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rrasado · 3 years

Note

Hello! May request headcanons of Leona and Octavinelle students (separately) react to fem reader having Hanahaki Disease because of them, but she never tells them directly that they're the cause of it? Have a nice day!

Blood Stained Blooms

Ara? What do we have here now 🧐. I’m joking sjsjsj angst is my go to and you hit the spot. Tag some Lion and Octavinelle stans perhaps~?

⚠️ TW: Mentions of blood and vomiting.

When words are left unsaid...

Honestly, he never expected someone with so much spunk as you to just...reel over to the floor choking out bloody flora that could’ve easily been fitting with the greenery at the botanical garden he naps at.

And at the same time, Leona knew that...people with strong fronts have a tender foundation. What do you think he is? Well it wasn’t like he bothered hiding his shortcomings, it just so happened that he never gave a care for what people think of him.

That...would’ve been the usual. What is unusual however is you vomiting on the ground pathetically clutching your chest gasping for dear oxygen. Call it what you will, instinct, concern, desire, it didn’t matter to him what the hell he was truly feeling because the next thing he knew, he was already kneeling next to you brows furrowed whilst his calloused hand placed itself on your back.

He could feel it, with the way your shoulder blades tensed and relaxed at an unnatural rate under his touch while Blood continued to trickle down- The lion beastman was no fool either. Something to this degree isn’t at its early stages is it? He was no doctor but...he felt a tinge in his chest at the thought of someone just suddenly dropping dead. It was it because it’s you who knows…

The way you weakly smiled at him as you ushered him with a blood stained hand wasn’t something that would calm him down, it might’ve made him even more spurred. Gritting his teeth his ear twitched. Before standing up and grumbling to himself.

“Oi herbavour- what the hell is that-“ “A-ah..Leona..”

Leona is Leona, the lonely second prince that forgot his title whenever he was with you, but he didn’t knew how to handle this. How to handle the thought of you in a gruesome state- ah...he accidentally stepped on a flower….Ruggie would later be ordered to fetch whatever information he can manage to attain about the hellish illness.

...His mind is truly in uproar...

It was all too sudden, even for him. One minute you two were walking side by side in the corridors discussing a possible deal and the next thing he knew, eyes locked for a split second when he saw the sudden struck of immense pain on your expression before falling to your knees on the carpet and spewing out…

Azul, was truly ambushed with so many unwanted emotions, his usually calculative mind didn’t know where to focus on, your pain the blood spewing out or the cruelly beautiful flowers that landed on the stained carpet.

His sharp posture diminished shaking his head before finally making a move, a childish reaction but he took out his own cleanly pressed handkerchief and offering it to you. So what if it’d get stained with your blood? He’d rather clean out stains than to see you reeling on the ground!

Once your coughing dies down the octavinelle dorm leader would debate whether to ask or comfort. On one hand he knew that being double weighted by pain and interrogation isn’t good but on the other hand- he wanted to know what the hell you’ve been going through and he wanted to know ASAP.

Look the variety of clients he’s had to deal with never had a near death situation so he wasn’t sure if this was even within his prowess- and if he can’t help you then his vast network of connections should help, it has to help it has to. That’s what he’d be telling to himself unbeknownst to him that you’ve been weakly calling out to him- a-ah yes?

“Dear..you-“ “C’mon we’ll be late..I-I think we can grab some water on the way”

In the end he opted for the former, gently helping you back up on your feet and already concucting his next course of action, he’d later find out the cruel disease...he wasn’t the one having flowers bloom in his lungs so why did his chest wince…?

...You were far too precious for him to let go of...

It was- not part of his predictions, far from within his spectrum of deductions even.

Taking you out for a hike to admire and study the natural specimens Mother Nature has to offer in the land forms near Night Raven college was supposed to be...not bloody.

As much as of a sucker the Vice dorm leader is for the unexpected. This particular instance did not please him in the slightest. He grew and went about keeping his true feelings under an eerily serene exterior, this situation wasn’t an exception.

But he had to wonder wether his forced calmness helped you or made it worse, the way your eyes met his heterochromatic gaze just- the way the pain doubled in your gaze when you saw an eerily calm ocean in his eyes was what you recieved but why does it hurt even more..why does it feel like he doesn’t care when he-

You didn’t had time to even complain about something seemingly insignificant as that- the flowers that fell from your mouth along with spurts of blood like a crimson waterfall was taking up you train of thought. You need air- oxygen was taken for granted huh...like how the calmer eel twin took you for granted.

“J-jade...don’t think much about it..” “...as you wish..”

Honestly, just like how he handles other dire situations, he’ll calmly handle you to the bare minimum- but that isnt to say he isn’t worried, because he is...more than he’d like to admit. He’s seen how cruel life can be but when it comes to you...he never actually considered it. So expect him to frequent the library more rather than taking hikes. Because just like how he handles other situations...it’s better to find the source, and when he does...

...He’ll be even more diligent, unbeknownst to you...

Under the bleachers- hey...is that- Koebi-chan did you spill some juice? Ehehe lemme grab you an extra shir-...that smell...

What’s that in your mouth? He thought you were just snacking on something with strawberry jam but that...land dwellers don’t usually eat flowers with jam now do they? Poor Floyd...denial off the bat. But his body already began to move on its own, taking long strides towards your shuddering form as he grasped your shoulders to steady you.

He gulped down whatever lump hitched in his throat only for nothing to come out, for once floyd actually took the time to observe. The other always told him he was too reckless, he never cared since it adds to the thrill but- shrimpy choking out fully bloomed floranstained crimson isn’t thrilling at all. He doesn’t like this he doesn’t think this is fun- get youre pranking him right?..right?

What would the others do- no he doesn’t have time to think like the others he’s the only one with you now- he should carry you to the infirmary ye that’s good, good job floyd just slowly carry them and- he ran faster than for any errand he’s had to do. The infirmary was his only destination. Wether others stared at his rare expression of seriousness or the writhing person in his arms. It didn’t matter, those useless guppies don’t matter.

He demanded you to be treated, without even thinking wether whatever made shrimpy like this can even be cured in the first place. How would he even know? He’d know when the staff informs him, when they inform him how they can only keep the symptoms at bay but not fully cure the illness. This pest of a decease was making his shrimpy suffer and you’re telling him no one can do anything about it? WHAT TYPE OF A DAMNED DECEASE IS THIS-

“This ain’t fair! What the hell is-“ “F..Floyd hey...it alright.”

Suffice it to say he doesn’t take the news well, this was such an annoying thing to have, all for love? Who the hell wouldn’t love shrimpy!? Shrimpy is shrimpy and they are fun! Goodness Floyd...he only calms down when the teen in the infirmary bed ushers him close with a shaky hand...

...He despises the situation...

#Twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland angst #twst angst #twst headcanons #twisted wonderland headcanons #twst leona #twst azul #twst jade #twst floyd #twst octavinelle #twst hanahaki #tw blood #tw vomit #twst writing #Writings from the eclipse

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triplexdoublex · 4 years

Text

Alpha Omega

Pairings: Colson x Reader

Warnings/Tags: alcohol, drunk, attempted rape (colson saves you before ANYTHING happens), potentially triggering dialogue about it the next morning, strangers to friends to lovers, smut, squirting 💦

A/N: Inspired by a weird dream I had and a real tweet I read, the person Jake in the fic was actually Jake Paul in my dream (ew). If you think the beginning backstory may trigger you and just want to read their friendship turn to lovers/smut, then scroll to the 2ND time skip marked with stars (***)

College mid-terms were finally over, which meant the same thing every year: the Alpha Omega annual fraternity party! It was the biggest party on campus every year, and even though it’s not really your scene, you decided to attend this year. Maybe it was the stress of mid-terms weighing extra heavy on your mind, but you needed an escape. But now, five full drinks and some shots later, you find yourself stumbling around the drink and keg area in the kitchen with a half-empty red solo cup, wondering how the hell you're supposed to find your way back to your dorm to sleep off what was obviously a very poor decision.

“Hey pretty thing,” you hear, suddenly feeling an arm slink around your waist.

“Do I know you?” you ask, disoriented and confused as your eyes try to focus on the face of the person touching you.

“The name’s Jake,” he shouts over the music, guiding you out of the kitchen and into the main party room. “You should come back to my room, you look like you need to lay down,” he says with ill-intent, but you’re too intoxicated to argue, letting him lead you up the stairs.

Even though most of your senses are impaired right now, you can’t mistake the distinct, pungent smell of weed wafting towards you as Jake escorts you down the hall once the two of you reach the top of the stairs.

“Yo, Jake!” a voice shouts from an open door, smoke billowing out as you pass.

“Hey Cols, what’s up?”

“Nothing much, man,” he says, blowing a smoke ring as he passes the blunt to his roommate Pete. “Wanna hit?”

“Maybe later, gotta get this pretty little thing back to room,” Jake answers.

“Aye, she alright? Colson questions, quickly rising to his feet.

“Yeah, pal she don’t look too good,” Pete coughs.

“Nah, man, that’s fucked up. She’s gooone!” Colson says getting a closer look at you. ‘You can’t talk her back to your room like this. That’s just wrong.”

“The fuck I can!” Jake retorts. “Look,” he says turning to you and lifting your slumped head. “You wanna go to my room with me don’t you, sexy?”

“N-nno” You slur, drunkenly shaking your head ‘Yes’

“See, she shook her ‘yes’,” Jake argues.

“Yeah, and her mouth said fuckin’ NO, Dawg!” Colson snaps back.

“Listen, I’m taking her to my room and there ain’t shit you can do about it!”

“The fuck there is!” Colson swings, his closed fist making contact with the side of Jake’s face, knocking him out cold.

***************************

The next thing you know you’re opening your eyes; an unfamiliar room and bed coming into view. You slowly sit up holding your throbbing head

“Hey, you’re awake,” says a soft voice to your right. Quickly, you turn your head in a panic to see a tall blonde sitting on the edge of the bed.

“W-who are you? Where.. Where am I?” you ask on the verge of tears.

“My name's Colson,” he reaches out for your hand. “I —”

“Don’t touch me!” You yell, scooting backwards pulling the covers up over you when you realize all you’re wearing is a thin, white, mens t-shirt. “Where are my clothes?”

“Aye, yo, it’s not like that. Relax, listen,” he stands with his hands up backing away from you. “I slept on the couch, I just wanted —”

“Where are my clothes!?” you demand.

“You threw up on them,” he answers.

“So lemme get this right … I threw up and you took off my clo —”

“NO! No! God no!” he says waving his arms. “My roommate Pete —”

“So your roommate Pete took off my clothes…?”

“NOOO! Please, just listen. I swear I was just trying to help you and keep you safe.” The desperation in his voice causes you to let down your guard a little. “I was saying, my roommate Pete. His girl. She stayed over last night and I asked her to help get you cleaned up and changed. I saw nothing I swear,” he puts his hands up again.

You sit there in silence, confused, trying to process everything he just said.

“You really don’t remember anything from last night? Do you?” He asks, stepping slowly back towards the bed.”

“No,” you shake your head, disappointed in yourself.

He cautiously begins to sit back down on the edge of the bed then pauses “Can I?”

You nod ‘yes’ and he takes a seat.

“Yo, you were in really rough shape last night. I’m assuming you had too much to drink?”

“Yeah,” you admit looking ashamed.

“Aye, we’ve all been there. I’m just glad you’re ok,” he smiles. “Me and my homie Pete were just up here smoking when we seen some dude we know trying to take you back to his room. I could tell you were wrecked. Fuck, you where barely conscious. I tried to tell him how wrong that was but he wouldn’t listen so I knocked him the fuck out. I didn’t know where your dorm was or if you came to the party with anyone and I wanted to make sure you had a safe place to sleep it off.”

“ Thank you. I’m sorry I jumped to conclusions,” you apologize.

“Nah I completely understand,” he accepts your apology. ‘That’s why I wanted to be here when you woke up, I figured you might be a little confused.”

“More than a little,” you let out a small laugh.

Colson cracks a smile, then heads to his dresser, pulling out a pair of his athletic shorts. “Here, tell you what,” he says, tossing the shorts on the bed. “ Imma head out there —” he points to the door. Let you get dressed and I’ll drive you back to your dorm. Cool?”

“Cool,” you answer with a thumbs up and a smile as he steps out the room, closing the door behind him.

*******************

“Seriously, thank you so much,” you say when he pulls up to your dorm.”What can I do for you? I feel like I can’t thank you enough.”

“Nothing. Any respectable man would have done the same thing,” he says.”I can only hope that one day if god forbid my daughter even finds herself in that position that someone would do the same for her.”

“Awww, you have a daughter?”

“Yeah,” he smiles like a proud father, lifting his backside from the drivers seat to pull out his wallet. “Her name’s Casie,” he says opening to her picture.

“She’s beautiful.”

“Thank you,” he says, then tucking his wallet back into his pocket. “She lives with her mom but I still see her all the time.”

“I’m glad. You seem like you’d be a great father.” you smile. “Thanks again,” you add, stepping out of the car.

“Hey, ummm, wait,” he calls out the car window as you walk towards your dorm.

“Yeah?” you turn back to face him.

“Ain’t you in that bitch Mrs. Pearson’s creative writing class with me?”

“Oh yeah,” you thought he looked familiar. “You usually sit up in the back row right?”

“If you mean ‘take a nap in the back row’, then yeah that’s me”, he laughs.

“Well see you bright and early tomorrow then I guess,” you smile.

“Yeah, see ya,” he smiles back before driving off.

**************************************

The two of you became quite close after that. Gradually moving your seats closer and closer to be near each other in class and pairing up for projects together. You even got to meet his daughter Casie briefly once before her mom picked her up from their weekend visit. You spent a lot of your free time together.It was amazing how you could do absolutely nothing when you were together yet there was no awkward silence or moments: much like right now where you're both hanging out in your dorm just laying on your bed scrolling aimlessly through your phones.

“Oh my god why are men so stupid?” You blurt out in laughter, showing him a tweet on your phone. “This dude really had the audacity to make a whole ass thread about how to eat pussy but he obviously has no clue what he’s talking about; girls don’t squirt out of their clits!’ No wonder girls never cum and have to fake it. Ya’ll mother fuckers don’t even know where the clit IS, and I’m pretty sure squirting is just something made up by the porn industry cuz that shit never happens in real life.”

“Aye, nah I hope you aint including me in that, cuz lemme tell you, ya boy knows where the clit is! My girls always cum,” he smirks.

“Yeah, okay,” you roll your eyes. “How do you know they’re not faking?”

“Cuz squirting ain’t made up, that shits VERY real! Maybe not every time but it has happened so I know they weren’t faking,” he smiles. “You mean to tell me a guy has never made you cum?

“Uhn uh” you shake your head no.

“And you’ve never squirt... even ..uhh..by yourself...or with whatever toys you chicks use?”

“I mean I’ve cum alone, but never squirt. No,” you admit blushing. You and Colson have never discussed anything sexual with each other before.

“That’s bananas, dawg!” he exclaims, slapping the bed.

The room grows quiet, the silence feeling awkward for the first time in your whole friendship.

“Aye, uh you trust me right?” Colson breaks the silence

“Yeah, of course, with my life!” you exclaim.”Why?”

“Trust me enough to uhmm...show you what I can do?”

“Are--are you saying you wanna — “

“I wanna make you cum,” he blurts out, cutting you off. “If- if you’ll let me that is.”

“I...Uhmm..I..”, you stumble while thinking it over.

“Sorry… uhhh let’s just forget this whole conversation, okay?” he says ashamed, thinking he made you uncomfortable.

“Why not,” you blurt out nonchalantly.

“Wait!, why not, like… like you … you wanna —”

You silently shake your head yes biting your lip.

“Oh shit! For real?” He says in surprise, getting up off the bed. “Uhh, c’mere,” he calls you over to the edge of the bed.

You do as you're told crawling over to the edge, sitting with your legs dangling off the bed. “You know, you don’t gotta go easy with me,” you smirk waiting for him to make his next move.

“Good, I wasn’t planning on it,” he says, immediately flipping you over and yanking your panties off from under your dress.

“Ugh you boys are all the same,” you groan looking back at him assuming he’s just gonna start fucking you from behind. “Haven’t any of you even heard of foreplay?”

“Don’t tell me no one’s ever eaten your pussy from the back before?” he questions, kneeling down behind you.

With both hands he grabs your ass making it jiggle for him before delving his tongue between your folds, his tongue exploring every crevice. You gasp at the sensation and feel his muffled laugh buzz against your core, intensifying your pleasure. Gripping your ass tighter, he alternates between plunging a firm, pointed tongue in and out of your wet slit and assaulting your clit with a series of rapid fire kitten licks. Your legs weaken with each lash of his tongue, your body slowly collapsing against the bed.

“Keep that ass up, girl,” he pauses briefly to say. You try with all your might but it’s no use; Colson has reduced your legs to a pile of jello. Roughly he tosses you onto your back, spreads your thighs open and gets back to work. Keeping his tongue focused on your clit, he slides two fingers deep inside of you, his lengthy digits perfectly pressing against your G spot. “I can feel this pussy tightening around my fingers, I know you're close, right?” He pauses to ask cockily.

All you can manage is to nod, ‘yes’, your bottom lip clenched tightly between your teeth as you look down locking eyes with colson; the fiery passion in them is a stark contrast to their ice blue hue.

Colson quickens the pace of his fingers, the sloshing of your wetness audible as he brings you closer to the edge. Then resting his free hand on your mound he gently pulls back the hood of your clit with his thumb exposing the most sensitive part sending your body into convulsions when he rapidly flicks his tongue against it.

“Colson, FUCK!!! ” you scream out in pleasure as the most intense orgasm of your life rips through you. “Oh my god... oh my god,” you chant in pleasure and shock as you realize you’re actually squirting. Colson doesn’t miss a beat continuing to work you through your high, relishing in the mess you're making all over his face and fingers. When you finally stop twitching he removes his fingers and sits up with a smug look. He pulls off his shirt, wipes his glistening face with it, then tosses it on the floor and hurriedly starts undoing his belt.

“You didn’t think I was just gonna stop at one, did you?” He says cockily pulling himself from his boxers. “Awhh, fuck yeah, sooo wet and tight,” he groans as he pushes in, then bringing his hand between your two bodies, and begins to rub your clit as he thrusts.

“Mhmmmhhmm,” you moan, the bundle of nerves still sensitive from your prior orgasm.

“Told ya I could make you feel good,” he teases, his breath ghosting over that one reactive spot on your neck just behind your ear, causing you to let out a little squeak. “You like that?” He laughs, nipping at the same spot while his hips roll in like the tide, crashing repeatedly against the shore of your pelvis. He nips and kisses along your jawline making his way to your mouth, harshly tugging your bottom lip with a groan. Your tongue reaches out, searching for him as he pulls back.

“Fucking tease,” you whimper.

“That desperate to taste yourself on me?” He chaffs.

To be honest you’re desperate for everything he’s giving you right now; you’re body has never felt such pleasure. So when he offers his mouth back to you, you happily welcome the tart taste of yourself still present on his ravenous tongue. Your mouths move in a hungry rhythm, following suit with your hips. Your breaths and moans echo each others, increasing in speed and volume as climax nears. He can tell you’re so so close and he knows just how to get you there. He grabs your legs pulling you flush against him and throws your legs over his shoulder, keeping your thighs pinned to his chest with both arms as continues to pound you.

“Mhmmm… Yeah, Yeah, Fuck me! Fuck me!” you whine needily clawing at the sheets as you enjoy his cock from a whole new angle, slamming into your g-spot at the perfect tempo. It’s just a few more thrusts until he has you completely undone, cumming for the second time today.

“Jesus Christ, Colson” you moan breathily as you ride it out.

‘Ughggg,” he grunts loudly, quickly pulling out, your legs falling to hips as he finishes on your stomach.

“Can’t believe you were out here talkin’ ‘bout men don’t know where the clit is and no man ever made you cum,” he says mockingly after he catches his breath. “Nah, girl, you just been fucking with some losers. Gotta get you a real man like me.”

“Well looks like I got myself one now,” you smirk. “ because we will definitely be doing that again!”

“Awhhh shiiiit,” he says loudly, his hand covering his smile. “ Got you addicted to this dick already, huh?” He teases.

“Shut up,Colson-,” you laugh, chucking a pillow at him “- and go get me something to clean off my stomach.”

#mkg #mkg smut #machine gun kelly #machine gun kelly smut #colson baker #colson baker smut #colson x reader #mgk x reader #machine gun kelly x reader #EST #XX #Pete Davidson #colson baker x reader #alpha omega #AU #mgk fanfic #machine gun Kelly fanfic #Colson baker reader

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itsmeevie01 · 3 years

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A Moment in Time- Ch 2

While Gina dragged Jason through Paris, the kidnappee thought through what he knew about the city. Although Gina Dupain was from the city, they never had the time while he was traveling with her. He had heard the stories of how Roland had charmed her on the banks of the Sein, and how they had gone dancing before her son was born. The stories of the little bakery, of the idyllic life Gina had led before one of her former contacts had threatened her family. The heartbreak that followed was something Gina refused to talk about as a rule. However, one night after a few too many drinks in Madrid, Jason’s mentor had come undone. The tale that had followed, the heartbreak on both sides of the little family, reminded Jason a little too much of his own family’s tales. Gina’s stories, though entertaining and educational, did not give one a firm basis to go on in a city. Soon, the duo were standing in the elderly woman’s home. Sitting there in the garage was- “oh Gina you didn’t.” the Biker laughed.

“what, Jason. Did you really think I was going to just leave your bike at the miserable safe house in Shanghai? Please. You know me better than that.” She threw her head back in a laugh at the boy’s stupefied face.

“well?” she gestured to a row of hooks by the door, where his familiar keys were hanging. The red chrysanthemum still hooked onto the key. “Are you going to get your keys, or are you going to make this old lady do it for you?” he jumped, rushing to clutch the old key chain once again. A smile broke over his face as Jason turned to Gina breathing

“Thank you” She smiled at him before opening her arm in a silent answer in form of a hug.

“now, Bambino, we are going to surprise my son. He has no idea what’s going to hit him.”

Marinette had gotten off the phone with her lawyers an hour ago. Now, she was standing at the counter arguing with one of her regulars. After all, a monster may not NEED to go in coffee, but who was going to stop her? Mark was, apparently. He kept going on about him being a doctor and it being bad for her health? Whatever. She was Apate. She had enough bad luck around her anyways that it didn’t really matter what she did.

When she had finally convinced the doctor to sit down and accept that she was well aware how close to an emergency room visit she was, the teen sighed in relief. Her parents were starting to worry about how much stress she was under, and the 16-year-old was doing her best to convince them that it wasn’t nearly as bad as they thought it was. Her hope was that if she could get them off her back, Marinette would be able to actually start translating the grimoire that she had hidden in her diary box. The problem was that the two bakers were incredibly close to realizing that she was under much more stress than they originally thought. The ongoing lawsuits, added to her classwork, working at the bakery, her commissions, and the constant hunt to find Paris’ resident supervillain meant that the girl was feeling crushed under her responsibilities. Add to that her adoptive parents hovering, and Marinette was very likely to explode soon. The bell rang over the door, and the noirette sighed before putting back on her customer service face. She had three more hours before she could go upstairs and take a nap.

And there goes her nap. The smiling face of her grandmother made Marinette smile ruely to herself before she was crushed in the loving arms of Gina Dupain. “Marinetta! Darling! How is my favorite Leetle Fairy?” The girl giggled as she extracted herself from the bone crushing hug.

“Hey Nona, how are you?”

So! its shorter tonight, but this is all really just build-up because as im guessing people have figured out, this is sibling jasonette (duh, its tagged) and i kinda want to be dramatic about their reunion. ALSO, i did some research and it turns out that red chrysanthemums mean hope in some places and death in others, so i thought it was a fitting flower to symbolize Jason and Mari’s relationship. ill go into it more later, but im placing Mari about 5 years younger than Jason pre-death. this will be important later on...

tag list- @m0chik0fran @moonlitceleste @redscarlet95 @ultimatetornshipper @mochegato @liquid-luck-00 @maskedpainter

#a moment in time fic #ml x dc #MLB #maribat #timari #sibling!jasonette #My writing

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korissideblog · 3 years

Text

ᴴᵉʸ i already apologized to Dante, but I guess I also have to apologize to y’all. So… once again, sorry I did a kick flip so sick it made the tag ill. I’ll be sure to think of you all when I’m living a solitary life as a hermit in the forest who’s mistaken for the ghost of a witch.

uuummmmmmI also finished the jetsam fic last night 👉👈 so here you go bestys <3

@jetsam-kisa

Jetsam knew getting into some sort of activity with Aito would be a mistake. Usually the little creature was up to something malicious, and even if you couldn’t figure it out immediately, at some point something would take a sharp right turn and now she’s tricked you into being his accomplice for whatever his next cruel joke is. Aito hasn’t revealed what this trick will be, but it definitely terrifies him considering that they’re in the kitchen.

“It’s just that Mich’ gave me such a pretty skirt yesterday.” Aito had explained, her wiry tail wagging from side to side. “And both Ikuto and Haru said I should say thank you with a little gift in return!”

And so Jetsam (foolishly) agreed to help Aito make cookies. Aito had found the recipe and ingredients, all she needed help with was execution. Jetsam wasn’t sure if he was stressed about how little he could vet the ingredients, or if he was relieved because he was helping with so little- he couldn’t possibly get in trouble for just making cookies right? Right???

“So we have flour, baking soda… salt right here…” Jetsam mumbled, his usual plumes of smoke going up and dissipating into the air as he read off what ingredients they would need and making sure Aito got the right stuff. Aito sat on the counter nearby, watching Jetsam sort everything out silently. After making sure everything was in place, Jetsam gave Aito the thumbs up and Aito hopped off the counter to come help. “Could you preheat the oven-” Jetsam immediately recognized the fault in leaving Aito alone with a heat source and took it back “ah, no, lemme get the oven, you can start mixing th-” nope! Aito would probably be worse if he was left unsupervised with ingredients that someone would be eating, and took that back as well. “Ok then… I’ll preheat the oven, you can just… just stand there for a second.” he finally settled on, stepping away and quickly setting the oven before looking back to check on Aito and-

And she didn’t seem to be doing much. Just kinda standing around, scrolling through the phone that they were using to look at the instructions. Seeing as it was Aito’s phone, Jetsam didn’t see any reason to panic as he returned to Aito’s side. “Next we have to mix the flour, baking soda, and salt.” Aito said, scrolling up and down the instructional website in boredom. “Sounds easy, lemme get the thingies.” by ‘thingies’ Aito apparently meant measuring tools, and (with a nervous Jetsam’s supervision) measured out the dry ingredients and put them into a bowl.

“Have you started on the report for history?” Jetsam asked, starting to mix the wet ingredients together with a handheld mixer- much too afraid of something motorized being in Aito’s hands to let her help. “I know what I wanna write about, I just haven’t started.”

“Yeah, Haru made me start before we left class.” Aito responded vaguely, strangely not taking the opportunity to lightheartedly complain about her friend.“It's lame, but I’m halfway done.” she shrugged, hopping onto the counter and watching like a cat on a windowsill, her tail even swaying side to side as she watched the ingredients mix. “Now we add the chocolate, right?”

“Roawr”

“Meow?” Aito perked up and looked to the floor of the kitchen, Jetsam not far behind as Aito jumped down from the counter to greet their new guest. “Oh! Look who’s here Jetsam!” Aito smiled, picking up a small black kitten who had wandered into the kitchen. “Oh wait, You’ve never met little Jiji, have you?”

“No?” Jetsam said, not wanting to get in trouble for being seen with a pet in the dorms but… but it was just the smallest little kitten he’s ever seen! And Aito was just bringing him to him! “H-hello there sweetheart.” Jetsam hummed, carefully putting his hand out for the kitten to sniff as he realized that the kitten didn’t seem to have eyes- a terrifying realization when in relation to Aito “Can he see anything?”

“No, I think it was a birth thing though.” Aito said, petting the kitten fondly before putting him down again. “He needs to walk around a bit, get a feel for the space.” she explained as the kitten stood still for a second before realizing that Aito wasn’t going to pick him up again and running off to go explore. If Jiji ran into a few walls, Aito ignored the sound, and so did Jetsam. “I think he got out through my vent, I'll have to close it next time.” Aito shrugged, finding the bag of chocolate chips and opening it.

“Why was the vent open in the first place?” Jetsam asked, worried about Aito’s answer, but deciding that it would be worse not to know.

“Sometimes Haru locks his door so he can destress.” Aito said, pouring the chips into one of the measuring cups. “I need to be able to stop that as quickly as humanly possible.” he explained, not going into detail as Jetsam nodded, not wanting any more details. Aito poured the chips into the mix and let Jetsam mix it for her, again taking her place on the counter to watch.

“You named the cat after the Jiji sticker on my wallet?” Jetsam asked, suddenly realizing how quiet Aito was being (at least compared to the insane amount of talking she normally did) and wanting him to talk again.

“Mhm.” Aito responded, watching the dough spin around in the bowl

“It’s from a show you know.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah, I could show you it some time.”

“I’d like that.”

Jetsam could taste the silence in the room as he put the mixer down. He thought he was scared of an over excited Aito, but a deathly silent one was twice as agonizing. He let Aito get the sheet pan and spray it down, but decided to let her play with a small portion of the dough as he quickly divided the rest into even little balls, all spread across the sheet, with a small space for Aito’s.

When he looked up to the girl on the counter, she had her back turned to him as she messed with the dough. Aito felt eyes on his back and looked up, noticing that Jetsam was finished, and held up the plate she was working on.

The cookie dough was formed into a crude little heart shape, rough around the edges, and still needing some work. “It looks good, Aito-kun.” Jetsam said, not sure how well it would turn out in the oven, but also not willing to put Aito down when she looked so contemplative. She turned around and put the plate back down on the counter, as if to let Jetsam see what she was doing.

“You know they found a body…” Aito said, barely above a whisper as she carefully formed the dough “on an Arabian Peninsula…” Jetsam felt his heart beat quicken with nervousness as he tried to hide the larger clouds of smoke billowing from his mouth. “It was an archeological dig and… they think she’s 4000 years old- the bones that is- she was… they think she was 18 when she died.” Good lord- Aito-kun always tells her stories in the worst way possible. “I’m writing my history report on her. Her bones were all messed up- way too thin for her to do much. She was severely disabled and would have needed around the clock care… but… but they also saw that she had… she had a lot of cavities, and her teeth were falling out and it didn’t make sense till…” Aito paused momentarily, as if trying to remember what his hands were doing before he continued the story. “till they realized that she… she just ate too many dates.” He giggled, sharpening the bottom of the heart as best as he could. “They just loved her so much… they loved her to death.” Aito paused again, looking over his handiwork and immediately started poking it again, less out of a want to shape it, and more out of a need to do something with his hands. “They always say survival of the fittest and- and I think they’re right!” He said, her voice rising a bit in volume. “Humanity’s made it this far because we found out that what makes us fit for survival is love and compassion and empathy and community and- and…” Aito just stood there, collecting her thoughts as he tapped a rhythm on the center of the cookie, as if trying to make it beat on its own. “And I like things better when they’re heart shaped.” She finally finished, still tapping the dough, but calming down a bit. “Can we… um”

“We can make them all heartshaped, if you want.” Jetsam offered, pointing to the rest of the cookies. Aito simply nodded and finally removed her hands from the dough, frowning a bit at the messy edges, but not willing to reshape it as she moved it from the plate to sheet pan.

Jetsam showed Aito how to make the dough into a shape that would actually end up as a heart after the oven, and together they finished the sheet, Jetsam slipping in into the oven and turning back to face Aito. Aito still looked tentative, swinging his legs over the side of the counter, but a bit more confident than before. “You said you still needed to start on your report?” Aito asked, and Jetsam nodded. Aito hopped down from the counter. “I’ll be back.”

Jetsam followed Aito to the door of the kitchen, but stayed put as Aito continued down the hall to the dorm rooms. Aito returned a bit later with a paper, pencil, copy of their history book, and a cozy looking blanket. “You should start now. I need a nap.” Aito said shortly, turning away from the kitchen and into the common room. Aito laid Jetsam’s supplies on the adjacent coffee table and let him sit down before wrapping herself in the blanket and laying her head across his lap.

“Is this my copy of the textbook?” Jetsam asked, recognizing some of the graffiti across the well used pages. “This was in my dorm room.”

“Mhm.” Aito hummed, looking over the pages as well.

“My dorm was locked?”

“Yeah,” Aito chuckled, sitting up a bit to explain himself. “But all the doors kinda suck. If you know what you’re doing, you can get into any dorm you want without a key.” He said, flipping a few pages and ignoring the nervousness on Jetsam’s face. “Your door in particular is a bit harder though, if it’s any comfort. You have to point the handle perfectly vertical and knee it really hard. Easy once you get used to it, but I don’t exactly go around telling people these things.” He mumbled, tossing his arms over Jetsam’s legs and resting his head on his arms.

“Thanks?” Jetsam shrugged, mildly uncomfortable with the fact that Aito could just break into his room whenever… maybe he should invest in a deadbolt…

“But what do you plan on writing your report on?” Aito asked, closing his eyes and very clearly not planning to listen to Jetsam’s report. So Jetsam gave a quick summary of his ideas till he was sure that Aito was out cold (luckily she fell asleep quickly) and continued working on his report in silence till the alarm on Aito’s phone went off.

Aito immediately jumped awake at the noise, but grumbled and complained as he turned the alarm off. Aito yawned like a cat and stepped over the couch like it was nothing- and seeing how often she disregarded the proper use of furniture, she probably saw it as such. Jetsam was still sorting his supplies, as well as his (mostly finished!) report when he heard Aito mumble something along the lines of “oh I hate this part” and the sound of running water. Jetsam immediately sprung to the kitchen, only barely making it to the door before Aito reached into the oven with his BARE HANDS and pulled the pan out, before throwing it on the counter and immediately putting her hands into the sink, under the running water. “I hate this I hate ovens I hate heat I hate-“ Aito rambled on and on about hating this and that about the stupid decision he just made, leaving Jetsam in completely stunned confusion.

“Why didn’t you just??? Use the mits???” Jetsam howled, running over to inspect Aito’s reddened hands.

“Mitts? You use those for cold things?” Aito asked, as if Jetsam was the moron here.

“You… they’re called oven mitts, Aito-kun!” Aito started at Jetsam, as if finally putting something together

“Oh…”

“Oh…?”

“Oven mitts are kitchen gloves.” Aito hummed, turning the water off and reaching into the drawer that the mitts were kept in, wincing a bit as his still red hands made contact.

“What?”

“Yeah ah… mama calls them kitchen gloves and… and ours are made of cloth.” Aito explained, pulling out the silicone glove. “I thought… you know, I thought these were two different things.”

And suddenly Jetsam understood why that prehistoric 18 year old was so important. Everyone will always not know something, it’s inevitable. Maybe it was something stupid like what oven mitts were, or something less stupid like living. Nobody knows anything. One day fire may burn cold, or the sun just not rise, or our blood may not pump… and all we could do is be kind, and caring, and compassionate.

“We have to take the cookies off the sheet.” Jetsam advised, patting Aito’s shoulder as she returned the mitt to it’s drawer. “They’ll keep baking if we don’t get them on a cooling rack.”

And so, in a more comfortable silence then before, Jetsam and Aito moved the cookies to the rack, pausing only at the last one, the one Aito had made first. Jetsam was right, the shape didn’t survive too well in the oven, the tops of the heart looking more like a single hill and the bottom having lost it’s point, and yet Aito moved it without hesitation onto the rack.

“I like it.” He said softly, making sure it fit onto the rack with all the rest. “It’s a little messed up, but it’s still heart shaped.”

#Ohhh I just love jetsam so much <333 #Sillie little guy <3 #jetsam kisa #aito takao #bnha oc comeback #knha // kimi no hero academia #Kori stories

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asa-sauce · 4 years

Text

those forgotten things

❀ haikyuu!! x (ukai’s kid!) reader

flavor: honey mustard

warnings: none!

a/n: hi, sorry for the long wait! if you're coming from my tiktok, thank you for the continued support! i don’t know who the specific love interest is going to be, so for now it’s basically the entire karasuno team x reader.

note: ukai is your adoptive father. and this takes place at very very end of season 1/very beginning of season 2. you are 16.

+ Your dad, Ukai Keishin, forgets his water bottle at the convenience store before practice. You decide to bring it to him... Big mistake.

The bell on the door announces your presence with a gentle chime, and the cool air coming from the ancient air conditioner hits your face. It's a heavenly relief from the sizzling heat, and you thank heaven for the store being so close to school.

"Hi dad! I'm home!" You call out, but no answer comes.

"Where is he?" Misaki asks, head bobbing up and out like a buoy. There's a prep in her voice now, like a child at an amusement park.

"He's probably in the back or something, I don't know." There's no one else in the store.

She sets her heavy, multi-key chained school bag next to the chair, and you notice that the normally happy face of the plush bunny keychain is smushed against the table leg, smile distorted into a frown.

She starts her jaunty browsing around the store, weaving in and out of each aisle. You do the same, not knowing what you're in the mood for, and meet her at the candies and gum.

"Seriously, Y/n, how do you not find your dad attractive?" The question catches you off guard, and you find yourself quickly scanning the front of the store for any customer that might have just walked in. Did she really just ask that?

You swivel around in a slow, dramatic way, giving her an incredulous look that just about asks that question. She looks at you with that casual—but all too serious—charm, as if she had simply asked what the weather is going to be like tomorrow.

"'Cause he's my dad." She rolls her eyes, dissatisfied with the answer, then juts her head forward just enough to add more emphasis on her next words.

"But he adopted you. You aren't blood-related."

You stare at her. She can't be completely serious, right?

You and Misaki met last year on the first day of school. Meeting her was like something out of an anime. The rambunctious airhead meets the quiet, down-to-earth girl who just can't say no to people.

She literally proclaimed your friendship to the world on that first day of school.

So this: her apparent infatuation for your dad, is very far out there, yes. Yet in retrospect, it's nothing beyond her character.

"Jeez, you're weird," you say, deciding to smile it off. You turn to grab a neon blue bag of chips from the shelf beside you. Misaki laughs, head thrown back, in a maniacal way, and disappears behind the aisle end. "Did you get your food yet?"

"Yeah." She's chosen a popsicle today, already unwrapping it while she continues to peruse the aisles more, just for fun. Her fingers drag along the underside of each plastic price tag, making a clackclackclackclackclak sound that's almost ominous.

"How much is it?" You ask, to which she tells you. You go over to the cash register and take out the appropriate change from your wallet, placing each bill and coin into the correct spaces. Even though you're a member of the family-owned store, a business is still a business, and the small ones like this especially need anything and everything they can get to thrive.

Misaki sits at the table for a few minutes, and you guess that she's waiting for your dad to come back out. She's slouched over her brightly lit cellphone screen, her thumbs continually pattering as she responds to all her messages.

It's awkward.

Even though you and Misaki have gotten pretty close since meeting each other, those uncomfortable silences still sometimes appear.

But then she begins talking about a boy she's been texting these past few weeks, mostly talking it out with herself then seeking your advice. You give simple reactions, and comment when she expects it. A simple 'he did not!' or 'ugh!' will satisfy her.

Of course it's not all that one-sided. She talks, you listen; you talk, she responds. And quite frankly, you don't mind it.

But then the silence emerges once again, until she lets out a big, audible, intentional sigh and stands up.

"Well, I gotta head home, my mom's getting fussy about something again." She shoves her phone in the side pocket of her bag, short hair whipping around as she hoists her bag over her shoulder.

"Okay, see you tomorrow, Misaki." You can feel the breath of relief beginning to grow inside your lungs as she collects her things and heads for the door.

"Yup. Tell your dad I said hello!"

"I will."

No you won't.

And with a final automated jingle of the door chime, she leaves. You wait until the white bunny keychain on her bag is no longer in view to release that breath of relief.

And then, you smile.

"Alright, dad! You can come out now!" you announce, your head tipped back towards the blue curtains. In a comical way, just the face of your father appears, with tufts of yellow hair sneaking out behind him. With his eyes wide he scans the room, side to side, searching for any trace of your friend.

"Is she gone?"

"Yeah, she is."

The rest of him appears then.

Ukai sits himself on the slanting, rickety stool behind the counter that is literally almost on its last legs, with his feet propped up. It's his way of "intimidating" all the "shitheads" that come through after school—is what he says.

You hop onto the counter, splitting open the chip bag. A puff of flavored air travels up into your nose.

"How was that English quiz today?" Ukai asks, catching a whiff as well while you pop the first chip into your mouth.

"Good. I got a 97." you reply after swallowing.

"That's my girl."

You hum in response, munching on another chip. Looking into the bag, you spot a wider, saltier chip that curls at one end. It takes up half the amount of chips, you realize as you take it. It should be a crime, you think, to fill up more than half of the bag with air.

"I'm gonna leave here a little earlier for practice tonight. A few of the boys wanted me to help them with a couple new combinations."

He swings his legs off the counter and sits up, mumbling something about wishing he had taken a nap before walking back into the house to change.

You go through the motions of unpacking your school bag, decideding to work on math first.

You spread your textbooks and papers out on the counter, an organized mess as you like to say, of calculus.

Your pencil moves rapidly across the page, the little flower charm on dangling back and forth with each squiggle.

Your dad leaves around ten minutes later, but not before giving you a quick kiss on the head. The sun is still high and proud, and has no intention to descend until an hour or more later.

It's your favorite time of day. The sun falls through the glass doors in a way that makes the entire world seem just a little more fanciful. It's usually quiet in the store, and after an entire day of constant conversations from you and those around, you can't help but yearn for these peaceful moments. It's entirely why you agreed to take over Ukai's shifts ever since he began coaching Karasuno's male volleyball team.

If anyone comes in at this hour though, they're likely to be a student from Karasuno, but in about five minutes the store's most frequent customer, Etsu, will stop by, and will no doubt be mewling for a meat bun.

You plop down on the seat behind the counter, taking a moment to your self to breathe. You tug at the base of your long ponytail, releasing your unruly hair from the confines of your hair tie. Although you aren't directly related to Ukai, over the years you've inherited parts of his look. One of those being your 'lion's mane' (as your grandmother calls it).

Ukai had adopted you when you were ten, but the six years you've known each other feel like sixteen. You don't remember much about your biological family, and for privacy reasons Ukai doesn't know any more than you do.

You have no harsh feelings towards them--no contempt or ill-wishes for leaving their own daughter. Of course, there are days when you wondered where they are, and what life might be like if they kept you.

Perhaps it is for the best, you always came to. Maybe it is meant to be this way, because at least the life you are living now with just your dad and grandparents is good. It's good—

You hear a dull chip as the lead snaps. It flies off to the side, leaving a small pencil marking etched into your paper. It's minor, but still an annoyance when deep in thought or concentration. Still, it's nothing that can't fixed with two pumps at the end of the pencil. You start over again, scribbling out the final numbers when familiar happy mewl grabs your attention. Before you can even look over, your cheeks lift into a smile.

"Hi, Etsu!"

It's a reaction that happens as soon as the sound reaches your ears. You set your pencil on your paper, math equations and theories slipping from your mind.

Etsu hops onto the counter, his blazing orange fur shimmering in the sunlight. Despite him being a stray, his fur is the softest thing on the planet. You hope he is a stray, because that's how you connected to him in the first place. Sometimes you wonder if he's had those long, quiet nights alone.

"You ready for a meat bun?" You say, sliding a hand back from his head to mid back. He anticipates your touch, always tilting his head up before you caress him again. The mewl he gives, so meek and mild, is what you understand to be a 'yes'.

And so you go over to the pork bun warmer and carefully pluck a bun from the middle shelf, trying your hardest not to touch the metal racks in between. There's still a little splotch of red on your hand from the last time you burned yourself.

The doughy flesh of the bun is warm under your fingertips, and droops slightly, heavy with pork. Steam escapes from every pore, and then, as you slice the bun open, it billows out.

The soft sounds of Estu enjoying his meal brings you a gratification that only comes on—again—during peaceful moments like these.

But as you watch him, you notice your dad's tall, black water bottle and cellphone sitting next to the rotary.

I should probably go and give it to him, you think, watching the bottle now instead of Etsu.

It's about four minutes walking distance from the store.

It wouldn't hurt.

"Nana! Dad left his water here. I'll be right back!"

You wait until you hear the warm, candied voice of your grandmother to leave the store. For a moment, a part of you misses the cool air conditioning.

****

As you enter the breezeway leading to the gym, you realize that you've never been here after school. There's a different vibe, you immediately notice; one that has your steps slowing.

You have never seen the boys your dad coaches. It's not like he forbade you from going to games; and it's not like didn't have any interest in the sport. It's just that you...never.. saw them practice.

You can hear the shoes squeaking and the ball slamming against the waxed floor. It's starts to sound like a horror movie soundtrack, in a weird way.

You peep your head in, carefully clutching the metal door frame.

Five boys, the ones your dad mentioned about earlier, are the first things to catch your eye. One of them, with hair as orange and fiery as Etsu's, is mid-air.

You spot your dad fifteen feet away to the left, arms crossed over one another, head tilted down and eyes wound up--his Focus Face, as you liked to call it. He's deep in his concentration, watching every move of the players on the court. You don't want to interrupt him, so you wait till one of the sides makes a point.

That point comes no sooner after you decide, and after it does, the boisterous cheers of the side closest to you fill the room. You take one step in, more confident, then another, till you're past the metal threshold.

"Dad?"

The man in question turns on instinct. He knows that voice. For fifteen years he's heard the sound of that word, the specific pitch and inflection. So he turns, void of any hesitation or forethought, only wondering why you're here a good few seconds after he sees your face.

Everyone else turns too. The word is so foreign in that environment it feels like slime against skin. The cheers stop. Even the ball stops rolling, and all eyes are on you.

"(Y/n)? What are you--" your father begins, still wide-eyed and surprised. They stay like that for only that moment, however, before returning to their sharp gaze. He turns to the boys, and says, "Excuse me for a second."

You meet him halfway as he walks towards you, neverminding the boys' stares. Haven't they ever seen a girl before? Wasn't that a girl standing right beside your dad?

"You forgot your water bottle," you half-whisper. The stares are getting to you, and you start to feel like you're being cooked alive. "I thought you might need it."

Behind him, a soft murmur lays low in the air. You're hyper-aware of it. What are they saying?

"Thanks, sugarplum." Your dad smiles, something that you know others rarely see, and takes the bottle.

You follow the same path back towards the doors, every now and then peaking glances back at the curious boys. They look kinda goofy, you think, just standing there like they had just witnessed a miracle, like the Lord Jesus Christ himself had come down from the heavens.

But as you turn the corner, a wall that wasn't there before blocks your path. It takes two seconds to register this, but in that first second, you're already colliding into it.

You stumble back, and so does the wall, giving you enough space to look up and see two eyes staring down at you. They're brown and wide with fear, as if had just broken an ancient artifact and was about to be executed.

A squeaky sorry tumbles from your lips at the same time he apologizes.

"Are you okay?" The wall--boy...man?--says. You're still in a daze, but lucid enough to give him a reassuring smile. You've seen him around before. You've never talked to him, but always feel bad that others perceived him as villainous or criminal. Deep down you he know has a kind soul... and a cute face.

"I'm fine! Don't worry about it."

"(Y/n)! You alright?" Your dad calls out from where he is, leaning over to see who you bumped into.

"Yeah! Everything's good!" You pip.

The wall in front of you shifts to the side, clearing the way for you to exit.

You walk with your head down all the way back home, afraid that anyone and everyone could see how red your face was.

God, that was embarrassing.

****

"Coach, was that your daughter?!" Tanaka says, almost teasingly. He's the first to break the silence, and has an apparent death wish.

Soft eyes go razor sharp again. No way was he going to let any one of those hormonal teenage boys near his precious daughter.

"Get back to work, Tanaka!" Ukai barks. All the color drains from Asahi's face, who is still standing by the doors.

"Wait, you mean... I just ran into your daughter?"

"It's okay, Asahi, don't worry about it."

"But...but..."

"Does she go to Karasuno?" Hinata asks over Asahi's blubbering, his curiosity getting the best of him.

"Yes, but don't you dare even think about--

"Is she a first year?"

"SHE'S A SECOND YEAR, FIRST YEAR, NOW GO GET READY FOR PRACTICE."

"Y-yes sir!"

#haikyuu!!#haikyuu #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu x reader #hinata shoyo #ukai keishin #ukai x y/n #ukai x reader #tanaka ryuunosuke #asahi azumane #haikyuu fanfiction

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taeyohonic · 4 years

Text

Just a Taste – Chapter One

Summary: Being asked to take a blood test just to work at a merchandise booth should have been the first read flag for you. But you just gave them a sample of your blood in exchange for a very much needed paycheck and a summer job during BTS’ world tour. After the youngest member of the popular kpop band finds himself in a difficult situation, you come to realize that this wasn’t the last time you shed blood for your idols. or: You becomes the new donor for seven bloodthirsty idols, who seem to be way too interested in their new food source.

Pairing: OT7xfem!Reader

Genre: Fantasy, Smut, (Fluff)

Warnings: blood, they aren’t very nice to you...

Words: 2.7k

Chapters: Prologue, Chap. I, Chap. II, Chap. III, Chap. IV, Chap. V, Chap. VI, Chap. VII

“What do you mean ‘all the bags are gone’?”

Your supervisor does not look amused. The girl with an abnormal amount of glitter on her face does not look amused. Hell, even you don’t look amused. The stadium hasn’t even begun to let the fans in and your merch booth ran out of the official “speak yourself”-bag ten minutes ago.

This job is in the top three most gruesome things you had to do for money. But money was tight, and you didn’t want to survive another summer on ramen and cheap wine. The job ad was harmless at first glance. Just another sales job. But they promised good pay and international traveling, which was enough to let your eyes linger. There was no company mentioned, just a post box.

It shouldn’t have come as a surprise when BigHit responded to your application a week later. With Bangtan’s rising popularity and the massive size of their tour, extra staff had to be hired. Still, the ARMY in you couldn’t contain her excitement. This was a big deal for you. Touring with one of your favorite kpop bands, traveling to Japan and getting first dips on all the merchandise? This was a no brainer. Hell, you would have even paid them to tag along. So you dressed to impress when you attended the interview, keeping your giddiness locked behind a professional smile.

“You want what?”, you ask – disbelieve coloring your voice.

“A blood test”, the interviewer repeats nonchalantly without looking up from her questionnaire.

Was this normal procedure? You had only ever worked in your aunt’s bookstore during senior year of high school and at a fast food place all through undergrad. Neither asked for your freaking bloodline.

“What? Do you discriminate certain blood types?”, you say in mock humor. A laugh disguised as a cough rings through the room, as the cute guy in the back of the room tries to hide his amusement. His eyes are locked on your features.

“We just want to make sure all our employees are healthy. You’ll be travelling to a foreign country, working long hours.”, the woman in front of you replies, ignoring your bad attempt at a joke. She continues: “You don’t have to – of course.”

“But then I won’t be asked back for a second interview, am I right?”

The woman looks you in the eyes for the first time since entering the room. She doesn’t look as evil as she sounds. “No”

So, you guess you’ll leave with a bit less body fluid than you anticipated.

There wasn’t a second interview. The test results came with a pre-signed contract.

***

“What the fuck is up with this boy today?”, Joo-Won swears as his eyes are glued to the screen in front of you. Your shift is officially over. Most of the merchandise is packed up, all the sold-out item IDs are sent to the head quarter and you already got a notification that the next delivery will be arriving first thing tomorrow morning. Now you’re sitting together with some crew members, a half-finished soju bottle in your hand and an empty carton of take-out on your lap. The guy at your job interview turned out to be quite fun.

Joo-Won introduced himself during the briefing on your first day in Japan. He is responsible for the ARMY Bomb stands, which seems to be a very big deal around here. This is his third tour with Bangtan and he seems to know nearly every henchmen in this operation. So it came to no surprise when a stage assistant invited you both to watch the concert from one of the twelve monitors backstage. Of course, you didn’t look too out of place with your name badge and the Love Yourself-hoodie you may or may not have purchased with your employee discount.

The stage assistant, whose name you can’t remember, is fuzzing with screen number five as you take another sip of your afterwork drink. You stare not really focusing on anything. Just blank nothingness.

“You did see this as well, right _______?”, Joo-Won asks breathlessly.

You can only nod. The Fake Love performance just ended. And even though all seven idols were on fire, the youngest was just out of control.

“What did we just see?”, the boy continues.

“Rudeness”, you answer and empty the bottle with a hefty swing. You knew Jungkook would lift his shirt. You were prepared as you had seen their comeback stage more times than you’d be comfortable to admit. This was not news to you. But the aggression in his stare, how dark he growled his verses, the hard edges on his mouth, not even hinting a friendly smile, was making you uncomfortable.

Before your new friend can respond his headset beeped. Joo-Won answer, his eyes still on the screen.

“Yeah?” After a beat his eyes flash to you. You squirm uncomfortably in your seat.

“_________ is with me”, he says and you need a second to register your role in the conversation.

Joo-Won’s stare lingers on your face – a silent question in his eyes.

“Sure, sir. I’ll bring her to you right away.” Then he ends the call sifting, so your knees are brushing against one another.

“Care to explain, why Bangtan’s prime management wants to speak with you, _______?”, your friend asks, no judgement in his voice. What?

***

“So, I have to sign another NDA?”, you ask the manager in front of you, trying to swallow your nervousness. This is the Sejin, Bangtan’s right hand advisor. Every fan knows him from countless Bangtan Bombs and can easily recognize the fathering care in his work.

“This one… is more specific”, he explains and moves the stack of papers to you. You try to calm your excited fingers as you grab at the legal document, flipping through it.

“And it’s time sensitive”, Sejin adds and searches your eyes for attention. You give it to him.

“Time sensitive?” The papers abandoned on the table. “Is something wrong with the boys?”

There will come a time and place when you reflect on the choice of calling these men “the boys” as if they were your closest friends. But it’s not today. Today you just see a glint in his eyes.

“Yes, it’s Jungkookie”, Sejin starts and your memories flash to their concert an hour prior. How Joo-Won and you both discussed how beastly the youngest looked – how aggressive.

“Wh-what?”, you answer in question. The manager’s hands move on top of yours.

“He is ill and … you might be able to help him. We can’t transport him. And we are not sure he’ll survive an ambulance ride.”

Your brain blanks as you stand up in a swift move. This is simple: One of your most cherished idols is ill and his trustworthy manager tells you that you’ll be able to help. This is a no brainer.

“Take me to him”, you order, not even caring that Sejin’s words are not making any sense. How can a twenty-four-year-old college dropout help the golden maknae? What even is his illness?

Sejin’s smile should have been another red flag. “Slow down, _________”, he sooths and moves around the table so he is standing in front of you. “This is important. You have to sign the documents. You’ll have to transfuse blood to him.” He is handling you a pen. “There are health risks. This isn’t … the most optimal environment for a blood donation.”

Jungkook needs your blood – memories of your job interview come back.

You sign the contract, not even reading all the small-printed clauses on the pages. Before the ink is even dry, Sejin is moving you through a long corridor. His hand rests on your neck – squeezing reassuringly. A glimmer travels across your body and you try to ground yourself. Of course you are nervous. This is reasonable. You’ll donate blood to one of your favorite idols. Maybe you’ll see him, when he gets better. Hell, maybe he’ll even thank you in person! Meeting Bangtan is the closest form to aspiration you have at the moment.

“When is the nurse coming?”, you question the logistics as you move towards the farthest door labeled “BTS”.

“Which nurse?” You look at Sejin in surprise – if not a nurse, who’ll take your blood?

“Then a doctor?”, you ask and Sejin shakes his head, a humorless chuckle escaping him while you both come to a halt in front of the door.

“There is… no time I’m afraid”, he answers – with remorse in his voice. There is a sinking feeling in your stomach, some of the fog lifted. How the hell should you give Jungkook your blood if there is not even a transfusion station here?

Sejin knocks at the door, ignoring your thumbing heartbeat and opens the door, softly pushing you into the room. “I’ll explain everything; I promise.”

***

The starving vampire smells your sweet blood as soon as the door opens – Sejin a mere decoration in his vision. Jungkook’s whole body turns towards you while your eyes nervously shift across the room. Time slows down as the maknae swiftly moves straight to you. His muscles ache and he cannot even recognize his swallow breathing. His stare is fixed on the nap of your neck – deliciously soft, milky. Not even the slightest imperfection in this human before him.

You do not even sense Namjoon’s and Seokjin’s presence as your eyes take in the predator advancing towards you. The older ones seem frozen as their youngest stops just a breath away from you. You look mouthwatering – clad in one of their merchandise hoodies, hair pinned in a mess at the top of your head, some bold eye make-up, but otherwise barefaced. You look… just right.

Before Jungkook’s grin spreads across his face, Jin takes action – trying to move between the sarved vampire and this … girl. What the hell was Sejin thinking just throwing her in here? Did he want this human dead so badly?

But the oldest is too late – Jungkook growls aggressively as he snatches you against his firm chest. All the air leaves your lungs – your breasts pressed painfully against solid muscle.

“Ahh”, you groan. As soon as the noise leaves your mouth, his lips descend against the white of your neck. The maknae hisses in pleasure; and then he is biting – hard.

Your scream misses the volume and you feel tears on your cheeks as you gaze into Seokjin’s overwhelmed eyes – hands outstretched.

Blood flows freely into Jungkook’s mouth and you hear a sickening slurping sound. The pain is blazing against your skin, every fiber of your body vehemently trying to get away from the maknae. But your fingers don’t push him away. No, the curl around his biceps – acting against every rational though inside your brain. You cling to the man sucking your blood as if he’s merely leaving a love bite.

The pain in your body slowly ebbs and you feel a bright bliss surrounding you. You’re not even sure if you are still standing at the door. There is no room – just lips against your neck and whimpers in your throat… and Namjoon’s voice far, far away.

“Jungkook stop now.”

“This is an order.”

“Jin, help me.”

“Let’s lay her down.”

“Is there a pulse?”

***

“How do you take your coffee?”, Yoongi asks while starring at you with such indifference in his eyes you’re not sure your answer even matters.

“Uhm- I” His sigh interrupts you as he makes his way from the couch across form you to the kitchenette. The whole room is dimmed in a soft light, the furniture a clean white. You feel your head spin as you try to recall what happened. Weren’t you backstage? Didn’t Jun-

“Jungkook”, your voice more of an accusation than a whisper. Yoongi’s back stiffens, but he continues to brew hot water over a ceramic filter and soon a soothing smell of coffee drifts towards you on the white leather.

“Jungkook sucked m-y – he su”

“-cked your blood. Damn girl, how hard did you hit your head when you fainted?”, your favorite rapper asks – his body finally turned towards you.

Slow, leisure steps are taken and then he sits in front of you, taking you all in. You must look like a mess; grease and sweat from your shift in the booth, plus the incident with the youngest vocalist in the band. All the blood. Your stomach turns around uncomfortably.

Yoongi is looking into your eyes and for a split second you see something other than complete boredom behind his stare, but as soon as you try to pinpoint the emotion, it vanishes.

“That’s what vampire do”, he continues and you heart reacts before the triggering word even registers in your brain. Vampire. No way.

“Go-ood one, Yoongi-ssi. This… this isn’t – some romance novel for teenagers”, you scoff, disbelieve in your voice while your heart beats hard against your chest. Without missing a beat, the idol is in your face – literally just millimeters away. The air is stuck in your lungs as you try to calm yourself.

“You know what I hate, dumb human?”

His fingers draw lines across your face – just a feathering touch, barely more than an illusion. You can only shake your head; afraid your voice will give out if you try to answer verbally.

His face moves down to your neck as his hands frame your face – no longer brushing but locking your head into place. Then his mouth dives into your neck, just resting against your pulse. You can feel the sinister smile against your skin as you shiver.

“Talking to dumb people”, his lips vibrate and you feel goosebumps traveling across your body.

“You have all the proof, but your silly little brain still doesn’t – connect the pieces”, Yoongi trails small kisses across your collarbone; a stark contrast to his insulting words.

“Do you really think our little maknae just has a blood kink?”

He moves to the other side of your neck, while titling your head forcefully to the left. You can’t move your body – muscles frozen into place. You’re just passively… enduring what your favorite idol does to you. Now his teeth are grazing your right earlobe, as his voice drops another octave into a threatening growl.

“That we just hire a college dropout because of her work ethics?”

His words hurt, but you’re more concerned with the information behind them. They know about you, must have read your file. Shame colors your cheeks and Yoongi’s nose inhales deeply against the red of your skin.

“You smell fucking delicious”, he moans and places an open mouth kiss against your rosé cheek. You can feel his saliva on your skin and a whimper of your own escapes your throat.

“You like that, dumb human? Knowing I’d love… nothing more than to bite in your flesh? Drain you dry?”, he slurs. You both know that this is nothing more than a rhetorical question – your heart, your breathing and the wetness between your tights enough evidence.

But before he can act on his words, a searing pain flashes through your brain.

“Argh”, you groan pressing your head against his cold hands with virgo. The dead skin of his fingertips sooths the throbbing in your brain temporarily. But he knows that your time is nearing its end.

“Human, listen to me”, he whispers, his previously threatening tone making place for urgent whisper.

“When you wake up” What? His hands still a vise to keep you grounded, while the pain in your head expands to your whole body. “Damn human, focus!”

He searches your eyes for recognition, but your stare moves around the room – now noticing how alien the light looks, how… clean the colors are. Is this? Are you still sleeping? How?

“When you wake up”, Yoongi’s voice nothing more than a vibrating hum in your ears, “Say no to Namjoon.”

Now he is shaking you. “Say no”

***

“Good morning, sleepyhead”, Namjoon says after you open your eyes – the morning sun blinding you momentarily.

“I made you coffee”, he adds as he pushes a steaming mug in your hands. The familiar smell takes you back to your dream, to Yoongi, his words, his plea – and you gape at the leader in front of you.

“I thought we could talk?”

_______________________

A/N: What do you guys think? I am so thankful for the feedback you guys sent me. It means a lot! I hope you like this chapter as much as i do! I’d love to hear from you again! love, dana

taglist: @m0chilattae @gali-005 @fangirls94 @dinopowa @toddsgirl27 @littlemanismoon @dkck99 @slutkoo @subtlepjiminie @coffeebeanismylife @iloverubberduckiez-blog @geminidrawsstuff @olivialovemason88

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ao3feed-hotchxreid · 3 years

Link

by hazydaisies

hotch and reid are in love and they do in love things also the team is awesome and a family and i love everyone

insta is rosemarysw0rd, feel free to reach out !! spencer's mental health issues are really just me projecting lmao but i hope someone out there feels seen :3

Words: 2, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Fandoms: Criminal Minds (US TV)

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: M/M

Characters: Aaron Hotchner, Spencer Reid, Derek Morgan (Criminal Minds), David Rossi, Emily Prentiss, Jennifer "JJ" Jareau, Penelope Garcia, Jack Hotchner, Diana Reid

Relationships: Aaron Hotchner/Spencer Reid

Additional Tags: Gay, Everyone Is Gay, uhh, Spencer Reid Needs a Hug, Autistic Spencer Reid, rossi is rossi, HotchReid - Freeform, Heid - Freeform, Aaron Hotchner Needs a Hug, Everyone Needs A Hug, umm, platonic jeid, Protective Aaron Hotchner, Boys In Love, Late Night Conversations, i love garcia so much, she's my bestie now, mentally ill spencer, Past Drug Addiction, tw mentions of (past) addiction, Consensual Sex, Gay Panic, tw mental health issues, Canon-Typical Violence, everyone ships it, these tags are in no order whatsoever, Getting Together, Love Confessions, spence needs a nap and a sandwich, Nicknames, Cutesy, Fluff and Smut, Mild Angst, Hurt/Comfort, YOU KNOW I'M A SLUT FOR HURT/COMFORT BABY, Cuddles, Internalized Homophobia, Gay Spencer Reid, Bisexual Aaron Hotchner, Please Kill Me, Happy Ending, IGNORE THE FACT THAT I LAST POSTED A YEAR AGO I AM IN FACT ALIVE AND WELL (ish), Lesbian Emily Prentiss, no non-con/dub-con ever, Top Aaron Hotchner, Bottom Spencer Reid, Masturbation, Wet Dream, dreaming about each other, Dream Sex, they Will get kinky irl later though, Explicit Consent, Always, Past Aaron Hotchner/Haley Hotchner, Post-Haley Hotchner's Death, Not Haley Hotchner Friendly, barely edited, hotch and reid are both oblivious, BUT THE TEAM IS NOT LMFAO, my own bad poetry thrown in, idfk what this is, but please love me, The BAU Team as Family (Criminal Minds), Team as Family, I'll add more tags as i go

#IFTTT #ao3feed #ao3 #fanfic #aaron hotchner #spencer reid #heid #criminal minds

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rosethornewrites · 4 years

Text

Fic: the thread may stretch or tangle but it will never break, ch. 10

Additional Tags: Pre-Slash, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Secrets, Crying, Masks, Soulmates, Truth, Self-Esteem Issues, Regret, It was supposed to be a one-shot, Fix-It, Eventual Relationships, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, wwx needs a hug, Nightmares, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Filial Piety, Handfasting, Phobias, Sleeping Together, Fear, Panic Attacks, Love Confessions, Getting Together, First Kiss, Kissing, Boys Kissing, Family, and they were married, Bathing/Washing, Hair Braiding, Hair Brushing, Feels, Sex Education, Implied Sexual Content, First Time, Aftercare, Morning After, Afterglow, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Torture, Scars

Summary: A necessary discussion is had between Lan XiChen and the refugees, and between the brothers.

Notes: Chuntao, the name I gave a random auntie, means spring peach. I headcanon that popo and jifu are basically the Dafan Wen elders at this point, thus why they stay for the entire discussion. Can you imagine being lxc and being shown undeniable proof that you’ve been lied to by your sworn brother—oh wait, that’s canon. But this discussion had to be had without wwx present for a variety of reasons, especially from lwj’s perspective. Basically, wwx has enough burdening him, and lwj feels it’s his turn to shoulder some of it (and high time the rest of the cultivation world shouldered some of it as well). Also, there’s just a lot of philosophical aspects here, including Laozi, Confucius, Mozi, Sun Tzu, Mencius, etc. A lot of ancient Chinese philosophy is rather anti-war (coming from multiple periods involving warring states) or even advocates overthrowing rulers who are cruel to the people. The included Sun Tzu quote referenced by lxc was basically to convince captured soldiers to fight for your side (especially charioteers) through kind treatment, so while it doesn’t technically apply to civilians one could imagine you’d want civilians to be willing to provide for troops. I’m really just starting to delve into it all.

AO3 link

Chapters: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9

--------------

Lan WangJi can’t help but notice that XiChen’s attention is on Wei Ying, as popo and Wen Qing keep putting food in his bowl and bullying him to eat more. Where normally Wei Ying would be endearingly dramatic about it, for the amusement of all, today he eats quietly, accepting their cajoling without complaint.

A-Yuan is the one to ease Wei Ying from the odd quiet, holding up his chopsticks with a bit of food.

“Xian-gege eat!” he demands. “Xian-gege too skinny.”

The delivery is a mix of popo and Wen Qing while also being completely a-Yuan, and Wei Ying laughs with the rest of the Wens before eating the morsel of food and reaching forward to pinch the boy’s cheek.

“All right, a-Yuan, I’m eating. I promise. You eat yours, and I’ll eat mine.”

The interaction leaves XiChen smiling in amusement, but there are other emotions under the surface, questions Lan WangJi knows he wants to ask but is holding back. He knows eventually he’ll have to answer some of them, but for now he joins the others in adding food to Wei Ying’s bowl.

His zhiji gives him a look of mock betrayal, then holds out his chopsticks with a bite of food and an expectant look that Lan WangJi indulges, taking the bite of food. But then he feeds Wei Ying with his own chopsticks, something that makes some Wens chuckle and Wei Ying blush. He doesn’t look at XiChen to see his reaction.

Lunch is over too soon, and Wen Qing plops a-Yuan into Wei Ying’s lap.

“Nap time for little boys,” she jokes.

“Xianxian isn’t little,” Wei Ying chirps. “Xianxian is three.”

Wen Qing rolls her eyes at the game.

“Brat,” she says, but fails to hide a smile. “Go on, then.”

Lan WangJi touches his shoulder before he can move to get up.

“Would you like me to play for you until you sleep?”

He is gifted with an adoring smile.

“We’ll be fine. Spend time with your brother.”

Wei Ying nods to Zewu-Jun.

“I hope you don’t need to leave too quickly.”

XiChen smiles, clearly picking up on his meaning.

“No, I’ll still be here later. I hope to spend some time getting to know the people here.”

Wei Ying nods, though his expression briefly dips into a sort of knowing pity at what he likely knows they will learn, then takes a breath that’s half yawn. He stands, hefting a-Yuan.

“Aiya… I guess a-Yuan and I get to try out the new bed first. Time for little radishes to sleep.”

He heads off through the interior passage to the cave, and a-Yuan’s response echoes.

“Xian-gege is a radish too? Can a-Yuan call you Luobo-gege?”

The echoing of Wei Ying’s laughter is almost musical.

Unfortunately, with Wei Ying gone, XiChen’s questioning gaze turns to Lan WangJi. He meets his brother’s gaze stoically, intending to answer questions, but he will not offer information.

“Everyone seemed insistent on urging WuXian to eat,” XiChen finally says.

It isn’t a question, but Wen Qing answers anyway.

“It took a while to get food growing. We didn’t have a lot. That idiot kept slipping his rations to a-Yuan. We’re breaking him of that, now that there’s enough food.”

It surprises Lan WangJi when his brother looks alarmed at that.

“But he can no longer practice inedia,” he breathes. “How badly has his health been impacted?”

Wen Qing glances at Lan WangJi, her gaze pointed, and he knows she is asking how much XiChen knows.

“Wei Ying told xiongzhang he no longer has a golden core,” he tells her. “That he did not have one when Wen Chao threw him here, and throughout the war.”

A bit of tension leaves her frame, and she turns to XiChen. The explanation is clear enough for her to understand Wei Ying didn’t reveal his sacrifice and her hand in it.

“This is not the first time in his life he has faced extreme malnourishment, and each subsequent time impacts his health more drastically. He is more susceptible to illness, doubly so without a golden core.”

“This isn’t the first time?” XiChen echoes. “WuXian has starved before?”

This time it’s a question, so Lan WangJi answers.

“After his parents died, before Jiang FengMian found him, Wei Ying spent several years homeless as a child, here in Yiling in fact. And then Burial Mounds, the three months he was missing. He told you of the resentful energy—not much grows here naturally.”

XiChen closes his eyes, and Lan WangJi is reminded how much his brother’s face expresses the emotion he feels. He can see XiChen understands exactly how poorly Wei Ying is doing, if only one aspect of it. He knows his brother will learn worse, as he did.

“He has no core to cleanse the resentful energy that infiltrates his body, which is as much a pressing matter as the starvation,” Wen Qing continues. “Only a few days ago he leeched resentful energy from a plot of land so it could be farmed safely. If not for Lan WangJi’s help, he’d still be working on it, and barely functional when he wasn’t.”

“Truly,” jifu adds, having wandered over, “when he told us we were in Burial Mounds, we thought we had been led to our deaths anyway.”

“But that boy told us we could survive,” popo says. “He’s made sure of it, but it costs him. And we can’t even stop him because otherwise things would be worse. Aiya, he’s barely grown, but he’s suffered so much.”

The aunties and uncles have pulled chairs close, and he can see XiChen studying them, finding only faces ruddy from farming, many middle aged or older. Many are nodding their agreement with popo.

“And he brought a-Ning back to us,” one of the aunties—Chuntao, if Lan WangJi’s memory serves—adds. “He tries so hard.”

“We can never repay him,” Meilin-yi says softly. “But we can try to help him, to make him healthier. Do more of the work so he can rest.”

“He is truly blessed to have your care,” XiChen says.

His comment is met with discomfort in the faces around them.

“It’s kind of you to say so, Zewu-Jin,” jifu offers. “But if not for having saved us, he could go home and live in peace. We are blessed by his righteousness, but he is condemned to this.”

Lan WangJi has not been amongst the Wen remnants away from Wei Ying much, so this is the first he’s heard of it. But this, at least, he can ease in them, if only through acknowledging the cultivation world politics in play.

“No,” he says. “Sect Leader Jin wants the amulet. Wei Ying would have been cast out, or worse, regardless.”

XiChen winces but doesn’t correct him. Wen Qing’s face goes carefully blank.

“Only those who do not seek power are fit to be entrusted with it,” she says, a variation on the teachings of Zhuangzi. “Wen RuoHan sought the yin iron and look what came of that.”

“The yin iron piece hidden at Dafan Mountain was in our goddess statue,” popo tells XiChen. “She came to life and started stealing souls when he removed it. A-Qing and a-Ning lost their parents that day.”

“A-Ning lost part of his soul that day,” Wen Qing whispers.

Wen Ning puts his hand on his sister’s shoulder in comfort, and she reaches up to place hers over it.

XiChen already looks overwhelmed, but there is so much more to tell him, including what Lan WangJi failed to report regarding the Dafan Wens during the journey he and Wei Ying undertook.

“I did not have the opportunity to report before the attack on Cloud Recesses. Wei Ying and I had to reseal the statue—Wen RuoHan sought to use it as a weapon, along with the people he had turned into puppets. These people.”

The memory of a chain around Wei Ying’s throat, of him going limp… Though it had turned out to be a ruse, the bruising around his neck had been dark enough to make clear how close he had been to death.

Truly, that Wei Ying had killed one of Wen RuoHan’s owls had likely made him a target well before Indoctrination.

“My family was held hostage to force my cooperation,” Wen Qing tells him.

XiChen sighs softly, looking around at the group as though just realizing how few of them there are, how many must have perished under Wen RuoHan or in misguided vengeance after the war.

“I wish I could change what has already happened, but we can only move forward. If you are amenable, I would like to learn more about your treatment in the labor camps.”

This has been something Lan WangJi has dreaded to learn more of, as he knows from what little he saw at Qiongqi Path that their treatment was inhuman—beyond inhumane.

Stories are told haltingly. Of screams in the night. Of beatings and torture and rotten food. Of the young women disappearing one by one—dead, raped or sold to brothels, no one knew. Of the children succumbing to illness one by one. Of others disappearing. Of brazen murder, bodies dumped into a ravine, the one where Wei Ying and Wen Qing had found Wen Ning. Of degradation and hopelessness, of waiting for death.

Of groups being taken by a smiling man “for interrogation,” and never returning.

“Some were Qishan Wen,” a-Ning breaks in. “Others were Dafan.”

Some of the Wens have scars to show XiChen, evidence of their time abused in the labor camp. Lash mark scars on backs and legs and arms. An uncle’s broken arm that had partially healed wrong and required Wen Qing to rebreak to set and heal properly. A brand mark burned in the shape of a peony on the shoulder of one of the aunties.

The brand is especially shocking, harkening to the treatment by Wen Chao’s mistress, the scar in the shape of a sun on Wei Ying’s chest. That the Jins have resorted to the same type of cruelty, even ignoring the apparent genocide of the Wens, shows Lan WangJi they are too far down the same path as Wen RuoHan, and he hopes his brother is coming to the same conclusion.

Aunties and uncles wander in and out during stories, some getting back to work after telling their piece, some helping Wen Ning clean up after lunch. Some leave for a bit, overcome by emotion, and return to tell more. Others go back to the fields, or to work with the dyes. These are tales they have experienced; they don’t need to hear them retold.

The horror of their accumulated stories, and the fact that all clans are complicit in failing to oversee or regulate, just trusting the Jin at their word… It’s overwhelming.

Eventually, only popo, jifu, Wen Qing, and Wen Ning remain in the communal hall, the others having returned to their chores, or to handle the emotions brought up by reliving their trauma privately.

“WuXian saw this?” XiChen finally asks softly, his jaw taut.

“He saw enough,” jifu says. “Not all of it, but he saw the bodies. We weren’t allowed to bury them. He probably guessed much of the rest.”

XiChen only nods, looking devastated. Whether at the betrayal of being lied to by the Jins—or one in particular—or devastation at the souls not put to rest, Lan WangJi didn’t know. Or perhaps it was having to see the effects on the living souls forced to take refuge on a mountain that was a mass grave.

It could also be his culpability as a sect leader, of one of the remaining four great sects in not establishing a way to monitor the work camps, something that should have been done regardless of the need to rebuild.

Likely, all of it weighed on his brother.

“We were told the civilians would be watched over at Qiongqi Path. That only those who took part in the war would be executed,” XiChen says softly.

He sounds lost, and Lan WangJi wonders who told him this—he thinks it is likely it was Jin GuangYao. XiChen wouldn’t look as though he felt betrayed had he only been lied to by Jin GuangShan.

“They lied,” Lan WangJi tells him bluntly. “Wei Ying and I saw Jin ZiXun using fleeing civilians in chains as target practice. Women, children, old men… When we confronted him, he claimed the Lan and Nie sect leaders had agreed anyone concerned with yin iron should not be alive.”

He watches XiChen close his eyes again, watches shame cross his face—the same shame he has felt, a necessary shame.

“‘Captured soldiers should be treated kindly and kept,’” he murmurs, quoting Sun Tzu. “That civilians would be treated with such cruelty…”

His voice is hoarse, as he seems to recognize the immorality of what was allowed to occur, that perhaps the warning against becoming one’s enemy has been disregarded too easily, and something akin to the depravity of Wen RuoHan has taken hold, unchecked until Wei Ying’s actions.

And Wei Ying has been painted as the villain, the subject of a vicious rumor campaign including accusations of grave robbing, kidnapping, and cannibalism, the source of all ills, when he is simply farming and trying to survive.

The anger Lan WangJi felt in the tea house threatens to rise to the surface again, the slander against his zhiji, his husband, someone who upholds the values of justice and righteousness at the cost of his freedom and reputation, absolutely unacceptable.

“Their camps were just a way to kill us more slowly, outside the view of the other sects,” Wen Qing comments. “A-Ning was pierced though with a defaced Qishan Wen flag and tossed down a ravine to rest among the bodies of others killed. He was still alive when we got there, but his spiritual cognition was gone. The guards killed were those who participated in his murder.”

“I d-don’t remember killing anyone,” Wen Ning admits. “Nothing between p-passing out from pain and waking up here. It’s just a b-blank space in my memory.”

“There were at least fifty bodies down there,” Wen Qing whispers. “Wei WuXian waded into the water with me, and we checked each one until I found him.”

XiChen winces, his fist clenched under the table. He knows, likely, that their testimonies will mean little in terms of seeking justice. The winners of the war would decide the narrative of the labor camps, and the Jins had plenty of time since Wei Ying’s actions to erase evidence of their crimes.

That night in the rain, Wei Ying’s expression had been of a man disillusioned, a man who could take no more of the established order if it meant tolerating injustice. And if he had spent that time wading in fetid water tainted by corpses, seeking the body of the man he owed his life to, his friend, knowing that man was almost certainly dead… Lan WangJi could understand what would lead him to turn his back on the cultivation world that had allowed such an atrocity.

What use had Wei Ying for orthodoxy after that?

“They decided all Wens were responsible for the war,” jifu said, his voice tired. “Children like a-Yuan, grandparents like popo… Everyone. If not for young master Wei, we would be gone as well, and no one would think to care. He came to rescue a-Ning, and what he saw led him to decide he would leave none of us in that place.”

“Wen Ning rescued Jiang Cheng after the fall of Lotus Pier, and likely prevented Wei Ying’s death during indoctrination,” Lan WangJi explains.

“During indoctrination?” XiChen asks.

“Wen Chao p-put him in the dungeon with a d-direwolf,” Wen Ning supplies haltingly.

Lan WangJi goes cold—not a mere dog, but a direwolf? That Wei Ying survived long enough for aid to come is a miracle. He wonders how badly his husband was injured, but knows the herbs and energy boosting medicine at least left no scarring; he has mapped each of Wei Ying’s scars each night, and none seem to correspond with the rips that had been in his robes that day.

But back then, Wei Ying had a strong golden core.

“They did not expect him to survive the night,” Lan WangJi manages, though his calm is forced. “He believes he was intended to be an example, a warning to the rest of us.”

“Wen Chao did intend that,” Wen Qing acknowledges, lips pursed. “He was furious he survived. I knew a-Ning had intervened, but not that Wei WuXian had been locked in with that beast until later.”

XiChen is quiet for a bit, pale and clearly digesting the information. Lan WangJi is certain he knows this only scratches the surface of Wei Ying’s trauma, especially as xiongzhang is unaware Wei Ying is terrified of dogs, that he is revisiting his earlier feelings of having failed him—he has felt all of this himself. He still feels it.

“Then it seems WuXian owes a life debt to Wen QiongLin,” XiChen finally comments. “Which would usually expire upon death, but he remains spiritually conscious.”

Wen Qing draws in a sharp breath at the ramifications; though XiChen doesn’t have all the information—particularly regarding the surgery she had performed to transplant Wei Ying’s golden core to Jiang Cheng, which she seems to believe cancels out any such debt—Lan WangJi agrees with his brother’s assessment.

“Further, as WuXian was at the very least betrothed to WangJi at the time, the life debt is also his.”

While Lan WangJi fully expected this statement, it’s clear the Wens did not. Wen Qing looks overwhelmed, and Wen Ning seems confused. Jifu and popo look as though they might cry. They know what is meant here, know that this is a statement of responsibility. XiChen is condoning his support and protection of the Dafan Wens.

“GusuLan as a whole must recognize the life debt,” XiChen continues. “And as sect leader, I consider it valid. You saved my brother’s husband, and his family.”

The wording almost implies the Lan clan as a whole owes a life debt, which goes beyond what he expected—it offers an extra measure of protection. But Lan WangJi sees some of the logic his brother is going for and decides to add to it.

“Given that Wen Ning rescued Jiang Cheng from Wen Chao at Lotus Pier, and he and Wen Qing sheltered the Jiang siblings and Wei Ying at the Yiling Indoctrination Bureau, it is likely the Jiangs also owe a life debt.”

XiChen smiles at him, his eyes shrewd, calculating in a way Lan WangJi rarely sees from him. He wonders if the betrayal his brother feels over the lies he has been fed by a trusted friend has sharpened him in this way, leading him to think deviously where he usually would not.

“Of course, since Lady Jiang is to be wed to Jin ZiXuan, that would extend the life debt to him. And if Nie HuaiSang aided in protecting the Dafan Wens during the incident you mentioned, Wen Qing and Wen Ning similarly owe him a life debt.”

Wen Qing has been staring open-mouthed, but she seems to catch on quickly. Popo and jifu clearly understand and are overwhelmed. Wen Ning looks confused but seems content to listen and let his sister explain later.

“You’re proposing there exists a life debt among eight people?” she asks.

“I’m only summarizing what has occurred,” XiChen answers congenially. “I could hardly propose such a thing in the current political climate. It would undermine the Chief Cultivator. As a sect leader, that would be irresponsible of me.”

The smile on Wen Qing’s face is almost wicked.

“It seems like a matter between the eight of us,” she says. “What an auspicious number. Perhaps you would be willing to send a letter to Lady Jiang for me, Zewu-Jun? In the current political climate, anything from Yiling to Lady Jiang would garner red flags…”

“Of course. I need to send a missive to Sect Leader Jiang anyway on behalf of WangJi and WuXian, and I’m sure he would be willing to deliver a letter to his sister.”

Wen Qing rises and bows to him, then to Lan WangJi.

“Thank you. I will excuse myself to compose the letter. I’m sure Hanguang-Jun would be happy to give you a tour of our humble home.”

Popo and jifu excuse themselves to work on their projects—popo to aid in the dyeing, and jifu to work on his next carpentry project—so overcome with gratitude they almost kowtow to XiChen before they leave. XiChen, unsurprisingly, urges them not to bow; Lan WangJi knows this is partly out of guilt. Wen Qing tells Wen Ning to help with the dyeing project and move the dye vats outside before leaving as well, presumably to compose the letter.

Lan WangJi leads his brother from the hall, and around the various vegetable patches, explaining abundance of radishes nearly ready for harvest, showing him the new field with its newly sown crop of tomatoes, squash, beans, carrots, beets, peppers—for Wei Ying, he explains—and a small herb patch.

“WangJi, though the answer is obvious to me, questions will be asked about the validity of the marriage,” xiongzhang says during a lull.

He knows he is specifically thinking of shufu, but also likely of other elders who will oppose his marriage. Short of Wei Ying’s death, there is nothing they can do—and he will ensure the former does not occur.

“It has been consummated,” he replies, and is kind enough not to add ‘repeatedly’ or ‘enthusiastically’ to the assertion, however true they are. “It cannot be annulled.”

XiChen smiles and nods, and Lan WangJi leads the way back toward the settlement so he can see the structures the Wens have built and live in.

“Honestly, the closeness I witnessed between you two made that clear,” XiChen admits. “You are rarely so free with touch, WangJi, and the intimacy you share is undeniable.”

He can feel his ears heat at his brother’s unabashed comments; this is not a discussion he expected to have, but it is undeniable that touch has become an added and welcome part of his relationship with Wei Ying. He would touch him always if it were practical.

“We are happy, xiongzhang,” he says softly. “Despite the difficulties faced here, we are happy together. I know the elders and shufu will likely not be pleased with our union. If it becomes necessary for me to break with GusuLan—”

“Never,” XiChen interrupts, his tone forceful. “No, WangJi, didi… I will not allow them to cast you out. You have a responsibility to your spouse, one recognized by Lan Yi herself. You will always be welcome in the Cloud Recesses.”

Lan WangJi nods, grateful for his brother’s support. He knows he and Wei Ying, and likely the Wens as well, will have a supportive voice at Cloud Recesses.

“I will, of course, visit as much as I am able,” XiChen continues. “And if shufu insists on coming, it will be with my escort, so you may rest easy on that matter. You will probably want some of your personal items from the jingshi, as well.”

Rarely does Lan WangJi feel choked up, but XiChen’s dedication to his happiness is something that has often overwhelmed him.

“Xiongzhang, I—”

He stops when the sound of loud crying fills the air, coming from the Demon-Slaughtering Cave. Lan WangJi immediately recognizes a-Yuan’s wailing—a-Yuan, who should be napping with Wei Ying. He breaks into a run.

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exhausted-joy · 5 years

Text

SCARY HOURS [YANDERE!JEON JUNGKOOK] [02]

CHAPTER TWO.

SYNOPSIS: Jeon Jungkook is a high school delinquent who also happens to be your awful new next door neighbor. Every night at three am, you jolt awake to the bangs and screams that leak through the thin walls of your apartment. Eventually, you can’t stand it anymore and decide to confront your problematic neighbor. But as it turns out, Jeon Jungkook is no ordinary high school student, and the screams are not that of his own.

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Tag List: @little-orochi @sinning-on-a-sunday

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Jeon Jungkook never really thought hard about what he wanted to be when he grew up.

Most of his dreams were squashed when his alcoholic father left him and his terminally ill mother to fend for themselves, and he realized that the expensive medical bills would have to get paid somehow. And even though he had an affinity for the arts and all things tech, he forced himself to just forget about it and instead focus on the things that actually mattered; like his mother’s declining health and, now, his new next door neighbor.

Jungkook’s first impression of you was rather, well, unimpressed. When he cracked open the door to find you standing there in a wrinkled, oversized shirt and pajama bottoms that had some cartoon character he wasn’t familiar with printed all over it, he instantly thought about just shutting the door and retiring back to his bed. However, he wasn’t exactly too keen on the idea of getting kicked out of the only acceptable living space he could afford within the span of two days of him and his mother’s arrival. So he tried his best to be somewhat civil, but he guessed he just turned out to seem like every other edgy, rude teen who had no respect for others.

And if pertaining to a certain side of him, then it was true, naturally.

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“JUNGKOOK dear, can you please hand me my prescription?”

The dark haired boy is pulled from his daze at the sound of his mother’s voice. Looking over at his sickly mother, whose skin looks pale and lifeless, he sees that she’s gazing back at him with expectancy in her brown eyes. He quickly jumps into action, not wanting her to suffer the pain her illness brings when the painkillers wear off.

“Yes, of course,” he replies in his native tongue, swiftly reaching over the arm of the couch to grab the orange bottle full of mutli-colored pills. Jungkook brings them to her and gently sets them in her frail, awaiting hands.

Returning to his spot back on the couch, he mindlessly watches some random comedy program that had been on when the TV flashed to life. He has to leave for school soon, he realizes, and sighs before getting back up to go pack a lunch or some snacks at least. Jungkook was used to not having much to eat, so his appetite had decreased significantly in the past few years and he craved food less and less. By some miracle, he didn’t exactly turn out to be scrawny nor skinny, but rather lean and on the muscular side thanks to the many days of playing basketball at the community park in his old neighborhood.

He really misses his old friends and that girl he used to like but was too scared to ask out. Jungkook wanted to go back to the old days, where they all would go out for ice cream and blast American hip-hip music like the delinquents they were. He wanted to laugh and smile with them again, just one last time.

It’s too bad he killed them, though.

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IT’S A mere few hours later when you come to to the sound of your blaring alarm puncturing ruthlessly through your blissful sleep. You peel your eyes open and your stomach sinks with dread as you catch sight of morning light leaking through the curtains in front of the window. You rub your eyes sleepily and turn off your alarm before shoving your face back into your pillow. If only..

Your bedroom door slams open and you jump up, your head snapping in the direction of the loud noise. Your mother stands in the threshold with a ticked off look on her face, and you know she’s already irritated at the sight of you still bleary eyed and in bed. She’s already dressed in her work attire and has her hair pulled up into a tight bun, probably about to head ready to head out to catch the subway.

“[Name], I’m leaving. Make sure you get to school on time today, okay? I don’t need another call from the secretary telling me you’ve got detention again.” Her voice is sharp and snappy and it clips through your already dampened mood like a pair of sharp scissors. As if you need her to nag you about things you can’t possibly control.

You simply mumble a noise of agreement and she rushes away, the sound of her heels clicking against the floorboards and the front door shutting resounding throughout the now silent apartment. A few moments pass before you actually get out of bed, even at the protest of every fiber in your body that tells you to lay back down and drift off into sleep again. You endure, though, and make your way to the bathroom to get ready.

You go through your morning routine with sleepy, robotic motions. By the time you slip on your uniform, you are already having trouble staying awake. And by the time you slide on your shoes and make your way to the train station, you are halfway tempted to bunker down to sleep in your seat, even amongst the crowd of unfamiliar faces dressed in a multitude of work attires or school uniforms.

That is, until you recognize the stark navy blue of your school’s uniform through the mass of beiges, blacks, and whites.

You furrow your eyebrows in confusion. Usually you’re the only student from your school who travels this way, as you live quite aways from campus. Although it may not be that strange, it still makes you feel a bit incompetent for not realizing a classmate of yours rode the same train sooner.

However surprised you are, it really doesn’t change the fact that you aren’t one to initiate conversation. That, and you don’t want to risk losing your seat by getting up to have a pointless chat with someone you may or may not know. You didn’t have very many friends at school anyway, so it was probably unlikely you knew each other.

Satisfied with the conclusion you had come up with to avoid social interaction, you lean back into your seat to catch a much needed snooze before arriving at school. Eyes shut and breathing slow, you quickly drift off into dreamland without a second thought.

A gentle tap on your shoulder awakens you. Light floods your vision as you crack them open, consciousness rudely invading your sleep-hazy mind. It takes a few moments for you to realize that you had fallen asleep on the subway, and you quickly shoot up from your seat in a panic, your belongings tightly gripped in your hands. You snap your head to the left to see a familiar face and, for a second, you almost forget where you had seen it before.

The boy’s dark eyes strike you deeply and you instantly recognize him to be your very loud and obnoxious neighbor - the one you had tried to compromise with the night prior, only to be denied with a defiant slam of a door in your face. One of his dark eyebrows is slightly quirked upwards, glaring at you as if you had just committed some sort of heinous crime. You freeze in your spot for a moment, your words once again caught in your throat at the sudden sight of him.

He clicks his tongue quietly and mumbles something underneath his breath before growling out something similar to ‘school’ and then stalking away towards the train’s exit. It doesn’t take long for embarrassment to blossom upon your face, and you quickly gather yourself before following behind him. You make sure to smooth out any wrinkles your uniform may have obtained and tuck any hairs down that may have went astray during your little nap.

Quickly, you lose sight of the boy within the crowd of bustling people. However, after checking the time on your phone, you realize that you don’t have time to worry about him and what had just happened at the moment. You’re almost late for school! With adrenaline now pumping through your veins and a sudden drive to make it to school on time, you make a dash through the crowd of people on the escalators and sidewalks, expertly weaving in between bodies and calling out an apology when you accidentally bump someone too hard.

There are less and less people the closer you get to the school, you realize, and you book it even faster down the sidewalk now that there are no more obstacles to get in your way. You can see the entrance gates come into view and a couple students entering with a sense of urgency, probably just as bent on getting to class on time as you are. As you pass the gates, you slow down to a panicked jog and check the time on your phone again. Your eyes practically pop out of their sockets when you see.

7:45. The bell had already rung.

Pushing open the door to the hallway your first period class was located in, you stop to catch your breath. You begin to feel bitterness arise in your throat as your lungs and throat burn from the overexertion of sprinting - you were still late to school, so it was all for nothing. You were never running to school again; you made a vow to yourself right then and there that you would start waking up earlier so you wouldn’t have to worry about getting detention everyday.

Sluggishly, you shuffle down the hallway and to your class, frowning at the door with a sudden feeling of impending doom settling upon your skin. You slowly grasp the knob and twist it before unceremoniously throwing open the door. And you are instantly greeted by a large, textbook endowed backpack, swung straight at your head.

You remember falling to the cold floor, the familiar rush of tears welling up in your eyes, and a spurt of blood that lands all over your clean-pressed uniform, staining it with spots of an unsightly shade of scarlet. And you see those dark, angry eyes again, though full of concern this time, as he looks down at your hunched up form, writhing in pain from the heavy blow.

Not even moments later, you hear a violent crash and, suddenly, you weren’t the only one in the room crying.

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| DIRECTORY | MASTERLIST |

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere bts x reader #bts x reader #bts #bangtan #bangtan x reader #yandere jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook #jungkook x reader #bts x you #anime

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fanfics4all · 4 years

Text

The Only Way

Request: Yes / No Ik request are closed but when u open them can u do a vampire KJ and human reader where KJ is hungry and reader is like drink mine but he drinks to much and she passes out when she waks up hes worried about her and how he thinks her heart stopped then a couple days she feels sick so they take her to the hospital to find out shes dying and they find out bc kj gave her some type of venom and only way she can live is to become one so ita takes some weeks as she slowly dies and he does it for her @loxbbg

Requests are open only if you have a cute thanksgiving/ fall activity request! ONLY OPEN FOR THIS FOR ANOTHER 7 DAYS! <3 Have a nice day/night

Vampire!KJ Apa x Fem!Reader

Word count: 1595

Warnings: dying

Y/N: Your Name

Y/N/N: Your Nickname

PLEASE DO NOT STEAL MY WORK, I WORK HARD ON MY FICS AND IT’S NOT COOL TO STEAL SOMEONE ELSE’S WORK!

If you want to be on the tag list for anything (My series fics, specific character fics, or just all of them) All you have to do is send me an ask and I will add you!

Masterlist

(Not my photo, credit to whoever made it!)

I met KJ when we were working on a movie together. We fell for each other instantly, something just drew me to him. After the movie we went on a few dates and then made it official. A year after us dating something happened. KJ got attacked by a vampire and well they made him one. He hated it at first and tried to hide it from me, but I found out when I walked in on him downing a squirrel’s blood. I was shocked at first, but I loved him and I was gonna help him. Since then we’ve been working on how to deal with his thirst. He wouldn’t drink from me though, he made that very clear. His cast mates on Riverdale knew what happened and they didn’t look at him any different.

Today KJ took me to the Riverdale set with him since I wasn’t working at the moment. My agent hasn’t found anything new for me to do yet and I didn’t mind since it meant I got to spend more time with KJ. He was working really hard and I saw he was getting hungry. I looked in my bag to grab the blood I brought for him, but it wasn't there. My eyes widened when I realized I left it in our fridge. There was no way I could get some animal blood now! I bit my lip and hit my head, how could I be so stupid!

“Alright break time people!” Someone called and everyone started walking off. KJ walked over to me with a smile and gave me a kiss.

“Let’s go back to my trailer ay?” He asked and I nodded. I made sure to keep the worry off my face, I didn’t want him to make a scene about my idea around everyone. We got to his trailer and he sat down.

“Babe, can I have some blood?” He asked and I bit my lip.

“About that…” I started and he raised his brow.

“What?” He asked.

“Um… I forgot it when we were rushing to leave…” I said and his eyes widened.

“Ummm, okay, I can wait.” He said and I shook my head.

“No you can't!” I said and he shook his head.

“Yes I can Y/N.” He said.

“No, you’re hungry, just drink some from me.” I said moving the hair from my neck.

“No! Are you crazy? What if I kill you?” He said and I rolled my eyes.

“KJ, you won’t, I trust you. Now drink you’re hungry.” I said moving closer to him.

“No! I can wait till we get home.” He said and I narrowed my eyes at him.

“KJ, I will not let you out of this trailer until you drink.” I said sitting on his lap. I sat him gulp and his fangs start to come out.

“No, no I can't!” He said.

“Please baby, for me?” I asked with my best puppy dog eyes.

“Fine.” He sighed and gently turned my head to the right angle. His fangs sunk into my skin and I felt the pain and pleasure. I bit my lip as a little whimper escaped my mouth. KJ held me close and he drank my blood. After a few minutes, he pulled away. I looked at him and my blood was on his mouth.

“How was it?” I asked.

“You taste really good babe.” He said and I giggled.

“Well thank you.” I said and got off him. I wobbled a bit and almost fell, but KJ was quick to catch me.

“Sorry, I must have taken too much…” He said, guilt clear in his voice.

“Don’t worry about it, I’ll be fine.” I said and he sighed. He laid me on the couch and placed a blanket over me.

“I’m gonna get you some food and juice okay?” He asked and I nodded.

“I’ll be right back.” He said and then left. I felt my eyes growing heavier and heavier, I couldn’t keep them open anymore. I closed them, a nap will do me good.

I woke up and looked around, I wasn’t in KJ’s trailer. I was in our room, when did I get here? KJ walked in and his eyes widened when he saw me.

“Y/N! You’re awake!” He said rushing over to me and hugging me.

“When did we get home?” I asked.

“You’ve been out for a couple of days, I came back and you were passed out. I drank way too much from you, I’m sorry Y/N/N.” He said with a few tears falling from his eyes.

“Hye, relax, I’m fine.” I said giving him a kiss.

“This is why I didn’t want to drink from you. I can’t control myself still.” He said and I gave him a small smile.

“It’s fine KJ, you’ll learn.” I said and he shook his head.

“I’m never doing that again.” He said and I sighed.

“Fine… well can we eat? I’m starving.” I said and he laughed.

“Sure, whatever you want.” He said and kissed the side of my head.

The next few days I wasn’t feeling well. I got sick and I felt really weak. I couldn’t really walk well so KJ helped me with pretty much everything. After the fifth day, KJ wanted to take me to the hospital. I didn’t want to go because I just thought it was the flu or something, but KJ insisted. We went to the hospital and they ran some tests. KJ was sitting next to me holding my hand while we waited for the results.

“Miss, Y/L/N, it appears you have some venom in your blood that is making you ill. Have you been in contact with a vampire recently?” He asked and KJ’s eyes widened.

“I did this to her?” He asked and the doctor looked at him.

“You’re a vampire?” He asked and KJ nodded his head.

“He’s still getting used to things, he was attacked and turned two months ago.” I said and the doctor nodded.

“Well, you must not know how to control your venom usage yet because you injected too much into her.” He said and KJ hung his head in shame.

“So, we just get the venom out and I’ll be okay right?” I asked and the doctor shook his head.

“Unforchunetly the venom has been in your system for too long, you aren’t going to make it.” He said and KJ’s eyes watered.

“There has to be something you can do!” KJ cried.

“Not us, but you can.” He said and we looked at him confused.

“You can turn her, just before she dies and she’ll become a vampire.” The doctor said and KJ’s eyes widened.

“No! There has to be another way!” He said.

“I’m sorry, but either she dies or you turn her.” The doctor said and walked out.

“KJ, do it.” I said and he looked at me shocked.

“No! I don’t want to put you through this!” He said and I sighed.

“I love you KJ and I’m not ready to leave you, please.” I begged with tears falling from my eyes. He looked at me with sad eyes.

“Please KJ, it’s the only way.” I said and he sighed.

“Okay…” He said. We sat there waiting for my heart rate to get slower. One it did KJ bit his wrist and put it over my mouth. I drank with what little strength I had left and then my eyes shut.

I woke back up moments later to the heart monitor still flatlining. I looked around and everything was so loud. I covered my ears and closed my eyes tightly, why was the room so bright?

“Y/N/N, babe, it’s okay.” I heard KJ say.

"Just keep your eyes closed and I'll get you home okay?" He said and I nodded. KJ left the room for a few minutes and then came back.

"Okay baby, we're going home." He said and he picked me up. He carried me outside to our car and I hissed when the sunlight seeped through the cracks of my eyelids.

"There's a blanket in the car, just go under it when I put you in the car okay?" He said and I nodded. He put me in and then quickly up the blanket over my head. The darkness came over me and I felt better.

"Keep your eyes closed till we get home, your eyes are still too sensitive." He said.

"Okay." I said and I felt the car start to move. After a twenty minutes drive the car stopped. KJ took me out with the blanket still over my head. We got inside and KJ brought me to our room. He laid me down and I went to take the blanket off but he stopped me.

"Just a little longer, let me shut the curtains and turn the light off." He said and I nodded. KJ came back a minute later and pulled off the blanket.

"Okay, you can open your eyes now." He said and I did. Everything was super dark and my eyes didn't hurt too much anymore.

"It'll take a day or two to get used to everything, but I'll help you." He said and I smiled.

"Thank you baby, you saved me." I said and he smiled.

"I couldn't just let you die because of me." He said returning the smile.

"I love you." I said and he kissed me.

"I love you too." He said when we pulled apart.

Tag list: @les-bio-lie @tashy-bear @xrosesareredx @ashwarren32 @hollie-blogs @schisbro87 @lover-of-books-and-teas @nerdygaloresposts @alex--awesome--22 @teenwolfbitches2 @genius2050 @drw0301bieber @pharaoh-of-time-and-space @marveloverdcsstuff @lady-of-lies @simonsbluee @beginningstofandom

#riverdale #kj apa #kj apa imagine #kj apa x reader #kj apa x fem!reader #vampire!kj apa x reader #vampire!kj apa x fem!reader #fanfic #request #vampire

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kitty-bandit · 5 years

Text

Just Friends

Rating: E Fandom: Original Setting Pairing: Orha x Akihiko (OCs owned by @kandasboi) Tags: Drama™; Romance; Dealing with an Ex; A/B/O Dynamics(ish); Heat Sex; Sex; Oral Sex; Anal Sex; Anal Fingering; Multiple Orgasms; Barebacking

I’m back again, and this time with a commission for @kandasboi! The request was for his OCs. If you want to read the other two fics I’ve written for him involving these OCs, you can find them here and here.

If you’d like to commission me, check out my commission info!

Keep walking. Don’t turn around—

Orha kept his gaze forward, looking straight ahead as he quickened his pace in the hope that Malakai would give up pursuit. He hunched his shoulders, holding his books tight to his chest and clenching his jaw as he speed-walked through campus. But that subtle hint, and his not-so-subtle body language, didn’t dissuade his ex from taking chase. Hurried footsteps echoed behind him and he heard Malakai call his name—louder this time—as he closed the distance between them. Finally, a strong hand gripped his shoulder and yanked him to a stop before he could cross the street.

“Didn’t you hear me? I was calling you for half a block.”

Out of breath, Orha turned and looked up at Malakai’s handsome face. He hated that he still thought of him as handsome, even after all the shit he had put him through. But it was hard not to see his beauty—that strong, muscled body and pretty face framed with the softest brown and gray ombre hair. He wished Malakai looked as ugly on the outside as he did inside, that the world would work like that sometimes. It would make it easier to see people for who they really were—before you gave them the chance to hurt you.

“What do you want?” Orha refused to meet his brown eyes, instead staring at the courtyard and watching a squirrel forage under a tree. His heart refused to calm itself, beating a mile a minute as he waited for Malakai to speak his peace.

Malakai rummaged through his messenger bag and pulled out a thickly bound book. “Here, I found this and I thought you’d like it.”

He shoved the book into Orha’s arms, leaving Orha scrambling to keep from dropping his other books in the process. Orha bit his lip to keep from snapping, but couldn’t stifle an exasperated sigh. After rearranging the books in his arms, he looked down at the one Malakai had given him. It was a history book, and one he’d wanted for a while. He hadn’t purchased it because of the price, though. And Malakai just...

Orha shook his head and met Malakai’s gaze. “Why are you giving this to me?”

“What?” he asked, feigning innocence. He had to be faking it—Malakai wasn’t that dumb. Orha had learned how manipulative he could be, and had paid the price for it. “I saw it in the bookstore yesterday. Are you saying you don’t want it?”

“No, I—” Orha sighed and looked back down at the book. “It’s expensive.”

“You know I can afford it.”

“That doesn’t matter—we’re not together. You shouldn’t buy me things anymore.”

Malakai shrugged, looking more at ease than he had the right to be—especially with Orha’s nerves knotted up like rope. “Consider it a gift from a friend, then.”

Orha let out a stunted laugh as he stared down at the book cover. Friends. Friends didn’t harass you or spread rumors about you or destroy your property just for fun. They weren’t friends and, as far as Orha was concerned, they never would be.

He still didn’t understand what Malakai was up to. Not even a month ago he was bullying Orha every time they encountered each other—on campus and off. But this change, the complete turn around, struck him as more than a little off. Malakai had been following Orha around, finding excuses to show up at places he knew he would be. He’d given Orha gifts. They were small at first, but the price and sizes grew exponentially. This book was the most expensive yet. Last time he’d priced it, it’d been almost $200. Way over his budget. And Malakai simply threw his money away to buy it for Orha? Something didn’t add up.

What the hell was Malakai planning? What angle was he working? What purpose did being nice to him serve? The more he approached him, the less Orha trusted him, but he was too scared to outright reject his advances. The last thing he wanted was for Malakai to bully him again. He’d already suffered enough from that.

“Fine,” Orha replied, tucking the book to his chest with the others. “Thanks, I guess.”

“So,” Malakai began, taking a step closer and pinching a lock of Orha’s hair between his fingers. “There’s a party tonight at my place. You should come.”

Too close. Orha flinched and pulled away—out of reach from Malakai’s greedy grasp. His stomach twisted in a sick knot. “Sorry, I’m busy tonight.” No way in hell would he be caught dead at Malakai’s house. He turned and headed back down the sidewalk.

His heart dropped in his stomach as heard footsteps behind him.

“Are you busy with something? Or should I say someone?” Malakai asked as he matched Orha’s pace.

“What are you talking about?” he asked back, jaw set tight as he clutched his books to his chest.

“You’ve been hanging around that guy a lot. Akihiko.”

Orha’s back stiffened and his pointed ears flicked backwards, flattening against his head. He shot a glare Malakai’s direction, bristling. “What’s it to you?” The words were harsher than he’d wanted, but he couldn’t help it. Akihiko was a sensitive subject, and Orha didn’t like hearing his name on Malakai’s tongue.

“Just curious.” Malakai watched Orha, unabashedly staring, while Orha quickened his pace. “Haven’t seen you with anyone else lately.”

It was too much—too much to handle all at once. “I gotta go.” He cut across the street, a few cars slamming their breaks and cursing him out as he dashed in front of them. But the shortcut worked and Malakai didn’t bother crossing traffic to follow after him. He sighed in relief, but the anxious energy still hummed along his skin like electricity. He wanted to go home and relax.

As he left campus and crossed into the residential area on the outskirts of the university, a buzzing in his pocket distracted him from his thoughts. Pulling out his phone, his dark blue eyes widened at the name on the screen—Akihiko.

His pace slowed as he unlocked the screen and read over the text.

Aki—Dinner tonight?

It was so casual, the way he asked; subtly comfortable in a way that Orha wished he could say was mutual. The realization struck him, that he had been spending more time with Akihiko than he’d thought, if he could message Orha so easily. It meant that Malakai had been right in his observations, as much as he despised that knowledge.

Still. Still. It didn’t mean anything. In spite of Orha’s original concerns, Akihiko was kind to him. Too kind, really. More kind that he deserved. Like a real boyfriend.

But they weren’t boyfriends. Not really. Or at least, they’d never labeled it. They simply spent time together—some of it platonic, some of it intimate. Whatever they had, it worked, and Orha didn’t dare disturb the balance they’d found in each other. If it was one thing he knew for sure, asking too much in a relationship doomed it to fail. For once, he’d like it to work out, if only for a little longer.

Orha typed back, fingers quick on the screen.

Orha—Pass tonight. Not feeling well.

Little dots popped up on the screen, and Orha waited for Akihiko’s message as he walked.

Aki—Okay. Let me know if you change your mind.

As much as dinner with Akihiko sounded great, Orha didn’t think he could handle it. Not tonight, at least. He’d been feeling strange all day and the run-in with Malakai knocked him off his feet. What he needed was a nap—a nice long nap so he could forget Malakai and Akihiko and his stupid, turbulent emotions. Besides, he needed rest. The last thing he wanted was to catch a cold because he was stressed.

Orha shoved the phone back into his pants and sighed. Tomorrow. He would worry about it all tomorrow. He just needed to get home tonight and rest.

As that thought entered his mind, he felt the plink of a raindrop on his cheek. Looking up, he watched the sky turn dark, clouds churning in the sky with ill intent. Another drop hit his face—and another and another.

“Shit,” he grumbled, picking up the pace. Only a few blocks remained until he was home, but before he could curse himself out for forgetting an umbrella, the sky opened up and the deluge hit.

Tucking his books close to his chest to protect them from the rain, Orha broke out into a sprint. As he ran, water collected into puddles on the sidewalk and splashed against his legs with each step. He couldn’t escape the rain—it permeated everything as it poured from the sky in violent sheets. With his heart pounding in his chest, he hurried down the street in hopes of keeping his books dry in the downpour. As he neared the end of the block, he spotted his house and darted to the door, fumbling with his keys to get indoors.

After bolting inside and slamming the door shut behind him, Orha sighed in relief. Water dripped down his face, soaking his dark hair and leaving drenched clothes stuck to wet skin. He set his books down on the coffee table in the living room. They weren’t as waterlogged as he’d feared—just a bit of wetness along the top edges. They would dry easy enough.

As he spread them out on the table, his eyes landed on the history book Malakai had given him and his stomach clenched unpleasantly. He might have wanted the book, but he didn’t want it if it came from his ex. Maybe he could sell it online or something. It would be better than keeping it around and reminding him of what had been.

Unable to bear looking at the book any longer, Orha trudged to his bedroom, water dripping everywhere. He would clean up later, but for now, he wanted nothing more than to crawl into bed and sleep. Stripping out of his sopping wet clothes, Orha dropped each item to the floor without care. Once he was down to his boxers, he slipped into bed and covered himself with the blankets. His skin was clammy and cold from the sudden shower, but the softness of his sheets and pillows drained the tension from his body. Even with wet hair, he felt better.

Before he could muse any longer on why he was so tired and drained, he drifted off to blissful unconsciousness.

xXxXxXx

Bam! Bam! Bam!

Orha’s nose twitched. He groaned pulling the blankets over his head to block the noise. He didn’t want to get up—not yet. His body ached and burned, as if he’d ran a marathon and all he wanted to do was keep sleeping.

Bam! Bam!

“Ugh.” Orha rolled to his back, eyes cracking open to stare up at the ceiling. He had no idea how long he’d been asleep, but the rain hadn’t stopped and it was dark.

Bam! Bam! Bam! Bam!

A frown spread over his lips, tugging at the corners, and this time, he let out an angry snarl. Who the hell was banging on his door? “Just go away,” he growled, too weak for whoever was at the door to hear. He still felt off—not quite right inside—and the constant pounding was giving him a headache. The noise continued, and Orha huffed. “Fine, asshole! I’m coming!” Throwing back the blankets, he ambled to his feet—and fell to the floor.

With a moan more wanton than pained, he squeezed his eyes shut and caught his breath. He was hard—so painfully hard. The damned knocking had been so annoying he’d completely missed it. But after failing to stand and nearly falling flat on his face, he realized what had been off all day.

Orha had started his heat.

“Shit. Fucking—ugh.” Cursing to himself as he crawled on the floor, he grabbed a pair of sweatpants and pulled them on in the hopes of hiding his massive erection. However, the fabric tented over the bulge, leaving his state even more obvious than before. He couldn’t hide it, or his other symptoms. With his fevered skin, blown pupils, and short breath, anyone would be able to see his state. Not to mention the smell…

The sudden and gnawing urge to jerk off over took him, but he shook his head and tried to focus. He had to get rid of whoever was on his porch first, then he could take to his...needs.

Stumbling through the house and growling under his breath, he stomped towards the front door in nothing but a flimsy pair of sweatpants. The knocking persisted. Orha yanked the door open and took a breath to shout at the person who had rudely jolted him out of his peaceful sleep—

Only to deflate completely as he recognized the handsome countenance staring wide-eyed at him. “Aki?” he asked, confusion heavy in his voice.

Akihiko looked like the proverbial deer in headlights. He stood there, one hand still raised to knock on the door and the other cupping a small plastic container to his side. “Oh—Sorry. Were you sleeping? I was starting to get worried because you didn’t answer your phone.”

“I—uh—” Orha felt his mouth go dry as he looked at Akihiko, his hair and clothes wet from the pouring rain. “I didn’t hear it.” His stomach clenched, a twang of hunger humming through his veins. He knew it was the heat talking, his brain addled with hormones, but in that moment, he’d never wanted Akihiko more.

Akihiko tensed as Orha watched him, and handed him the container. “You said you weren’t feeling well, so I brought you some soup.” He took a long breath, and Orha knew he could smell the pheromones he gave off. There was no way to hide the scent, not now. “But I guess you’re not that kind of sick.”

“Yeah...” Orha swallowed thickly, heart hammering in his chest like a drum. He barely made out Akihiko’s words, as if cotton were shoved in his ears. His boxers were too tight, and he felt hot and sticky all over. He wanted them off. He wanted everything off of him right then, but he couldn’t stop staring at Akihiko.

Weakly, he grabbed the container, the warm plastic pleasant against his palms. He leaned in closer to Akihiko, swaying on his feet as he breathed in his scent. He smelled like the fresh rain that hadn’t stopped for hours and sandalwood. Heady, earthy. Masculine and strong. Just what Orha was craving. Just what he needed. “Thanks,” he said as an afterthought, moving closer still. Reaching out, he touched Akihiko’s hip, fingers tucking into the waistband of his pants.

Realizing the situation they were in, Akihiko took a step back, but didn’t push Orha away. “Uh, maybe I should go? You seem a bit out of it and—”

“No—” Orha tightened his grip and pulled Akihiko back towards him, practically dragging him into the house. “Stay, please? I want you to stay.”

A torn look crossed Akihiko’s face as he hesitated. Resting his hand against over Orha’s as it clung to his hip, he let out a shuddered breath. Orha’s scent had to have been strong by then, and the longer Akihiko lingered, the harder it would be to leave. Even in his heat haze, Orha could see the thoughts and emotions passing over his face, struggling to decide on the best course of action.

But Orha saw him crumble, and his heart skipped a beat as their eyes met. Akihiko raised his free hand to cup the side of his face. His palm felt so cool in comparison to his heated, flushed skin. “…Are you sure? You’re not just saying this because you’re in heat and—”

“I’m sure,” Orha interrupted, pulling him closer. “I don’t want to be alone tonight—I can’t.” Without further elaborations, he leaned in and captured Akihiko’s lips in an excited kiss, devouring his mouth with vigor.

Moaning into the kiss, Akihiko wrapped his arms around his waist and held him close. He tightened his grip on Orha as his tongue slipped into his mouth. It only lasted a few seconds, that hungry, mutual desire, before he released Orha’s lips. “Okay. Okay, I’ll stay,” he whispered back, his lips brushing against Orha’s as he spoke.

Orha whined, a noise he loathed to make at any other time. But it was his heat—he allowed himself to indulge in the… neediness of it all. Besides, he doubted Akihiko minded. If the stiffness pressing into Orha’s hip was any indication, Akihiko liked it a little too much.

Akihiko kicked the door shut behind him and kissed Orha again, one hand pressed against his jaw to tip his chin back, as if he were drinking down his kisses like a fine wine. Orha’s grip on the container of soup fumbled, but he curled it closer to his body to steady it. A sweet, desperate moan rumbled in his chest and he went limp in Akihiko’s arms.

“Aki, please,” Orha mumbled against his lips. He dug his fingers harder into the hem of Akihiko’s pants and rutted sloppily against his hip.

“Yes, yes—of course.” He grabbed the soup from Orha’s hand and set it on the coffee table, nearly knocking it over in the process. But it didn’t matter—not to either of them. All that mattered was getting to the bedroom as fast as possible. Everything else could wait.

They stumbled their way to the bedroom, tripping over each other’s feet while kissing and groping. Orha panted into Akihiko’s neck, his breath hot against his skin as he dug his nails into his back. As they reached the threshold, Akihiko lost his patience with their slow pace and picked Orha up—holding his thighs as he lifted him. Orha’s legs wrapped around his waist, ankles crossing at the small of his back. His head spun as Akihiko carried him and he buried his nose in his soft, white hair. Heats made him do strange things, but even with a clear head, he couldn’t get enough of Akihiko’s scent. He took a deep breath to pull the smell into his lungs, and tightened his grip.

His scent was divine, but before Orha could muse on that indulgence any longer, his back hit the mattress and forced him to expel the sweet smell. He didn’t have time to complain before Akihiko’s lips were on his once more, devouring his mouth like it was his last meal. Akihiko’s legs pressed between Orha’s, forcing them open to rut against his stiff erection.

“Nnnn...” Orha’s hips rocked up against Akihiko’s, adding to the delightful friction and pressure between them as he sucked on his lover’s lower lip. It was too hot, hotter than only a few minutes ago, and sweat beaded along his neck and back, perspiration dotting his skin in between the raised hairs. He shivered, not from the temperature, but from the friction between them. His cock was so hard now, he felt like he might burst from the pressure.

It was stupid to forget about his heat—Orha knew it. But he had little time to berate himself when Akihiko’s tongue was down his throat and his cock was nestled firmly against Orha’s own. He squirmed under the attention, desperate and hungry for more.

A rough thrust knocked Orha back, their lips parting with a gasp. Moaning, he tugged at Akihiko’s shirt, weakly grasping at the fabric as he attempted to pull it off. “Too hot, Aki,” he mumbled, squirming under Akihiko’s heavier body.

Sitting up, Akihiko raked a hand through his white hair, the messy strands tangling in his fingers. He gazed down at Orha with lust in his blue eyes, chest heaving as he struggled to catch his breath. Their eyes met for only a second, fire burning bright in them. Before Orha could speak again in the hope of hurrying him along, Akihiko grabbed the hem of his shirt and yanked it off. Orha watched in awe as he revealed his chest, sweat already glistening against his skin in the dim light of the bedroom. It was a sight he’d seen numerous times before, but it never failed to send a jolt of desire deep in the pit of his stomach.

Akihiko’s fingers curled into the flimsy fabric of Orha’s sweatpants, tugging them and his underwear down his thighs in one quick motion. His stiff prick bounced against his stomach in anticipation and Orha moaned as Akihiko stripped him. Tossing his head back and forth against the pillows, he grabbed the loose sheets under him. The slightest contact against his cock was torture. The reddened head leaked precum like a faucet, dribbling over his stomach and smearing across his skin. He watched impatiently as his clothes were tossed to the floor and Akihiko rid himself of his own jeans.

He needed Akihiko. He needed him bad.

As if hearing the silent plea, Akihiko leaned in and kissed Orha again, slipping his tongue into his mouth. Without the frustrating barrier of clothing between them, Orha felt everything. Akihiko’s muscles flexing, the sweat sticking to his skin, the heavy heat between his legs as it dug into Orha’s stomach. Now that—that was what he wanted most, what his body craved.

Sliding a hand between them, Orha grabbed Akihiko’s cock. He growled low in the back of his throat, starving for the contact, and stroked him with greedy fingers as he rutted against his hip. The touch left Akihiko moaning in his mouth, hips arching into the contact, and Orha’s heart leapt in his throat. Akihiko was so sensitive to his touch... It made him want to please him more, to see what sweet noises he could pull from his rumbling chest. But before he put his plan to action, Akihiko broke their kiss.

“Nnnn, Aki...?” he groaned out, dizzy from the heated kisses and his body’s soaring temperature.

Akihiko didn’t answer. Instead, he kissed his way down Orha’s neck, each press of his lips leaving a heated trail on his skin. Orha panted as he stared up at the ceiling, squirming under the too-soft touch. “Aki—Aki, more… Please, more…” he begged, ears flattening against his head and tail flicking behind him as he struggled to find more friction between them.

Each nip and caress of his tongue on Orha’s skin left him writhing under Akihiko’s touch. He continued down his chest, stopping at Orha’s nipples and lovingly teasing them both with his lips and teeth. The gentle brush of his tongue over the hardened nubs sent shivers of desire up and down Orha’s spine. He couldn’t take much more of Akihiko’s teasing, not when he was this worked up.

Orha’s cock dripped precum between them, balls heavy and tight with need. As Akihiko ceased his torturous admiration of Orha’s nipples, he moved lower, kissing over his taut stomach. With one hand on his hip to keep Orha steady and the other planted on the mattress to keep himself upright, Akihiko settled between his legs, breath blowing across the red and sensitive skin of Orha’s dick.

“Aaa,” Orha whined, hips arching up in a desperate bid for contact. “Aki, please.”

“Hush,” Akihiko whispered, his voice hoarse and deep. But even as he chastised Orha’s enthusiasm, he smoothed his hand up his shaft, thumbing over the slit and smearing precum over his fingers. The touch did nothing to satiate the lust building in Orha’s guts, and he moaned like a wanton whore.

More. He wanted more.

Akihiko watched as Orha writhed under him, hands balled into fists and nails digging into the sheets underneath. He continued to rub at his stiff length, fingers slowly moving along the shaft and spreading precum across hardened flesh, all while ignoring his own growing arousal between his legs. Orha panted and whined, staring back at him with half-lidded eyes.

Smirking, Akihiko pressed his thumb over Orha’s leaking slit. “Be a good Kitten and I promise I’ll make you cum.”

Orha could do nothing but moan and tremble under the teasing touch.

Taking the lack of answer as submission, he leaned down and wrapped his lips around Orha’s cock. The wet heat of his mouth had Orha crying out, and he ripped a hand from the bedsheets, stuffing it in his mouth to keep the worst of his desperate noises from crawling out of his throat. Akihiko’s lips and tongue were talented things, as he’d learned in their dalliances over the past month or so.

Akihiko smoothed his lips over the shaft, dipping down until he buried his nose in the coarse hair at the base. Flattening his tongue along the underside, he hummed against the stiff flesh, gently sucking and bobbing his head. With his lips stretched around Orha’s needy girth, he grabbed his hips, keeping him pinned to the bed and unable to thrust up for more deliciously hot friction.

“Aki...Aki, please...” he begged, head tossing against the pillows. The heat grew low in his belly, like the tightening of a rubber band. Further and further it stretched, taut and tense. Orha’s breath came in hitched gasps as the feeling grew in his guts. He wouldn’t make it much longer, not with Akihiko working him over with his perfect tongue and perfect lips. Sweat prickled along his neck and forehead, and the sounds of his own stilted breaths were muffled as the tension in his body grew, blood pounding in his ears.

With a heady sigh, Akihiko pulled back, mouth sliding over Orha’s cock until only the tip remained snug between his lips. He flicked his tongue back and forth against the dripping slit, sucking the head like the sweetest lollipop.

Orha groaned, eyes rolling back in his head as his hips bucked—struggling for more contact, more heat. But Akihiko’s grip stayed strong, and he kept Orha pinned to the mattress.

“I’m gonna—Aki, I’m gonna—” Orha rambled, back arching off the bed as that tension in his belly pulled tighter, tighter, tighter—and snapped.

Orha came with a moan, fast and hard. It was almost painful as his body seized up in pleasure, tight and taut as he spilled himself down Akihiko’s willing throat. Cum and spit collected at the corners of his mouth as he eased Orha though his orgasm, cheeks flushed and lips nearly bruised for the effort. When Orha finished, spent dick twitching pathetically against his tongue, Akihiko finally let him free.

Orha panted, blue eyes transfixed on the ceiling as he struggled to breathe, to feel anything but the numbing pleasure tingling along every inch of skin. His head spun from the endorphins swimming in his veins, leaving him drowsy. But as the effects of his orgasm faded, his skin refused to cool down. He felt hotter than before and just as hungry—ready to swap skin once again. His cock twitched excitedly against his stomach, slowly growing hard. He hated his heat, hated how desperate and pathetic it made him. But, if nothing else, it was nice to share it with someone he could trust.

“That was good, Kitten.” Akihiko ran his hand along Orha’s jaw, fingertips brushing sweaty skin. He moved slowly, reaching for the nightstand where he knew Orha kept his more...intimate items. “Now, stay put and I’ll make you feel even better.”

“Yes,” Orha whispered, voice hoarse from moaning and panting. He struggled to swallow, throat parched and mouth dry, but did as Akihiko asked. Turning his head to the side, Orha watched him pull open the nightstand drawer and rifle through the contents.

Orha kept a few little playthings in that drawer, as well as necessities. Condoms and lubricant were a must, but he also needed things to keep him occupied when no one else was around to help him through his heats. Dildos and vibrators of various sizes were tucked away for when he needed something to scratch that itch deep inside him. It was never as nice as the warmth of another person, but it would do in a pinch.

He wondered for a long moment if Akihiko would grab one to use on him—just to torture him a little longer. There were even a few cock rings and other devices they could use to drive each other mad with want before coming down from this heat addled state. But before he could voice his question, Akihiko closed the drawer, only taking a small bottle of lubricant.

Orha’s excitement doubled as he watched Akihiko drizzle the lubricant over his fingers, the large digits glistening in the dim light of his bedroom. His breath caught in his throat, eyes following Akihiko’s movements as his fingers slipped down between his legs to open him with slow, purposeful prodding. He felt the pressure against his hole, slick and tight, then spread his legs wider with a low moan.

Grinning, Akihiko leaned down closer. He continued to work into Orha’s ass, the ring of muscle flexing around his finger as he slipped in deeper. As he reached knuckle-deep, he licked along the underside of Orha’s stirring cock, the sensitive flesh twitching with excitement.

One finger wasn’t enough to satiate Orha, but it was enough to remind him of what he really wanted—what he craved. “Please…” he begged, hips rocking under Akihiko. “More, please…”

“You’re needy tonight, Kitten,” Akihiko replied, licking at the head of his cock again. Orha might have already cum once, but his body was ready again—prick stiff and leaking precum without shame.

“Yes,” Orha whined, unable to deny it with how soft and pliant his body became under Akihiko’s touch. The heat had drawn out his needy side, the side of him that craved attention and soft touches and intimacy. He might have tried to deny it on any other day, but it was still a part of him, no matter how hard he tried to hide it.

Akihiko hummed, breath blowing against Orha’s slick flesh. “I like it,” he mumbled, slipping a second finger into Orha’s ass.

“Aaa…” Orha’s back arched, toes curling as he was stretched wider. It still wasn’t enough, not nearly enough, but he would take what he could get.

A laugh bubbled up in Akihiko’s throat. Without a word, he slipped Orha’s cock back into his mouth and sucked him down to the hilt. The wet heat of his lips and tongue combined with the pressure of his fingers up Orha’s ass was almost enough to have him cumming a second time. Luckily, his first orgasm had dulled his need just enough to keep him riding the pleasure longer.

Two fingers slid in and out of Orha’s body, dragging along his flesh and pulling hungry noises from his lips. Akihiko scissored his fingers in Orha, moving them back and forth and in and out with slow, methodical movements. He stretched and worked his way deeper, all while lavishing Orha’s cock with attention. It was almost too much for Orha to bear. Almost.

Just as he was on the cusp of cumming a second time, Akihiko pulled his fingers out. The empty feeling dragged a whine from Orha’s throat, quiet and desperate. He closed his eyes and twisted against the bedsheets, still hard and hungry for attention. Akihiko lavished Orha’s needy prick with one last teasing suck before letting it drop from between his lips.

Chest heaving, Orha forced his eyes open and watched Akihiko as he smoothed lubricant over his stiff cock. It was then that he remembered Akihiko hadn’t touched himself in the whole time they’d been in bed—not once. His cock was red and hard, more than Orha’s own. The thought sent a shot of guilt through his chest, guilt and desire to even things out between them.

Akihiko lined himself up against Orha’s puckered and slick entrance, grabbing his hips and pulling their bodies closer together. But before he could breach the ring of muscle, Orha sprang into action.

He grabbed Akihiko’s shoulders pushing him to the side and straddling his hips as he pinned him to the bed. Akihiko grunted in surprise, eyes wide as he stared up at Orha. He’d been so pliant and submissive earlier that Akihiko hadn’t expected the sudden change in energy between them.

“Orha?” he asked, one hand sliding up his bare stomach, tentative and gentle in its touch.

“Let me,” Orha mumbled, still dizzy and disoriented from his heat. Sweat dribbled down his neck as he shifted his position, grabbing Akihiko’s dick in one hand and steadying himself on the bed with the other. “I want to—” As he spoke, he sank down onto Akihiko’s slick cock, breath catching in his throat and a moan spilling past his lips. He sat down slowly, taking him all in until he bottomed out, ass flush against Akihiko’s hips.

The pressure and the heat—it was all so much. Too much. Orha felt the delicious tightness building in his abdomen as Akihiko’s cock stretched him wide. He wanted to ride him until he couldn’t feel his legs anymore, until he was numb from the pleasure. But before he could move or voice his desires, Akihiko moaned and squeezed Orha’s hips, rutting up into him with a shallow thrust. Orha’s back stiffened as Akihiko’s cock brushed that sweet spot deep inside him. That tiny motion pushed him off the edge a second time. With a weak moan, he came again, painting his stomach white with hot seed. His hips rocked against Akihiko’s, riding out the pleasure until he finished. Panting and flushed, he looked down at Akihiko’s hungry eyes.

“God, that was so hot,” Akihiko mumbled, fingers squeezing Orha’s sides with a bruising insistence. He took a long, shuddering breath, eyes half-lidded, and smoothed his thumbs over Orha’s hips, as if to apologize for grabbing him too roughly. He slipped one hand across Orha’s stomach, humming to himself as he slid it through the mess he’d made. “Kitten, do you wanna rest? I can take over again if you—”

Orha didn’t wait for him to finish his sentence. Gathering what strength he had left in his limp limbs, he forced himself upright. Without hesitation, he pulled his hips up and thrust himself back down, impaling himself on Akihiko’s cock. The rough thrust left them both groaning in pleasure, backs arched and muscles tight. But Orha didn’t stop with just one thrust. He went again and again and again, bouncing up and down on Akihiko’s hips with abandon.

“Aki. Aki. Aki.” He repeated his name like a mantra, body oversensitive and yet still wanting more. His cock was half-hard already, a third orgasm quickly budding in his abdomen. Orha had never had a heat this intense before—never. Every brush of Akihiko against him, inside and out, turned his guts to goo.

Growling in excitement, Akihiko rocked his hips upward, timing it with Orha’s own thrusts to dive deep inside him with each pass. They worked in tandem, quickly building up the friction between them. Orha whimpered with each thrust, his body sore and sensitive from the torturous teasing Akihiko had already put him through. Having his prostate slammed into over and over again only left him hungrier for another orgasm.

Leaning forward, Orha planted his hands on Akihiko’s shoulders, fingers digging into his flesh as he rocked himself harder onto his cock. The slight change of angle made it so each thrust hit Orha’s sweet spot head on. He gasped with each intrusion, but only rutted faster and faster against Akihiko. His spent and sore dick strained against their stomachs, rubbing raw between them.

Akihiko moaned, nails leaving half-circle marks on Orha’s thighs. “Shit, I’m—I’m close. Orha, I’m so close—” His eyes screwed shut, head tipped back in pleasure as he pumped his hips faster, filling Orha deeper and deeper with each pass.

“Yes, Aki, yes—” Orha’s thrusts grew frantic, grinding himself onto Akihiko’s stiff rod with fervor. Hearing his partner’s excited cries pushed him to continue, past the point of caring how sore his body was or how much it would hurt tomorrow. He wanted this—he needed it. The feeling of Akihiko deep inside him, the pressure of his body opening up to accommodate another, the tension in his muscles, the furious beating of his heart, the violent tremors running along his limbs. He needed all of it.

Then, as Orha worked himself harder than before, he felt Akihiko stiffen under his body and a rush of heat fill his backside. Akihiko groaned and came into Orha’s ass without warning. The heat and the wet squelching sound as cum slipped down to mess the backs of Orha’s thighs was enough to send him into his third completion of the night. As he rocked down one last time, he came again—a weak stream of white spurting across his abdomen and mingling with the crusted cum already painting his skin. When the tremors subsided, he collapsed against Akihiko’s chest and began purring.

Akihiko wrapped his arms around Orha, holding him close as their bodies slowly cooled in the damp air of the bedroom. “You okay?” he asked, voice low and winded.

“Mm,” Orha hummed, unable to keep his eyes open. Contented purrs rumbled in his chest as he snuggled up to Akihiko. Cum messed his stomach and inner thighs, but he was too tired to do anything about it. He couldn’t even be bothered to uncouple himself from Akihiko, his lover’s slowly softening cock still deep inside him.

Akihiko continued to rub his back, fingers lazily drawing circles along sweaty skin. When his breaths evened out, he shifted to the side and rolled Orha onto the bed. Orha groaned in protest, grabbing his arm before he could completely part from him.

“Don’t go,” Orha whispered, clinging to him as best he could for how exhausted he was.

Hesitating, Akihiko brushed a hand over Orha’s flushed forehead. “I just thought you’d be more comfortable on the bed than on me.”

Orha couldn’t argue the point, but his heat-addled mind still demanded the closeness. He relaxed against the bedding, but didn’t let go of Akihiko’s arm. “Don’t go,” he repeated, softer this time.

Akihiko smiled and stretched out next to Orha. He pulled the dirty blankets over their sweaty bodies and wrapped an arm around Orha once more. “Okay. I won’t. I promise.”

The warmth and closeness drew Orha in like a moth to a flame. Resting his head against Akihiko’s chest, he continued to purr like contented kitten. As he slowly succumbed to sleep, heat satiated for the moment, he hoped Akihiko would keep his promise.

END

#personal #kandasboi #kitty bandit writes fanfiction #/#//#lemon #commissions

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jasntodds · 6 years

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Beautiful Things

Pairing: Theo Raeken x Reader Warnings: Depression, anxiety, self-doubt, fluff (kind of??) Request: @catching-fire-in-the-wind : Would you do an imagine about depression w theo? Idk if you’re comfortable with that and if not it’s completely okay, but I figured I’d ask cause I feel kind shitty. And also like...if you do it, maybe add just dehydration and the reader being reminded to drink cause it makes it worse? Idk you can ignore this dude, sorry, and keep doing you Summary: Theo takes care of you during one of your bad depression days, making sure you’re eating and drinking while also making you take care of yourself A/N: I’m totally someone who reads depression type things when my depression is bad and hey, it’s fucking winter so fo course mine is bad now so hey. I also named it Beauitful Things, not ironically for once. But, the song Beautiful Things by Grayscale is about all the things you don’t see when you’re depressed but start to notice when things get better like lightnig bugs and kelley green eyes. It’s a good song but a sick ass Philly band who knows exactly what they’re talking about when it comes to mental illness. So, please listen to it. Also, if any of you are having a hard time with anything, my ask box is always open if you want someone to talk to you. Here is also a list of help hotlines. Masterlist Prompt list

It’s the middle of the night and you’re sitting in your living room, still in pajamas and wrapped in your blankets. If you were being honest, you couldn’t tell exactly how long you had been laying there. You knew it had awhile given you started season one of Friends when you entered your living room and you were already on the season finale. The day was just a giant blur, numb and boring. Yet, you found yourself not bothering to even try to change it. You knew if you tried, you would feel better but trying in and of itself was just not happening. The mere thought made you want to take a nap.

However, you were pulled away from watching Friends when your door creaked open and then shut seconds later. You only moved your glance when a shadow was cast over you but you didn’t actually move. Theo sat at the end of the couch and stared at you, waiting for you to look at him and when you did, he didn’t look pleased.

“Bad again?” He asks with the slight raise of his brows. You looked back to the TV, knowing he could smell the mental illness radiating from you. It was a blessing and a curse. You never had say it, he just knew. It removed the awkwardness of having the ‘hey I have depression and no I’m not gonna just off myself one day’ talk. “Alright.” Theo sighs and gets back up, only to return a minute later with a glass of water. “Here.” Theo hands you the glass that’s decorated with Disney characters. “You have to drink water. You know dehydration only makes it worse.”

“I know.” You mumble, sitting up slightly to take a drink.

“When was the last time you ate?” He kneels on the floor in front of you, taking the glass from your hand when you were done taking your sips.

You move your eyes, as if trying to look in the back of your head for any memory of eating that day but nothing came. “I think yesterday?”

“What do you think you ate yesterday?”

“I know I had crackers.” You shrug awkwardly.

“Alright, well what do you want? You have to eat something, y/n.”

“Whatever you’ll have.” You look away from Theo as shame starts to fill you.

“I’ll go raid your kitchen and I’ll be right back.” Theo rests the glass on the stand next to you as he uses his knees to help him stand, placing a kiss on your forehead before exiting the room.

As you wait for his return, more thoughts creep into your head. Surely, he knows you haven’t moved all day and come to think of it, you knew your hair was gross because you hadn’t been able to shower in two days. Everything took too much energy and it was making you feel even worse. Full of guilt, full of shame, full of worry. It wasn’t your fault the chemicals in your brain can’t sort themselves out. It wasn’t anyone’s fault and yet you laid on the couch blaming yourself and allowing Theo to baby you on days like these. He didn’t ask to be brought into a relationship with depression and anxiety and self-doubt. No one asks for that. It’s hard and it sucks and people leave because of it. It is so unfair and, quite honestly, depressing.

And just like that, your heart sped up while your face turned warm and pale. Your hands clammed up and your throat ran dry. Your hands started to shake and the room started spinning. You quietly sat up with the turning of your stomach, just another chemical your brain can’t seem to get right. You tried deep breaths as much as you could, trying to hide the anxiety attack you had caused yet again from overthinking before Theo could come back. But, you failed. Theo came back and immediately knew.

“Anxiety attack?” His brows furrow as he watches you. All you do is nod, completely incapable of speaking, partially from your throat being so try and from the thought of throwing up if you opened your mouth. “Okay, hey, in seven counts, hold four, out eight.” Theo says, knowing the breathing technique that’s essentially a system reboot. You start the breathing but Theo grabs your hands and makes you stand up. “Start walking and keep breathing. Watch your feet and I’ll go back to the kitchen.” Theo says and leaves you to your anxiety attack.

You pace back and forth, chewing on your thumbnail while doing the breathing technique. You block out the TV and the small sounds Theo was making in the kitchen. Your only focus was set on your feet and your breath. Within fifteen minutes, you were breathing normally, your muscles were tired but no longer shaking. The walls weren’t moving and you had calmed your anxiety attack down. With a sigh, you walked to the kitchen, now even more exhausted than you were originally.

“Hey.” You mumble, almost completely inaudible.

“You okay?” Theo looks away from the stove and makes eye contact with you, which you quickly avoid.

“Yeah.” You shrug.

“What happened?”

“I’m sorry.” You apologize, biting your lip.

“You apologize every time. You don’t have to.” Theo shrugs and stirs the pot of whatever he was making. You shrug again when he turns to face you, your face now red with embarrassment. “Come on, what’s going on?”

“I just,” You pause and slowly find your words. “Feel bad. I don’t know.” You shrug once more. “You didn’t ask for this and I don’t know. You’re just good, I guess. With me and this and I just, I don’t know.”

“You afraid I’m gonna just up and leave one day?” Theo scoffs with his question.

“I wouldn’t blame you.” You state, finally looking at his perfectly blue eyes that held a tint of green. “I mean, hell, I would leave if I could, like leave myself.”

Theo gives a chuckle and shakes his head. “It’s hard. I’m not gonna lie to you and it fucking sucks. It sucks seeing you depressed and it sucks when you can’t leave your bed or the couch and I want to take you out. It sucks when we have to leave places because you’re having a panic or anxiety attack. It sucks.” Theo states everything, laying everything out with honesty. “But, that doesn’t change anything. I don't get it and yeah, y/n, I get frustrated sometimes but I just don’t get why you can’t do simple tasks sometimes but,” Theo walks over to you and grips your shoulders. “I love you.” He says, something he only ever said carefully. He showed love, rarely ever said it. The first time he said it, you both nearly went into cardiac arrest from the shock. “So, I’m not gonna leave because of that bullshit. And if I have to tell you every damn day,” He shakes his head with the words. “I will. Everyday.”

“Thanks.” You nod, feeling just a tiny bit better.

But, that’s it. It didn’t magically cure you and Theo knew that. And it didn’t magically remove your doubt and he knew that. But, he said it. It was out in the open and that’s what mattered because now, you’d be able to think back on it and you’d have that to hold onto. It would mean more than the world when it got better because it always gets better.

A soft smile crosses Theo’s face. “We’re gonna eat some Mac & Cheese because that’s the only thing I can cook and we’re gonna watch Friends or whatever you have on and then later, you’re gonna shower.” He smirks, moving his hands to your face. “We’ll eat some more, you’re gonna keep drinking water and then tomorrow, I’ll help you clean. Deal?”

“Deal.” You give him a genuine smile knowing that showering alone will make you feel better and Theo will throw you into your shower fully clothed if he has to and cleaning always makes you feel better. Being clean in a clean environment, always helps. It doesn’t cure anything, but definitely helps.

Tag list: @theofuckingraeken @huntress1428 4

#theo raeken #theo imagine #theo raeken imagine #theo x reader #theo raeken x reader #cody christian #teen wolf imagine #teen wolf #imagine #imagines #request

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garden-of-succulents · 7 years

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2017.5 fanworks roundup

The weasels of doubt that chew on my brain: Ugh, you haven't written or posted ANYTHING since you posted that fic exchange in December. You've just sat around and not produced anything, like a big lazy lump. Me: Uh..... let's fact-check that one.

So in the spirit of my 2016 roundup, here's my 2017.5 roundup! Compiled mostly by reading back in my Stuff I Wrote tag. Reminder that I have a blanket open fanworks policy: Feel free to add to, remix, theorize about, or create art, audio, fic, or anything else for my fanworks!

Stuff I Consider Finished: Aroace Parse/Swoops. Jack Zimmermann and Stan Rogers. The secret to Ransom's parents' marriage. Tater, George, and image management. Jack is a rolemodel for fuckups everywhere. Fic of fic: Parse/Swoops/Jack/Bitty/Tater. Chowder calls Bitty his personal chef on social media. Tater can talk himself out of traffic tickets. Bitty moves back to Georgia in his late 30s. Tater and Ransom looking after each other through injuries and med school. Sadass teenage Pimms paragraph. Mashbits pregame naps. Jack and chewy stim toys. Ford trying to keep Whiskey from traumatizing Tango. Zimbits next-gen dream writeup. Anglo Canadian stuff I want Ransom to do. Ransom and Holster being cool with Bitty's gayness. Dex learning about privilege. A Mashbits AU people took amazing places. Kent coping with music. Nurseylardo snuggling. Zimbits "Enchanted" AU. Where does Holster get off on bugging Ransom about "selling out"?. Pimms in a Pimbits universe: Locker room sex (AO3). A theory about why Bad Bob makes that weird face in Jack's baby pictures. I forgot who "Adam" was. George billeting Tater as a rookie. Peak Jack Zimmermann. Poly Ransom/Holster/March. Zimbits pace bunny AU. Ransom learning about Nursey/Tater. Nursey/Tater. Jack doesn't love history, he only loves hockey. Reblog if you’re mentally ill, a trauma survivor, or had a shitty childhood, and you think fanworks about Kent Parson are valuable and worth making.. The frog Jack develops a crush on is Justin Oluransi. What I want out of Ranskov. Poly Ford/Lardo/Shitty. What kind of antagonist I think Parse will be. Jack's fans learn he likes pie. Jack the edgy Canadian history major. Jack gets a picture of Canadian soldiers playing hockey. AU where Bitty's from Alberta like me. Notes towards a police AU. Kent Parson with ADHD and dyslexia. Jack gets a history article published. Jack begged the Sorting Hat not to put him in Hufflepuff. Kent listening to Welcome to Night Vale music during games. Fact-based thoughts on Jack's alcoholism. Patater is OMGCP fandom’s Draco/Neville. Jack as Bitty's nonathletic French tutor. Parse gives Holster relationship advice re: Ransom. Jack goes skiing the year after his overdose. Tater handles Parse taking some news VERY badly (AO3). Follow up thought on the complexity of being a Parse fan. Fannish Minor Character Obsession Draft Candidates for 2017. Jack Zimmermann is a paper snowflake ho. The Rimroller™. A Jack/Chowder AU. The Zimmermenn. Hall/Murray OTP 4eva. Jack gets a dog. Why Dex looks up to Ransom and Nursey looks up to Holster. Post-apocalyptic Parse/Ransom AU and Part Two. Ransom wants Tater to deadlift him. Patater World Juniors soulmate AU. Bitty writes academic papers about Beyonce. Bitty using Jack’s computer when it’s set to Canadian Multilingual Standard. I think Holster played Juniors in Waterloo, Ontario, not Iowa. Kent and self-injury.Kent's role in bakery AUs. Does Bitty have PTSD?

Stuff I am Done With Right Now But Wish Had Gone Further: the seed of Jack and Ford's friendship. Suzanne and Alicia AU idea. Ford and Bitty watching football. Tater goes to a kegster to romance Ransom (Part Two) (AO3).

The Coach Bittle/Bad Bob AU: Rich knows who Bob is. Bob finds out Rich is a CFL player. Jack who grew up with openly queer retired pro athletes for dads. Jack meeting Kent.

Stuff I Would Like to Come Back to Later: A Ranskov retelling of Yuri on Ice. Bitatomann Bodyswap AU (Part Two). The Gay Island story (more). The Stanley Cup age regression story. A Ransom-on-the-Falconers Ranskov AU. Kent visits Tater's gay moms in Moscow. TATER'S GAY MOMS Y'ALL.

Gay hockey moms (AO3): 1997: George and Suzanne meet again. 1992, 1994, 1997: Suzanne bakes her way into George’s heart. Suzanne confesses her love . Telling Bitty's Moomaw about their relationship. 2002 Olympics: George and Suzanne talk strategy for being gay as they plan to move to the South. How Bitty’s life would have changed in an openly gay family in Georgia. Suzanne Bittle is a cool gay mom. George and Suzanne's weddings. 2013: Bitty tells his moms about his first couple days at Samwell. 2013: Bitty and Jack meet each other’s families at Parents’ Weekend and have a clash of worldviews. 2013: Bitty explains to Shitty how growing up surrounded by pro hockey players has affected his perspective on the sport. George evaluates Jack as a player.

Princess Robinson: Carrie Robinson interviewing Bitty as a babysitter. Bitty and Holsom babysitting Princess.

Andy Scarlatti: The Flemish Giant of puck bunnies. Andy coaching little kids. An easter egg for fans of the TV show Flashpoint. Andy during playoffs. Kent and Andy having sex in 2011. Thoughts on marriage and children. Kent and Andy hooking up when she lives in Minneapolis. A femslash idea between the Falcs and Aces twitter staff. Dealing with Kent's bad days. About Kent and Andy hooking up in 2011. Further thoughts on relationships that take a long time to come to fruition. The All-Star Game Story: The dinner party. Kent wakes up. Andy goes down to breakfast. Andy and Bitty talk. Kent and Andy have a quiet moment. Kent and Jack talk.

Luis and Maida (the original Garden of Succulents): Maida's online life. How Kent met Maida and Luis. Maida's career with wild birds. Kent, Luis and Maida run away together after locker cleanout. Maida and Luis interacting with Andy.

Climb Aboard the Minivan Express (Zimbits Single Dads AU) (AO3): How Bitty ended up with the frogs. Jack being Chowder's hockey coach. Jack babysits so Bitty can go out on a date.

Love Drought (the Bittypoots AU) (AO3): Jack wants to punch Poots in the face. Bitty gets stood up and goes to a gay bar. Jack talks to Kent and Alexei about Bittypoots.

Meta: Conflicting access needs and safe vs safer spaces. Brief position statement on Jack's orientation. Thoughts on being a fandom writer with mental disorders that keep you from writing. The first racism apology. The second racism apology. Thoughts about Shitty abominableobriens added cool thoughts to. Thoughts on queerness and skin hunger. Me and puns. Me and BPD (AO3). If you want to talk to me about racism. More about writing BPD. Facts about Borderline Personality Disorder. A representation callout that went really well. Thoughts about class. Good idea/bad idea: Getting people to write fic you want. Not all relationships in a polycule need to be equal and equivalent.

#stuff i wrote #fanwork roundups

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grantplant · 7 years

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Vacation Mode

What were we thinking? Even for two fairly healthy, well-rested, childless humans, it was an ambitious itinerary:

Zurich, Switzerland to Chicago, Illinois by plane

Chicago to Des Moines, Iowa by car

Des Moines to Chicago by car

Chicago to Atlanta, Georgia by plane

Atlanta to Rosemary Beach, Florida by car

Rosemary Beach to Atlanta by car

At this point, Pat and I parted ways.

Pat’s itinerary went from Atlanta to San Francisco, California, and a week later, San Francisco to Zurich via London.

Mira and I traveled from Atlanta to Zurich via Frankfurt.

So you can see that attempting this three-week adventure abroad with a 10 month-old might be considered madness, but only if you didn’t know this ten-month old. She more than earned her Baby Traveler badge. And, for her troubles, she met countless family and friends on both Pat’s and my side of the family, went to a wedding, touched the ocean, met sand for the first time, familiarized herself with dogs, added four new states to her “been to” map and two more Swiss bibs and stuffed airplanes to her baby-flier collection, inspired a couple of saintly strangers (and one illness) to help us get back home without incident*, and completely undid any last vestiges of a good sleep schedule.

Mira and I returned from this vacation sans Dad, feeling very tired and out of sorts indeed. At least, I felt tired and out of sorts. I am just interpreting her inability to sleep at night for longer than 45 minutes at a stretch as such. Until Pat got back, her MO was to wake up crying every hour until I took her to bed with me, during which time she kept sleep just out of reach, alternately rolling, flailing, crying, and—in one super-unfortunate case—falling out of the bed, until morning came again.

We have been home now for as long as we were away. In that time, we’ve had two rounds of house guests, Mira got sick with a nasty upper respiratory infection, and our fridge stopped working.

When the repair guy came, you’ll be happy to know I didn’t kiss him on the mouth. This is in part because 1) he was extremely short, and the angle was all wrong, and 2) our fridge being out of commission, even for the six days it took to send a repairman, wasn’t so disastrous thanks to our second--or, as I think of it, baby--refrigerator. Baby not because it’s tiny (though it is, and all refrigerators here are) but because we bought it right before the baby came to accommodate all the pre-prepared food we stocked in anticipation of total-life paralysis. So, thanks, baby fridge. Aside from a few condiment casualties, you saved us a lot of food.

The interesting part (to me, at least) of this overlong fridge anecdote is what exactly was wrong with our fridge. I’d told the guy that the freezer worked, but the fridge was fully off and its light only turned on when the freezer door was open.

He pulled out his little calipers and a dial-looking thing, and in less than 10 minutes he had an answer.

Someone (me? Simba?) had pressed the vacation button.

The what?

The VACATION BUTTON. [pointing]

Well, son of a bitch. I thought maybe it made piña coladas or emitted spray tan, but I was always too afraid to press it. Now I know. The vacation button turns off the fridge. How could such a sublime-looking image represent something so utterly stupid?

Pat’s questions was, who needs a vacation button for their refrigerator?

Residents of energy-conscious countries the offer employees three weeks of vacation because, in addition to conserving energy, they promote a healthy work-life balance. They must not feel any attachment to their ketchup, pickles, butter, olives and Tibetan chili sauce.

Could the amount of energy saved by turning the fridge off really warrant the time and effort of completely emptying and cleaning the fridge, and the expense of wasting/replacing those non-perishable perishables?

My judgement is clouded. I’m still mourning the loss of that exquisitely spicy chili sauce.

But this story has a happy ending: Our fridge works again, and now we know what happens when you press the umbrella/toadstool. And this whole notion of a vacation button—specifically, the act of turning it off to make the fridge come back on—has been illustrative in other realms of life.

In an epilogue to my previous post, Cry, Baby, Cry, we’ve had to revisit sleep training. Whether we are attributing it to our lazy holiday approach to nighttime routines or jet lag or teething or upper respiratory infections or all of the above, Mira’s sleep habits had degraded to the point that she was only sleeping on one or the other of us. Which, I’ll tell you, feels good and snuggly with the baby breath and the tickly chick fur in your face and that wonderful smell and the snarfles and fat little fingers flicking you in the night. But it’s hell on pretty much all other aspects of life.

Exactly one week ago, we decided to retry the crying it out, but this time not going in every 4 to 6 minutes to reassure her, something which seemed to make her more upset rather than less. We just let her cry. And cried a little ourselves, as we’d been doing in inverse proportion to sleeping.

I am not kidding you for a second when I say that it worked. It worked so well, and so fast, it feels like a joke. I am actually pissed off by how effective this has been. She is now sleeping 13 hours at a stretch, and when we put her down at night or for naps, she cries only for as long as it takes us to walk back downstairs. By the time my feet hit the living room, all is quiet, and remains so until morning.

Oh.

Before, when nothing was working (especially not our brains) was it that we weren’t ready? Or was it that she wasn’t ready? Or, after a prolonged period of mutual unreadiness, did we—parents and child—both reach readiness at the same time? I don’t know. I hate to think that had we just been braver for longer and let her cry more and harder that we’d all have been sleeping better and sooner. I’d rather blame jet lag, for this and any number of other ills.

Mind you, I have only had one week of enough rest after about seven months of too little, so I should really walk before I run. But suddenly, so many things seem possible. Pat and I have joined Weight Watchers (because seriously, scale, WTAF?), I went to the gym yesterday for the first time since before our trip, I’m setting better professional and personal writing boundaries, and I am *actually getting things done.* On average, I’m also noticing fewer personal injuries, lost items, scheduling screw-ups, embarrassing interactions, and adult-onset tantrums.

Holy shit and hallelujah! Is this what sleep does?

I have heard that for every time zone you cross, expect a day of jet lag. Perhaps the length of the trip comes into play, too. For every day away, expect a day of getting back on schedule. Could the number of destinations factor? For each additional location, add a week of recovery time. Maybe this is a secret formula that three-week-holiday-taking Europeans don’t tell us long-weekends-only Americans. That and their cryptic energy-saving appliance-settings. Did somebody press my vacation button? And who unpressed it? (Simbaaaaa?)

We had plans to return to the US in July, two weeks from now. Three weeks of family in three different destinations. As George W. said, “Fool me once, shame on... shame on you. Fool me can’t get fooled again.”

With that in mind, we’ll be here with both fridges full and flipped on, catching up on a half-year’s worth of sleep, and waiting just a hair longer before we push the vacation button again.

*Special shout-outs to:

Lufthansa desk lady, you told me the check-in desk was closed, computers off, for another two hours and there was no one in the baggage room, but proceeded to check me in, assign me a seat, *and* tag and take all of my luggage, all of which arrived intact at my final destination. I love you.

Gentleman in 28G, formerly of 20G, for volunteering your bulkhead seat so Mira could sleep in a bassinet and stop pulling on the hair of the passenger in 28F. When the flight attendant thanked you for your kindness, you said, “I am just being human.” I love you, too.

The stomach bug that struck mere days before our departure, taking down my mom, my aunt, our friend, and Pat, yet somehow avoiding me and Mira altogether. I owe you two days curled in the fetal position.

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