a way on your FYP), forums where mid-aged wives cry over not dumping their asshole husbands when they still could, and of course, song lyrics in those “get over him” playlists you have saved on your Spotify.

Studies show that as the pressure society puts on young people to couple up dwindles, we are more willing to take our time in looking for “the one”. 40% of millennials say they won’t date someone wrong for them just to be in a relationship, while 66% of Gen Z accept that “not all relationships will be permanent” and 70% reject a “limiting romantic relationship”.

Our generation has seemingly taken a leap of faith towards a Hallmark romance, where “doing better” has become a mantra we rarely question. Do these rose-tinted glasses have a warranty, though? And how would you ever know if the clock is ticking on it? Now, I don’t mean to send you spiralling, which is why I talked to women of various ages about their search for someone more suitable. This is how it worked out for them:

“In my twenties, I was soaring in the clouds.” says Sharon, now 46-years-old, when recalling her first dating experiences “When I first started being interested in boys, I was around 15, 16. It was less me being interested in them, more of me being interested in the attention they could give me.

“My confidence would be dependent on how much attention I was getting, until the point I felt like the centre of the universe. Whenever I decided, I could maybe give them some of my attention back, since I was so obviously above them. At this point it was so ingrained in my mind that I could do better - by my friends and my newfound ego - that I didn’t even question it. I mean, everyone was being served to me on a platter, and if they weren’t - their loss! Later I would mature, I fell in love for the first time and started looking for a deeper connection.”

Getting addicted to romantic affection is not a crazy concept. Science has dubbed romantic love a “natural addiction” because it affects the same dopamine pathways associated with drug addiction, alcohol and gambling. And as with any other drug, the more and more you take it, the effects fade. Maybe this is why time has us build a more pragmatic, mature outlook on love.

“Many find themselves going from relationship to relationship, basking for a while in an initial experience, only to eventually feel restless, but long-time partners know that their one-on-one relationship must be guarded and enriched on a continual basis.” says Dr. Randi Gunther, a psychologist and marriage counsellor.

“There will always be someone better in some ways and less in others out there. What is more important is personal transformation so that each succeeding relationship is better. Who were you at the beginning of this relationship? Who are you now? Who will you become as a result of how you love and learn?

“Living a life of waiting and wondering if something is better out there takes energy away from creating the best your current relationship can offer.”

A study conducted by Vice shortly after the pandemic, made up of 45% Gen Z respondents, showed 75% were currently single and not dating, stating they wanted to take the solitary time to get to know themselves better before pursuing a partnership.

Taking time with dating undeniably teaches us as much about ourselves as it does about the people around us. It helps us establish boundaries, figure out our own needs and what we bring to the table. It is a process that can feel empowering, disappointing and everything in between - and sometimes, it is easy to lose the end goal amidst the flurry of emotions.

“Now that I am older, I have seen how it can backfire on you.” says Sharon. “Some of my friends went through that phase of thinking they can do better in a later period in life and it has lasted for years. It's the reason a lot of them have remained alone.

“While they build their ego they stall and stall until it turns into narcissism. So by the time you get older and look into the mirror all you see is a withered narcissus and you need that very down to earth relationship to bring you back. However, by then, people your age have usually married, created families and you are left with just yourself and a plunging ego.”

“The fact that your desirability will inevitably fade is hard to come to terms with at a young age. At 20 it’s all Swan Lake and at 40 it’s the Dance of the Dying Swan” she laughs.

A scroll through the internet or a girls’ night out with your seemingly happy, coupled up friends shows that a loving relationship will not simply root the thought of doing better out. What was once an empowering, hopeful mantra to a proud single can turn out to be the Apple of Discord in a couple’s life.

“Even as a stable couple, there are traps that can lead you to think you can do better” says Willow, 19, when recalling her 3-year-long relationship.

“I would say when you are together for a while you start doing the same thing over and over again - work, see each other for an hour in the evening, have some dinner, go to sleep. And it’s every day - with me, the days I had off, my boyfriend didn’t so I would go out with my friends and complain about it. Some of them were like “Just get yourself out there, go wild, that lad over there wants to buy you a drink”.

“When you are young, no matter the comfort of the relationship you want to be part of that culture, of being wild and reckless, which doesn’t necessarily work when you have a long term partner. You want to live that single life of “I don’t care, I can go home whenever I want”, being your own person.

“It ends up with you distancing yourself. My gran always said never do things without each other - it may seem suffocating - the more and more stuff you don’t do together, the more you get used to being separate.”

Though the grass will always be greener and you might never stop thinking about how your toxic ex gave you 8 orgasms per week, unlike your loving partner who only gives you 6, it’s important to evaluate what really is important to you in a relationship. Is it intimacy, companionship, trust? And if you are getting all of that, why not put the effort into giving it back, instead of pondering the “what ifs”.

“Hope springs eternal but realistic people do know what they are worth on the open market and what they need to bring to a relationship that would make the person they want, want them.” says Dr. Gunther

“My husband and I met at fourteen. We grew up off of each other. Many years of great therapy and lots of ups and downs. Much mutual and independent growth to continue to be interested and interesting. There were many times I wondered if someone out there would be better, but I was never willing to give up what I had. “

And while the thought of a soulmate or an effortless romance is tempting, it is important to go all Mythbusters on yourself. The fulfilment of a partner who is willing to put in the work as much as you and is ready to support you as you grow is undeniably more than you will get from that guy from uni with the fat trust fund who took you to fancy dinners, had a chiselled six pack, and no emotional maturity.

“A person who seems perfect when you are twenty may not turn out to be the person you need and thrive on the other end of when you are thirty. Younger people are not usually adequately formed yet in who they are to become.” says Dr. Gunther.

“Great partners talk about their feelings and people they have a yearning for openly with each other. They use those attractions to reevaluate their relationship. Were you to have a magic wand, could you conjure up a perfect person for you that would always be that way? That would mean you could never change, either.”

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kookstempo · 2 years ago

Text

i'll make this feel like home - myg

pairing: min yoongi x reader (tcad yoongi)

genre: fluff, angst

word count: 4.2K

summary: your fight with yoongi helps him figure out what he wants for the future.

warnings: a fight between our golden couple, some curse words here and there, oc ignoring yoongi for a while.

a/n: hello, my loves! this takes part between to catch a dream and three, so please make sure to read tcad before this one because there are a couple refererences. hope you enjoy!! and as always, thanks to my wonderful jo for being encouraging and loving to me.

masterlist.

You have never been stood up before.

Never as in… never, not even once. It had taken one hour for you to figure out Yoongi wasn’t coming. For dignity purposes, one would let only fifteen (or maybe twenty) minutes pass before assuming their partner wouldn’t show up and leave, but dating someone like Yoongi, 15 minutes was still a good enough amount for you to not give up.

After that twenty-minute mark, everything started to roll very, very slowly for you - or at least that’s how it had felt. The last two sips of wine eventually became four, telling the waiter you weren’t ready to order yet repeated two times, and you watched two couples ordering dessert. That was the moment you decided you had had enough and that Yoongi definitely wasn’t showing up.

Asking for the check, you pulled out your phone and checked for any notifications from him.

None.

With a sigh, you opened your chat with Hoseok and started typing.

you [19:50]: hey, would you happen to know where yoongi is?

you [19:51]: we were supposed to have dinner together and he never showed up.

Surprisingly fast, you received two notifications from Hoseok. And they left a sour taste in your mouth.

hobi [19:54]: hey! uh, i guess he didn’t really follow my advice in the end. he’s still in the studio.

hobi [19:54]: he told me he was gonna text you, now i assume he didn’t.

Well, his assumptions weren’t wrong. Sour taste becoming more prominent in your mouth, you tried your best to think about the most positive outcomes for this. Maybe he had fallen asleep and that’s why he hadn’t texted you, or he had run out of battery and he had left his charger at home.

No. That had been yesterday, and he now has a spare one in his studio for those emergencies.

Now the question was: should you drop it and go home? But how bad would it be if you went to the studio to check up on him? Maybe he would have the answer to your questions and everything would go back to normal after knowing why exactly he had decided to leave you stood up. Slamming the check on the table after signing it, you got up from your seat and thanked the waiter, hurriedly walking to the exit and looking for your car.

The engine roared loudly like your thoughts. You had told him in the morning you had a reservation for the two of you, right? Yeah, of course you had. And he had hummed in reply while taking a big bite out of his toast.

Not like you were there with him, but the phone had picked up the sound of the crunchy toast. Before your mind could spiral more, you put the studio’s address on the GPS and let it guide you to your destination.

The minute the system showed you your planned route for the night, a notification popped and disappeared swiftly, followed by a new one.

yoongi [20:04]: won’t be able to make it

yoongi [20:04]: sorry

Fast forward to the present, the cold air is the only thing keeping you company as you make your way inside the building. The receptionist is alarmed at first, not expecting visits this late - and it’s not even 10:00 p.m - but when she realizes it’s you, she becomes calm. That is until she realizes this is the first time you’re visiting the building at night, and now there is confusion painted on her face.

“Hey… Is it okay if I go to Yoongi’s studio?” You ask her in a rushed tone, taking another deep breath to not let your anxiety get the best of you.

“Yeah, sure. One would assume you don’t have to ask anymore since you two are dating.” She giggles, trying to lighten the mood.

When she notices you don’t giggle with her, she stops laughing.

“I mean, I’d say the same. But apparently that has changed since I was stood up today.”

In a certain way, her words reassure you. You two are dating, yes. But that also means that you can be stood up many more times other than just this one because there is nothing official between you two, nothing serious. And until then, work is always gonna come first. And you can’t blame him for it, but you can still feel hurt.

She clears her throat, filling the awkward silence.

“You can go up. Hope whatever happened between you two gets solved.”

The ride on the elevator is where you rehearse what you want to say to him, how you’re going to say it, and when. Knowing he’s still inside that room lets you know he is stressed, so you don’t want to be straightforward and create more heat than necessary. The ride gives you enough time to come to terms with yourself.

The ding of the elevator startles you slightly. Gulping, you get out of it and walk around the already familiar hallway, arriving at Yoongi’s door. You knock on it thrice and loudly so he is still able to hear it even with headphones on. You clutch your car keys hard, tapping your foot against the floor anxiously. Just as you’re about to knock on the door again, he opens it.

“Y/N? Hi, uhh…” He stammers, opening the door a little wider for you to get inside.

You are not going to have this conversation outside, obviously. The way the empty takeout boxes are the first thing that greets you makes the sour taste come back.

“How are you? Busy, I assume?” You murmur in the most controlled tone you can, you had decided you were going to let the conversation get there and not jump into it.

“Yeah… We had a meeting today and the due date was moved one week earlier than the original plan,” Yoongi explains, going back to his chair in front of the computer.

“But how come Hoseok already left the building?” You take a seat on the couch, gathering all the empty containers to throw them away and clean the area.

Yoongi turns around in his chair and raises an eyebrow. “How do you know he already left? You saw him?”

Playing with your bracelets, you let the words out slowly. “No, I know that because I texted him an hour and a half ago to ask him if he knew where you were.”

“I mean, where else could I be if not here?” He chuckles, turning to face the computer once more.

The sarcasm is enough to make you feel angry.

“At dinner with me, just like we talked today in the morning,” you spit.

He stands up and walks up to where you are seated, eyeing the piled up trash from his dinner. He knows what you are talking about, it’s clear by the look on his face that the memory of the talk you had is running through his mind right now. He takes the boxes from the table and drops them in the trash.

“Oh, that.”

“Yeah, Yoongi, that. I get that you were and still are busy, but it would only take a minute as a maximum to leave a short ‘won’t make it to dinner tonight, sorry’.” You mock the last part, deepening your voice as if to match Yoongi’s.

“I do not talk like that, for starters. And I didn’t just decide not to go–”

“Then what happened, huh? Because I was left alone in the restaurant for like an hour until I realized you were definitely not showing up,” you hotly interrupt him, crossing your arms over your chest.

“That is what I was going to explain before you interrupted me,” he takes a deep breath and sits down next to you. “I got too sucked into my work after that meeting and I lost track of time.”

“The minute you decided to order some dinner, didn’t you remember then?” You ask in disbelief.

There’s silence from him. He seems to be thinking about how to answer that.

After what seems like a century, he replies, “I meant to… It doesn’t matter if I did or did not remember, love. I honestly wouldn’t have been able to go because of that meeting.”

You still don’t know if he remembered or not in that exact moment - you cannot hold that against him yet. If he didn’t, it’s not that big of a deal, but if he did… He’d left you sitting by yourself for an hour, looking like a fool.

“If you did remember,” you start, looking at the ceiling. “The proper thing would have been letting me know at least at some point during the day… Not an hour later.” You mutter the last part, sighing.

“Are you implying I remembered, decided to be a douchebag, and left you there on purpose?” Yoongi scoffs, running a hand through his hair. He eyes his computer, and that is enough to set you off again.

“I am not implying shit, Yoongi! All I’m saying is, if you cared enough about me, about us–”

“There is no us, Y/N! Do you think that just because I let you in on what was bothering me, that night at the club, that’d make us a couple?”

Wow. What a low blow.

“I never said that, it’s not what this conversation is about, I just—“

“You just what? Thought you’d come here and play super girlfriend for me for one night I’m stressed? Let me break it to you, it’s not the first time I've been like this. I’m sure as hell it won’t be the last time. And I’m not gonna interrupt a choking deadline for some dinner.”

He is the one mocking now. He said more than five words and all you were able to pick up from it was ‘I did remember and you are not going to take me away from my job’.

“I was not trying to play super girlfriend, as you’d call it. I just came here to see why you hadn’t come to the restaurant…”

“Well I think I just told you - I had a meeting, have a very important deadline, and no time for a dinner that is going to keep me away from my job.”

Yep. Looks like your conclusion wasn’t that far away from the truth.

You open your mouth to say something, anything at all, yet no words come out of you. As you grab your purse and car keys, Yoongi gets up and sits down in front of his desk again - basically letting you know the discussion is over.

You shake your head at yourself when you feel the tears wetting your eyes. You are not going to cry here. Grabbing the door’s handle, you look at him one last time before leaving the room and the building.

He remembers the moment after you left - he had returned to his work like nothing had happened. Something felt off, though. Like somewhere along that talk, he had committed a mistake, and couldn’t point the finger to where. Shaking it off, he put on his headphones again and continued with his work until he felt barely capable of keeping his eyes open, and decided to take a nap at the studio, that way he could recharge and drive home safely.

When he woke up the second time, around 8:30 a.m, he grabbed his phone and noticed there was no text message from you to wish him good morning. None at all. ‘Huh, that’s weird’, he thought to himself; you usually text him around this time even if he hasn’t woken up. Perhaps you’d slept in late, there was nothing to worry about.

8:30 becomes 13:50 in the blink of an eye, still no messages from you. You’d probably gone out and forgotten your phone!

No, that has never happened before… Fuck.

He sits down with a thud on the same couch you had been sitting on last night before you went radio silent on him. Considering the fact that he is supposed to be having lunch right now, he can have some me time and think through every second of that discussion.

In a certain way, he knows that what he did was wrong - he had been looking forward to meeting you for dinner almost all day, getting some relief from his hectic schedule, even if he’d have to go back to work after that; right when that meeting ended, you were the first thing that crossed his mind. The fact that he wasn’t gonna be able to see you that night killed him, but he had to go straight to work on the album or someone else was going to kill him if he didn’t get the job done.

Which reminds him of the fact that the clock is ticking, and he needs to get his shit together.

Yoongi tries to call you after the third day of silence from you. He is greeted by the picture of the two of you he has on his wallpaper when you let the call go to voicemail. He stares at it in disbelief and confusion - you have been ignoring his messages, now his calls.

Yoongi doesn’t know how to make things better. Starting with the fact that three days have passed and he hasn’t figured out what went wrong during the conversation.

He spent the night at the studio yesterday. Somewhere during the day, he had hoped he would hear from you after seeing the many texts and couple calls from his end. Continuing receiving nothing from you, he opted for staying in the studio, not wanting to bear the silence from his apartment, too, knowing you weren’t going to be there.

You weren’t going to be there just like you aren’t present now. It’s killing him.

Throwing his head back against the chair, he rubs his eyes and taps his foot against the floor. He is stuck, does not know how to move forward with you and with the beat he is currently working on. The food on the coffee table has gone cold by now, Namjoon had dropped it off almost two hours ago; he had brushed him off with a quick “thanks” when his band member had scolded him about not forgetting to eat.

That had sounded just like something you’d say, coming from a way deeper voice than yours. He ponders the question of when had he allowed work to consume him in such a deep way, if he had lost his touch with music and that was the reason why the melody wasn’t flowing naturally for him.

He loves his job, of course. Yet, the memory of the last time something like this had happened… he doesn’t want to go down that road again - neglecting hours of sleep, food, figuratively tying the rope around his neck so tightly, something he loved had become exhausting for him.

The other day, when he was giving himself shit about not writing and being behind in his work, you had been there. Your pretty smile, your eyes full of genuine concern for him, to lend him a hand in the best way you could.

Something in you had told Yoongi you were trustworthy. You weren’t going to quit when times got rough because you were a warrior, and someone loyal to the people you cared about. And you had managed to prove him just that every single day after that, even if it hadn’t been intentional.

However, now? Now, things had gotten rough and you had gone silent. Yoongi is not disappointed in you, he realizes finally after days of thinking about it. The movie runs in his mind again, he pauses it on a crucial minute.

A grimace takes over his features when he remembers how he had told you there was no “you and him”, how he had practically broken what you two had and let you know work would always come before you.

It may be too early for him to make that call, it may not. No one knows what the right timing would be in this situation, but he can see a future with you. He isn’t opposed to the idea of a future with you.

And for that to happen, he has to, needs to start making some time for you if he wants this relationship to work.

There is something about you - more than one thing, if being honest with himself - and that something has him head over heels for you. He had noticed that night at the bar that he had let you in on what was troubling him very easily, and that surely wasn’t him deciding to go all in, it had been you and your charisma.

And Yoongi wants that, he wants to be with you.

He expresses his regret and disgust with a shake of his head, puffing out a breath. At least one part of what he is stuck on is starting to roll forward. Gathering his thoughts and coming to the conclusion that he needs to take matters into his own hands, he gets up and walks to Hoseok’s studio, knocking on the door.

Said man opens the door, takeout box in his hand.

“Yoongi? What’s up?

“I need your help with something.”

You don’t expect the text that comes at seven in the morning, especially who sends it. As you make sure your boss is not paying attention to you, you open the thread.

hobi [07:00]: hey, do you think you could swing by my studio later after you’re done with work? i wanted to see if i could borrow your vocals for this new track.

Hoseok. Jung Hoseok, wanting to borrow your vocals for a track. Pff, you were definitely dreaming.

you [07:02]: lol but why me, don’t you have someone else for that?

The silence on his behalf meant two things: you had either busted him or he was busy as fuck. Your meeting was over. You were back on your desk, busying yourself with the huge pile of paperwork.

hobi [08:30]: this is for the demo version, pls pls pls. it’ll only be like an hour :(

He’s asking for a favor; you had talked about doing vocals for them once - drunk as fuck, both of you - and it looks like it has been taken into consideration now, though. Deciding not to give it much thought, you sent out a short “yes, i’ll be there”, proceeding to pay attention to the task at hand.

“Ah, Y/N! Hoseok told me you’d be coming tonight, here is the password to his studio since he didn’t know at what time you were going to arrive. You know where it is, right?” The receptionist asks you while you shake the rain off of your umbrella.

Yes, you do. His studio is right in front of Yoongi’s.

“Yup, I do. Thank you.” You grin at her and grab the piece of paper with the password scribbled on it, making your way to the elevator after that.

The last time you rode the elevator, you weren’t expecting the night to end the way it had. Hell, you weren’t even expecting to pick a fight with Yoongi.

Sure, the way the topic had come on was… not the best. But having whatever you guys were broken up out of the blue had left you in pain. wishing you had minded your own business and just texted him to know if he was okay, perhaps even having the conversation some other day where you wouldn’t find him so stressed.

Bracing yourself for the walk up to Hoseok’s studio, you get off the elevator and turn on the corner of the hallway, keeping an eye out for the famous doormat with the cat holding its middle finger up, so you’d know you’re in front of the correct door.

What you don’t expect, though, is for Yoongi’s door to be wide open and the lights inside Hoseok’s studio turned off.

‘Just ask him’, you tell yourself. As you pop your head inside the room to ask Yoongi if he knows where Hoseok is - and three nights ago you were asking Hoseok if he knew where Yoongi was, huh - you are greeted with the sight of a beautiful sunflower bouquet on one side of the table, and on the other some to-go containers from the restaurant of the old dinner reservation… the one where Yoongi never showed up.

“We were both thinking the food was gonna get cold before you showed up.” A deep voice behind you says, letting their hand slowly hold your waist and leaving a chaste kiss on your cheek.

Yoongi. You know it’s him because his hold feels familiar, and you’d recognize his scent from a mile away.

“W-where is Hoseok? He wanted me to meet him–”

“I had him lie to you to get you here,” he confesses, softly pushing you inside the room so he can close the door.

“You did what? Yoongi, that is not fair. I don’t want to talk to you and I think I made that pretty clear.” You pull out your phone and point at it, scoffing.

Who does he think he is? Baiting you to get you here, buying a bouquet of sunflowers because you once told him roses were boring to you, and getting food from a restaurant the two of you love?

Well, you’re screwed. He is trying, and it’s getting to you.

“Y/N, I know this is not the most favorable situation for us to talk, but I couldn’t sit around knowing that the woman I love is out there pissed at me, not answering my texts or phone calls, blatantly ignoring me.” He blurts out of nowhere, words leaving his mouth as if he is desperate.

Love.

Love?!

So. Min Yoongi tells you there is no “us” three nights ago, and now he is dropping the L-bomb? Could this night get any weirder?

“What– Yoongi, don’t joke with shit like that.”

“I am not fucking joking, Y/N! I love you, and I am sorry for ever treating you like shit and making you feel like you came in second place,” he takes a deep breath and walks up to you, holding your hands in his trembling ones. “It is hard for me to set boundaries between my shit and work, you know it. But you, darling, you make all the hard work so worth it.”

You sniff quietly, looking at him the best you can through the tears. The words hit you, but the person they’re coming from makes the moment even more special.

“I promise to make of this a new place for us. To erase that ugly memory you have of what I said to you with the certainty that I will fight to make some time for you and I, because I’m in this, Y/N. I’m sorry for ever making it seem like I wasn’t, because that was far from what I wanted to express.” Yoongi squeezes your hands twice, pulling you closer to his body.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

“I don’t want to be told off again when you feel stressed, you know? It sucked.” You giggle between the tears, letting yourself go and hugging him tightly.

You receive a dry chuckle in response and his arms loop around your shoulders. He takes a deep breath and slowly walks you two to the coffee table. You notice there are some cushions thrown on the floor and two empty glasses.

“That was a very shitty move from me, I know. But I am in this, I just hope you are, too, even after what happened. I may not be able to leave this hell and go have dinner with you, but I will make sure I communicate and figure out a way to make it up to you.”

“You also said something between your apologies… Did you mean that?” You question him shyly, taking a seat on one of the cushions and eyeing the sunflower bouquet.

“Are you asking me if I meant what I said? I love you, Y/N. It doesn’t matter if you’re not ready to say it back, because again,” he emphasizes the word, rolling his eyes playfully. “The timing is bad, but I mean it.”

The words are stuck on your throat. You know you’re there, but you’re so caught off-guard, you barely manage to spit out a reply.

“I’m in this, Yoongi. We are in this together and we will make it work.”

You pull him to your body, making space for him to sit next to you and enjoy some minutes of peace and calm.

Literally, minutes.

“Would you be pissed if I told you I have to get back to work as soon as you’re finished eating?” He discloses, cleaning the corner of his mouth with a napkin.

The old you would reply with a snarky comment, but the new you swallows it.

“A little, but if you let me stick around… maybe not.”

You receive no verbal reply after that. It’s when Yoongi sits back down in front of his computer and pats his lap that you get the gesture and timidly make your way to him, getting comfortable there.

“Yup, this is way better than radio silence from you.”

#yoongi x reader #yoongi drabble #yoongi fic #yoongi #min yoongi x oc #min yoongi one shot #fic: three #fic: to catch a dream

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softrozene · 3 years ago

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Helping Insecure Girlfriend

Anonymous requested: Thank you Roze! For a request I would be interested in some hc or scenarios (which ever is easier for you !) With Zoro, Law, and Ace who wants to help their insecure girlfriend. She keeps waking up from nightmares from her past abusive relationship and is convinced her current bf is going to leave her because she is too much to handle. Just some comfort and fluff please and I'm so sorry if that's a lot. Don't feel pressured to do it ! ♥️

So sorry for the lateness of this! I have been meaning to get it out for ages lol but I really do hope this brings you comfort! Thank you for your patience anon!

Ace, Law, Zoro x Female Reader

Warnings: Comfort fluff and angst- Briefly mentions of past abuse so please tread carefully. PTSD

*Just a general note but I am proud of anyone who has escaped/left an abusive relationship and I hope that you guys are in a good place. As for those who are not then please do get some help and know you are loved and deserve so much better. Anyway, stay safe and healthy!

Words: 1,450

Two things these three men would all have in common is noticing their partner’s nightmares immediately and being aware that their partner’s ex was rather abusive. It is how they deal with it that varies

Portgas D. Ace:

When he notices, this man is going to feel bad instantly

So many emotions go through him all at once- Worry, sadness, anger, fear, and of course just the overall need to protect you

He will wake you up and hold you, remind you that you are in a safe place

His worry is at large since you do not deserve to keep reliving that nightmare with your ex

However, when these nightmares become reoccurring and how you seem to be pushing him away, not wanting to burden him with the past you keep reliving

You personally feel awful about these stupid nightmares- Why do you keep getting them?

Especially, while you are in such a good and healthy relationship?!

It is just not fair

It feels like your brain is trying to self-sabotage your relationship and it is working

You do not want to keep telling Ace all about your ex and what he did to you

How you feel completely and utterly broken

How he deserves so much better than you

You do not want to keep telling him that but you also wish he realized it too

You are just damaged goods

Unlovable

This cycle goes on for not much longer because of how much Ace cares about you

He recognizes the signs of spiraling out of good mental health and he knows you need help asap

He will always reassure you too

He will make sure you know that he would never stop loving you over something you can’t control

With help from his friends and yours (they do not give up on you), they help you recognize that your ex is no longer in your life and can no longer hurt you physically, verbally, or emotionally

You have Ace and he is doing everything in his power to show you that you are loved, and he will tell you about his own self-doubts and how he thinks it is you that deserves better than him

Overall- This type of relationship and scenario- It would be rather challenging on both sides since you think he deserves better and vice versa. However, Ace would never ever, ever, dream of giving up on you. Especially when it is obvious you are suffering from a past toxic relationship and need all the help and love you can get in order to start thriving and living for yourself

As for what other things he would do to help remind you that he loves you is daily date nights

Whenever or whatever you want to do it is all for you

He is even more gentle and cuddly for you after your nightmare as he reminds you that you are safe and with him and he would never ever hurt you or leave you unless it was a mutual break-up

100000/10 best comfort and understanding man here

Trafalgar Law:

In a relationship with Law, I think he would be very big on trust so talking about each other’s past is a huge step for him but a necessary one in order for you both to be happy in the relationship because otherwise there may end up being a few white lies or the relationship will feel off the whole time

Either way, because of the way Law is- He is just huge on mutual trust

He would essentially know about your abusive ex and the terrible things they have done to you. In a way, he can relate to any emotional abuse and manipulation thanks to a certain someone in his own past

When Law realizes that you are having nightmares about your past relationship he would actually confront you about it within the first few days but only because he needs you to understand you can go to him and he more than willing to hear about them

He is also quick to see your insecurities- The small ways you doubt yourself in this relationship and it nearly kills him

Law is aware of how hard it is to change a person’s mind especially after a toxic person in your life has convinced you that you are nothing

He will be as understanding as you need and will help you through this

Though Law is the one who gets the most stressed and will neglect himself in order to make sure you will be okay as well as your relationship with him

So, it may add to your guilt, but he will reassure you that you are worth it

Ace is more likely to do affirmations with you (as in: I am worthy. I am safe. I deserve to be happy, etc) but I do think that Law is also serious about helping you mentally so he would definitely also be on board with coming up with affirmations with you

On nights that you have nightmares, or your insecurities are at a high, he will stay up with you (hold you or make you a warm drink) and it really is no problem for him, thanks to his insomnia

He is happy to bring a bit of comfort if possible

10000/10 sneaky boyfriend. He may or may not go visit your ex and it is either really creepy or a gift when your ex is suddenly a paranoid person

Roronoa Zoro:

Zoro is the one who refuses to bring up your past in general until he notices it affecting your sleep which ends up affecting your health

He is more complicated in this situation since he will not force you to talk to him, but he will be very grumpy if you do not lol

He needs you to know trust is important and he may not be the most patient, but he will try to show you he can be since he wants you to open up to him on your own terms

Zoro values privacy the most and he is aware that he is not… as sympathetic as he could be which is why Zoro is the one who does not ask or pry about your past until you are personally ready to share it with him

Now when the nightmares start Zoro notices when you get them, all the time, thanks to him being most of the time. He only gets three hours of sleep plus naps (4 am to 7 am) so he usually notices when you begin to stir and cry in your sleep

He is not stupid so he knows when it becomes frequent, that it is a problem

When it begins to affect you in your waking hours that is when he will be like “are you good?” and if you do not answer or you are vague he will give you that raised eyebrow look

Eventually, your insecurities also get too high and decide that he should know everything and it would be his decision to decide if you are too much trouble

After you come clean and he knows about your abusive ex and the terrible things he did that still affect you, it becomes clear to him

He will reassure you that he is nothing like your ex and he would rather die than hurt you

Zoro will ask you and rather seriously “do you want me to kill him?”

He will do it too if that is what you want

Anyway, now that he knows what the problem is he also takes it seriously

He notices you trying to self-sabotage your relationship with him, and he will not have it

He will battle you, with love of course, and make sure you know that he is not going anywhere. At all

He can handle helping you and he will stay as long as you need until you realize that you deserve all the healthy love you ever wanted

As for affirmations to help with your brain- I do not think he would personally do it since he naturally believes whatever he says about himself so he would probably do them for you without realizing it

For example, “You are going to get through this and realize you deserve the love I give you”

It is simply the truth for him so if he believes it so should you

Now for nightmares, he will wake you up now that he knows you are reliving your horrifying past and he will do whatever you need to do in order to put you back in a safe place mentally

40000/10 best strong rock boyfriend

#my writing #one piece x reader #portgas d ace x reader #ace x reader #trafalgar law x reader #law x reader #roronoa zoro x reader #zoro x reader #fanfiction #headcanons #one piece fanfiction #one piece headcanons #female reader #comfort #fluff

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astranva · 4 years ago

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TikTok Compilation (pt.2)

Word Count: 1.8k

Category: Fluff

Warning: Some language, very, very slight implied smut; like, it’s a line.

Summary: Yet another compilation of Y/N and Harry content on TikTok as a couple.

// masterlist //

a/n i’ve been receiving loads of tiktok requests so i combined some here! y’all have been asking for this for so long, sorry it took me long to post! let me know what you think. stay safe, friends!

Surely, you had hoped life would have taken a turn a long time ago with the pandemic.

Going outside without masks and crippling fear seemed like a dream, despite it all having been a reality for most of our lives. And while it was cliché, you truly don’t know what you have until it’s gone, like the boring routine you had complained about but now wished to get back.

And in your case, you also didn’t know that one app could have the ability to make things slightly easier during these times – TikTok.

Call it as you may, but quarantine TikTok content was a blessing and while you could swear by that, so could the fans and everyone else on the app since the moment you (and Harry) joined.

Having had tried so many pranks, challenges, and dances, you showed no signs of coming to an end of finding humor and pleasure from the app that Gen Z dominated with the wildest spirits.

With wild spirits, came wild content and for a generation that is openly expressive, there was also wholesome content; all of which Harry’s fans had tagged you to do and try with him.

‘Make your partner impersonate you’

For that one, Harry seemed to be the most excited to do, face beaming with a thousand spiraling ideas of things he could do and say.

The moment the video began, Harry was seen under your white covers, your pink velvet headband that everyone considered iconic rested on his head to show that he was acting like you, pretending to be sleepy as he spoke in a softer voice than his, “Don’t want to get up. More cuddles, please, baby.”

Then video then cut to Harry in the kitchen, you following behind him.

“I wonder where H is, need to pinch his bum.” He said in the same pitch he used for the previous shot.

The video then cut to Harry sitting on the couch beside you, holding his phone, “Baby, look at that!” He showed you his phone, showing you a video on TikTok, “Can we do it?”

‘Wipe your lips after your bf kisses you’

For this, you were picking Harry up from the studio.

Waiting in the parking lot, you had your phone placed behind the box of tissues.

To stay safe, you began recording a normal video for you to edit later as you waited for Harry to show.

When he did, Harry looked right and left as he searched for your car before his eyes fell on you and despite the mask on his face hiding half of it, you could tell that he smiled.

Getting inside the car, Harry took off his mask with a sigh, “First time to actually breathe since morning.” He said before leaning closer to you, pressing his lips against yours.

Doing your part, you looked ahead as you wiped your lips with the back of your hand, noticing Harry’s body stiff as he looked at you.

“Did you just-” He paused, “Did you wipe your lips?”

You hummed in confusion, acting as if you hadn’t heard him as you looked at him.

“Did you-Come here,” he frowned before pulling you close by your hoodie’s drawstrings, pressing his lips against yours in a kiss again.

Again, you wiped your lips.

“Why are you doing that?” He asked, not only confusion being evident in his tone, but hurt, too, “Why are you wiping my ki-Babe, I’m clean.”

“What?” You asked, looking at him as you smiled amusingly, trying to contain your laughter.

“Why are you wiping my kiss?” Harry almost whined, frowning.

“I’m sorry, it’s for TikTok,” you giggled, breaking into laughter when he groaned with a roll of his eyes before he grabbed your jaw, kissing your lips more aggressively.

“Never again.”

‘Let go of your partner’s hand and see what they do’

If there was one thing Harry liked to brag about, it was knowing how to multitask; drive with one hand, hold yours with the other.

It was a natural occurrence for the both of you to hold hands when he drove, no matter what.

Deciding to try that one trend, you took advantage of Harry being focused on the road to film your intertwined hands on your thigh for two seconds before taking your hand out of his.

Instantly, Harry glanced at you, seemingly unaware to you tilting your phone in the other hand to film his face, “Why’d you leave my hand?” He only mumbled before opening his palm towards you once again, smiling when he heard you softly giggle as you put your hand back in his, cooing when he raised it his lips, pressing a soft and gentle kiss on your knuckles, “This stays right here.”

‘Film yourself acting like your partner’

Since the TikTok of Harry acting you like received so many reactions, among them were fans asking you to act like Harry as well, and Harry was down to watch that happen.

Harry recorded you, first shot of video being a little shaky as he couldn’t contain his giggles while watching you in his flared pants, an oversized shirt, his cross pendant on your neck between the valley of your chest, rings on your fingers that showed chipped black polish on your nails.

Your hair was gathered up in a scrunchie, one leg over the other as you sat on a chair, “I’m Harry Styles,” you began, “And like, I never explain my music, I let people interpret it the way they want because music,” you sucked a breath, “Is art. It’s a form of expression that isn’t limited, it’s, like, very open. Like the ocean.” You said slowly, mimicking Harry’s accent and smiling at the end when Harry burst out laughing.

For the next shot, you were in Harry’s white bathrobe, coming out of the bathroom before leaning on the doorframe and looking at Harry as he filmed you, “You sure you’re going to let me shower alone, love?”

Another shot was of you in Harry’s joggers and TPWK black hoodie, sprawled on your couch with the hood on, looking at Harry in disbelief as you still mimicked his accent and deep voice, “Excuse me? Why are you standing there and not cuddling me?”

In a grey tank top of his that you dramatically spilt water on to make it look like sweat and sweat shorts, you had Harry’s boxing gloves on your hands as you bumped your fists together, approaching Harry as he recorded, “God, I’m so sweaty, I have to go hug my girlfriend.”

For the final shot, you had Harry’s guitar in your arms, adjusting the strap as you stood, “I’m going to write a song that is so sexual and record it but I’m not going to release it because I’m a biiiiiitch.” You sang, dramatically strumming the guitar.

‘Pretend to take a mirror selfie with your partner then whisper something dirty in their ear’

You enjoyed the sun; the way it sneaked inside yours and Harry’s room from the sides of your curtains, lit up the room so warmly.

You enjoyed how the natural lighting looked for pictures.

You also enjoyed teasing the shit out of your boyfriend.

“Come here,” you made one grabby hand at Harry who entered the room, scratching his chin, “Let’s take a picture.”

Already used to random pictures being taken together, Harry reached you, standing in front of your vanity mirror as he wrapped his arms around you from behind, pressing a kiss against your temple.

Oblivious to it being a video, Harry leaned his chin on your shoulder, giving his famous smug look to the mirror as you held up your phone.

Turning your head, you made sure your voice was low so that your phone wouldn’t pick what you said;

“Want you to pound me.”

And instantly, Harry’s smug look faltered; his eyes widening, face brightening as he looked at you as you giggled before releasing a squeal once you felt him carry you and move you from where you stood, and to the bed as you laughed.

‘Tell your partner your ex wants to return a hoodie of yours’

Propping your phone up, you made sure it showed Harry as he cooked while you sat on the kitchen stool.

You folded your arms on the table, clearing your throat as you eyed Harry while he was chopping carrots.

“Hey, H,” Harry hummed, stealing a glance at you before looking back at his chore, “My ex called earlier,”

At this, Harry’s eyebrows furrowed before he looked up at you, putting down the knife and leaning his hands on the counter, his arms seeming to look bigger as he tensed, “What did he say?”

Trying not to laugh, you looked down, beginning to play with your fingers before giving him a shrug, “Just that he still has a hoodie of mine at his place,”

“Yeah?”

“And asked if I need it back.”

“What did you say?”

You gave him another shrug, “Said I’ll let him know.”

“Well, do you need it?” He asked, “Like really need it?”

“Yeah, it was my high school’s.”

“But baby, you have a lot of hoodies,” one hand of his reached to his lips, fingers grazing his bottom lip for a moment, “Can get it for you.”

“That’d be so awkward, H,” you sighed.

“Why? I’m your boyfriend.” Harry reasoned, “Maybe I can just come with you,” he said again before his face lit up, “I can have it customized instead. Just tell me how it looked like and-”

“Baby, no,” you chuckled, “It won’t be the same.”

“Come on, love,” he frowned, “He calls you 3 years later to tell you he still has your hoodie. You don’t think that’s suspicious? He knows you’re with m-Everyone knows we’re together.”

“Maybe he forgot,” you shrugged, “Actually, let me call and as-”

“Oh, fuck no!” Harry instantly rushed to you.

‘Aggressively tell your partner you love them’

Chilling on the couch, Harry was watching the TV, unaware of your phone that had been resting on the shelf to record you beforehand.

You stomped where Harry was, whose head snapped to you, his mouth chewing his banana bite slower as he eyed you carefully, taking in your angry state.

You threw your notebook on the couch beside him, “I love you!” You said aggressively, a frown on your face as you pointed at him, “I fucking love you!”

Harry took a moment, his face shifting to one of amusement before he raised his hands up – one holding his banana – before pointing at you, “I fucking love you, too!” He screamed.

“No, no,” you shook your head, still aggressively speaking, “I love you more!”

“I’m so fucking in love with you!” Harry said as aggressively, standing in an instant, towering over you as he pressed himself against you before wrapping one arm around you, “Why are we shouting, you weirdo?”

‘Stick your hand out and see what your partner does’

Harry was sat beside you on his laptop, music blasting from it as he emailed himself some tasks.

Recording him with one hand, you reached your arm out, opening your palm at him.

Harry looked down at your hand, a smile making its way to his face before he looked at you before placing his chin on your hand, closing his eyes as he gave you a dopey smile as you squished his cheeks while giggling, “Hiii.”

#harry styles #harry styles imagine #harry styles fluff imagine #harry styles one shot #harry styles tiktok

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simpfortetsu · 3 years ago

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it’s all a waiting game

synopsis: you’ve been letting yourself fall for far too long. when are you going to realize it was all a game to him?

genre & wc: angst & 1.1k

warning(s): mentions of alcohol, cheating kuroo </3

pairing: kuroo tetsuro x gn!reader

a note: ahaha i love him but he’s a shitty person in this one. also thank you to @atsumiye & @mortedeveles for betaing this for me!

taglist: @kawaii-angelanne @kenmaslov3r @jupitersmiles @settersandsmaus @sourstars

you were getting really tired of waiting for kuroo on your weekly dinner dates. outings, movie nights and everything in between due to the fact that he always cancelled. he had been increasingly absent, but you also knew he was rising the ranks at work and getting closer to the position he wanted so that he could make a change in the volleyball community.

so when he told you that he was going to be thirty minutes late, you put him first. again. like you always did. because what kind of a partner would you be if you didn’t allow him to pursue his dreams? but when your bread got cold, and thirty minutes turned into an hour and an hour turned into two, it was almost embarrassing. it was almost embarrassing having to tell the same waiter who had watched the two of you fall in love, “ah yeah. tetsurō is just busy with work again. he should be here soon.” and then seeing the look of pity, as you walked out of the restaurant alone, as if he knew something that you didn’t. or something that you didn’t want to admit you knew.

it was almost embarrassing to leave the restaurant only eating a few pieces of bread to hold you over so that you could wait for your boyfriend, only for him to not show up. no full meal eaten, or even half because the two of you couldn’t stop talking, like how it had been when the two of you first moved in together. no text telling you he had to stay even later or even a response to your questioning if he was still working. even though you had a feeling he wasn’t.

it was almost, almost, embarrassing as you called for a cab, choking back emotion because tetsurō wasn’t with you, again. and when you arrive to your apartment, and step onto the sidewalk, you’re watching the taxi driver as he pulls away, wishing that maybe he could be the one to bring your boyfriend back to you.

as almost embarrassing as all of that was, when you walked into your apartment to see the love of your life, with someone else, it is embarrassing that you’re not even shocked.

a heavy sigh leaves your lungs, alerting the two of them that they’d been caught. kuroo pulls away from them, a look of shock written on his face as if he hadn’t expected you to come home so “early”. as if you hadn’t just been waiting for him at your favorite restaurant for the past two hours.

he scrambles away from them and darts up to you, looking like a fish out of water as he’s grasping for words. “yn.. please i can explain,” he finally says.

but you don’t want an explanation, because you already knew. all the late nights working, or even over nights at the office, missed phone calls, missed dinners just like the one tonight. so instead of letting him explain, you respond with a quiet yet firm, “get out.” whoever he was with decides to take your advice, and begins to grab their things frantically, but kuroo just stares.

when he fails to move, you finally look at him. anguish written all over his face, and you couldn’t help but wonder, where was this passion to fight for you when you were waiting for him? “what did i say tets— kuroo. get out of my apartment,” the correction comes as yet another surprise to your now ex-boyfriend, but he finally complies, only grabbing his jacket on the way out. and as soon as the door slams shut you let out another breath. one you didn’t realize you were holding in, as well as a few tears that spill.

you didn’t miss the signs, you realize now, you ignored them. because as much as it may have hurt to be losing the man you had planned to spend the rest of your life with, you had hoped, wished and prayed that all your efforts would bring him back to you.

so as you began to let the dam of tears finally flow, you poured yourself a glass of wine and made your way to the balcony attached to the bedroom.

your phone was blowing up with texts from kuroo. from work. missed phone calls and a couple voicemails. you snatch the device from your pocket and as you go to silence the never ending pinging, you stop at your home screen.

a picture of a smiling kuroo and an even happier you. and you laugh to yourself, because how could you have been so stupid? how could you have let this go on so long? but the one photo induces a spiral of longing, looking and wondering.

as you continue to look at the countless photos in your library, each one capturing the most important or insignificant moments of your relationship, you wonder where you went wrong. because you put every ounce of yourself into your relationship with kuroo just for it to all to go to shit.

it wasn’t the nights where you let the endless buzzing of his phone go “unnoticed” while he was asleep and you laid awake. nor was it the many times he had stayed late to work and all you had done was encourage him. you decide that it was because maybe you had continued to just let yourself fall.

fall in line with the lies, fall right into the trap that is what we know as love. because as you continued to fall in love with kuroo all these months, he had begun to fall out of it. you could tell now, looking back on it, that he was never really with you when you had needed him. his mind was elsewhere. he was elsewhere.

not caring about the amount of time and effort you were putting into him. brushing away all that you had done for him and in turn all of the time that the both of you had put into your relationship, one that was supposed to last forever.

and so sitting on your balcony, drinking wine and crying softly to yourself you come to a realization. one that you wish you would have acknowledged all those months ago when you had first suspected kuroo of cheating. you realize now, that kuroo is not the man you thought he was. and if he would have respected you at all, he would have had the decency to tell you about his loss of feelings. but instead he was selfish, like you too had been. because no matter where you look now, all you see is him and you wish that he would have had the decency to at least spare you that casualty amongst all others.

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softspiderling · 1 year ago

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softspiderling masterlist

collection of EVERYTHING I’ve written so far. Everything that is on this blog. the fandoms are chronologically ordered, most recent are up top.

drabbles

fics

we always find a way (to make it out alive) | read here beacon hills holds a lot of bad memories for you. you’re still not sure how you let yourself be persuaded to go back.

fics

boy you write your name (I can do the same) | tba

series

1989

drabbles

how you first met (and how you became more)

you're dating (but no one knows)

you're married (but in secret)

you pick him up from the airport

fics

songs about girls (like you) | read here Jake has finally returned from his mission.

how do you love somebody else? | read here the one where you and Jake are exes.

get like me | read here the one where you defend Jake's honor.

five kisses | read here five kisses with Jake

never knew (that I could fall so hard) | read here You and Jake are friends. Just friends

wingman’s best friend universe

all the fics below are part of the same universe, but can be read as stand-alone fics!

hooked from hour one | read here the one where you share a mutual friend, but are unaware of it

baby, you down? | read here your best friend is a naval aviator, but apparently so is the guy you've been dating? Yeah, funny how life works.

cruel existence | read here you get hurt at work and Jake spirals

drabbles

you're married (but in secret)

fics

summer days (drifting away) | read here Bradley bumped into you at the beach and then just keeps doing it

speak now (or forever hold your peace) | read here it’s supposed to be the happiest day of your life.

cross my heart (hope to die) | read here it’s easy to fall in love with Rooster. It’s a bit harder to be in love with him.

drabbles

natasha "phoenix" trace

you're married (but in secret)

pete "maverick" mitchell

he likes you (but in an annoying way)

fics

pete "maverick" mitchell

do you believe in love at first sight (or should I walk by again) | read here the one where you keep running into Maverick.

bradley "rooster" bradshaw x jake "hangman" seresin

period troubles | read here their daughter gets her first period and Bradley and Jake lose their minds

spinning out (waiting for ya) | read here the one where Kinsley gets stuck at school and Bradley struggles trying to calm Jake down.

fics

you mocha me crazy | READ HERE Summary: an encounter at a coffee shop leaves you with more than a cup full of coffee

summer days | READ HERE Summary: it’s just one of those rare summer mornings. They were Tom’s favorite

five signs you’re too close to your boss | READ HERE you liked being the personal assistant of the CEO of Holland Enterprises. But sometimes you wondered if you were too close to your boss.

dance your worries away | READ HERE Summary: when you signed up for a beginners ballroom dancing class with your boyfriend, you hadn’t expected to be standing without a dancing partner. But then again, life has a funny way of working out

things you left unsaid | READ HERE Summary: having casual sex with Tom despite having feelings for him? What could go wrong?

put in love and don’t give up | READ HERE Summary: honestly, you never pegged Tom for the kind of guy that ghosts people, but here you are. Ghosted.

will you find me (afterlife) | READ HERE Summary: the five stages of grief start with denial and it didn’t seem like Tom was going leave that stage anytime soon.

honest feelings and bad timing (COMPLETE) | Teaser | One | Two Summary: It’s always been you, Tom and Harrison. A package deal. But sometimes things change.

series

swanky fortune (in progress) last updated on 31st of October 2019

Summary: When you clicked the ‘donate’ button on the GoFundMe page, you never would have expected to actually win. But are you going to take advantage of the opportunity or will you embarrass yourself in front of your celebrity crush?

of broken promises and heartbreak (COMPLETE)

PART ONE | PART TWO | PART THREE | PART FOUR

Playlist (with songs including: Crazy To Love You, Rescue Me, Sucker and Never Really Over)

Summary: It’s been six years since you and Tom broke up, six years since you’ve last seen each other. A lot has happened, Tom got insanely famous, making countless billion dollar movies, attending one red-carpet event after the other. But now he was attending one event, he wasn’t sure he was ready for. Your wedding. And he wasn’t attending as your groom.

fics

need a ride? | READ HERE Summary: just because you were at a country club, doesn’t mean you had to behave well

Talk To A Stranger! | READ HERE Summary: you liked talking to strangers. Well, when it’s not in real life, that is.

no air | READ HERE Summary: Short breath, panic flooding through the veins, sweat trickling down the sides. Peter knew the symptoms of a panic attack just all too well after a fight with a certain villain from space. Didn’t mean he knew how to prevent them, though. Luckily, you were by his side to help.

series

heavy burden (Silk/MCU AU) hiatus

Teaser | Part One | Summary:you liked to live your life like you want it, but there was always someone who stood in the way of that. Always.

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tomurasprincess · 4 years ago

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Kinktober 26: Demon (The Summoning Circle)

Day 26: Demon Title: The Summoning Circle Pairing: Kurogiri x Reader Word Count: 3.6k Warnings: Noncon, dubcon, demon sex powers, manipulation, coercion, death, orgasm denial, overstimulation, forced orgasms, mentions of past cheating (not Kurogiri), yandere Notes: Thank you to Literary Genius @burnedbyshoto for helping me when I was stressing out over an ending for this.

Kinktober Masterlist

You’ve double and triple checked the spell, gone over the necessary ingredients, and compared the sigils drawn on the floor to the Ars Goetia grimoire you hold in your hand over a dozen times at this point. There is no way that a single thing is out of place, no way that you’ve made even a simple mistake.

You have at least a general idea that you must be careful with these kinds of things, although you have no personal experience. According to the grimoire, if there is even one small error in the binding sigils, you will find yourself dead or worse when you summon a demon.

You’re not even sure where the book came from. You found it in your attic while cleaning and trying to distract yourself from the anger you felt towards your partner. You wanted revenge on them more than anything, and finding the book almost seemed like a sign telling you exactly how to get it.

So here you are now, attempting to summon a demon. You chose a lower ranked demon from the Ars Goetia, deciding to err on the side of caution even though you’re not sure this will work at all.

And so, with a deep breath, you find yourself chanting the Latin incantation in the spellbook, walking around the circle as you do and spreading incense. When you finish, you find yourself standing in front of a still empty summoning circle, feeling remarkably stupid for thinking this could ever work.

Until the room’s temperature begins to drop rapidly, causing you to be able to see the fog of your own breath in the cold air. All of the lights in the room dim and then shatter, scattering glass everywhere. The candles surrounding the circle sputter and flicker for several seconds before finally being snuffed out, leaving you in total darkness.

Despite the pitch black, you can see something moving in the darkness, something that looks like purple mist creeping in. There is a noise that sounds like when someone opens a window or door on a windy day and you hear the pressure of the air rushing past you.

The purple spirals upwards until it finally begins to coalesce into the shape of a man. The candles flicker back on, the flames flaring up far higher than they should be able to and causing strange looking shadows to appear on the wall. When your eyes finally adjust, you realize that there is only purple mist where the man’s head should be and yellow eyes staring at you like they see right through you down to your soul.

“You summoned me, mortal?” The demon’s voice is deep and full of amusement. He paces the very edge of the circle, and you’re suddenly very glad that you double checked the sigils, as he pauses every small step to investigate them. Checking for some sort of flaw to escape, most likely.

“I - maybe - I,” you stumble over your words and he chuckles.

“Maybe? It’s a yes or no question.”

“I did do a summoning, yes. But I didn’t - “

“Didn’t expect a demon like me?” He interrupts you before you can finish. He chuckles even louder when you simply nod your head.

“Of course you wouldn’t,” he states, “I am a high ranked demon far beyond your capabilities to summon, mortal.”

“Then how are you here?”

“I came to aid you of my own free will.” He has finished his cycle around the sigils keeping him imprisoned, turning to look into your eyes. The penetrating gaze he levels at you has you squirming, and you’re the first to look away.

“Why would you do that though?” You begin to pace yourself, nervous energy rising up in you at the unusual situation you’ve found yourself in. This wasn’t what you expected to happen, and you’re left off balance.

“Because I can feel your rage, mortal. You want to punish someone, don’t you?”

Your eyes snap back to his, and he gives a slight nod as if encouraging you to continue.

“I - do want to punish someone. My ex-partner.”

The mist around the demon’s face seems to swirl with amusement. “Let me guess - cheating?”

Your eyes widen a fraction at the demon being so on the mark. “Yes, I caught them in bed with someone else.”

“A tragedy, really. Anyone foolish enough to cheat on someone like you deserves whatever they get.”

You can’t stop the heat that rises to your cheeks at the slight bit of flirtation. “I - thank you. Is it something you can help me with?”

“Of course, mortal. Revenge is something that I am quite good at. But I don’t like to make deals through a summoning circle. Shows a lack of trust, you see.” He steps a bit closer to the edge of the circle and raises his hands up in a placating manner. “Let me out as a good faith gesture.”

Your body instantly tenses. The reasoning makes sense, but the thought of this demon being free puts you on guard.

“I’m not so sure about that one,” you say hesitantly. “The book says you absolutely should not do that.”

“What book is this?” The demon says curiously. “Surely it won’t hurt to allow me to see it?”

You can’t think of anything that he could do with the book to act against you, so you slide it across the barrier without putting your hand through.

He picks up the book and begins to flip through it, making some hums of acknowledgement as he reads the pages. He glances back at your summoning circle before turning a few more pages and finding the exact spell that you used to summon him.

“Ahh, so this is the spell you intended to cast for a lesser demon summoning.”

“I didn’t actually expect it to work at all,” you admit. “And I definitely didn’t expect to summon anything like you.”

“Anything like me? You mean an incubus?”

“I - what, I don’t - “ You stumble over your own words. Even someone as ignorant as you are knows what kind of demon that is. And it’s well over your experience level. “Is that what kind of demon you are?” You finally manage to get out.

“Oh yes it is,” he says in a rumbling tone of laughter. “You may call me Kurogiri. And what about you?”

You say your name before you can think better of it, and the demon called Kurogiri’s eyes brighten in excitement.

“This book has one thing right. A demon’s word is law. If I swear an oath that I won’t betray you, then I am bound to it. So why don’t you let me out and we can work out a deal, hmm?”

You shift around from one foot to the other while you consider things. He seems reasonable and willing to deal with you, and he’s even willing to give you an oath. All he’s asking is to not be locked in a cage. “I want your word first.”

His eyes flash with dark humor at your words. “I swear that I will not betray you.”

You feel the weight of those words settle into your chest, as if a physical bond was created. You realize this must be the oath, preventing him from hurting you, and so you walk forward and smudge the circle enough for him to walk through. He strides through confidently, eyes zooming in on you instantly. The look of malicious glee on his face causes you to inadvertently take a step back.

That expression on his face tells you that you made a horrible mistake. The air seems to get heavy as the room heats up, his power building and building. It hits you in the face like a physical force, causing you to stumble before turning on your heel to run.

But you don’t make it very far. As you grab for the doorknob, the heat of it causes you to jerk your hand back. You turn to see the demon standing in the same spot, arm raised as he beckons you to him. You take sluggish steps forward, almost as if in a dream. You can feel what’s happening, but you can’t stop yourself from walking towards your doom.

In no time at all, you’re standing in front of him, forced to look up at his face as he towers above you. You’re burning up, skin feeling too tight as an insistent throb between your legs begins. You try to turn away, but you’re frozen in place as the demon takes a now clawed hand and traces it down your face.

‘You - swore that you wouldn’t betray me.” You’re surprised to find that your voice still works.

“Oh I promise you,” Kurogiri whispers seductively, “you’re going to love what I’m about to do to you.”

And with that, a clawed hand tangles in your hair as he crashes his lips against yours. A dominant tongue slips into your mouth as his teeth bite against your lower lip. You can do nothing but stand there and let him do as he wishes, the throbbing between your legs only intensifying as you feel slick drip down your inner thighs.

He pulls away, leaving you gasping for air and your lips swollen and bruise. “What did you do to me,” you pant, finally finding yourself able to move as you squeeze your thighs together for some sort of friction.

“Just a bit of incubus magic,” he chuckles, grabbing you and lifting you easily as he carries you to the summoning circle. He lays you down on your back in the middle of the circle before taking time to undress himself slowly, removing piece after piece as if it’s a show.

You can’t help but admire how beautiful his body is underneath the fancy suit he wears. You squirm around, trying to move, to anything to relieve this fire burning through your veins. But with a smirk, he paralyzes you again before settling in between your legs. He removes your clothes next, forgoing making a show of it and choosing instead to rip them off of you.

Soon you’re laying in nothing but your panties, wet spot clearly visible through the material. “Well look at this,” he murmurs, “already so wet for me.” He glides a finger across the wet spot, drawing a whine deep from the back of your throat as he slides your soaked panties down from your hips. You’re left vulnerable in front of him, unable to close your legs as he spreads them far apart.

Your bare pussy is left completely visible to him, slick gushing out of you as he examines you. “Such a pretty pussy. I’m sure you won’t mind if I have a taste - “

He leans in to lap at your juices, groaning and causing vibrations to shoot right through you. He spreads you open with two fingers as he suckles your clit, sliding two fingers easily into your core. You’re still paralzyed by whatever power he’s using, and so you’re forced to feel everything, every action seeming more intense from your inability to move.

He increases the suction on your clit, tongue lashing and swirling against the throbbing bead and causing a moan to slip from your throat. “Hngg, please, oh shit - “

“Does that feel good, mortal?” He coos at you, curling his fingers up to graze a sensitive spot inside that draws a shout from you. “I am barely even trying yet, and already you’re such a beautiful mess underneath me.”

You pant heavily as his fingers work inside of you, tongue refusing to let up on your now aching clit. The tension is building and building, and you whine as your eyes roll to the back of your head. “Please, oh fuck,” you groan, not even sure if you’re begging him to stop or to never stop. “It feels so good -”

He lifts up just enough to take in your sweaty, breathless form, chest heaving and drool running down the corner of your mouth. “Do you want to cum?”

“Yes yes yes,” you babble mindlessly, right at the edge of an orgasm but unable to crash over. “Please!”

“Then call me your master, mortal.”

You’re too far gone to think of the consequences, the heat from within you burning through your veins. “Master, please let me cum! I need to cum so bad, please!”

He hums in pleasure, fingers inside of you quickening their pace, relentlessly smashing against your g-spot as his mouth latches around your throbbing clit again. You scream out your orgasm, juices squirting all over the demon’s face as you try to writhe.

Everything feels so sharp, so intense because of your paralysis, and you’re pushed over the edge twice more before he finally lets up. Your body is finally allowed to move, only for you to go limp as you shake and shudder.

You think things are over until you feel something hot and hard prodding at your entrance. Your eyes snap to his, eyes widening with alarm as you feel how thick he is.

“You didn’t think I was actually done with you, did you?” He flips you over, pressing your face down into the floor and raising your ass into the air as he sinks into you, inch by slow inch. You realize quickly that he doesn’t feel like a regular man, ridges and bumps running along his length that grind against your inner walls and force you to stretch around him even more.

Your fingers dig hard into the floor as you try to breathe. It hurts more than you would think, but in your lust addled mind, even the pain feels delicious.

“Does it hurt, little one?” The demon asks mockingly as you throw your head back. arching your back in a way that you can’t tell whether it’s to get away or to get closer. “I know I’m not like a mortal man, but trust me,” he grunts as he finally bottoms out inside of you, “you’ll take me anyway, and you’ll love every minute of it.”

The spines dig into your flesh, making your eyes water stinging sensation it causes. He gives you only a second to adjust before he’s thrusting, causing you to scream at the explosion of sensation.

He grips your hips as he pounds into you, forcing you back to meet his every thrust. There is one particularly large bump along his length that hits a spot inside of you that has you seeing stars with every single movement, and your whole body quivers as your stomach tightens.

You feel like you’re going to burn up from the inside, sweat dripping from your face and hitting the floor as the sound of pants and moans fill the room. His heavy balls hit your clit with every sharp snap of his hips, and the wet sounds your bodies make as they connect are positively obscene.

“Shit shit shit,” you chant as you clamp down around the many ridges along length, causing pleasure and pain to shoot through you which in turn makes you clench down even harder. “Fuck, it feels so - fuck it feels amazing,” you whine, realizing that your hand has come underneath you to begin stroking your throbbing, aching clit. Your mind is so foggy that you aren’t even aware when you started.

But the tight circles you’re rubbing on your swollen little clit are not getting you any closer to that blissful climax. Everytime you get close, it seems to fade away, and you whine from deep in the back of your throat.

“Oh my, do you want to cum again, little one?” Kurogiri’s deep voice rumbles. “Beg me to take your soul and I will let you.”

The reality of the situation crashes back into you all at once. Of course, how could you forget? You’re being fucked into submission by a demon that you were stupid enough to release from the summoning circle. You can’t give in, can’t let him have your soul -

“Fuck, no, why,” you whimper in a choked sob as your orgasm slips away from you yet again. Your fingers increase their speed, grinding down so hard on your clit that you’re beginning to get sore. You push back against the demon’s every thrust, hoping against hope that maybe you can fool him.

But as if he can hear your thoughts, he instantly stops moving and your orgasm falls even further away from you. Tears of frustration are streaming from your eyes and hitting the floor underneath you. “Please!”

“I can do this forever, have you hovering at the edge with no release until you go mad with the desperate need to cum. Do you think you can hold on that long, little one?” He mocks you as he begins to move again, fast enough that it’s pleasurable but not as fast or as hard as you need right now.

“N-n-n-o, please!”

“Then say it. Say your soul belongs to me, and I will give you whatever you desire, little one.” He moves your hand away from your clit to replace it with his own. “Don’t you want to feel how good it is to cum around a demon’s cock?”

You’re sobbing and trembling, the fire in you threatening to consume you if you don’t cum right this moment. But still you shake your head back and forth, fighting not to give in to this sadistic demon.

“Come now, little one,” he whispers into your ear. “No one is going to save you from me. Just give in and I will make you feel better than you have ever felt.”

As he grazes over your clit with one finger at the same time as the ridge pushes against your g-spot, your willpower finally snaps completely. “Kurogiri, my soul is yours! Please just let me cum, please!”

He chuckles a bit, slightly at first before building into a triumphant, booming laugh that seems to come from deep inside of him. “The contract is sealed.” You feel a sharp tugging from within you, at the very core of your being. Everything in your being seems to be screaming out at once as purple mist shoots out from him to enter your body before disappearing, forming a connection between the two of you that will never be broken.

You want to consider the implications behind it, want to rage and scream at what was just done to you. But then he begins to move, and reason flies out of your head and is replaced with pure lust.

Rough fingers dig deep into the skin of your hips as he begins to ruthlessly pound into your aching pussy, thumb grinding down hard on your clit. He pushes against your g-spot with every single movement, and it isn’t long before the pressure reaches a crescendo.

You wail as you’re finally pushed over the edge, juices gushing from you as you squirt all over the demon’s cock. He doesn’t give you a moment to breathe, fucking you roughly through your orgasm and overstimulating you through several more orgasms.

Finally, he begins to twitch and throb, shoving himself fully inside of you as hot ropes of cum spurt out against your unprotected cervix. The warmth spreading out feels hot enough to burn your insides, and you cum one last time with a strangled howl before collapsing limply onto the floor.

You feel dizzy, the room spinning wildly as you try to catch your bearings. He collects you into his arms, the mist that makes up his face seeming to form into a smirk. “Now you belong to me, little one.”

“What are you going to do with me?” You say weakly, not able to move or try to get out of his arms. “Are you going to let me go now?

“Of course not. I have waited too long for you, and now I have you. Your body and soul are both mine, forever.”

You’re not sure why you feel so weak all of a sudden, body becoming heavy and sluggish as if you’re being drained of energy. You’re beginning to lose consciousness, vision turning purple around the edges. But his wording causes a thought to form. “I did the summoning correctly, didn’t I?”

He chuckles a bit. “Yes, you did. But I was waiting, and I killed the pathetic demon you tried to summon.”

“And our deal? Were you ever sincere about it?”

“Of course I was sincere about it. In fact, your ex is already dead. Not only did they dare to put their hands on what’s mine, they discarded you like a piece of trash once they were done. Their punishment in the afterlife will be quite severe.” “What’s happening to me?” You whimper, voice breaking at the end from fear and confusion.

He grins maliciously at you. “I am draining you of every bit of life force you have. You will die, and your soul will be tied to mine for eternity.”

“But your oath!” You try desperately to stop this, to avoid being killed by this demon. “You said you wouldn’t betray me!”

“It's not betrayal if I intended to do this from the beginning, now is it?”

Your mouth falls open in horror of how stupid you’ve been, how truly in over your head you were.

“Now fade away, little one. Don’t fight it. When you wake up, you’ll be in your new home. In Hell with me, where you belong.”

✧༝┉┉┉┉┉˚*❋ ❋ ❋*˚┉┉┉┉┉༝✧

Kinktober: @thewheezingwyvern, @vixen-scribbles, @katsukisprincess, @hisoknen, @trafalgar-temptress, @wings-flames-and-ashes, @burnedbyshoto, @bakugotrashpanda, @dee-madwriter, @kittycatkrissa, @reinawritesbnha, @yanderart, @dabilove27, @anxietyplusultra, @flutterfalla, @angmarwitch, @nereida19, @babayaga67, @fromsunnywithlove, @dabis-kitten, @bakugos-cumsock, @yumeneji, @the-grimm-writer, @iwaizumi-chan, @slashersheart, @bunnyywritings, @bakarinnie, @angie-1306, @lalalemon101, @videogameboiwhowins, @tenkoshimmy, @baroque-baby, @bbyspiiice, @thirstyforthem2dmen, @blissfulignorance2000, @bluecookies02-main, @aryjaa, @theodora3022, @raekah, @ineedmorefanfics, @serosmissingtoe, @deathmemeiverse, @chibikochannumberone, @saint-eridell, @miscellaneous-bnha, @katsukis-sad-angel

#kinktober 2020 #kurogiri x reader #kurogiri smut #yandere kurogiri #kurogiri #bnha x reader #bnha smut #yandere bnha #mha x reader #mha smut #yandere mha #tw: noncon #tw: dubcon #tw: cheating #tw: coercion #tw: manipulation

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raindownforme · 3 years ago

Note

Hey! I’m back with another request!

Reader and Ted practicality have all the same classes and whenever they have to do projects or work in pairs Ted without fail or shame is always like “Can she work with me! Please!” Even in front of the class So he can flirt with her during the project

She/her pronouns pls :D

Also I LOVED ORBITING JUPITER I NEVER HEAR ANYONE TALK ABOUT IT

An Ode to You

Ted Nivison x reader [she/her used]

The teacher, Mrs. Statham, smacked a stack of papers on her rolling cart. She lined the edges of them up to make it straight, then held the stack in her off arm. She turned to face the class, smiling kindly as she stood tall in her professional shoes.

“This week, we’re starting a project. You and a partner will be writing poetry based on prompts and discussing your different styles of writing. Your partner will be randomly assigned-“ the class groaned, some shutting books in protest. “Hey. It’s 9am, you think I want this either?” The class grew quiet. “Exactly. Now, I’m pulling names from a hat. First is…”

y/n leaned into her open palm, closing her eyes for a moment. She could hear students shuffling around their chairs, tennis ball covered legs scraping the cheap cement. She ran a hand through her hair, leaning back to stretch her back over the cheap school chair.

“YES.” Someone stood quickly in the opposite corner of the room, the scraping and falling sound of the chair making y/n jump. She opened her eyes to see her classmate Ted standing up in the corner with his arms upright in a cheering motion. He smiled widely, looking over towards y/n. He quickly realized his outburst, dropping his arms and pushing his glasses further onto his face. “Should I pick up that chair?”

“Yes, Ted. Then go move over to your partner.” Mrs. Statham shook her head, going back to the task she’d been working on before hand. Ted gathered his things, placing the chair back to where it belonged, and headed across the classroom to where y/n sat. He pulled the chair next to her out and sat down, smiling widely.

“Hey, come here often?”

y/n rolled her eyes, trying to hide a small smile. “Good morning Ted.”

“Good morning gorgeous.” Ted looked away from y/n, sorting through his backpack for a spiral notebook and a mechanical pencil. He turned back to y/n, intending to say something, but Mrs. Statham spoke first.

“All partners have been assigned. On the board are types of poetry and some one-word prompts. Yes you and your partner must pick the same type of poem and prompt. If you have any questions, I’ll be up here grading. Go ahead.”

The students began chattering as Mrs. Statham went to her desk. y/n huffed, staring at the board. She wasn’t well-versed on types of poetry, and the list was quite long.

“How about an Ode? You know like an Ode to something?” Ted gestured with his pencil as he talked. “I’ll let you pick the category.”

“An Ode to…” y/n scanned the board, looking for the right word. “Does that say darling?”

“No?” Ted squinted as he looked at the board as well. “I think it says daring. But I like darling! An ode to darling.”

y/n smiled, turning to begin writing in her own notebook. The rest of the lesson went on with only a few scattered comments from Ted.

“What color are your eyes?”

y/n looked up at him, confused. “Why?”

“Never mind I got it.” Ted furiously scratched at his paper, y/n returning to her own.

“What season is your favorite would you say?”

“Fall.” y/n set down her pencil, smiling kindly at Ted. “I like the leaves and it’s usually a nice temperature out. You?”

“I’m a late spring early summer kind of guy.” Ted taped his pencil over and over in a slow rhythm he could only hear in his head. “I mean, unless you have a pollen allergy.”

“Why?”

“I can’t take you out if you’ll be sneezing and coughing the whole time. I don’t know, maybe the fall could be a good time.” Ted waved like he was getting rid of an idea. “I’ll figure it out.”

“Okay?” y/n thought to herself for a moment, then ignored Ted’s question to go back to her work.

“Hey what’s your-“ Ted was cut short by the ringing of the school bell. He groaned dramatically as y/n stood to gather her things. “No! Stop.”

“Why?” y/n didn’t stop, instead zipping her bag shut and throwing it over her shoulder. Ted grabbed onto the edge of her shirt, tugging slightly.

“I don’t want you to go.”

“Ted, I have a class across the school. I’ll see you tomorrow.” y/n gently pulled her shirt from Ted’s grasp. He sighed, standing up.

“Fine. Let me walk you there at least?”

It took Ted all of a minute to gather his things. He shouldered his back pack and led y/n out of the classroom. He let his hand fall to his side, gently taking y/n’s middle finger and wrapping his own finger around it. He looked down at her, smiling softly, and held on tighter when she showed no sign of discomfort.

The two walked in silence across the school, taking y/n to her science class. Ted stopped her before she walked in, keeping her finger is his grasp. “Can I see you later?”

“Ted, we have class tomorrow. I’ll see you then.” y/n patted him in the arm, politely excusing her self. She watched him walk backwards down the hall, and turned to walk into the class.

“I’ll be thinking of you!” She rolled her eyes at Ted’s outburst, avoiding the peering eyes of her classmates.

———

The next few days continued the same way; Ted endlessly flirting while y/n write her ode. The writing came easy to her. She wrote about the stars, about the constellations and the night sky. It was a basic topic she knew, but it was easy to write about and it fit the prompt. She wasn’t sure what Ted had written about, but by now everyone had finished their poems, and it was time to present.

“Alright, Ted and y/n?” Mrs. Statham sat behind her desk, yawning into her mug of tea. “Please state your type and prompt.”

“We chose an Ode, and I miss read the prompt so instead of daring we chose darling?”

She nodded, keeping her eyes on the grading sheet in front of her. “I like it. Go ahead.”

y/n cleared her throat. She looked over at Ted, waiting to see who would go first. He gestured to her, offering her to go first while smiling kindly. Oddly enough, for it being the first class of the day, Ted seemed to be the most awake in the classroom.

“For darkness around you, a pattern to make do…” y/n read robotically from the sheet of paper in front of her. The poem lasted only ten seconds, letting her quickly set it aside and awkwardly smile at her classmates. There was light clapping from the crowd, complimentary almost.

“Very good.” Mrs. Statham scribbled on the grading sheet with a blue pen. “And what was that called again?”

“An Ode to the Stars.”

“Thank you. Ted you’re next?”

Ted nodded eagerly, straightening himself. He smoothed down the front of his shirt and looked expectantly at Mrs. Statham. “Do I-“

“There are no extra credit points for memorization. However, if you’d like to, go ahead.”

“Thank you.” Ted turned back to y/n, smiling widely. “I’m encaptured in your loving stare; My darling girl, my lady, fair.”

Ted went on for a long minute, leaving y/n a flustered mess. Every stanza, Ted found a new way to look at her. A new way to gesture to her. A new way to emphasize the lines he spoke. And after that long minute, the class fell silent for a moment before clapping loudly for Ted’s display.

“Thank you both. Class, did we notice any differences in Ted and y/n’s writing?”

Someone y/n didn’t know the name of put their hand upwards, prompting Mrs. Statham to call on them. “Well, y/n wrote about an object, Ted wrote about a person.”

“Good. Is there anything else we can infer class?”

“Oh!” Someone in the back classroom sat up straighter as they shouted out. y/n couldn’t quite see who it was. “y/n wrote kind of factual? Like things that we could all see. But Ted sees the person differently than we’d normally… perceive them?”

“Yeah. Exactly. Alright good job you two, go ahead and take your seats.”

Ted followed y/n to the shared desk in the far corner of the classroom. Another set of students went up to present theirs, and y/n kept her eyes glued forward on the pair, avoiding looking at Ted.

“I really liked yours.” Ted leaned over to whisper in her ear. She jumped a bit, surprised by how close he sat. “I think it was beautiful.”

“Thanks.” y/n chewed at the inside of her lip. “What was yours called again?”

“An Ode to You.”

“Sorry?” y/n tried to swallow the heat rising to her face, trying to not be flustered in front of Ted.

“It’s called An Ode to You.”

“To me?”

“No— well.” Ted twirled a pencil around in his finger tips. “It’s called An Ode to You, not like An Ode to y/n, I mean technically it is about you-“

“Me? What, are you flirting?”

Someone snorted in the seat in front of y/n and Ted. “You just noticed?”

y/n watched Ted’s face turn bright red. “I mean, they’re right. You just noticed?”

“I assumed it was a joke.”

“Why would I be joking?” Ted looked at y/n with concern etched across his face.

“I don’t know! Are you not joking?”

“No.” Ted very gently took y/n’s hand in his. “y/n, my darling. I would never joke about you.”

“Well Ted, honey, it’s 9am and you’re flirting with a tired teenager.”

“Can I flirt with you some other time?”

“Yes.” y/n yawned, stretching her arms upwards. “Any other time.”

“Tonight then? 7 o’clock?”

“Why 7-?” y/n stopped, her face becoming increasingly heated as the realization came to her. “A date? You want to take me on a date?”

The school bell rang and Ted stood from the desk, placing a folded piece of paper in front of y/n. “Text me, I’ll come pick you up.”

She watched Ted walk away, then looked down at the paper. On it read a phone a number that she assumed belonged to ted. When she unfolded it, however, was a hand written poem with a title reading, An Ode to y/n.

#ted nivison #ted nivison x reader #chuckle sandwhich x reader #chuckle sammy #chuckle sandwich #lunch club x reader #lunch club

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robindrake93 · 3 years ago

Text

Kavinsky’s relationship with Ronan is so interesting when looked at from Kavinsky’s POV.

Kavinsky was skulking about Monmouth for Ronan before he knew that Ronan was a dreamer, which meant that he had some interest in Ronan as a person (which we know doesn’t happen because the dream pack and his family are...dreams). Kavinsky then finds out that Ronan is like him. They’re the same. They’re dreamers and Kavinsky has never met another one in the world. He went from being alone to being one of two. His whole world changed again.

Kavinsky spends like a year trying to tease the confession out of Ronan. Ronan is really only interested in finding the bottom of a bottle with Kavinsky (and racing and fighting with him). Kavinsky is the window in which Ronan’s bird tries to fly into repeatedly and violently. We can assume Kavinsky was met with failure because The Dream Thieves happens.

Kavinsky flirts and he insults in the same breath because he is the instrument that Ronan loves to hurt himself on (and he’s not a stupid boy who can’t read the fucking room - Gansey has a literal collar for Ronan; K isn’t pulling Gansey’s Dog from his ass). But Kavinsky isn’t the only one with sharp, cutting edges and Ronan (intentionally and otherwise) hurts Kavinsky too.

So time passes and Ronan is the same as he’s always been and Kavinsky gets impatient and desperate. He dreams Ronan’s leather bracelets, punctured with teeth marks like the ones in reality, the details noted carefully and lovingly.

“I know you” is what the gift says. “I know you’re a dreamer and I know you chew your bracelets when you’re unhappy and I’ve been paying attention because I care. Look.” Kavinsky leaves.

The next time they see each other, Ronan tosses him a pair of sunglasses. The ones that Kavinsky wears regularly. This is the acknowledgment, the “I know you too.” Except the tint is off, the lenses are slightly wrong (and oh I bet that haunts Kavinsky later, this tiny sign that Ronan isn’t as into Kavinsky as Kavinsky is him). But still. The fact that the sunglasses exist says that Ronan is accepting the gift, he’s returning it, and he’s trying. Which is more than Kavinsky got out of him before.

Things happen fast after that.

Because they’ve always shared dreams and been aware that they were sharing when Ronan dreams of Kavinsky, I’m assuming that the first one - the sex dream - featured a real Kavinsky (although I don’t think Ronan knew). Kavinsky falls asleep and into a dream where he’s fucking Ronan against the hood of a car. This isn’t Kavinsky’s dream, either. It’s Ronan’s. Ronan who controls his dreams. To Kavinsky, this has to seem like a sign that Ronan is very into him.

They’re both dreamers. Kavinsky lives surrounded by dream people and dream objects...why couldn’t they take a dream relationship to reality with them?

Ronan crashes Gansey’s car because of the night horror and Kavinsky shows up to save his life. Ronan’s life is valuable. Except Ronan isn’t grateful, he’s freaking out for no reason over the car. And there’s a moment where Kavinsky literally does not understand what the big deal is; Ronan can just dream a new one. It’s easy. He mentions that Ronan might have a head injury because he doesn’t know that Ronan doesn’t know Kavinsky is a dreamer.

But Kavinsky is going to take care of this and his stupid idiot boyfriend (what else would Ronan be? They courted, they fucked, dreams are reality). Kavinsky flirts on the drive over and Ronan sulks and Kavinsky says in words what he’s been saying in actions; I know what you are, you’re just like me.

Kavinsky is no ones dog. He doesn’t have a Gansey to distract him from his life. He lives with reminders of how bad life is and he’s an addict in a downward spiral. So the process of dreaming is something Kavinsky has had ample time and privacy to streamline.

Ronan doesn’t make cars because he’s keeping himself secret. By showing him the cars and that it’s even possible, Kavinsky says, “we don’t have to be a secret. You don’t have to limit and twist yourself into a tiny box. The world is literally ours.”

I’m not sure how they went from ‘let’s dream a new car’ to ‘let’s get drunk’ and can only assume that it was old habit to drink in each other’s presence but there’s a time skip where we next hear from them via Gansey. More specifically, via Kavinsky being at once jealous over Gansey (probably) being in a relationship with Ronan and where he both reassures Gansey and rips off the bandaid about the car. Kavinsky sends Gansey a dick pic with an Irish flag tied to his erection, a roundabout way of saying that Ronan’s already ridden his dick.

Kavinsky takes Ronan home after the field, they (or at least Ronan) drink alcohol and Kavinsky puts on a racing movie. Kavinsky texts Gansey his dick pick and the news about the car, and he’s not even next to Ronan. He’s giving Ronan space. I’d say the phone thing was invading Ronan’s privacy but Ronan doesn’t use his phone so...there’s nothing there to invade. When Ronan wakes up, Kavinsky tries to start a conversation. And it’s a pretty normal conversation; you handle your liquor well, oh hey you aren’t responding are you okay, wait you inherited dreaming from your dad?

Ronan leaves the room. He’s not very talkative. This probably isn’t going how Kavinsky imagined it would. Again, Kavinsky is an addict and his boyfriend is being more prickly than usual so he gets high. Kavinsky makes a joke instead of confessing to texting Gansey what was basically a “he wants me more than you” text. And Ronan responds with violence. Which Kavinsky points out and his only option is to lay his cards on the table. Kavinsky doesn’t want to play chase, he wants this thing between them to settle. So he spills that he saw Ronan dream the blood and he knew.

And all Ronan asks is how he did it. His hackles have finally soothed. Kavinsky almost literally jumps on the chance to teach Ronan and spend more time in his company; the company of someone like him in all the ways that matter.

There’s more beer to entice Ronan to stay, a little extra incentive to spend time with Kavinsky. Ronan’s first attempts aren’t interesting for someone who’s house is full of one trick magical dream items. Like I said above, Kavinsky has the dreaming process streamlined. He takes his pill, he gets what he wants from his dream and he dies for this. His heart stops for a few seconds. We don’t know if Kavinsky takes the pills to dream every time or if it’s just to make this fast and easy for Ronan’s training. If he does it’s because he’s suicidal, and if he doesn’t then it’s because he’s at the point that he’ll die for Ronan.

What does Kavinsky bring back? Something boring, like Ronan’s dream thing, but it’s complimentary. The cap to Ronan’s pen, the missing piece, that fits and matches perfectly. Which is what Kavinsky thinks they are to each other.

Kavinsky gets his jealous dig in about Gansey’s relationship with Ronan, which makes Ronan almost leave. This time, when Ronan tells Kavinsky to back off about Gansey, Kavinsky does. Because he wants Ronan to stay and he knows Ronan has a temper. Back to the safe stuff, to training, and this time when they dream together it’s intentional.

And when they get back? Ronan is still and he doesn’t react when Kavinsky touches him but he does open his hand when asked what he has. He laughs at Kavinsky’s joke, which doesn’t insult Gansey or insinuate that they’re in a relationship. Ronan laughs, a good sign, the best sign, and Kavinsky flirts. They open up a little, the first time that Ronan has shown any interest in Kavinsky’s home life, and then it’s back to dreaming together.

When Ronan dreams back a lit bomb, Kavinsky saves their lives by throwing it out the window before it explodes. They talk civilly and Kavinsky offers Ronan some cocaine; both to help him dream and because people who do cocaine just like to share with their friends and romantic partners (not diving deeper into this but trust me, it’s a thing).

They’re together so long that days have gone by. This is the first time that they aren’t fighting and antagonizing each other. It’s just dreams and each other. There’s still beer and cocaine because they’re addicts who are hurting, but they’re both comfortable with it. Ronan gifts Kavinsky with a twizzler, which Kavinsky takes because he loves Ronan.

Kavinsky thinks Ronan’s ready for the Camaro but gets angry when he realizes Ronan still doesn’t get how to dream. Ronan gets angry too, takes his failure out on Kavinsky because he just doesn’t get it. And Kavinsky points out how he’s been practicing.

So two things happen next. Ronan says he can’t go back without the car, to which Kavinsky replies to the effect of “then don’t.” He’s asking Ronan to stay with him. And Ronan replies that he’s going to try again, he’s going to dream with Kavinsky again, he’s staying. And that’s all that Kavinsky hears, he doesn’t realize that Ronan meant he was getting the car back so that he could leave.

A new pill comes out, one that keeps Ronan in his body but kicks his mind out. This is a pill that Kavinsky has tested before (once resulting in a girl overdosing) but now he’s got it perfected; this isn’t supposed to hurt Ronan. And Kavinsky re-enacts their first shared dream; Ronan against the hood, Kavinsky pressed up behind him, tracing the tattoo. They’ve already been here before.

But Ronan is gone, back to dreams, and when he comes to, he’s done it. He’s brought back the Camaro and it is perfect. Ronan’s success is Kavinsky’s success (which I’m sure he attributes to his magic dick and phenomenal teaching skills). They are perfect. This is a perfect moment for Kavinsky, a shining moment.

And Ronan crushes it immediately by telling him that actually he’s going back to Gansey; that he wasn’t going to stay. Kavinsky is so surprised that he stands in blank shock. Whatever defensive shields he has slam into place, a wall between himself and his boyfriend who refuses to stay. He can’t believe it.

Ronan mocks Kavinsky for thinking that they’d stay together and that this strengthened anything between them. But Kavinsky still tries to change Ronan’s mind by telling him he doesn’t need Gansey. And then Ronan breaks up with him. Ronan basically says that Kavinsky was nothing at all and he didn’t care about him.

Kavinsky is heartbroken. He says he’ll burn Ronan. He’s a jilted lover, spurned and ashamed and hurt. Ronan is leaving him. Kavinsky puts his finger gun to Ronan’s temple - one last touch - and says he’ll see Ronan later. The exact verbiage is “in the streets”, which might be a joke from Maggie about how they’re no longer seeing each other in the sheets.

But he doesn’t burn Ronan right away. He dreams him a car and lets Ronan know that he’s still jealous over Gansey.

The car gets no reaction and Kavinsky escalates in his attempts to Ronan’s attention. I don’t know how Kavinsky convinces himself that kidnapping Matthew was a good idea. But I want to know if it was before or after he realized that Matthew is a dream thing. When Kavinsky kidnaps Matthew? I bet he didn’t even have to resort to force. Just “hey kid, I’m Ronan’s friend, wanna get a milkshake?”

And he’d take Matthew to get a milkshake and sit in the booth opposite him and drill him with questions. And come to realize that Ronan dreamed him. Now that Kavinsky is actually looking at Matthew, he sees the signs of a dream thing; knows Ronan’s dreams intimately enough to recognize his handiwork. Kavinsky lives with dream things that are so real that no one can tell the difference. And Ronan did a really shitty job making Matthew. The kid has zero personality. He’s essentially a mirror: if K mentions he likes something then Matthew starts talking about it and he copies body language and speech patterns. He wasn’t just made to like people, he was made to be liked. (This was based off the snippet of CDH that was released and I don’t know if later installments negate any of this).

So if Kavinsky hands him a pill and says “swallow this” then Matthew does it and that’s how Kavinsky gets him into the trunk. He literally just asked. It’s that easy because Matthew was made by a child who had extremely base desires...who is very bad at realism.

Kavinsky sends Ronan texts from both his own phone and Matthew’s phone. This is what got Ronan’s attention; he calls. He’s never called Kavinsky before in his life, has never even texted him back before. So this is huge.

It’s important to note here than Kavinsky has replaced real life people with dreams and that he has to practice to get good at making something(one). People are replaceable. Dreams even more so. Matthew is barely a person, he’s a bad creation, and he’s replaceable. This is the key factor; Mathew can be redreamed. If something happens to this Matthew - like an explosion, say - then Ronan can always dream a new, better one. Kavinsky can help him. The point being that this is not actually a high stakes move for Kavinsky. This is breaking Ronan’s toy with the intent of gaining Ronan‘a attention and promising to buy him a new one (a better one, even).

When Ronan threatens Kavinsky on the phone, it’s nothing. Ronan has threatened violence before and it’s only fair for Ronan to make the same threats Kavinsky did. The important, takeaway is that Ronan is coming to see Kavinsky.

At the Fourth of July party, Kavinsky makes an entrance. He wants Ronan to see that he’s fine without him, better in fact.

But Ronan brought Gansey. And Kavinsky cannot resist a jab at Gansey, whom he feels stole his other half. He tells Gansey that he hopes Ronan can’t get it up for him. Ronan attacks him, demanding his dream brother back.

Kavinsky says he doesn’t know. This may or may not be a lie. Kavinsky brings up their relationship again, because that’s what this is about. He says, again, “I can’t believe you left me.” When this doesn’t get through to Ronan, Kavinsky asks Ronan to dream with him.

Ronan does.

Kavinsky is being attacked but Ronan came. He flirts, using a line he’s used before.

And it doesn’t work.

Kavinsky is being attacked by the forest and he tells Ronan that sometimes you have to take what you want; asking again if Ronan wants him, telling him that Ronan doesn’t need to ask before he takes Kavinsky. Again, he bears his heart to Ronan. He’s saying that Ronan is all he has because Ronan is so irreversibly tied to dreaming, dreaming is the only thing there is. Kavinsky says that if Ronan stays in the relationship, they’ll have each other.

Ronan tells him that it’s not enough, that Kavinsky is not enough. Here, Kavinsky begs that it’s not because of Gansey, that Gansey isn’t better than him. And then it comes out that Ronan would rather have a straight man than Kavinsky. A straight man who isn’t a dreamer.

Ronan says that there’s more to life and Kavinsky says that it isn’t true. Ronan says cars, sex, and drugs but he’s also talking about dreaming and that’s how Kavinsky takes it. Everything and a large portion of the people in Kavinsky’s life are dreams. He has no reason to think he won’t be continually replacing people and objects with dream copies. This is his whole life, it’s all he has, he’s made it from nothing. And this is when Kavinsky realizes that Ronan really doesn’t feel the same and isn’t going to return his feelings.

Kavinsky loses the will to live because he’d hinged everything on Ronan. Without Ronan, Kavinsky didn’t want to live. The last little thing he had in his life that was an equal, snuffed out Kavinsky’s flame. So Kavinsky summons a creature that’s essentially his heartbreak; not just this one but every heartbreak and all of his self loathing. This creature hates Kavinsky as much as it hates the rest of the world because it’s Kavinsky’s feelings manifested.

Kavinsky has escalated again. Now he’s threatening to kill himself. He looks Ronan in the eye and asks Ronan to stop him.

Ronan brings back an albino night horror. It fights with Kavinsky’s fire dragon and both boys just watch it. This is so interesting because Ronan’s only reaction is to tell Kavinsky to stop feeling. Stop having feelings for me. Kavinsky says that he can’t. Again, the dragon and the night horror are manifestations of Kavinsky and Ronan’s feelings; they’re metaphors come to life.

Ronan is still focused on his brother, though. Kavinsky even tells him that he’s missing the point of all this, which was to sort through their feelings (or fight through them like the dragon and horror were doing). Ronan finds Matthew, mildly drugged but fine and about to free himself anyway. And Kavinsky finally sees that Ronan really doesn’t care. So he stays in the path of their monstrous, overwhelming feelings made real and ignores Ronan’s pleas for him to get down because he knows Ronan will say whatever he needs to get Kavinsky to do what he wants.

And Kavinsky dies in flame, death via broken heart.

#rovinsky #ronan lynch #joseph kavinsky #the raven cycle #trc #the dream thieves #long post #I wrote this based on memory #and I haven’t read the dreamer trilogy #except the first little snippet of call down the hawk #so maybe something else has happened #to make something wrong #Idk or c

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aching-tummies · 3 years ago

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(Not exactly sure if I'm really doing this right but here we go.) If I was your partner... I'd take you someplace nice and encourage you to eat whatever you want. After a large meal I'd be the one to drive home, as your complaining of an upset stomach. Wanting a reaction, I'd take you down the secluded, bumpy road to see what happens.

A/N: Thanks for the lovely ask! I kind of deviated a little, incorporating some of what's been going on in my life lately (new job, stresses causing me to skip meals, the craving for pasta, etc.) The beginnings of this do delve into spiraling about weight(loss) and body image stuff a little...so if that's a trigger for people then this is your warning.

It’s been more than two years since we indulged in dine-in service at a place with non-disposable cutlery. I’ve been craving pasta for even longer than that. Creamy, garlic-y, non-reheated pasta served on a plate and twirled around a metal fork.

We haven’t taken any opportunities to celebrate for the last two years. Birthdays, holidays, promotions at work or major advancements in our career adventures—we’ve barely done anything more than acknowledge them as we both go to pick up extra shifts wherever it is that we have been working. Honestly, we’ve seen so little of each other that it wouldn’t surprise either of us if the other snuck in a job-change in the last two years. That all changes tonight.

A nearby pasta place is offering dine-in service. We booked a reservation for tonight—all you have to do is pick me up from work and we can head on over.

I’m the one that managed to sneak in a job-change in the craziness. Fast-food to office intern. I’m barely handling things. I’ve been beyond exhausted because the change happened suddenly. The office place demanded that I start with them on a whim (despite my only condition on hiring being the time to give my fast-food job the proper two week notice). Due to their abrupt “start now or we will move ahead with other candidates” ultimatum, I’ve been pulling 44+ hour weeks juggling two jobs located on opposite ends of the city.

Tonight is a celebration. Dine-in service by itself is already something to celebrate in my books, but you’re insisting that tonight is for me because I finally finished my dues to the fast-food place. The hellish four weeks of juggling is over. No more calls at midnight from me begging you to pick me up from some random quadrant of the city because I nodded off on the last bus home. No more days where I make it home from my office job only to get an urgent call from the fast-food place begging/demanding that I show up because someone cut work. No more packed weeks with no days off or time to even pack myself lunch. Hopefully no more nights where you have to peel me off of the floor because making it home was all I managed before passing out from exhaustion.

I’ve got an hour before you’re set to come pick me up from my office job. I can’t help but smile as I count down the minutes while working on editing some funding proposal that was shoved at me a couple of minutes ago.

My stomach grumbles at me and I clam up. I blush as I look around to ensure nobody heard it. The office is basically empty. All the other staff seem to have gone off to lunch. That’s something I’m going to have to get used to: the fact that there doesn’t seem to be a set schedule here…people head out to lunch whenever. As a petrified newbie, I haven’t had the guts to just take off whenever. The number of shifts where I’ve stayed here for a full eight hours and then navigated an hour and a half of transit transfers only to come home ravenous is pretty high.

Welp, if a stomach growls and nobody is here to hear it then I guess it doesn’t make a sound. I’ve got an hour left before you come to pick me up and we’re basically just two hours away from satisfying my years long pasta craving. Going out to hunt for food now would only spoil my appetite.

“I AM HERE!”

I giggle at the reference and accompanying gif you’ve sent to announce your arrival. I pack up my area and get up, saying ‘bye’ to Jerry on my way out. The second I walk out that door will mark the start of my days off for the week, something I haven’t had in over a month.

“Hi, sweetie!” I chirp as I open the passenger door and bend over to set down my bag.

As I settle in, folding myself into the car, the movements dislodge a deep rumble from my tummy. I freeze, arm still reaching out to close the door. You snicker at me with your left arm perched on your open window, fingers close to your face and highlighting that charming grin of yours that I love so much.

“Oi, close the door and we can get going.”

I do just that. With the door closed, you carefully back out of the parking space and off we go. We don’t get very far. Ah, the joys of rush hour. No use honking, Karen, you’re not ‘stuck in traffic’—you are traffic and there’s no manager for you to speak to here, moron!

I adjust my seat a little, leaning back and allowing myself to relax. I’ve done it. Tomorrow is a day off. And so is the next day. My first true weekend in over three years and my first days off in over three weeks. I can feel the tension ebbing out of me. My shoulders untense, leaving behind a distinct soreness.

My shoulders aren’t the only thing to stop tensing. Apparently, my abdominals decided to join in as well.

Grrr…RRRR…blr.br…rrr.

I blush and sit up, arms wrapping around my stomach as it continues to snarl at me. The growls come with the sharp pains of hunger pangs and I wince, hugging my tummy and pressing my arms against the pain. The grumbles are quickly drowned out by your laughter.

“Man, no wonder you say your coworkers don’t talk to you here. If I heard that coming from a newbie I’d be scared of ‘em too.”

“S-Shut up!” I don’t want to admit that my tummy has been growling very loudly at the office. I’ve skipped more lunches than I’ve eaten in my time here. I lean back in the seat again, arms crossed over my chest as I look away from you, pouting. I’m hungry enough that my stomach really hurts, I’m a panicking newbie at work that doesn’t know the ropes or what’s expected of them, and here you are teasing me.

Your right hand reaches over but instead of stopping on the shift stick it continues further until your palm finds my stomach. The gentle pressure and the warmth of your palm nudging right over where my stomach joins my intestines aids in the relaxation of my tensed muscles and brings forth another loud grumble from my guts. You move your hand slightly, patting and rubbing my flat tummy absentmindedly as you keep the rest of you focused on traffic.

“You’ve lost weight.”

“Y-Yeah…” I don’t want to admit that I’m happy about it. My waistband was loose enough to fall to my thighs before I put my belt on this morning. I love it but you and I both know weight and eating are sore subjects for me. I bite my tongue to keep from asking whether or not you think the weight loss is a good thing or not. Your tone was flat—it was an observation. The fact that I’ve been too busy and stressed out to have time to eat (or digest properly when I do) has led to the rapid shedding of pounds. Not just in the last three or four weeks, but for a long time yet. The reasons for the weight loss aren’t good…but I really do like the results, so I don’t want to hear it from you…good or bad…I don’t want to hear it. Thankfully, you don’t push the issue. Traffic picks up and you remove your hand from my stomach and put it back on the wheel.

My stomach continues to gripe and snarl as we make our way through the city at a crawl. I no longer have work to distract me and your impromptu massage has definitely woken the beast in my guts. ‘Starving’ doesn’t even begin to cover how my stomach feels. I’m starting to feel the other effects of the lack of food too. Light-headedness, feeling cold, and a limpness in my limbs. I want to press my arms into my stomach to quell some of the ache and the noises but I just can’t seem to summon the strength to put enough pressure on it. I wish you had kept your hand on my tummy. As much as your touch intensified the hunger, the pressure of your hand on my stomach was kind of comforting. Ugh…this is all wrong. We’ve been together long enough to know that both of us are into tummy stuff. Any other opportunity we’d be all over each other right now. Your mention of the weight I’ve lost and the silence that has followed since is filling me with anxiety. Under normal circumstances you’d have parked the car somewhere to tease my hungry tummy into oblivion. The fact that we’re currently driving in silence when there’s a golden kink opportunity in the palm of our hands is worrisome to me. Suddenly I don’t feel so good about the weight I’ve lost. I like it. It made me look totally bomb in my new office clothes. Buttons don’t strain even when I bend over or stretch. I spend the rest of the car ride lost in my anxieties. I’m not at an unhealthy weight. Sure, losing it is a testament of the stress I’ve been under lately…but it’s not like I’ve been intentionally skipping meals or fixating on some unachievable body image or something. This isn’t about the weight or anything, it was just a happy consequence of the hectic times I’ve gone through.

We arrive at the restaurant and you get out, expecting me to follow. I’ve managed to work myself into a ball of anxiety in the passenger seat and I don’t move. You pause on the sidewalk when you see me still strapped inside the car. You walk over and open the passenger door.

“Babe?” You see me petrified and chewing on my lip—a tell-tale sign I’m fighting some internal battle. “What’s wrong?” You cup my cheek with your hand, thumb going to pull my lower lip away from my teeth.

“Huh? Wha?” My gaze sharpens as I’m brought back to reality. I didn’t even realize we’ve arrived.

“What’re you thinking about?”

“Uhm…w-well…y-you said…n-nevermind.” I unbuckle the seatbelt and step out of the car. You frown as you think back on what I meant about you having said something.

“Oh, about the weight loss?” I freeze. Bingo. “Babe—I didn’t mean anything by it, honest. Just an observation.” You scratch at the back of your head. “You’ve been under a lot of stress lately and gosh knows neither of us has had time to cook or pack lunches. I was just thinking that maybe we should work on that together. Going hungry so often sounds like a dream, kink-wise…but neither of us has had time for that lately. I was going to suggest creating a mealplan or something together, maybe bringing out the slow cooker and freezing some stuff so that we can just grab and go for work going forward.” I stumble over and rest my head on your shoulder, giving a slight nod.

I’m overwhelmed. One thing you said sent me spiraling and you just pulled me out of it.

“Ugh…don’t do that again.”

You smirk. “I won’t. Rather than think yourself into a hole over that, you should really think about what it is you want to eat. We’re ordering off the full menu tonight.”

My eyes widen. The full menu has more selection but it’s way more expensive. Every time we’ve come here in the past, we have always ordered off the specials menu—the discounted, half-size portions that they offer. You smile seeing my stunned reaction.

“Birthdays, holidays—and Sweets, you got a job! You got a job where you don’t have to deal with the dreaded ‘customer’. I’m proud of you, Sweets. This…this is supposed to be a celebration…right? For all the celebrating we haven’t been able to do in…damn, how long has it been—” Your rambling is cut off when I seal your lips with mine. I step back with a grin, watching the dumbfounded, wide-eyed expression pass over to you ‘cuz I’m usually the no-kissy-touchy type.

“Chicken parm with garlic, angel-hair pasta in cream sauce.” I know exactly what I want to order. I’ve known it for over two years. That dish has been taunting me in my dreams for over two years. When I chew on my pillow in my sleep ‘cuz I skipped dinner in lieu of sleep I’m dreaming about that dish. The last time I had it from here was with my parents—long before I met you—for a birthday when I was still in grade school. My stomach growls, punctuating my declaration. The sound shocks you out of your reverie and you slide an arm around my waist, resting your palm against my stomach as you feel all the empty rumbles reverberating beneath your palm.

“Alright. Guess we better walk in before they give away our table…or before you decide it’s quicker just to eat me here in the parking lot.”

Ugh…how am I already full? There’s still so much food on the plate. So, so much. Urrgh…

My stomach silently gripes at me. A sickly, sticky feeling is blooming in my guts. I’m sated but there is still far too much food on my plate. The full menu is more expensive, but they fill the plate up more and often use bigger plates. I’ve forgotten just how big, and my tummy is suffering. Two years is a long time to go without something and I’ve gone without fulfilling my craving for pasta in cream sauce for over two years, maybe even three. That’s a long time…long enough for my stomach to forget how to handle cream sauce, apparently.

I’ve only swallowed about a fifth of my plate and my stomach already feels heavy. The warm bread to start and the bites of chicken parmesan cutlet went down alright. They lined my stomach comfortably and my digestive tract knew exactly how to handle them. The first couple of bites of pasta were cushioned by the bread and chicken. When that lining dissolved away and more of the pasta came into contact with my gastric juices, I realized there was a problem.

My stomach pounced on the bites of bread and the water and cola I chased it down with. I could practically feel my duodenum yawning wide to suck in the masticated bread, my intestines just as hungry for it as I have been all day. When it had to contend with the cream sauce things started to slow down. I can feel a backlog of stuff sitting in my stomach, refusing to be broken down further into a form that will comfortably move onto my intestines. I’m chewing a lot more, my mouth creating more saliva. I feel sick. My stomach doesn’t hurt, yet, but it’s definitely going to as it fights with the creamy, oily pasta.

“Ooh…they’ve got tiramisu here.” You’re eyeing the dessert menu. “It’s your favorite, right?”

“Yeah…but it’s expensive and this is a lotta food.”

“We’re supposed to be celebrating, Sweets. We’ll take whatever you don’t finish to-go. Leftovers are a Godsend, remember? C’mon, let’s live a little.”

I feel a weight settle in my stomach as you flag down a passing wait-staff and order a tiramisu. To share, thank God. My stomach churns in vain, serving only to churn up the mess of creamy pasta and chicken without moving it along further in the digestive process. The sphincter to my duodenum is squeezed tight, refusing passage to the foreign cream and oil mix that it doesn’t seem to recognize.

I managed to finish just under half of my plate before the dessert arrived. I decided to throw in the towel and asked for the rest to be packed up to-go. I put on a smile as we share the dessert and hope it’s not as shaky as my guts feel. The dessert is delicious. Rich, flavorful, and perfect. If only I didn’t have to feel it sickeningly sliding down my esophagus, plopping down heavily into a stomach crammed much too full with indigestible pasta. As my stomach clenches and churns things around the creamy tiramisu is going to get incorporated with the rest of the mess. It’s going to make it thicker and creamier…as if it wasn’t already too thick and too creamy for my duodenum to open up and allow it to wreak havoc in my intestines. As sick as my overstuffed stomach feels, I am a little grateful that my duodenum is being a stubborn prick.

If the creamy mess had passed into my intestines, I’d be doubled over in the bathroom right now, rubbing futilely at my revolting intestines. I know what dairy does to my guts. It doesn’t usually happen, just when I’m stressed or it’s close to that time of the month. It’s nasty and it hurts bad enough that I honestly think hell is enduring those cramping intestines for eternity.

We finish the tiramisu. You offer me the lion’s share, but I refuse and push it back to you with a mention on my stomach being really full. I bring my hands to my stomach and I catch the way your eyes smolder at the sight. Good. Yes. Get us home quickly, darling.

You pay for the meal, and we are off. I clutch my tummy behind my bag as we walk out to the car. Every step sends aftershocks into my guts and it’s really upsetting things in my stomach.

As I settle in the passenger seat, I notice the buttons on my blouse are a little bit strained around my stomach. Horror sets in and I quickly fumble to get the buttons undone. I don’t want to ruin my shirt and the sight of the straining buttons triggers something nasty in my mind. I calm down a little once the buttons are undone and I rub my tummy under the cover of my bag, palms running up and down the dark undershirt that is draped snugly over my full belly.

“It’s still early. Want to really paint the town red and see if we can catch a movie somewhere?”

I swallow back a sickly belch to answer your question, my questing hands churning up the mess in my guts and dislodging air pockets.

“Umph…n-no…let’s go home.”

“Sweets, you okay?” Your voice is laced with concern. Surely you can hear the sickly squelching from my guts. Do I have to spell it out for you?

“Hmm? No,” I blush as I fidget and grapple with whether or not to come clean. I’m shy about this kind of stuff—you’re my partner though and have been for a long time—we’re both into tummy stuff—we haven’t done anything on this front in a very long time. Making my decision, I move my back over to the floor, resting it against my shins and I lean back, allowing you full view of my distended tummy with my blouse undone. “I just…uhm…m-my tummy’s kinda…upset…I just really want to get home.” My stomach burbles sickly throughout our conversation. I have both my hands on the rounded curve of it, rubbing at tender spots with my thumbs.

Your eyes widen at the sight of my belly rounding out my undershirt. You start the car and pull out of our stall. Instead of righting the car onto the road you keep backing into a more secluded spot on the far end of the lot. This one is obscured by an overgrown bush or tree on the passenger side.

I haven’t even bothered with getting my seatbelt on. I was too caught up in my indigestion to think of it despite it normally being a habit. To be fair, I don’t think the seatbelt is a good idea with my tummy so bloated and sore.

“What are you—”

You unbuckle your seatbelt and turn in your seat, giving me your full attention. My seat is still reclined a little further than normal from the drive over. Gently, you put a hand on my shoulder, indicating for me not to sit up. Your eyes briefly meet mine and convey your plan before they go back to fixating on my belly.

I relax my arms, letting them rest at my sides as you slide a hand over the crest of my bloated gut. I bite back a groan as the slight pressure of your hand increases the pressure in my intestines. My stomach is packed full with an indigestible mass of creamy pasta. My duodenum is not allowing any of that entry into my intestines so they sit, bloated with air. The ingredients for a very upset tummy are inside of me…they just need a bit of a push to act as a catalyst.

The push comes in the form of a literal push as you place both hands, one on each side of my tummy, and squeeze. I bite back a mewl of pain until the pressure relents and you are sliding your hands all over my taut tummy.

“Oh my…you really are full.”

“Ugh…haven’t…haven’t eaten so much in a long time.” I groan as your hands churn up the mess in my guts. You know what you’re doing. You felt the firmness in my upper left and you know that everything is sitting heavy in my stomach. You focus your massage on my left, on the area where my duodenum is. You rub and nudge and coax at the area, intent on getting the sphincters to unclench and allow my meal to continue to digest.

“Oh…ah!” I can’t help but cry out a little as I feel my duodenum flood with the lumpy mess. A rumbling, wet burble indicates when the sphincter finally gives up and allows the mess in my stomach passage. My stomach acid wasn’t enough to break down the creamy, oily pasta so it’s entering my intestines relatively undigested.

After ten minutes of you massaging my belly, (in)digestion is in full swing. My intestines are filling up with the ache-inducing mass and the straining pressure that started in my stomach has now spread all over my abdomen. You reach over and pull down my seat belt, buckling it before reaching over to get my seat back into an upright position. My stomach cramps sharply with the change in orientation and my mewl of pain is cut off by a harsh belch. You pat my tummy almost teasingly as you right yourself in your seat and start the car.

I don’t bother to keep track of where we are heading. You could be taking me to the movies, intent on letting my indigestion stew for a couple of hours, or you could be driving us home. I don’t care. I can’t care because every ounce of me is focused on the sharp pains exploding all over my guts as the car hits every bump in the road. Damned city not bothering to spend money to fix the thousands of pot-holes in our roads. My stomach is just as vocal as I am about the indigestion.

You brake sharply, causing the seatbelt to dig into my tummy and tear a sharp gasp of pain from me. I see the road ahead of us…it’s not a road at all but literally the worst road in our city. This stretch of road is famous even outside of our city for just how bumpy and nasty it is. People scrape the undercarriage of their cars if they aren’t careful in avoiding the potholes that litter this thing like craters on the moon. People have lost pieces of their cars and done massive damage to their vehicles by driving down this road. People around here know to avoid this road. The alternative is a ten minute detour to take the safer, newer road and everyone agrees that ten minutes more is better than damaging their car on this road so it is always empty.

“Darling, no—”

You floor it, going down the secluded road at a high speed. We hit every bump and hole in the thing (that won’t damage the car)…you used to come down this thing often and you’re a master at navigating it to avoid damage to the vehicle. Damage to my tummy, on the other hand.

My stomach gives off aborted grumbles and gripes, each one interrupted as we hit another bump in the road. My tummy sloshes and churns. Digestion had stalled without your hands pushing everything along, but this new form of “massage” in the form of a very bumpy ride is kick starting things all over again…in the wrong direction. Stuff swirls inside of my stomach and I swear that it’s filling up rather than emptying. The pressure is building in my stomach. I’d like to believe it’s the air from my intestines, but I’m sure we managed to get most of that out with your massage in the parking lot.

"Ugh…ouch…ah—ow! Ungh…my tummy…urp…my tummy…ulp…” I can’t help it. Belches and protests roll through my throat, unchecked. It’s better than the alternative of something solid, I guess. The road has increased the upset tenfold as I clutch my stomach in both hands. The road has dialed the cramping pains up to eleven and many more aches and tender spots have erupted thanks to the bumpy ride. We’re about halfway through the road when I feel something solid tickling at my esophagus.

“Ugh—Babe—STOP!” I reach up and slap a hand over my mouth, fearing that we’re about to see my dinner come back out.

You slam on the brakes and the pressure from the seatbelt is what does it. My mouth fills with the sour mess of barely-digested pasta.

“Ugh…urk…” I swallow back the bile. It’s nasty, but there’s no receptacle and I don’t want to stink up the car. Luckily, this wasn’t a true vomiting session triggered internally—it was basically regurgitation brought on by external factors—like the seatbelt putting too much pressure on my over-packed tummy. My stomach snarls violently at the return of the sickly concoction.

You watch my struggle, fascinated. Reaching over, you put a hand on my palm, a hand that is quickly slapped away as I give you the fiercest glare I can muster.

“None of that until you get me home, darling.”

You grin, exaggerating taking your foot off of the brake pedal. I realize my poor phrasing a moment too late.

“As you command, Sweets.”

“Darling, no—”

#AT Asks #indigestion #tummy kink #tummy ache

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