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uneditedidiot · 10 months

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gold rush - jamie tartt x reader

jamie tartt x gn!reader

summary: reader is the head physical therapist for AFC Richmond and ever since Jamie returned to the team and has proven himself a better man, you can’t help but harbor feelings for the pro footballer. Takes place during s3ep11. Based off these specific lyrics from the song ‘gold rush’ by Taylor Swift.

word count: 2.9k

Warnings: language - it’s jamie tartt, of course there’s language; declarations of undying love and a first kiss. :)

A/N: I used to write imagines back in like 2012 about One Direction so at least this is somewhat of a step up for me. But my first tumblr imagine so hopefully it’s not complete trash lol.

Part Two: this love is ours

But I don’t like a gold rush, gold rush

I don’t like anticipating my face in a red flush

I don’t like that anyone would die to feel your touch

Everybody wants you

Everybody wonders what it would be like to love you

You were kidding yourself.

Jamie Tartt, the star of the team, the integral cog in Richmond’s new Total Football machine, the absolute adorable human – that’s who you were in love with? It was almost laughable. If you had told yourself two years ago that Jamie Tartt would be the object of your affection, you wouldn’t have believed a word of it. He had changed. He had changed immensely.

It was…embarrassing in a way. You weren’t embarrassed of him, but more of how you reacted when he was around. And fortunately (or quite unfortunately), he was around quite a bit. As the head physical therapist for the team, you saw most of the players quite often for some reason or another.

Of course, you had no problem interacting with others for their physical care. Sam Obisanya had somehow garnered an elbow injury from playing football as a kid and it had decided to continue to bother him throughout his adulthood. He’d usually stop everyday just to chat, if not work through some stretches for his arm. Jan Maas had a tendency to go down too hard on his left knee when running, so you saw him at least twice a week to lead him through some exercises. Dani Rojas, the sweet sweet man he was, would stop by your office every single morning just to say hello and to make sure his arch support inserts in his boots were fitting right. Colin and Isaac both seemed to suffer from the same achilles tendon strains but on opposite legs. You had no problem assessing their physical needs. You went on with your day like nothing happened.

But Jamie…he was a different story. Just making eye contact when he walked into your office made your cheeks go warm. And having to move his ankle around when you were assessing range of movement? Your entire face and neck would go pink. And that smile…that smile had you giggling and kicking your feet for the rest of the afternoon.

The sass was another issue entirely. Boy, did that man have a MOUTH on him.

When you’d first started at Richmond with Ted and Beard, who’d brought you with them from the States, Jamie was an asswipe. Sometimes he’d barely acknowledge your presence when coming to get treatment. Other times he’d just sit in silence, his eyes following your every movement. At least twice he’d come in for medical help and he’d tried flirting with you. Back then, you’d had no interest in him at all.

It was when he returned that it was clear something in him had changed. You’d observed his new restraint he showed at training and on the field during matches. He was considerate of his teammates, passing them the ball more frequently and encouraging them on and off the field. Keeley had even said she hadn’t seen him with a new girl on his arm for a long while.

But ever since his return, he’d become more and more friendly with you. You’d grown to trust him completely. He was a true friend. Not only that, but the banter you two had was unmatched.

“Do you like the new tat?” he’d asked one day as you wrapped his ankle.

“What is it supposed to be?” you’d chuckled.

He looked almost offended. “It’s a rocketship.”

You’d stood, wrap in hand, attempting to hold back a laugh.

He sighed. “Alright, go ahead. Tell me what you really think.”

“Jamie…it…it looks like…like a dick.”

“It does not look like a dick!”

“Yes it really does.”

“You’ve got vision problems.”

“No I don’t. You’ve got some issues if you think that’s a rocketship.”

“Well so do you if you think it looks like a fuckin’ dick!”

You finally let out the laughter you’d been holding in. You had scurried to the door, thrown it open, and yelled out. “Jamie Tartt had his own dick tattooed to his forearm!”

He’d immediately jumped off the medical table and wrapped his arms around you, attempting to pull you away from the open door. You’d held on to the frame, still laughing and yelling as he did so.

“Jamie has a dick tattoo! Jamie has a dick tattoo!”

He was laughing the whole time, screaming, “no I haven’t!” over you, trying to drown out your yells.

You’d found yourself falling. His eyes would gleam and twinkle in this way that was almost comforting. You’d have done anything to see the light in his eyes again after he’d left your office. It was almost intoxicating, but in a way that felt like home. And while your real home in the States was far away, the closer you’d grown to Jamie, the less you missed it.

It was terrifying. You knew what it would mean if you said something to him; or even admitted it to yourself, frankly.

Jamie was a very well-known figure in the UK. He was a top footballer on a premier team that was making a huge comeback that season. He’d been on a popular reality dating television show (which, sure, he made an ass of himself on but it’s in the past) which had spread his name and face across screens that may not have tuned into the matches before. It obviously didn’t help that he was, in your opinion, one of the handsomest men you’d ever seen.

And others clearly agreed with you. The amount of thirst tweets you’d seen online about him was quite overwhelming. So many people wanted to be the one for Jamie. To hold him, love him, do things to him that you’d never heard of before reading that tweet. They found his tendency to be a prick on the field very hot. And he kept it up, that’s for sure.

Not only that, he was splashed all over the tabloid headlines when Lust Conquers All was airing. Since then, he was a frequent face on front pages of any and all gossip websites. If you were official with him, the amount of hate you’d get, grainy and unflattering pictures online, and generally mean tweets from people who found Jamie hot would be like a tsunami and you weren’t sure how you’d feel about that. Granted, he’d actually have to agree to go out with you first and that seemed so impossible…

Despite his public persona, you knew his heart. And what a wonderful heart it was. He was kind, thoughtful, and empathetic. He was considerate and made sure to take care of others before himself. He was a firework in a dim sky.

And you hated him. You hated him for making you want to be with him. Everything he did sent a shock of love and loathing down every single vertebrae in your spine. It almost hurt.

It wasn’t until the team’s fated match against Manchester City in Manchester did you see a problem. And that problem was himself. Clearly he was not himself. The thought of his father showing up at the match was weighing heavily on his mind. His self-esteem was at an all-time low and the thought of facing his old team and their incredibly intense fanbase didn’t help, either.

You’d sat next to Roy with Keely on his other side during the showing of You’ve Got Mail. You could see just from Jamie’s body language that he wasn’t himself.

You’d sighed as Tom Hanks and Meg Ryan confessed their undying love to each other on the big projection screen. Everyone around you had shed at least one tear, including Roy, but something in you felt numb to it. You had been too busy focusing on the rigid back-of-the-head of Jamie in the front row.

You’d watched in dismay as Jamie snuck out of the room, his hood pulled up over his head. You, Roy, and Keely had followed him all the way to mom’s house. You’d sat and had a delicious cookie made by Simon, his stepfather, and then toured his old childhood bedroom.

You sat on the small twin-sized bed, taking in everything around you. Jamie was the same now as he was as a kid – living and breathing football. The posters on the wall were mainly of famous footballers, including Roy, who had cursed at the sight of his old Chelsea portrait. Even Keeley had gasped when she saw the picture of herself topless with two footballs in front of her chest next to it.

Roy and Keeley flopped down next to you on the bed. They chatted for a moment as you stared off into space.

Everything you had been harboring for Jamie – every single emotion – seemed to hit you all at once. The situation at hand forced it all to the surface.

You loved Jamie Tartt.

It brought tears to your eyes. You sniffled, quickly wiping a hand to your cheek.

“What’s wrong, babes?” Keeley asked worriedly, putting a hand on your shoulder.

You shook your head. Like she’d believe that for a second.

“Come on, out with it,” Roy demanded. “You’ve been almost as fucking miserable as Jamie this past week.”

You inhaled sharply, winding your fingers together awkwardly. Your voice was soft, trembling. “I’m in love with Jamie.”

Keeley smiled at you, then shared a knowing look with Roy.

“We know,” she replied gently.

Your eyes widened, meeting her gaze. “You do?”

“Halle-fucking-lujah,” sighed Roy. “Finally.”

“What do you mean, ‘finally?’” you retorted.

“It’s not like it’s been a fucking secret,” Roy grunted. “It’s clear you love the little prick.”

“He doesn’t…he doesn’t love me back, does he?” It was almost like you had dared yourself to even ask. What if he didn’t? What kind of hurt would that be?

You had expected Keeley to hug you sympathetically or even sigh, but instead…she giggled. “Not to break my promise or anything.” She shrugged. “Yeah. Yeah, he loves you, too.”

You shook your head in disbelief. “Okay, don’t be mean. You don’t need to make things up just to keep me from feeling rejected, Keeley.”

“She wouldn’t tell you that if it wasn’t fucking true,” said Roy. “And I know we came here for Jamie to speak with his mum, but you’d hate yourself if you didn’t fucking say something to him.”

Your eyebrows shot up. “Now?”

“Now.”

Keeley agreed. “Yep, I think it’s gotta be tonight, babes. It’s perfect timing. His mum will help him feel better and you both admitting you’re in love?” She squealed and jumped up. “It’s gotta be now!”

“But he’s my best friend,” you replied quietly. “I don’t want it to ruin things.”

“It won’t ruin anything,” Roy shook his head. “If it’s meant to be…it’s fucking meant to be. Not that it’s any of my business.”

“He’s had a crush since he got back to Richmond,” Keeley added. “I know it will work out. Trust us. He’s become a new person and he’s the exact right person for you. You’re perfect for each other. I’m going to be that friend and pressure you to do this.”

You stood, if not somewhat shakily, and nodded. “Okay. I’ll do it.”

“You got this!” Keeley called after you as you exited Jamie’s childhood bedroom.

You made your way down the small hallway and the narrow staircase, the air lingering with the scent of fresh baked goods as you descended. You could hear hushed voices coming from the living room. You tried to take soft steps as you approached the door.

“I don’t know, Mum. The best thing to ever happen to me?”

“It sounds like you’re in love.”

“But I’m scared.”

Your breath caught in your throat as you listened.

“Love isn’t supposed to be a walk in the park, Jamie. It can be scary. To put yourself out there on the line. To be vulnerable. To risk getting your heart ripped out and thrown in the rubbish.”

“I’m risking my best friend.”

“But will you regret it if you don’t?”

There was a beat of silence.

“I would die unhappy if I couldn’t tell them how I feel.”

Your feet moved before your brain could catch up. And then you saw him from right inside the doorway. His eyes. The gleaming. The twinkling. The feeling of comfortability. Of home.

He stood without taking his eyes off yours. There was a slight smile playing around his mouth. His hands went into their usual position, clasped and pulling on the bottom hem of his sweatshirt.

Georgie also stood, but she grinned and quickly moved out of the room, saying to her son on the way out, “it’s worth it, love.”

All you could do in the moment was stand there, cheeks going pink under his gaze.

“Erm…did you see me old bedroom?” he said sheepishly, breaking eye contact for a moment.

The start of this conversation somehow seemed to bring you back to the realm of the living. You chuckled. “Yes, I was a massive fan of the old Roy Kent poster you had up. And you know, all the small pictures of butts with thongs and such.”

It was his turn to go red. “Yeah, well, what can I say? Teenage boy hormones.”

“I don’t think it’s just teenage boy hormones, Jamie. That’s just you liking butts.”

You both shared another laugh before it went quiet again.

Now was your chance. Keeley and Roy had said Jamie was at least interested in you, so you needed to say something.

“Um…so, I…I was, uh, talking to Keeley and Roy upstairs,” you began, taking a couple steps toward him.

“Is that what you were doing? Talking? I’d have thought you might be having a threesome.”

You laughed again as he smirked proudly at his comment. But his smile faltered as you seemed to go back to a state of self-conscious anxiety. Jamie’s heartbeat sped up. Usually you would’ve come back with another witty comment.

“What were ya talkin’ about?” he wondered seriously.

“I was just telling them about this…guy I’m interested in.”

The warmth in Jamie’s eyes slowly seemed to be dying like embers of a fire slowly burning down.

“Oh.”

“Yeah. And I was telling them a little about him.”

Jamie nodded, eyes cast down at the floor. He feigned interest. “And what’s he like, then?”

You remembered what Georgie had just told Jamie moments before. Love is scary, but it’s worth the risk.

You took another step closer to him, feeling more confident now. “He’s really sweet. He’s considerate and thoughtful and is willing to learn and grow.”

Jamie nodded again, still half-heartedly listening.

“And he’s funny and makes the best jokes. He can laugh at himself and how dumb he used to be. Although I’d laugh at myself too if I were that much of a prick once. Even turned a whole plan around at Amsterdam once, the idiot.”

His eyes were now back on yours, mouth slightly open in disbelief. The grin seemed to spread over his lips as you continued talking.

“And he’s generous and willing to take care of others despite his own needs. He puts on quite the show at his job though. Oh my god, he can be a bit of a show off, but he’s actively working on it. He always seems to get this like weird ankle injury every once in a while, too. And don’t get me started on his dumb ass tattoos. There’s this one that he says is a rocketship but I SWEAR it’s a penis and –”

“I love you.”

Your words are put on halt by the admittance that Jamie has just put out into the world forever.

He repeated himself with confidence. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” Your declaration comes not a second after he’s spoken. And everything seems to spill out at once. “For months now. I’ve tried to hold it in, but I can’t any longer. You make me nervous, Jamie Tartt. You make me blush just by walking into the fucking room. I couldn’t stand touching you because it made my stupid fingers turn red. Your smile alone could light a thousand candles at once. Your laugh could be a grammy-award winning song. Everybody wants you, but you…you are my everything.”

All he says is your name. And then he closes the gap between you two.

His hands go to your waist, his lips find yours. Your arms wind around his neck, hands finding the base of his hairline, weaving your fingers through the strands. There is no space left between your bodies.

Your mouths move in sync, slowly and softly, with a passion you’d never experienced before.

His hand moves from your waist to cup your cheek, turning his head slightly to deepen the kiss. His other hand grasps the fabric of your t-shirt, clinging to you incessantly.

When you pull away for a second, he whispers your name in a way that sends starlight cascading through your very bones.

“Jamie,” you whisper, “you’re my best friend and I love you and I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.”

He smiles. “I think your timing is perfect. Just like you.”

You move to press your lips to his again when Simon calls out from the kitchen.

“Anybody want pie?”

Georgie makes a reappearance in the doorway. She shrieks in delight. “See, love? I told you! What did I tell you?”

She wrestles you away from Jamie and gives you the biggest and tightest hug of your life.

“Mum, you’re gonna squish ‘em!” Jamie protests good-naturedly, pulling back on your shoulder. He slings an arm around your waist, keeping you close.

You knew Jamie would be okay at tomorrow’s match even if his dad did show up.

You loved each other. And that was all he needed.

#jamie tartt x reader #jamie tartt imagine #jamie tartt #ted lasso #jamie tartt fanfiction #ted lasso fanfiction #fanfiction #imagine #jamie tartt x gn!reader #gn!reader #gold rush #taylor swift lyrics

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moonstruckme · 8 months

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i love almost everything about rainy days and i was wondering if you could write something where reader is lying in the grass while sprinkles of rain are drizzling over them bc it makes them feel calm and remus finds them is confused but either joins in or maybe sits next to them with an umbrella while they do their thing

Thanks for requesting lovely! This got very sappy haha but I hope you like it <3

Remus Lupin x fem!reader ♡ 661 words

The earth never smells as sweet as when it rains. Even when it’s only drizzling, like now, everything about the world seems soothed. You can practically feel the grass underneath you perking up, the flowers gulping eagerly, the earthworms relaxing into newly softened soil.

You’re enjoying the cool sprinkling of raindrops on your face, having resigned yourself to having to wash the mud out of your hair and clothes later to lie on the ground, face tipped reverently towards the weeping sky.

You hear the squish of footsteps coming towards you, but you don’t open your eyes until Remus speaks. “Dove, what do you think you’re doing?”

“I think,” you tease him, “that if I lie here long enough, I’ll grow moss.”

He chuckles. “You’ll get sick, is what’ll happen.”

“That’s an old wives’ tale.”

“Hypothermia isn’t.”

“Remus.” You reach up, wrapping a hand around his ankle. Your fingers are delicate around his achilles’ tendon. “C’mon, it’s beautiful out.” You close your eyes and inhale deeply, imagining you can feel life blooming in your lungs.

When you open them again, Remus is looking down at you like you’re a particularly pretty puzzle, half befuddlement and half fondness.

“You should try it,” you encourage him. “Lay down with me.”

Remus mutters something about you both catching cold, but a moment later you're shoulder-to-shoulder and hip-to-hip, the only warm parts of you where you’re touching him. You lie in silence, listening to the pitter-patter of rain on the earth and the susurrus of the trees as droplets fall from leaf to leaf. You feel the weight of the clouds over you like a blanket, pressing you gently into the soil as it shifts about to make room for you.

“Isn’t it nice?” you whisper after a while.

He hums in reply, and you know that he’s feeling the lulling effects of the drizzle. After a moment, the rain stops, and you open your eyes to find Remus leaning over you, his head shielding yours from the rain even as it drips from his nose and the ends of his hair onto your face. You look at each other for a moment, and you admire the way water droplets have caught in his eyelashes and slickened the contours of his face. He seems to be doing a similar perusal of your features, because a tiny smile graces his lips before he touches them to yours.

You tilt your chin slightly upwards to meet him, but there’s no hunger in the kiss, no desperation. Only a mutual adoration and a sense of shared understanding and gratitude for the fact that you get to experience this world together, at the same time, in the same place. That you’ve found each other in time to lie on the grass on this rainy day.

Remus’ mouth is warmer than yours and the rainwater is sweet on his lips. Soon you’re smiling too, uncontrollably, and you have to break the kiss before your teeth can clank against his.

“What’re you giggling about?” he asks fondly.

“I just—” you laugh, shoulders shaking against the earth “—it’s such a thing, you know? Kissing in the rain. It’s such a cliche.”

“I think what you mean to say,” Remus says, leaning down to peck you once more, but giving up when you only descend into giggles again, “is that I’m a classic romantic and you love it.”

“I do,” you say sincerely, grinning up at him. “You are.”

He rolls his eyes good-naturedly. “I’ll make you a deal. We lie here for a couple more minutes, and then we go inside, shower, and you let me make you some tea.”

You have the urge to grab Remus by the collar and press your lips to every inch of his face until there’s nothing left of him but rainwater and kisses. But there’ll be time for that later. “If you insist,” you say, and he smiles as he lays back down beside you.

#remus lupin #remus lupin x reader #remus lupin x you #remus lupin x y/n #remus lupin drabble #remus lupin fanfiction #remus lupin fanfic #remus lupin fic #remus lupin oneshot #remus lupin scenario #remus lupin imagine #remus lupin fluff #marauders fanfiction #marauders fanfic #marauders fic #marauders era #the marauders #marauders

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ellecdc · 30 days

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Hello Elle!! I’ve been lurking thru your fics (pos) and they’re just so awesome !! May I request a fluffy little fic of male!reader and boyfriend!remus just cuddling and reading together in the gryffindor common room? It doesn’t have to be much,,,just maybe them snuggled up under some blankets and reading their respective books while lightly nudging each other from time to time (you can tweak the request in whatever way you want,,,as long as it’s fluffy it would be super duper nice!)

of course, you don’t have to do it if you don’t want to !! Hope you have a great day <33

lurk away babes! I'm so glad to have you here. thanks for your request <333

Remus Lupin x male!reader cuddled on the couch in the Gryffindor common room

You had to admit that you were very surprised at how extremely touchy Remus Lupin turned out to be.

You had no idea that the quiet spoken, aloof personality you had initially fallen for, followed by the shy flirting and gentle teasing would ultimately lead to this.

That’s not to say that Remus was huge on PDA – he really wasn’t, which was just as fine for you as you really weren’t that kind of person either – but he was almost always touching you in some way.

Sitting together in the Great Hall, his leg would be pressed up against yours (hips, thighs, and ankles). If you were walking to class together, he’d likely have your hand in his, or at the very least his elbow would gently bump into yours with every step.

And when you were working on your Divination homework whilst he read on the sofa in the Gryffindor common room? Well, he was pretty much sitting on top of you; your legs intertwined comically under the blanket as his thumb gently caressed your Achilles tendon.

You thought that perhaps the blanket provided enough privacy for him to be as affectionate as he would be if no one else was around to see, which made you very happy considering you’d likely melt on the spot if he tried sitting with you like this in the courtyard.

You were technically finished your Divination homework already but were going over your answers in preparation for a test next week; this left your attention split between your work and Remus’ muscle twitches and quiet gasps.

“Merlin, Moons. You’re gonna kick your boyfriend right off the sofa if you don’t settle down over there.” Sirius teased without lifting his head from the game of exploding snap he was playing with Peter on the floor.

You hated to laugh at Remus’ expense, but you couldn’t help but chuckle at the horrified look on his face as he began to apologize to you.

“I didn’t kick you hard, did I?” He asked, moving his hands higher under the blanket to massage at your knee.

“I’m okay, Rem. What’s going on in that book of yours that has you so excited?” You redirected, closing your notebook and textbook to give him your full attention.

Remus’ face was a mix of excitement at getting to tell you about his book and shame at having interrupted your homework.

“It’s really not that big of a deal, you can finish your homework.” He offered shyly, a pretty blush decorating his cheeks. You were sure your face looked just as lovesick as you felt.

“I was finished already; I was just studying for the test next week.”

When he still didn’t look completely sold, you dramatically sighed and shifted your body so you were sitting knee to knee with Remus – nearly in his lap.

“How about this? You catch me up on everything going on in your book now, and you can help me study tomorrow?” You bargained, aiming for earnest but likely missing by a mile at the amount of affection flowing through you for this boy.

“You sure?” He asked, voice full of shy hope.

You smiled. “Absolutely.”

“Okay, deal.” He agreed, bodily pulling you impossibly further into his side as he began tallying off all of the goings on in his book since the last time he’d updated you on it.

You hummed in all the right places and even threw in a “oh my gods, you’re kidding”, and a “they did not!”, even though you didn’t particularly care for the story, just that it made your boyfriend so happy.

“Moony, why do you never read to me anymore?” Sirius pouted, throwing you a cheeky wink as he interrupted his mate.

“For this exact reason, Sirius, you always interrupt and then complain that I’m boring you.”

Sirius, never one to be shamefaced, vehemently denied the accusations. “Slander!”

“It’s not slander if it’s true, Pads.” Peter mumbled from his place.

“You’re welcome to join us, Sirius.” You called, even shifting over to suggest there was room beside you should the long-haired boy want it.

To your horror, Sirius actually looked like he was going to stand up.

“No!” Remus shouted, holding his hands out as if prepared to bodily fend off Sirius should he try to sit with you. “Don’t encourage him, love. He’s a menace.”

Sirius clutched at non-existent pearls adorning his neck as he looked at Remus in outrage. “How dare you!? Did you ever stop to think I just wanted to sit with Y/N? He’s far lovelier than you.”

“Sod off, he’s mine; get your own.” Remus mumbled, actually lifting you from your spot on the sofa to pull you directly into his lap. You felt all of the blood in your body rush to your face as you tried to hide behind the blanket.

“Fine.” Sirius harrumphed, finally standing and disrupting the game of cards he’d long abandoned in favour of drama.

“PRONGS?!” Sirius shouted, causing everyone else in the common room to shush at him. As was usually the case with Sirius, he ignored them.

“YEAH?” James shouted back, clearly sitting in their shared dorm room.

“CAN I COME CUDDLE?”

“OF COURSE YOU CAN!”

“THANK YOU!”

With that Sirius turned to give Remus his most shit eating grin. “You’re missing out, Moons.”

Remus scoffed as he began nuzzling into your neck.

“Honestly, is it too much to ask to get through one game?” Peter moaned as he began picking up all of the cards that had been discarded.

“You know better than to try to play with Sirius Drama Queen Black and James ADHD Potter, Wormy.” Remus replied, not bothering to remove himself from your neck.

You turned your head when you heard stomping from the way Sirius had just left to see an annoyed looking Lily Evans.

“You’re lucky you have a boyfriend with a backbone, Y/N.” She muttered, barely pausing to speak as she headed straight up to the girl’s dormitory.

“Poor Lily.” You chuckled, which turned into a full laugh when the puffs of breath from Remus’ laughter tickled your ear.

Feeling particularly mischievous, you turned to peck a kiss to Remus’ nose before mustering up your most sincere face.

“Maybe we should invite her to cuddle with us.”

Now, if you had been dating Sirius Black, your boyfriend would have clutched once again at his non-existent pearls and began singing about the injustices.

However, you were dating Remus Lupin, which meant he chidingly squeezed your side in the way he knew was ticklish and called you a minx.

Lily was right though.

You were very lucky.

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steve-hen-grant · 2 months

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Pas de deux (Jake Lockley x reader ) 🌙🩰

A/N: So! Kinda my first fic? Trying to exercise my writing skills. (You won’t believe how many times I had to just write “excersize” for autocorrect to save me.) So I hope y’all can enjoy the product of my practice!

In a previous post, I mentioned Jake crying while watching ballet. But what I meant to say was I had already developed a fic to this very concept. Needed the confidence to post it- which the reception to the first post got! It said Swan Lake, but for the plot’s conflict it’s Nutcracker.

Warnings: Fluff, mild comfort, reference to MK lore but you can pretend it isn’t, reference to Tchaikovsky mourning his sister, No use of Y/N, may be read as the POV of Layla, or yourself, mentions of Marc and Steven, no direct use of Spanish but reference to Jake speaking it, Reader may or may not know Spanish, it’s ambiguous this way for a self insert!, and again, my first full fan fiction. That is a warning. Surprisingly unserious. implied that narrator and the moon guys are visiting the US for this show.

Gender Neutral reader, but with uncomfortable formal shoes because they plague us all no matter

Word count: the word counter website broke so let me know when you get down there kk

You and Jake go to the Opera house in downtown Chicago. However, the loyal servant of the Moon God reacts unexpectedly…

Hours earlier, Jake struggled with his tie while I mulled over walking into the opera house together. His dark mustache furled as I helped arrange the black fabric and romanticized the pair of us strolling down the Chicago street: dressed to the nines, my arm in his, with the Christmas lights illuminating our path to the theater. Jake refused, mumbling something about how he didn’t want to make me walk longer in formal shoes than I had to. Knowing how I wouldn’t say anything, refusing to complain or burden the evening, until my Achilles tendons were shot by the time we got back to the hotel.

Among the three of them, Jake’s love language was having foresight to make life as accommodated and comfortable. But he forgets that he has a place in it.

Right now, in the brisk December evening, I trotted towards the warmly lit-refuge of the Civic Opera House. Jake dropped me off directly in front, rolling away to park his sleek Rolls Royce Phantom somewhere secure.

The exterior was like that of most concrete high-riser buildings. Though at ground level, in stark contrast, a sculpted arc entrance stood on the corner of the street. A light snow casted over the figures shaped into the stone. Tall preview posters displayed the principal dancer for the evening: the sugar plum fairy.

My pace towards the ticket booth was quick in the biting cold. The Opera house clerk smiled.

“Reservations under… Spector?”

“No- wait, yes. Yes.”

At my hesitation, I was rightfully earned a disconcerted expression. Marc must have booked the tickets. Before the words left her mouth, Jake appeared to save the day. Showing his- or Marc’s- ID. The clerk was satisfied and gave us two red tickets for entree. Jake took my arm in his, like a Highschool couple in a 50s movie. Between the regal opera house, the way he supports my arm, and opens the car door- truly old fashioned.

“Thanks, Marc,” I teased. He nudged me with his arm.

“Oh please, he made Steven book them,” Jake took off his gloves and stuffed them into his pocket. We handed our tickets off, and at last, we were on our way through marble floors and high ceilings to find seating.

Maybe that’s why we both enjoyed viewings in this specific opera house. It was completed in 1929, yet shined as brightly as ever. Velvet red fabrics and amber blown lights. If you weren’t careful, you could become easily motivated to write a romanticized novel.

In a world of my own, I don’t notice Jake looking over my face. But he wasn’t appreciating the interior of the architecture. Maybe the exterior of me.

Some hors d’oeuvres later, we situated in a balcony, closest to the stage. Jake insisted this would be ‘the best spot in the house’. From the balcony overview, patterns in the snow droplet’s sequence could be figured into the shape of snowflakes. Once again, Jake’s love language would make the evening special, by meticulous design. Jake’s prior knowledge of ballet was limited, yet his relationship to the music goes back.

No one would assume that, from what meets the eye. Even if you knew of his nightly servitude to Khonshu- there was less reason to believe he keeps a special mix of Tchaikovsky’s Greatest in his car’s dash. His work isn’t easy, and who doesn’t wind down to music? An avatar to the god of the moon is no exception.

Live orchestra has become a small thing for us. One that Marc chuffs at and Steven… would probably like to be apart of.

The elevated booth was tailored to the best view possible of the tilted stage. Below, forms of people moved to their seats, shed overcoats, and checked the time. Soon, the red curtains would pull apart to reveal the iconic home of the Stahlbaum’s, and delicate Clara center stage. It was a matter of time, and based on Jake’s mild leg bounce, not soon enough. I place a hand over his palm, steadying his nervous habit to a somber sway.

INTERMISSION

We returned to our secluded seats from the main area. Maybe or maybe not, pocketing some cheese squares and fancy crackers in napkins. Jake put his arm over the back of my seat and smirked, “You think I could do that?”

“Do what?”

“The dancing,” He grinned like a ferret. I pause for a moment to process the idea literally. You know what? Maybe. I’ve stayed in the car while Marc or Steven took care of their missions. From what I’ve seen, Moonknight is pretty agile. Mr. Knight is comparably a Gymnast. Making- often unnecessary- flips and turns over bullets and blades.

“Try asking Khonshu when you can take classes- conveniently between delivering justice.”

To which, Jake snickers. He takes his contraband-horderve from the lobby and speaks, “Oh yeah, it will happen. I’ll just borrow Steven’s tutu.” Jake looks aloft and grins, for a moment, it’s like I can hear his alter too.

“THOSE CLASSES WERE A ONE-OFF TIME!”

The second act. Clara and the Nutcracker prince have crossed the forest into a world of her childlike creation. Her and the prince are welcomed by flowers, candy, and snow. It seems like the defeat of the rat king would be the last of the room’s worries. Except for me.

Nearing a majestic finale, the nutcracker prince shares a dance with her majesty, the sugar plum fairy. He takes her hand and holds it, as her powder pink leg ascends. But this isn’t what Jake is thinking about. His eyes are hardly on the scene below, but he is paying attention to the music. The Nutcracker, Op. 71, Act II: No. 14a, Pas de deux. He holds his breath for a moment. A small gesture I might have missed if he didn’t drop my hand when he does so. I glanced at him, not wanting to disturb his fixation to the show.

And maybe I didn’t want to disturb the way his locks messily fell on his forehead and ears. He’s a gentleman, so he wouldn’t wear his hat into the event. But by removing it, the bunched hair underneath fell loosely. Marc and Steven were supposedly relentless about on the way downtown, if his passive looks to the rear view mirror meant anything.

Does a family of birds live in your hat, mate?

Cmon, Jake, everytime I get the body I have to run a comb through it.

After Jake lowered his hands from applause, he took mine in his again. As if he six whole minutes without it was too much. I press my thumb into his knuckles. He pulls my hand closer to him, holding it totally casually to his heart.

The Finale had wrapped up in a roar of an audience. The evening’s dancers made their bows and the orchestra had begun to pack up their bows and sheet music. Neither me nor Jake were one for crowds, but fortunately, the box seats were close enough to a flight of stairs that crew members likely took. We stood and peeked down the flight that turned around the ivory painted walls.

Jake held my arm and smirked, “Do you want to take a shortcut?”

I gave him a puzzled look. “That way? Are you sure there is an exit? We might get a meet and greet with the rat king,” I half-joke. Jake grins and his eyes light up at that risk.

My eyes narrow,

“You want to meet the rat king don’t y-“

“Yes.”

It’s Christmas. Might as well give Jake the gift of following through one of his mischievous schemes- together. Jake is laughing and throughly unserious as we move closer to the landing of the stairwell. I slide my hand down the glossy railing, “If we find this rat thing-“

“When. When we find the rat thing,” Jake interrupts.

I pause and continue, “Yes, my apologies. When we find the rat, are you going to valiantly slay it, and save me?”

Jake thinks for a moment, stopping on the stairs. He responds, “I’ve fought weirder.” I nod agreeably as we continue hand in hand. But he mumbled something I couldn’t hear, perhaps some Spanish intonations, but too low to react to.

But I had a pretty good idea what he meant to say out loud. Jake will show his affection in careful planning, a car ride anywhere, but not typically his words. In those tender instances where he has to resort to sweet nothings, he expresses it in Spanish. The words flow so naturally that they aren’t being filtered by a process of translation. Just his feelings, as they are.

I smile, and pull him into my arm tighter. It was more than likely he was protectively, lovingly ranting about how well he would protect me. How he would welcome the chance to prove it. In the dimly lit corridor we found ourselves in, we located an exit door and push it. I recall the December air and hold his arm closer.

Jake holds up his keys and presses down on his buttons. Immediately after leaving the back door, we are greeted by the flashing headlights of his car in a neighboring lot. Jake looks at my face of surprise and laughs, “You thought I was going to let you walk so far in those shoes?”

While in the car, on the way back to the flat, Swan Lake plays over the radio. I clutch my coat in the warm embrace of the car’s heating system. Jake is tapping his finger along while letting cars through, but he stops as the piece ends and the next begins. The Pas de deux. This time, I don’t miss my chance to ask. My hand grazes his leather coated arm, “You alright?” Jake keeps a deadpan look through the droplets on the windshield, blinking several times. I lean in a touch closer, “Jake?”

“Uhm, I just read where, you know, what’s-his-face, wrote this piece for his sister who passed. It uhm…” Jake, agitated by the way his mouth wants to curl into a grimace in front of me, lays his arm down in a finalizing gesture. He was done talking about it, not without losing clear vision while driving. I hold his gloved hand, and without thinking, hold it to his chest. His shoulders finally lowered. The light turned green. The music filling the gentle silence.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~🌙~~~~~~~~~~~~

#moon knight #jake lockley #steven grant #marc spector #jake lockely x reader #fluff #steven grant x reader #marc spector x reader

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theseshipsshallsail · 8 months

Text

A quick little fic in celebration of Armie Hammer's birthday.

Forever our Oliver ❤️

GOOD THINGS COME TO THOSE WHO WAIT

Elio drags his thumb along a lightly muscled calf as he skirts the edge of the bed, receiving a muffled grunt when he scrapes his nails against the ticklish sole of Oliver’s bare foot. It’s hanging over the side of the mattress, reeling him in with every dream-fuelled twitch, and Elio’s self-restraint is a fragile thing at best.

He’s been wide awake for thirty minutes - long enough to curse the yowling tom cats in the courtyard below - but if he has to suffer the indignities of seven a.m on a Sunday morning, then so should the man who’s lying there looking like temptation personified.

A soft moan captures his attention, and the dark fans of Oliver’s lashes reveal bleary eyes blinking up at him in the warm light of dawn. The sheets are pooled around his waist - kicked off restlessly at some point in the night - and Elio can’t help but smirk as he bends at the waist, running the tip of his tongue from Oliver’s heel to his arch, laughing at the helpless jerk of his hips.

“Buongiorno, amore mio,” he says, wrapping his favourite tie around Oliver’s left ankle before securing it to the wooden frame. The arctic blue always turns his gaze smouldering, and the contrast against his lightly bronzed skin is equally striking when he drops to his knees in humble worship. “I hope you don’t mind me starting without you?”

“Starting…” Oliver trails off, and Elio can pinpoint the exact moment he realises his arms are similarly bound to the headboard. “My God, you’re insatiable.”

“And here you are reaping the benefits,” Elio murmurs, nipping at the spot above his Achilles tendon as Oliver lifts his head to watch. “To the victor go the spoils, sì? Lucky for us, in this we’re both winners.”

“Tease.”

“If you insist.”

Oliver groans as if wounded, but Elio notes his eyes are closed once more, his fingers curled around the paisley bindings at his wrists.

“Touch me.”

“What’s the magic word?”

“Now,” Oliver drawls, a study in debauchery as he arches his neck, pale cheeks flushed with desire.

Despite his words, though, Elio knows what he truly wants.

What he needs.

And it’s not for him to rush this, no matter what his sleep-rough voice demands.

The shiver that follows Oliver’s spine electrifies his own, so Elio slides the cotton sheets out of the way then rests his chin upon his gently rising stomach, nuzzling into the golden hairs that lead down to his groin.

They have all morning, after all, and as Elio places a lingering kiss to Oliver’s naval - fanning the flames that simmer between them - he intends to make the most of every hard-earned minute.

#cmbyn fanfic #elio x oliver #call me by your name #support armie hammer #one shot

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juicegremlin · 2 years

Text

Hugs (5+1)

~ +1 ~

The dorm smells like cinnamon when Neil gets home. He shuts the door behind him—slowly, so as not to interrupt whatever music Andrew’s got playing—and sets his bag down on the couch.

“Oh simple thing, where have you gone? I'm getting old and I need something to rely on.”

Andrew is at the stove. He’s mixing something, fork in one hand, bowl in the other. There’s flour on the counter along with a couple of open Pillsbury dough cans.

“So tell me when you're gonna let me in. I'm getting tired and I need somewhere to begin.”

Neil makes his way further into the living room. Andrew doesn’t turn to look at him, but there’s a tilt of the head, a shift in weight. A greeting—though, hardly much of one.

Neil adores Andrew like this—sleep-mussed and bandless, comfortable in the sanctity of his own space. Neil’s gaze catches on the rhythmic movements of his wrist, the luminous spill of white-gold light across the bridge of his nose.

It’s moments like these that make Neil wonder what life could be like if they make it to thirty. Pajamas in the kitchen, coming home to each other. Snapshots of a future Neil would kill to make real.

Andrew looks over a shoulder. The wispy shadows of his eyelashes fall in brittle streaks across his cheekbones.

Maybe it’s already real.

“Try,” Andrew says, holding out the fork in his hand.

Neil crosses to the counter and lifts himself up onto it, avoiding the flour-patch. “What is it?”

“Icing.”

Andrew fits into the space between Neil’s knees. He lifts the fork to Neil’s lips, and it’s too sweet—the icing—but Andrew will like it.

“You made cinnamon rolls last week,” Neil observes.

Andrew puts the fork back into the bowl. “I wasn’t aware there was a refractory period for baked goods.”

“Refractory period,” Neil wrinkles his nose.

Andrew turns back to the stove. Neil takes a moment to appreciate the bare backs of his legs, the strain of his Achilles tendons.

And perhaps there was a time when Neil didn’t find him quite so captivating. Before all the promises—the secrets and cigarettes. Back when Neil saw the world in a categorical absence of color.

He doesn’t know when things changed. If he had Andrew’s perfect memory, he might be able to pinpoint the exact moment—but for now, the best Neil has got is that bus ride home his freshman year, when the sun turned Andrew golden for the first time.

The song changes. Neil feels a little senseless.

He says, “Dance with me.”

Andrew adds more powdered sugar to the mix. “Hit your head on the way home?”

“I want you to dance with me. Yes or no?”

Andrew sets the bowl down. He looks at Neil like he’s grown a third head.

“You don’t know how,” Andrew says.

“Show me.”

“I don’t know how.”

“Let’s make something up.”

Andrew blinks once, twice. He’s a flickering breadth of candlelight, a myriad of cogs turning beneath bones and skin.

It takes a whole minute for him to extend a hand.

“Yes.”

Neil allows himself to be pulled off the counter. He crosses his wrists behind Andrew’s neck, drawing him close enough to share breath. Andrew’s calloused hands find a home on the dip of Neil’s waist.

“But someone, they could have warned you.”

They’re swaying. It’s the best they can do for each other. Neil has never been to so much as a school dance, and he can’t imagine that Andrew has, either.

“When things start splitting at the seams and now the whole thing’s tumbling down.”

There’s a spot of icing on Andrew’s chin. Neil wants to kiss it off—could, very easily—but he doesn’t, because then they would be kissing, and Neil can’t bear to break this eye contact.

“It’s tumbling down, hard.”

“There’s a zit on your nose,” Andrew tells him.

Neil raises an eyebrow. “It’s hardly the worst thing on my face.”

“You’re right. It’s that mouth.”

“You like it.”

“One of these days, I am going to staple it shut.”

“And anything to make you smile. You are the ever-living ghost of what once was.”

Neil drags his thumb over the skin of Andrew’s nape. He feels Andrew tighten his hold in response, a bracket that expands and contracts with every breach of Neil’s lungs.

He thinks he understands why people do this. Dancing isn’t talking, isn’t sex. Not the way they’re doing things, at least. It’s existing together without the give and take.

“I never want to hear you say that you’d be better off.”

The timer on the stove sounds. Andrew stops their swaying but permits the noise for a while, holding Neil’s gaze like something that might wriggle out of his grasp if he loosens it.

Then his hands disappear. He turns, shuts off the timer.

Neil mourns the loss of him.

“And no one is ever gonna love you more than I do.”

Andrew takes the cinnamon rolls out of the oven. He turns off the heat, and then he’s back, hands on Neil’s waist.

There’s a question in Andrew’s eyes. Neil nods, feels something earthly uncoil behind his ribs.

Andrew wraps his arms around Neil’s middle. He draws them close, chest to chest, and Neil gets to be there when Andrew goes golden all over again.

Andrew tucks his face into the hollow of Neil’s neck.

“No one’s ever gonna love you more than I do.”

“What’s this for?” Neil whispers.

Andrew says, “Nothing.”

And Neil understands.

The thrilling conclusion!! All 6 parts posted over on Ao3 if you’re interested. Songs referenced in this part are “Somewhere Only We Know” by Keane and “No One’s Gonna Love You” by Band of Horses.

Thank you all so much for the love and support on this series!! <333

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

#aftg #aftg fic #aftg fanfic #aftg fanfiction #all for the game #andreil #andrew minyard #andrew x neil #andrew minyard x neil josten #neil josten #neil josten x andrew minyard #JuiceGremlin #tfc #the foxhole court #tfc fic #the foxhole court fanfiction

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demonskiss · 10 months

Text

Indignation

pairing: emory x afab!reader

genre: smut

cw: noncon, drugging, blades, threats of violence, degradation, biting, no foreplay, no aftercare

word count: 1.3k

emory wants to test out a new drug on you, unfortunately, you can’t seem to keep your teeth to yourself.

written by a minor, dni if uncomfortable

“Drink this.”

You forced yourself to lift your head, despite your muddled mind. You’re desperately tired, exhausted from the adrenaline and fear coursing through your body. You don’t know how long you can keep it up, really.

“I said drink up.”

Shit. Your mouth is forcibly opened, and Emory presses their thumb down on your tongue, and pours a vial of some strange substance into your mouth, they then close your mouth, tilting your head up to force yourself to drink. It’s bitter, what the fuck did they put in this? But you can’t even ask them properly, your words coming out jumbled and sloppy. Emory doesn’t think anything of it, pulling a chair up besides your seated, restrained form and stares.

You felt so much heavier, your extremities remaining still as stone even if you wanted to move. The host deftly unties your limbs, but you couldn’t run, it was like you were hypnotized in place. “I see it’s taking effect quite quickly. What an unexpected development.” Their calm voice echoed throughout the chamber, undeniably sounding more like a calming breeze rather than an icy chill. What have they done to your body? You don’t really want to know.

Emory lifts your body with a surprising amount of strength, laying you down on a medical bed, patting your head with a mock pity. “Take it easy…” They coo, “Testing out a new drug is all. Looks like I’ve given you too much, just from that small vial alone.” Their eyes narrow, an attempt at a smirk that will never be seen. “What do you say? Should I keep it just drinkable, or should I have it be injected?” They ghost your hand along your thigh, sighing when you can’t respond. “It’s cruel to give me the silent treatment, but I don’t blame you.”

Their cruelty never ceases to end however, ripping open your already thin patient gown, and their piercing gaze wanders over your body, so did their hands. Every trace felt like needles on your body, and you can’t help but shudder, even though your body won’t express it. “Your body is truly a sight for sore eyes… The masses would love it if I marred this pure body of yours.” They mutter, tipping your chin up with their hand. “I’d rather gouge their eyes than to let them witness your body, they’re all replaceable anyways.”

They caress your cheek with their gloved hand, and you can’t help but lean into their touch, no matter how desperate you were to crave otherwise. “Good pet, so pliant, so sweet, so pure.” A menacing chuckle rang in the air, echoing in your ears. “How much better do you feel now that you’re not struggling this much?” Emory tilts their head, their eyes gleaming with a passion known to your eyes, and only your eyes. “So much better, isn’t that right?”

Although free, your body is stiff as stone, and their hands trail across your body once more, finding themselves between your thighs, playing with the folds in between, there’s a very clear wetness, and their eyebrows raise at the slickness on their fingers. “You slut.” They spat with venom in their baritone voice, leaving no room for you to interject, not like you would be able to anyways. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you like being drugged.”

A shine of metal catches your eye immediately, and your eyes follow, only to see the scalpel they hold lightly pressed against your stomach. “Do you know what pleases me?” They drag the edge further up. “Seeing you crawl.” A cold chill runs down your spine, what were they going to do? You didn’t want to know. “Did you know that the Achilles tendon is the largest tendon in your body? Once it’s torn, without recovery, one will have great difficulty walking, let alone do any physical activity…” Emory drags the scalpel down your thigh, past your knee, right by the ankle. “Do you understand what I mean, dear lamb?”

You can’t believe what you’re hearing. You look at them with pleading eyes, silently begging them with the only opportunity you’ve been given. You can’t open your mouth, it feels like it’s been glued shut, but you’re desperate to have your one protest, to keep your leg intact.

Emory seems keen however, ignoring your gaze, and marking out the location of the tendon, a calm hum filling the room. But it has never once brought you comfort, but rather stress and despair. Will you never walk again? You’ll never be able to run, and everything you wanted to do is out of your grasp. You were petrified not only by the drugs in your system, but by terror as well.

But a chuckle rings in the air. “You didn’t actually believe that, did you?” They sneer, patting your cheek, no longer holding the scalpel in their hand, “I wouldn’t hurt my pathetic lamb after all. Well, not to that extent at least.” Their words were unbelievably concerning, but you were out of any immediate danger, and the tension on your shoulders released. “Good to know you still fear me. However, I think I should give you another reason to fear me, don’t you think? I’ve been going soft on you after all…”

You hear an unzipping noise, the telltale sign of Emory’s goal to torture you in a different way other than violence. Your wet cunt is already exposed for them, and although they’ve barely touched you, you can’t help but be already so wet for them, it’s beyond humiliating.

There’s a fiery passion hidden behind Emory’s crimson eyes, and they lower their medical mask, kissing you with such force, knocking the breath from your lungs. They bite your bottom lip enough to draw blood, closing their eyes at the way your eyes react with horror in satisfaction. What they couldn’t have expected was for you to clamp your teeth down, and a metallic taste fills your senses. They pant, a snarl gracing their face as they lick their top lip, staining it crimson, like the edge of their coat. “How insolent. The drug must be wearing off.”

Emory grasps your cheek, pulling you into a forceful kiss as they use their other hand to line their cock with your pussy, using your natural lubricant to make it easier for themselves. They thrust without any consideration, and you let out a silent wail, electricity in your veins. Blood permeates your tastebuds, leaving you unable to think of anyone but them.

They pull away from the kiss, a pink string of saliva connecting your mouths as they continue to thrust. “You see, I would’ve prepared you properly had you not pulled that stunt of yours.” They make it especially clear, hitting the most sensitive part inside you with no shred of mercy. “Maybe I would’ve played with your clit too, but you don’t deserve any of that.” Emory sneers, “You’ve been bad, and bad pets don’t get any mercy from me.”

They laugh under their breath, their thrusts unceasing regardless of how you feel. It was never gentle with them, they always took, and never gave. You couldn’t even distance yourself away mentally either, because every powerful thrust they make, always reeling you in with that desperation. “You’re so tight, you know?” They muttered, “Always my pet, forever my lamb.” Emory nuzzles your neck, before trailing down and biting the skin right above your collarbone. It hurts so bad, but you can’t do anything, not even struggle.

Soon enough, without warning as always, Emory shoots out thick ropes of cum inside your sensitive hole, without letting you cum whatsoever. “Don’t give me those eyes…” They chuckle, “You don’t deserve to cum.” Rather than providing you the decency of comfort, Emory pulls out, zipping themselves back up and leaving, but not without a few words of course, “Food will be in an hour. Behave and I might clean you up.”

Time to wait for these drugs to wear off, you suppose…

#⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☁︎ starry scribe ✧#⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☁︎ the false surgeon ✧#⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☁︎ fading fantasy ✧#yandere x y/n #yandere x you #yandere x reader #yandere x darling #oc x self insert #oc x you #oc x reader #oc x y/n #tw: noncon #cw: noncon

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minaramen · 2 years

Text

Thanks for the 7th Anniversary - Part 5: There’s always trouble afoot

[Disclaimer: I’m NOT a professional translator. I’m using my knowledge from 4 years of university. Please, feel free to let me know if you notice mistranslation/typo/error of any kind]

***

Tsumugi: …! Banri san…!

Banri: Tsumugi san! Did Momo kun contact you?

Tsumugi: Yes! He said that he needs help for some kind of emergency

Kaoru: Takanashi san! Ogami san!

Tsumugi: Anesagi san!

Rinto: Did you run into some sort of trouble?

Banri: You’re here as well, Okazaki san. Everybody seems to be joining today’s festival

Kaoru: I’m here to escort Trigger, since they’re invited

Rinto: Our president will be the head of the jury

Kaoru: What kind of trick did he use to be the head of the jury instead of president Yaotome or president Takanashi?

Rinto: He didn’t use any trick! He’s been selected by the festival’s executive committee

Neeeeeeeeeeigh

Kaoru: Wah, what was that?! Is there a horse?!

Banri: Must be the horse from the amateur petting zoo

Kaoru: Didn’t they exaggerate a little bit for this school festival?!

Banri: Well, we’re talking about the seventh anniversary

Tsumugi: Yes, that must be the reason!

Kaoru: There’s something sweet about the seventh anniversary, isn't there? They put equipment even around here. I wonder what this silver cloak is…

Banri: Must be Starbi. The mascot for the “A Nanahoshi star is born” project

Kaoru: And what is it supposed to be? An alien?

Banri: A microphairy, I think

Rinto: At any rate, it looks like a gentle horse. Here, have some carrots

Banri: Do you walk around carrying carrots with you?

Rinto: No, I was suddenly held down by several foreigners

Banri: What?! Are you okay?!

Rinto: Yes. They said I was the wrong guy and gave me these carrots to apologize

Kaoru: That’s weird…

Shiro: Ah…guys…!

Rinto: Utsugi san! Momo kun called you as well?

Shiro: No, Ryo kun called me…

Rinto&Banri&Kaoru: Ryo kun?!

Rinto: When you say “Ryo kun”, you mean... Tsukumo Ryo?! Is he here?!

Kaoru: I’m not sure I can control myself, if I happen to meet that man!

Banri: Does he have something to do at the Nanahoshi school festival?

Shiro: Apparently, yes… I apologize, but…it’s better if we split up!

Banri: Utsugi san! Would you mind explaining what's going on?!

Shiro: I’m not sure, but apparently he must reach a temple close to this place

Student: Senpai, senpai! Are you still keeping up with with your hundred times worship? Aren’t the stairs super difficult to climb?!

Student: They are. I mean, we’re talking about 500 steps. But I will do it!

Student: You’re amazing, senpai…!

Shiro: The stairs count 500 steps…

Neeeeeeeigh

Shiro: May I borrow this horse?

Kaoru: I…don’t think so?!

Banri: Utsugi san, calm down. What do you want to do with this horse?!

Shiro: Well, it’s 500 steps after all…but no, I…I will take responsibility for anything my predecessor did with tears in my eyes…

Banri: With tears in your eyes…?

Shiro: I must go! If anything happens, contact me!

Tsumugi: Be careful!

*Cut to a park*

Shiro: Where’s the temple….? Maybe, it’s on top of that little mountain over there…?!

Momo: Utsugi san!

Ryo: Tsk, Shiro…

Shiro: Momo san! Ryo kun! You’re here…what’s going on?!

Momo: He dropped a very, very, very important document! Please, help us! We’re in a big mess!

Shiro: Okay. What should I do?

Momo: I’ll look for the document at school with Ban san and the others! You go with Ryo san to the temple!

Momo: You should look for a blue carrying case in front of the bonfire. Please, take it! Don’t let them burn it!

Shiro: Understood

Momo: I'm counting on you

*Momo runs away*

Ryo: Well, I'm counting on you as well…bye bye

Ryo: Ugh…!! How dare you grab someone who was a superior of yours by the neck?!

Shiro: You will lead me to the temple. C’mon, use your Achilles tendon's full strength

Ryo: I don’t wanna climb up those stairs

Shiro: Me neither. But you’ll tell me about the situation at hand while climbing up those stairs anyway

*Cut to a street*

Banri: He dropped the secret document about Riku kun and Tenn kun’s birth...?

Momo: Exactly! I’m so sorry…

Banri: You don’t need to apologize. However, we need to find it before somebody else gets to read what’s written on that document

Momo: Kaoru chan, can you help us?!

Kaoru: Obviously! In case you didn’t notice, it’s something concerning Tenn as well!

Banri: Let’s find it! Tsumugi san, could you inform the president about what’s going on? Just in case

Tsumugi: Yes!

Momo: Thank you, maneko chan! I’ll look for it inside the school. I don’t want this situation to have an impact on Riku and Tenn

Rinto: Okay! We’re in trouble if the document ends up in the hands of a recruiter or a music journalist…

Touma: Momo san…!

Momo: Touma! Ah, and the others from ŹOOĻ as well…!

Momo: It’s good you're here! We’re in the middle of an emergency! Could you guys help us…?

Music journalist: An emergency?

Banri: And this person is…?

Minami: He’s a journalist from an extremely famous music magazine. We met him at Redfest

Music journalist: Ahah. I was sure I would have written a pretty bad review of you guys, and I ended up becoming a huge fan instead

Music journalist: I also interviewed you in the past, Momo san. It’s always an honor to meet you

Momo: Ah, I remember! You wrote some very good stuff about me…

Music journalist: What’s the emergency?

Torao: Is it something concerning Idolish7?

Momo:.........

Kaoru: Aaah, I feel dizzy…

Rinto: Anesagi san, please, stay strong!

Momo: Ah, Kaoru chan doesn’t feel well…!

Kaoru: I’m just anemic! Don’t worry about me, go inform the presidents right now!

Banri: Got it…!

Rinto: Leave it to us, Anesagi san!

Tsumugi: I’m sorry about the mess, Zool san! I’ll be back to greet you properly…!

Touma: Well, then…let’s go

Music journalist: Yes. I’m coming as well, since I want to do some research on the school. It looks like a lively festival. I’m sure a good article can come out from it

Torao: I’m happy for you

Minami:......

Minami: Inumaru san, Midou san, go ahead. I’ll stay with Anesagi san a little while longer

Touma: That’s so kind of you. Mina…okay, then! Take care of her!

Minami: Momo san, Anesagi san, Takanashi san. Tell me what’s happening

Momo: Minami…

Minami: You went pale when you saw the journalist. If there’s something going on, I’ll offer my collaboration

Momo: Actually…

*Cut to the stage*

Shizuo: Yuki kun…where’s Yamato…?

Yuki: I'm asking myself the same thing, since I left all the preparations to Momo

Shizuo:...I want to reconcile soon…

Yuki: Yes, I got the gist….ah, it’s the school music band

Yuki: Do you mind if we take a look?

Shizuo: Mh…? Ah, yes…if it’s a quick one….

Student: Ah, it’s Yuki from Re:vale!

Student 2: Aah, the idol…instead of thinking about such things, let’s fix the problem…

Yuki: The sound isn’t coming out? May I give it a look?

Student 2: You know, that’s a real guitar and you’re just an idol. I don’t think there’s much you can do about it

Yuki:.....

Shizuo: You’re making quite an angry face, Yuki kun

Student: Don’t be rude! He's a composer!

Student 2: Yeah, using some smartphone app, I guess

Yuki: Hey, kid. Get out of the way and look

Students: O-oi! Give me back my guitar…! Don’t touch the amplifiers, you have no right to do that…!

*Sound starts*

Student: Ah, the sounds came out! Wooh, you’re very good! That’s a brilliant cutting technique!

Shizuo: Despite your childish attitude you’re very talented, Yuki kun!

Yuki: Thanks. I think you want to express your gratitude somehow, right?

Student: Tsk…

Yuki: I won’t leave until you say thank you

Shizuo: But…Yamato….

Yuki: I won’t leave, I said

*Cut to a car*

Driver: I deeply apologize, Mr. President. Apparently a car accident occured and we’re now stuck in traffic…

Soshi: Understood. I have no pressing plans for the afternoon. I’ll take a short walk to get refreshed

Driver: As You wish. Do be careful

*Car door opens and closes*

Soshi:..the closest station is 10 minutes from here…mh?

Soshi: “Nanahoshi school’s seventh school festival”...A talent school? Must be attended by budding talents

Soshi: “Everyone’s dream can come true”...?

Soshi: It’s easy to give hope to promising young people by dumping a bunch of irresponsible, pompous words on them…

Soshi: However, allowing them to wallow in such dreams robs them of the only life they have. It’s what happened to Satoshi and Sogo…

Soshi:...........

Student: Welcome to the Nanahoshi school festival!

Student: I’m distributing special coupons, so you can enter the festival even if you don’t have an invitation

Student: Please, have a look!

Soshi:....I have time

Soshi: I want to check what kind of young people are about to lose themselves in this vale of tears

*Cut to a classroom*

Sogo: Yotsuba kun

Tamaki: Mh? Ah…! Sou chan! Rikkun!

Riku: We found you, Tamaki!

Sogo: You thought we were classmates of yours?

Tamaki: Yeah! ‘cause they also call me “Yotsuba kun”

Sogo: Ahah. I succeed, then

Tamaki: But then I was like, “what?!” because it was your voice, and then I turned around and I saw you!

Sogo: I could guess by looking at your face

Tamaki: I was super shocked!

Riku: This strategy is a winning one to knock you for a loop. When we greeted Iori like that, he caught on right away!

Tamaki: So you met Iorin?

Riku: We did! He looked handsome with his white uniform

Sogo: Riku kun was deeply impressed by Iori kun’s cosplay, since he has a strong feeling of trust towards doctors from when he was a child

Tamaki: Eeh, really?

Riku: Eheh

Tamaki: Are you interested in transformation heroes at all, Sou chan?

Sogo: Not really

Tamaki: No…?

Riku: Sogo san considers rockers as heroes

Tamaki: Ah! Dudes like Douglas! I should have done a Douglas Rootbank cosplay, then!

Sogo: Douglas is a true hero, isn’t he? I was so happy I could meet him again. But there are no chances it'd happen a third time…

Riku: Tamaki, try to cosplay as Douglas!

Tamaki: AHAHAHAH

Riku&Sogo: Well done!

Tamaki: But it’s weird to have you two at school…!

Sogo: Ahah, you’re right

Riku: I was wondering if the callout we used before could fit in other situations

Tamaki: Mh? What? What?

Riku: Just try, Sogo san!

Sogo: Yotsuba senpai

Tamaki: Ah, the senpai mode! Yeah, what happened, Sogo?

Sogo: Citric acid

Tamaki: Citric acid?

Sogo: A little treat

Tamaki: Ah, to help me recover from fatigue. Thank you!

Sogo: It’s nothing! Give it your best in the match

Riku: Part 2!

Sogo: Tamaki, take your seat

Tamaki: A teacher! You just entered teacher mode!

Sogo: Did you do your homework?

Tamaki: I’m sorry, Osaka sensei. I didn’t

Sogo: Why?

Tamaki: Ehm…I was playing games…

Sogo: Homework is more important. Don’t forget to do it by tomorrow

Tamaki: Roger

Riku: Part 3!

Sogo: Taa kun!

Tamaki: Stop…! That’s embarrassing…! Rikkun, you trained Sou chan too much!

Riku: I’m frustrated that Iori just ignored me

Sogo: Are we done already? I have also the role of the rival in a delinquent school ready

Tamaki: Do all these roles in front of everybody once we get back home

Sogo: I will

Tamaki: Where are you going now?

Sogo: Actually, we were thinking of going back to the School Festival Executive Committee's headquarters. Just in case they need some help

Tamaki: Ah, got it. I’ll do the same when my turn ends. Do you want the stamps…?

Sogo: Oh, right! “ We’ve met here for the hundredth year!”

Riku: “ We’ve met here for the hundredth year!”

Tamaki: Alright! Look at my transformation pose!

Riku: You have one?

Tamaki: Nyan! Transformation!

Sogo: How cute

Riku: That’s cute! Do it again

Tamaki: Nyan nyan! Transformation!

*Cut to a hallway*

Ryunosuke: Do you think they’ll be fine? We left those guys alone, but…

Gaku: One of them can speak japanese. They’ll be alright

Tenn: They were our fans. I’m glad we could meet them

Gaku: Yeah. I’m getting hungry, should we go eat something?

Ryunosuke: There’s a seaside clubhouse over there. They even used sand to make it look like a beach!

Tenn: They put so many ideas into this festival. I can see many interesting shops

Gaku: There are a lot of kids' lunch shops, with flags on omurice… I bet you like it, Tenn

Tenn: It feels like going back to childhood

Ryunosuke: There are also mini hamburgers, napolitan and puddings. Kids’ lunches are pretty luxurious!

Gaku: Yeah, and now I'm even more hungry. However, I feel quite embarrassed… Should we make an assault following the festival’s excitement?

Tenn: I think we should

Ryunosuke: Let’s go!

*Cut to a classroom*

Student: Welcome!

Gaku: Hello, three kids lunc-waah!

Sosuke: Gaku.

Otoharu: Gaku kun

Rintaro: Oh, it’s TRIGGER

Gaku: Dad! What are you doing here?!

Tenn: President Takanashi and president Okazaki too…

Otoharu: Come here, let’s eat together!

Ryunosuke: Well, if you insist…

Gaku: Are you eating together, the three of you? Your relationship must be pretty good

Rintaro: You know, I need to build up a relationship of trust with Yaotome san and Takanashi san. Do you want my flag?

Gaku: No, thank you

Otoharu: I’m happy when I get the chance to have meetings like this. When we meet at each other’s companies, we always have to act formally. Do you want my flag?

Gaku: I’m fine

Sosuke: Mpf. Even if we meet outside,we’re still grumbling about business. Why don’t you take this fl-

Gaku: I said I don’t want it! Why do y’all keep asking me?!

Rintaro: Because this is exactly the topic we were talking about when you entered the room. Apparently, you loved flags struck in food when you were a kid

Gaku: Really?!

Sosuke: You don't remember? There was a time when you were obsessed by them

Ryunosuke: How cute, Gaku! My brothers also loved these flags when they were children!

Tenn: I can give you my flag as well, if you want

Gaku: I don’t!! Aah, I’ll be teased for the rest of my life because of that

Otoharu: I think it’s a wonderful story. As simple as this device can be, a standing flag can make children happy

Otoharu: I was saying that we’d need devices like these in the entertainment world as well

Tenn: That’s why you came into a kids�� lunch shop…

Otoharu: Actually, we chose this place because it offered a huge range of choices. It looked very sumptuous

Sosuke: They said it gave off a school festival atmosphere or something like that…

Rintaro: Yeah, it’s like going back to childhood. How about you?

Tenn: The reason we came here is the same as yours

Rintaro: Well, it’s a luxurious choice from every perspective. You’re really cool, Trigger

Sosuke: Mpf

Rintaro: I bet you had a lot of fun raising Trigger!

Otoharu: It must have been fun. The material was already good, and the guys are tough and honest themselves

Ryunosuke: Thank you!

Student: Three kids’ lunches ready…! Aah! Trigger?!

Tenn: Thanks

Student: Trigger came here?! I’m so sorry, I had you sit with some weird old men…!

Tenn: They’re all presidents

Student: They’re…what?! Presidents?!

Sosuke: Talent school’s students have guts, I can’t deny it

Rintaro: Yes, but I’d like to know if I’m included in the “old men” category

Student: You’re not!!

Rintaro: Good! Okay, then!

Otoharu: In other words, I’m…

Student: You’re included!

Otoharu: Aah, I see

Sosuke: You’re pulling your luck, Takanashi

Otoharu: Well, Banri kun always praises me saying I'm young! He asks me “are you sure you’re not Yaotome Gaku?!”

Sosuke: Basically, you selfishly became my son

Rintaro: Daddy, can I have dessert?

Sosuke: You took advantage of this huge mess to become my son as well?!

Ryunosuke: Is there anything you want, Gaku? You’re his real son, after all

Gaku: Well…yeah…I saw they have pudding…

Tenn: What a good kid. I’ll buy you a snack on the way home

*Cut to a street*

Soshi:...that’s the talent school…

Neeeeeeeeigh

Soshi: …! They even brought a horse. They must have no idea what moderation means

Soshi: However, young children look at it with bright eyes…

Sogo:........

Soshi:....! Over there…is it Sogo? He’s coming here…

Soshi:....! This is bad!

Soshi: I’m against the entertainment world, and if he sees me here he could wrongly assume that I’m showing some kind of comprehension or interest…!

Soshi: This is…!

End of part 5

#Idolish7 #ainanatranslation #7thanniversary

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thewarriorspecial · 9 months

Text

Drive Me Crazy

*Archive Edition* Previously only linked to AO3, full work now available under the cut.

Rating: Explicit

Guy Gardner/Kyle Rayner

Additional Tags: Established Relationship, Sex on a Car, car talk, Blow Jobs, Masturbation

Guy is supposed to be resting and recovering, but he'd rather pass the time working on his car than laying about. Kyle's not much help for letting him rest.

Read on AO3

Drive Me Crazy

Guy was a really unfortunate combination of hard-working and short sighted. If he would ever just use the damn ring or ask for some help it wouldn’t take so long for his latest combat wounds to heal. The closest he managed to come to something resembling resting his body was when he dropped face-down onto the mattress after several rounds of sex or entirely too many beers.

“Alcohol is a blood thinner, you know,” Kyle said, pushing sweaty hair out of his face.

“Mruh,” Guy responded, neither acknowledging nor denying the information.

Instead of icing his battered knee or kicking back in bed to let his ribs knit themselves back together, Guy decided to distract himself with some neglected work around the garage. He pushed the gold Trans-Am into the open bay door instead of driving it because, “The clutch is too soft. Don’t wanna plow through the wall.” Whatever that meant.

So Kyle watched his partner grunt and drip sweat in the morning sun. An excellent way to start the day, Kyle thought to himself as he raised his mug to his lips. The heat of the fresh coffee pooled in his belly along with other things. Kyle’s fingers wandered under his waistband as he thought about Guy’s big, powerful body. He knew he should be better about insisting that Guy rest and maybe not enable his bad behavior. But Guy had needs. And he had needs, too.

The cheery sunlight put the dips and curves of Guy’s muscles in sharp contrast. His huge basketball shorts rode up as he planted his feet and pushed the obnoxiously painted vehicle forward. The backs of Guy’s black and white hi-tops were crushed flat from sliding them on without untying them a hundred times. Kyle’s eyes traveled the taught line from Guy’s Achilles tendon along the rippling calf to the middle of his bulging thigh. Big thighs, shapely ass, back like a mountain range—everything tensed, everything heated and sweaty.

Kyle bit his lip and imagined how good that damp, sun-warm t-shirt smelled. He would definitely abscond with that later. Guy’s grunts and curses made it easy for Kyle to imagine those sounds coming from above, Guy panting, sweat dripping. Kyle could feel the soft brush of chest hair against his throat, the rasp of stubble against his temple.

“Big fuckin’ bitch,” Guy coughed out, as he patted the trunk affectionately. He lifted the bottom of his shirt to wipe his face. Kyle needed to put his own face in the molten center of Guy’s hot, sweaty chest immediately. Still in his pajamas, which is to say Guy’s clothes from yesterday, Kyle shuffled his feet into some sneakers and headed out the front door.

The big, gold Pontiac gently rocked against the parking brake as Guy lovingly worked the drain plugs out of the differential. He checked the plugs for any metal debris and ducked the arc of brown, draining fluid with practiced ease. He lifted the wet plug to his nose and smelled it. No sign of contamination or overuse. He loved that smell—real 75 weight mineral oil. It smelled like hot summers on the drag strip and cavitating pumps at the amusement park.

“I’m not the mechanic here,” Kyle said, leaning on the garage door-frame, “but I’m pretty sure that’s not how you change oil.”

“You’re right. I’m juicing the pumpkin,” Guy’s voice came from under the rear end of the car. He began the quick work of refilling the gear oil and returning the plug to its proper position and torque.

Kyle scrunched his lips to the side, wondering how a pumpkin had gotten stuck under the car. He pursued his seduction head-on without questions. “Thank goodness I have a big strong man to take care of my car for me.”

Guy’s upper body came into view as he rolled the creeper out from under the car. He raised a suspicious eyebrow in Kyle’s direction, “My car.”

Kyle sighed and pushed himself off of the door-frame, “I just wish there was some way I could repay you for all of this.” He walked towards the front of the car and leaned his hip on the front quarter panel.

“Never paid me before.” Guy’s eyes roamed slowly over Kyle’s body. He was more than happy to have a booth bunny posing on his ride.

“Isn’t there something I can do for you? Something you’d like?”

“I…you’re fine?” Guy pulled the shredded remains of an old towel out of his overalls and wiped some of the grease off of his fingers. “I was gonna do this anyways?”

Kyle’s chuckle is devilish. He changes tactics, “I want you to show me how your machine works.”

“Oh? Oh! Well in that case,” Guy began, excitedly pushing himself off of the creeper and onto his feet. He pulled the fallen strap of his overalls onto his right shoulder once he was on his feet. If any of the movement caused him pain, he didn’t show it.

Guy walked to the open hood and rested his hands at the front of the engine bay. His eyes swept over Kyle’s long legs and then the the fruits of his labor. “I wanted to keep as much of it as OG as possible, ya know? But she needed some work, that’s for sure. I was running her way too hard—cracked the rings, gouged the cylinders so I had to bore ‘em out.”

“Bore them out. Sure,” said Kyle, expression wide-eyed and lips pressed together.

“The cylinders. They gotta be smooth so I had to drill em out. Widen the holes.”

“Oh.” Kyle moved to lean next to Guy, under the hood. He liked the sound of that.

“Ended up doing a forty overbore—whole new stroke kit, torque plate, the works.”

“Stroke?” Another one of Kyle’s favorite words.

“Yup, more stoke means bigger parts to fill the bigger displacement.”

“Bigger’s always better.”

Guy squinted at Kyle’s enthusiastic nodding, “And then ya gotta balance the rest of the car out to handle that kinda power. But I could only go so far because I ain’t got another transmission and I don’t want to give up my four speed. Wally came by with a custom cam and main caps, too. Really brought the whole thing together.”

“Ah,” Kyle’s face pinched in a frown at the mention of one of his least favorite people. That explained where two bags of Doritos and an entire cheesecake had gone.

“And since I was already doin’ a whole teardown I figure well, gonna need a bigger crank so might as well do a new timing set which let me replace the fuel pump drive so I don’t have to stay carbureted. Lotta guys really like that sound, ya know? Got a certain smell too but long term, you know?”

“Classic, of course,” Kyle knew better than to try and speak man-car to Guy. He’d tried to keep up with the guy-talk once to horrific results. He enjoyed Guy’s gruff voice and his excitement. He just couldn’t understand how anyone actually enjoyed that amount of tedium and suffering to only drive around under very specific conditions. The subway was right there.

“I want her to last. I ain’t no racer. I wanna drive her as long as I can. Springs were rustin’ to hell so I went ahead and put coil-overs on. She sits a little lower but most people wouldn’t see the difference. New control arms, tie rods, you know, the little things. Got her aligned and shined. Upgraded the exhaust so you can still hear that loping rumble. She’s still got it,” Guy said, voice soft as he started to walk around the driver’s side. He let the tips of his fingers trail gently along the aggressive angle of the A-pillar. “Solar Gold Y88, special edition with the T-top. Only the ’78 Trans Ams. She really is…gorgeous. One of a kind.”

“Gorgeous,” Kyle echoed.

“Men like pretty things,” Guy said over his shoulder as he continued his appreciative walk around the vehicle. His piercing blue eyes stayed on Kyle as his fingers follow the curves of the car, “whether they say so or not.”

“We show it in different ways, I guess.” Kyle stands, crossing his arms and cocking his head as he watches Guy prowl.

“You’re an artist. You get it, don’cha?” Guy’s hands worked their way up the passenger side of the car.

“Beauty’s in the eye of the beholder and whatnot.”

“Lucky for me,” Guy grins. He presses himself into Kyle’s space, steps in until they’re nose to nose. His hands flex with the urge to touch more.

“You don’t think you’re beautiful?”

Guy scoffs. He turned away suddenly, reaching for the hood strut. He lifted the enormous gold rectangle and tucked the hood strut into the engine bay. “Kid. I know I’m not,” he says as he drops the hood with a bang.

“Do you?” Undeterred, Kyle stepped behind Guy, crowding him against the front bumper of the car. Feather light, he ran his hands down Guy’s back, gentle with his tender ribs. He let his arms drape around Guy’s waist. He pressed his face between Guy’s shoulder blades and breathed, “You smell good.”

“Psh. B.O. and diff fluid. That’s the manly stuff right there.”

“It is. I like it. I like you sweaty and dirty.”

“You like my dirty hands?” Guy asked, as he laid his greasy hands over Kyle’s paint stained fingers.

“I like what you do with them.”

“Do ya?” Guy smirked as he turned in Kyle’s arms. His hands balled up in the hem of Kyle’s—his—shirt as he roughly tore it over Kyle’s head. He tossed it aside with one hand and grabbed Kyle around the back of his head with the other. He didn't give Kyle a chance to think, much less speak, as he sealed his mouth over Kyle’s. He was done talking.

Kyle let Guy’s grease spattered hands roam as they pleased.

“So? How much a’this little visit is about what I want, and how much of it is about what you want? Hm?”

“Depends how much you’re up for, old man.”

“Oh I’m up for it. I’m always good for it. How ‘bout you, kid? Are you down?” Guy asks, as he shoved Kyle roughly backwards, forcing him to fall onto the hood. Kyle startled; he half expected Guy to freak out about scratches or dents. “Let’s take ya for a little test ride. See what’s gotcha so hot and bothered.”

“You,” Kyle smiled.

“Let’s test that theory. Do a little diagnostic work.” Guy unsnapped one of the straps of his overalls, the look in his eyes heated and predatory.

“Since when are you a mechanic?”

“Since I got tools and shit, how bout that?” Guy’s brow furrowed.

“Tools?”

“Yeah! Lemme go get my new sniffer n’sniff you out.”

“Your what?” Kyle sat up on his elbows, alarmed.

Guy had already stalked away, steel-toed boots thumping a path over to the toolbox. He pulled a few drawers open, metallic clanging and clattering punctuated his search until he found what he wanted. It looked a bit like one of those book-reading lights—a long flexible new protruded from a plastic, oval body and a little rubber tip was affixed to the end.

“What’re you doing with that?”

“C’mere,” Guy surged forward, pinning Kyle to the car and poking him relentlessly with the tool.

“What the fuck! Knock it off!” Kyle laughed, eyes bright as he tried to wrestle the thing out of Guy’s eagle talon grip.

Guy clicked the switch on the side. A little red light flashed and the tool beeped twice. “Oh! Looks like we got a read here, Spock.” Guy held the tool up with exaggerated thoughtfulness, still keeping Kyle pinned down effortlessly with one arm.

“Well, what is it?” Kyle demanded in mock anger.

Guy clicked his tongue and sighed, “Chronic horny, I’m afraid.”

“Is there any cure, doc?” Kyle asked, honey-sweet with a rock of his hips.

“I fuckin’ hope not!”

“You think you’re the guy for the job? You gonna fix me?” Kyle asked as Guy was already popping the button on his jeans and yanking them down.

“I’m gonna fix you real good, you’ll see.” Guy ran his tongue over the big, red ‘W’ tattoo on Kyle’s hip.

The metal hood was cool against Kyle’s heated skin. He let Guy press him down, folded an arm behind his head to keep the hood scoop from digging into his skull. It felt special, being allowed to touch such a valuable car and to be the center of Guy’s focus despite the sun-gold paint and man-sized decal.

Guy’s big hands squeezed Kyle’s thighs as he lavished Kyle’s hipbones with teeth and tongue. He mouthed the bulge in Kyle’s underwear, blue eyes blazing as he stared up and into Kyle’s panting face.

“Yeah,” Kyle growled, taking a rough handful of Guy’s short, copper hair and pressing him down.

“Like that?” Came Guy’s muffled retort. “Yeah I fuckin’ do. And so do you.” Kyle’s rucked-down jeans rustled in the quiet garage as he wrapped his thighs around Guy’s head. He yanked Guy’s hair again, harder. The sound that came out of Guy was as much a growl as it was a raspy chuckle.

It was a lot of power for Kyle to push around—two hundred and twenty pounds of sex and fury, and both with a hair trigger. Like feathering the gas in a tight turn, Guy’s responses were forceful and immediate. And Kyle loved being the one behind the wheel.

Impatient, Kyle hooked his thumbs under the waistband of his underwear and kicked the last of his clothes off. Guy leaned back to give Kyle some room and divested himself of his shirt and dropped the overalls to the floor. Sharp blue eyes drank in all of Kyle’s tanned, tattooed skin one slow inch at a time.

Against the gold paint, the warm undertones of Kyle’s skin shone beautifully. His body was framed by the wings of the firebird decal, giving him the look of a Greek deity on an ancient mural.

“Gorgeous,” Guy said softly, reverently. He thought of how many times his phoenix had been reborn. “One of a kind.” Guy leaned down and his big, warm hands clamped around Kyle’s naked hips.

Kyle felt suddenly unnerved so he shoved Guy’s head down again, “Now take care of me, so I can take care of you.”

“You gonna take care of me?” Guy half-whispered, dragging his stubble along Kyle’s thigh and flattening his tongue against the base of Kyle’s cock, “Gonna go to work, and pay for dinner, and take real good care of me?” Guy flicked those dangerous blue eyes up at Kyle again, “Daddy?”

Talk about shifting into a higher gear, Kyle thought as he yanked Guy’s mouth open with his thumb and shoved his cock in. Maybe their interests weren’t so different. “Yeah, baby,” Kyle hissed. His fingers dug into Guy’s skull as he started to move his hips, “My good boy.”

With a groan, Guy dropped to his knees. His body ignited and relaxed all at once at the praise. He couldn’t stop the soft little sounds that worked their way out of his mouth every time Kyle’s dick hit the back of his throat. He hollowed his cheeks. He dug his fingers into Kyle’s squirming hips.

“Fuck,” Kyle pushed against Guy’s shoulders, “Guy, fuck, I’m gonna…”

Guy grabbed Kyle’s thighs and closed them tight around his head.

“So fuckin' good, you’re so fuckin' good for me, baby,” Kyle’s head tipped back and he stilled.

Guy greedily drank down everything he was given.

Kyle tried to sit up but he kept sliding in his own sweat. He reached his hand up and laughed, “Here, help me up. Switch me.”

Guy was biting his lip, pondering the lovely sight before him.

“What?” Kyle asked. “What’s that look for?”

“Can I just, you know, look at’cha?”

“You sure?”

“Oh yeah.”

“Okay,” Kyle shrugged. He leaned back into his comfortable position with his arms over his head again.

“You’re so goddamn beautiful,” Guy sighed, taking himself in hand.

Kyle found himself unable to look away from the motion and felt his cheeks heat up. Watching Guy work himself was powerfully masculine and erotic. Kyle could feel his entire body coiling with desire again at the sight. He raised his legs up, running the arches of his feet along Guy’s calves.

Guy ran his fingertips over the tattoo on Kyle’s thigh—a row of the solar system’s planets. “When’d ya get this one?”

“Long time ago. It’s kinda like those bumper stickers people get every time they visit a land mark. I did each planet. The first time I went there. When I was a new Lantern.”

“Nine of em?” Guy panted out.

“Yup. Pluto counts.”

“Good, “ Guy smiled. A bead of sweat rolled down his temple, “N’at one?” He asked, gesturing to the cartoon skull and crossbones on Kyle’s bicep. “Hm. You wanna talk about another man touching me right now?” Kyle teased.

“I dunno,” Guy replied, surprisingly unfazed. His eyes were dark with desire, “Is he hot?”

Kyle couldn’t hold in his laugh. He was not discussing Roy on a scale of 1-10 right now. No way. He started to laugh in earnest and covered his face.

“Don’t do that,” Guy panted, “Tell me later. Come back.”

Kyle dropped his hands to his waist, where he twisted his fingers together awkwardly. “Is this one your favorite?” He asked, trailing his fingers along the ‘W’ on his hip. Guy’s hand started pumping faster.

“Yeah.”

Kyle let his hands trail slowly over his body. He watched the way Guy’s eyes followed the motion. He played with his nipples, pinched them, and smiled at the way it made them both hiss.

“Look at me,” Kyle said, “Keep your eyes open for me.”

Guy grunted in response, but did as he was asked. When he came he nearly lost his balance. Kyle sat up, reaching his hands out. Not thinking, he gripped Guy around the ribs. When Guy twisted away, he jerked back immediately.

“Shit! I’m so sorry! You okay?”

“I’m good,” Guy said with a dopey smile. “All good.”

“You haven’t taken any of your medicine today, have you?” Kyle frowned.

“Psh, what do I need Oxycontin for when I got all this oxytocin, huh?” Guy smiled. He reached out and pinched Kyle’s cheek, “My little drug dealer.” He chuckled and stretched—gingerly as he had forgotten about his ribs again already.

“You sure you’re good?”

“Everything’s good when I got you, baby.”

#*myfic #guykyle #peace love and guykyle #i love cars so much sorry

11 notes · View notes

waitmyturtles · 1 year

Text

(Please forgive me if any of this has already been written — I haven’t gone through all the reviews on the tag yet!) I have ZERO BUSINESS commenting on Midnight Museum, considering I only began watching from episode 5 ONLY for the guest stars, but since friends are puzzling over the plot, and it’s as confusing to me as I’m seeing in the reviews, I just want to say:

1) There is clearly a mishmash of religious/spiritual commentary happening here. I know far too little about the influence of Hinduism on the history of the Thai cultural spectrum, but give me an ashram and castes (and spiritual figures keeping people out of religious spaces for their castes), and I’ll say that’s a commentary on gatekeeping in sub-continentally-influenced regions.

2) Couple that with a burning at the stake. Could this have been a reference to the American Salem Witch Trials? I feel like that’s a REALLY specific American reference in a Thai show. The Spanish Inquisition also had burnings at stakes. So maybe that’s a reference as well?

3) In trying to parse Khatha and Chan/Dome’s situation, what’s really coming to my mind by way of comparison is Achilles and Patroclus. Achilles and Patroclus of the Iliad were… what, exactly? Certainly companions. Maybe friends? Likely lovers — likely lovers, as was common during the time of Homer, when subordinate male soldiers served as… what, exactly — companions, friends, lovers, to more powerful soldiers.

It’s foggy. It’s assumed, but our assumptions in modern times do not account for the unspoken cultures that were assumed for Homer’s time. History can be foggy…. as is being portrayed in Midnight Museum.

But besides the lovers bit (ship ship ship), here’s what I think are the important parts:

a) Patroclus was adopted by Achilles’s father. They were raised in the same family — but it’s not clear if they were raised as brothers, per se, or more like supportive friends/companions. Some theorize that Patroclus was kind of like a servant-friend to Achilles (even though Patroclus was older than Achilles — so that may indicate a kind of caste-or-class-like difference there, too).

b) It’s often written that Achilles allowed Patroclus to die. Patroclus asked Achilles to enter the Trojan War. Achilles consented. After Patroclus defied an order from Achilles, Patroclus was killed.

It was Patroclus who defied an order — but at least, when I read and learned about the Iliad in college, it was taught that his death was attributed to Achilles.

c) As we all know, Achilles also had a “weak leg,” but Patroclus, of course, didn’t heal Achilles’s tendon. I think the healing parable there is just Patroclus’s companionship to Achilles, who was known as a totally fearsome warrior.

In the show, we are told that Khatha was the one who killed Chan. But we don’t see Khatha lighting the fire. We just see Chan cursing Khatha.

I’m not sure we can trust history here. And I don’t know how to put this all together. (And I have almost no idea of why Ton/Nanon came back, which was why I watched this episode in the first place, dammit.)

But the last thing I’ll say is:

4) There is a goddess in Hinduism named Devi. Devi is often referred to as “The Mother.” Many have called her “The One.” What Devi represents is the “oneness” of the world — that while there are countless practices, countless deities, countless ways of being, that Devi represents that we are all ultimately As One. Wikipedia has Devi down as representative of “ultimate truth and supreme power.”

I’ll say again that I have really no idea what’s happening with the plot. But I wonder if awllllll of these spiritual references are beginning to coalesce under that figure known as The One (and hell, I might tell a whole bunch of Indian aunties that a Thai show might be serving GUN ATTHAPHAN as an avatar of Devi—those home shrines could look a whole lot different).

The One is making Khatha face… something. Truth? Foggy history? The theme of the show is The Witch’s Game, and Anthikka has referenced a Creator in previous episodes, so maybe truth seeking is all a game to her and her god. What I’m honestly wondering about this show is whether or not it is a huge, confusing, macro commentary on the crazy-ass diversity of religion/spirituality/mythology, and how it can lead to the perception of various realities, as it were, when in fact — we are all just One Humanity, One Truth, and we are possibly fucking each other over by way of our selfish preferences (as Khatha wanted Chan all to himself) (but then Khatha let Chan go) (so Chan dies) (and Khatha is to blame).

I…. I just feel like there might be a simpler way to explain all of this in a drama, but who am I to be critical? At least the acting is great, even if Gun has to play like, five or six roles!

#midnight museum #i won’t call this meta because i unfairly jumped in the middle of this #gun atthaphan #roadtrip posts #how many references to religions and myths can this show fit in

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kthynes · 2 years

Text

infliction

18+

Steve comes to you as a broken man.

sin and sorrow masterlist

warnings: course language, brief mentions of blood. Falsified death. Mafia dealings and volition. Angst, pent up aggression, familial resentment.

word count: 4.3k

pairing: mob!Steve x CEO!fem reader; mentions of a Senator!Andy Barber

authors note: big shoutout to the one nonnie who kept checking back on this mini mosh series. I remember your asks every time I go in to edit and write this piece. I appreciate you so very much and I hope that you (and anyone else reading) enjoy this spin out of a story xxxx

This has not been beta’d. Any mistakes are my own.

Ever since the club ordeal, you never heard back from Steve that night onwards. The days turned into months and your forefronted help wasn’t needed after all. Albeit, you still forged his tax returns and balanced a mountainous amount of cheques. Business went on as per usual. He didn’t ask for you. Call on you. Or even arrange a follow up. You were, for the most part, left alone.

So why did you feel indebted? Expectant almost?

“Fuck.” You were dry shaving despite routine. Egregious by will, you agreed to be somewhat presentable and astute. Not that it required much.

“Please tell me you’re ready.” Cyrah, your best friend of uncountable years, laments loudly over the phone. She’s set you up with a hot date, an attorney turned Senator from Boston, another townie recalled for your commiseratation. You knew very little about this man, except for the fact that he was 6’2 and a dom. You were reluctantly sold on a sex dream, behest your devotion to being single and independent.

“Y/N!”

You wince, noticing traces of blood smearing against the dull razor and your chafed Achilles’ tendon. It’s agonizing to say that beauty is pain when all you wanted to do was drop dead.

“You know what…” You pitch while aggressively chucking things away in your lavish ensuite. First the ruddy razor, then the wet cloth. You surrender your truce. The hem of your dress is hitched up and over your thong clad ass, feeling an expected breeze as you wipe down your sandpaper legs with a towel.

“This’ll do. This will have to do.” You proclaim to yourself, half done up while knocking back the rest of your Cabernet. “I’m dressed. My makeup is on, whitening strips off. Completely hairless. Pussy poppin’—“

“You did not just say that.” She cackles.

The overheated phone goes from one ear to another. “God, I don’t know what it is that I can say or do that’ll get me out of this.”

“Funny. What’s going on, babes?” She softly patronizes.

“I’m being serious Cy. There isn’t a bone in my body that feels good right now.” Premonition maybe?

“It’s just a date, Y/N. Not a debilitating disease. You have absolutely nothing to lose.” Her voice follows you out to a lonelier precipice.

“Easy for you to say, you’re always playing a new man every night.” You grovel, pacing out of one room and to another. You were looking for something, although forgetfulness is a constant woe.

“So I’ve retired. Now FaceTime me. I wanna see the full haute couture.”

You stalk around your penthouse loft and finally set the ringing phone down on the small half table by the door. Following a lungful exhale, you step back to adjust your stance in an elongated satin pearl white dress. The spaghetti straps were tied up in small little bows which then drew attention to your cleavage and shapely figure. The hot pink strappy, wrap around heels made you stand taller than intended and that was enough to throw Cyrah into a fraternizing fit.

“Damn girl, look at you. And those shoes!” She appears nose first into the screen, squinty eyed and speculative.

“Stuart Weitzman.”

“Pftttt like I’d know! Turn around.” You shamelessly do a 360 for her, hands pivoting in the air as if the Queen of England could’ve done any better. “Ass, ass, hot ass!”

“All thanks to Dalton.” You mention your faithful trainer. Cyrah tuts, hooting on about her dislike for gyms and fitness. There’s some silence as you get adjusted, scampering for your tennis bracket and rings and then finding a moment to put on some earrings. Your ornate ability to play nice has Cyrah grinning from ear to ear. She knows you were going to put out. It’s been a long time coming. Even all of Sinderson had their stock money on it.

“I’m going to head out soon but I do owe you for this.”

“Just have fun and we’ll call it even.” Cyrah abids in the distance.

You pause to make a face, opening your mouth to say something crucial before getting startled by a loud, ceremonious bang. The door rattles off its hinges when a succession of impatient knocks erupts through the annex. The phone falls flat against the glass countertop, shielding Cyrah into darkness.

“What the fuck was that?”

“I have no idea.” You answer, brows drawn together.

“Y/N do you need back up?”

“It’s fine.” You calmly state following a voice that, in any circumstances, was the most recognizable.

“Open up!” An unrelenting pupil called out while roughly wiggling the brass knob. You barely get the door open when two men finally barge in.

“Oh good you’re home.” Bucky hisses, impaled by the infractions of his own dismay. He’s lugging around another man who looks to be in terrible shape. He’s hunched over, a hand clutching his side. Bloodied and bruised.

“What are you doing here James?” You stand afar while becoming a stranger in your own home. Bucky deposits the wounded man onto the sectional, giving you a clear sight of Steve. Your insides twist into an undoable knot. He tries to sit up, neck tilted back as his eyes glaze over the ceiling moulding, chest rising and falling.

“Oh my god, is he OK?” You don’t recognize the discerning pitch in your tone, eyes wide open, mouth agape.

“See Buck, I told you she’d give a shit.” Steve adds weakly. It’s the first time you see him like this. Hurt, powerless and at mercy. The deafening perils of his own doings were finally catching up to him. And now you’re reaping those repercussions as well.

“Never thought I’d see the day of light,” You mutter, rushing to his side like a willing assailant.

“Now there’s a lie.” The chary look on his face lulls when you place a hand over his. He’s sprawled back, knees apart, breath baited as your eyes meet. There’s some tenseness, deliberation. Every iota behind Steve’s aquatic blue eyes swirled with contemplation, crinkling in the corners to conceal the throbbing pain.

“Let me see.”

There isn’t a word said otherwise as you begin to move his rigid hand away from the side of his soiled white Givenchy dress shirt.

He groans a firm ‘easy’ that ruminates every sensation. Steve tips his head back, surrendering a bloody palm that lays flat on this thigh.

“Unbelievable.” You enunciate, inspecting a half open wound. Fresh blood defaces the fabric of your dress as you lean in to take a closer look. Maimed with a bit of dry and glistening gore, you couldn’t look away. There’s an enticing allure that keeps you focused.

“You look nice.” He murmurs right in your hair, taking in the sweet nostalgic scent of white floral and patchouli that placates his senses for a fleeting moment.

You peer up at him, nose to nose, eyes feigning your innocence that quickly shuns him.

“Of all the things you could say to me right now.” Steve weeds a delicate smile, forcibly extricating his need to hold you close. His likeness grew fond and strong. He was sure enough that you were his woman. But for now he’d have to shelf that thought out of delirium, letting his eyes fall shut again.

“We need you to watch him.” Bucky sweeps through your studio with zero regard, checking behind every chiffon curtain and balcony window that takes up half the space.

“She’s not doing anything.” Cyrah intercepts. She was still on the line. Thank god.

“Cyrah, long time, no fuck.” He booms from one room and into another, grabbing your unattended phone with him.

“Leave her alone Buck.” She says a little too wearily. They start to have a more serious conversation as Bucky rounds the guest room, keeping his tone at ease.

“So who was it this time?” You calmly inquired in private while seated on the edge of your seat. Anger wasn’t your prized countenance but with Steve it was a permanent one.

“Couldn’t tell you.” He cat stretches himself out on the couch, almost pulling you in with him.

“What ever happened to the bloody knuckle rule?” You reflexively move back.

“Oh angel, you gotta take a hit every now and then.” He harrumphed, arms slung over the couch top as if he were being crucified. He turns his head over slightly, besting his predicament with some factuality and sarcasm that you don’t see for. “Though this time it was a stray bullet… Undecided between the head and the heart.” He laughs.

You emote a million different emotions, shoulders sulking with pitiful dread. A soft, pathetic ‘oh my god’ escapes your lips.

“It doesn’t feel as bad as it looks, I promise.” He falters, just as concerned for you.

“He needs to be admitted to a hospital.” You advocate.

“Bruce is on his way.” Bucky appears from the hidden troves and tosses your phone onto the couch cushion next to you. “He should be able to take care of this.”

“I think my little sparrows got it.” Steve teases in a daze, deliberately wanting your soft hands to nurse him back to good health. You’re a bit uncomfortable.

“How far away is he?” You inquire.

“Zipping down Adelaide as we speak.”

“Great, then I’ll make myself useful elsewhere.” You get up on your feet feeling ten times heavier than before.

“That won’t be necessary.” Bucky cautions.

“Stay.” Steve softly pleads. Your gaze bounces from the two men, incredulous.

“This is incriminating.” You fathom.

“So be it… Sam and Nat have the area covered. But for now we need you here.” Bucky demanded while keeping surveillance. Your silence earns a catalytic eyeful. “Can you do that?”

“Bucky.” You give your fondest nemesis a sideways look. He mirrors the same hardened expression to no avail.

“Please, Y/N. This isn’t me asking.”

🩸

It’s for certain that if you fully let yourself go then you’re just like him but worse. Every part of you spited the New York gangland and being a seldom ally was unfavourable to repent. You were essentially stuck in a tax bracket, piling on a different reputation for yourself and being an absolute phoney at it.

But as the admonitory saying went—Do as he says. Not as he does.

"He should be fine now.” Bruce appears before you, glasses perched on the bridge of his nose while passing you a grave look. You stand right by the corridor, leaning against the wall adjacent to the guest bedroom. Unmoved throughout the night, your lips press into a fine line, motioning him with a carefully longing demure.

“The stitches are somewhat tight so make sure he’s not being riled up which I believe requires you to hold your tongue for once.” He tuts, completely jaded by the ordinary. You glare at him, jaw shifting. “Otherwise, bed rest and plenty of fluids should get him going.”

“For how long?”

“Could be a couple of days, given the fact that he nearly suffered from major blood loss and acute sepsis.” Bruce walks you out to the dimly lit living room, standing at a safe distance as he searches and gathers his belongings.

“Oh my god.” You proclaim, a hand pressed to your forehead.

“Not to worry, I’ll check up on him throughout the week and there’ll be a nurse on standby to dress the wound and run vitals as needed.” He tugs on his ear mid-thought. “Also no painkillers, just a double cask.”

Your face drops. He softly chuckles.

“I’m just messing with you. He's only on local anesthetic which should be wearing off soon.”

“Great.” You grumble.

Bruce unrolls each shirt sleeve with precision, stalling in silence. “So I’m guessing he didn’t tell you?”

“Tell me what exactly?”

“He has a warrant out for him.” He meets your leery gaze, enticed by your fleeting ingenuity.

“The NYPD has a ‘no say, no tell’ matter of course. They usually don’t interfere in his business.”

“Sure. If that’s what you think.” He answers, sardonic and reproachful.

You take a few short steps, closing in on him while categorically choosing your words.

“What am I supposed to know?” You challenge at a calmer stance.

“There are some documents that I need you to look over and act as a witness to.” He explains while rummaging through his satchel. You simply nod, thinking very little. “They’re sort of… official.”

“That’s it?”

“Take a look and see for yourself.” He urges while handing over the Manila folder. In the partially sealed envelope there’s a small bundle of documents and prurient detail that glazes past your scope of thought. That is until your eyes land on the last page. Your heart races in your throat, stomach churning at the words embossed in courier M font.

Medical death certificate.

“What the fuck?” You whisper yell, frantically looking up at the chief doctor himself. “This can’t be legitimate.”

“No, it's temporary avoidance.”

“That much I figured.” You huff with buoyant frustration, flinging the notice far from your reach. The sealed documents land on the rug by the coffee table. A careless reckoning that you refused to fall accomplice to. “Why’s he doing this?”

“You’re better off asking him yourself.” Bruce’s time is honoured as you walk him to the door, slowly stopping at the marbled landing.

“Who am I to him?” You rebut.

He scoffs, getting on his proverbial high horse that reminds you of your place. “You are the neck that turns his head.”

Wrong.

“Thank you… for everything.” You snap, holding the door wide open.

“Of course.” He nods before biding his time elsewhere.

🩸

At the break of dawn you finally decided to creep into the guest room. Making your presence small while surrounded by eye blinking darkness. You’re overcome. Angry and devoid. You were…

“You’re awake.” Steve incites in a deep sleepy baritone, buried under a swamp of sheets that quietly rustle. You suck in a deep breath, offloading your disarmament with fervour. You hated every bit of confrontation yet here you were, in the lion's den.

“Couldn’t really sleep.” You answer.

“Come lay down with me then.” He infers. There’s a slight air of confidence as he begins to readjust himself against the quilted upholstery.

Through his struggle you didn’t flinch to help. He had it down to a contentious science. Hurt and almost boastful, he finally slumped against the headboard, staring at you dead in the eyes.

“You did this on purpose.” You finally retaliate.

“Angel…”

“I’ve bear witness to a lot of things but this…” you flap the folder for show. “This isn’t my call.”

“Nor is it your concern.” He hisses. “I just need you—”

“Need me to what, huh?”

“Just be with me.” He groans, eyes screwed shut as he tries to get comfortable.

“I’m not for you Steve.” You patronize him, longingly.

“I guess not.” He spitefully surrenders, coughing a lungful that rasps every manageable word. “Fucked if I do. Fucked if I don’t.”

You’re back on your feet, getting him water before sitting back down on the edge of the bed.

“Is my father after you?” You ask, watching him take shallow sips of water in a daze.

“I wish.” He gully answers. Steve doesn’t keep in touch with your father despite his satirizing tendencies. The two men stay at arms length of the other for reasons that have your best interest at heart. It’s honorific actually.

“Tony?”

“No.” He enunciates, watching your beautiful expressions flummox some more.

“HYDRA?” You quirk.

“Are we going off the roaster now?” He finally sets the empty tumbler aside, showing off his trivially healthy physique.

“Might as well.”

Steve sighs, looking gravely inept. He’s always admired your tenacious spirit that tests his hard kept valour.

“My father wants to reign his own dynasty.” He claims. “My dynasty.”

“All of sudden?” You ebb with confusion, leaning into the conversation with concern.

Steve was a mob man from infancy. A glock thrust in hand, he’s never known another honest way of life. So this came as a surprise, an inimical one to privy.

“Well that’a because I picked a bone with him.”

“Steve.”

“Son of a gun decided to get remarried and so without will or way, there’s been some inheritance pandering.” Steve’s been escrowed for his existence and every second meant that he’d be held financially culpable. Something he’s never had to consider till now.

“That’s… wait what?” Your thoughts consume you. A million to one.

“Be my eyes and ears.” He calmly pursues. This time he was being sincere. “See what’s being moved around, scope out the infiltrator.”

You shake your head, befuddled. “We talked about this months ago, Steve. You need a benefactor.”

“Which is where you come in.” He calmly adjourns. “I’ve seen your track record and you move money better than any other capitalist institution out there. If you can forge and freeze my accounts then I can go ahead and acquire my shares.”

“If it were that easy. Why don’t you offer a pay out? Even a collateral?” You rack out all the possibilities.

“Not a chance.” He hisses as the pain resurges.

“You have land, ammunition. How about pawning off those useless boats down by the harbour?”

“I’m a made man, Angel.” He forewarned. “Nothing goes.”

“With an ego at that.” You scoff to yourself. “I’m just in the way.”

“Then stay as you are.” One too many intercessions kept Steve away from you. Not this time around.

“I have an early morning so I’m going to turn myself in.” You begin as his eyes follow your quick upward ascent. “If there’s anything you might need, just knock on the wall behind you.”

“Do I scare you?”

You freeze, tailbone pressed against the bedpost as your feet barely touch the floor rug. Steve’s ingenuity was starkly contrasted by the bruising on the side of his face. His brows drawn together formed a grimace altogether. Some days this look would make sense but right now it paralyzed you with unsureness.

“No.” Your response is almost immediate. It cuts through him as he discernibly takes in your cold defensive demeanour.

“So how can I make this easier on you?” He pageants on the low.

“By doing the right thing.”

He exhales, shaking his head. “We’ve been in this together for the long run, Angel. If anything, your moral code is a bit convoluted, don’t you think?”

“Maybe I’m finally coming to my senses. Better late than never right?” You retort, reminding him of the many wayward instances that you’ve been at his beck and call. Immune to the worst possible scenarios. A be all, end all.

“Maybe.” He growls. “But when have I ever let you down?”

“There can be many firsts.” You assure. Knowing Steve for nearly four years meant Jack shit. He’d still run you to your wits end and be covetous about it. Who were you to take any chances?

“I wouldn’t see for it.” A disproportionate smile graces his lips as you land on your feet and pad across the room, scouring the dormant abode, high and low.

“You have far more potential than who you are and who you choose to be in this lifetime.” You say while peering through the rod pocket curtains that overlooks an empty south side lot and an unmarked Escalade in tow. Natasha.

“You’re not a preacher's kid to tell me that.”

You exhale loudly, drawing back from the windowsill and the lingering chill. “No but I have every right to tell you how it is.”

“Look at you.” Steve begins a fixated taunt. “It’s as if you care.”

“You’re dead to me.” You snarl, rounding the room in distracted fashion. “Gone.”

“And that right there is the plan.” He points while meandering a mirthless chuckle.

“I’ll keep the door open just in case.” You curtly state from the doorframe, sound on leaving.

Steve keeps to himself. There’s nothing he can say or add to that’ll appease the situation. It was a lost cause. He wasn’t on your side and your jarring discretion told him just that.

“You have me when you need me. That’s it.” Upon hearing this Steve’s jaw ticks. The way you said it roused some frustration. But by the next second you were already out of the guest room and in the cold abyss of your own bedroom. You exhale loud and long, shutting the door right behind you.

Steve was presumed dead. Trouble was assailing. Your father would definitely catch wind of the ordeal and call upon a sermon. You couldn’t face him or the fact that you had to answer to Steve’s attorney, suppliers, his father and family who were going to be at your neck once you made your requests on his behalf.

The underworld was now your surrendering. Every timely plight became something more undetermined. Dangerous enough to keep you on edge, let alone alive.

You truly couldn’t scathe past this.

🩸

The kitchen was spotless. The windows were sprung open. Everything was back in its original place like a pristine IKEA catalogue. You’ve salvaged your couch cushions whereas your favourite pearl satin dress was bloodied and slung over in a body bag. You’ve fallen into another day's routine. There’s a grave look on your face that replays your contemplation. Rush hour traffic and now a lurking presence keeps you a foot.

“Would you like some coffee?” You ask while absently stirring some Christmas creamer in your mug.

“If it’s on you then sure.”

“Nothing is on me.” You grit and boy did Steve wish that statement held some water. He grins as you turn around and flail an arm towards the kitchenette. “Please help yourself.”

“Are you always going to fight me?” He humours, looking lascivious in a plain white tee and sweats while limping towards you. Even in his wounded state he somehow looked affably fuckable. Don’t go there Y/N.

“Yes.” You say into your mug.

“Good to know.” He stands before you at an astonishing height. He’s close, crooning with high strung arrogance and expectancy. You were in the way, so very intoxicated by his emblematic scent that his inquest ambushes you. “Do you mind?”

Fuck me.

“No! Not at all, please have at it.” You recomposed and scurried away. He grins, watching your every move as a sign of bridled grace.

You found a niche little corner to awkwardly occupy. The proctored silence is overwhelming. Steve looks through each cabinet and grabs himself a mug to inspect. He’s making himself right at home as you pander business.

“Bucky called.”

Steve looks over his broad shoulder, brows raised while simultaneously pouring coffee into a Mickey Mouse shaped mug. “There’s a safe house down in Port Hope. You’ll be there and I’ll come to you.”

“That’s not how it’s gonna work.” He rebuts, taking his coffee black and choosing to be an authoritative piece of shit.

“What?”

“I’ll get you, wait on you if there’s counsel. Be a so-called gentleman on the lookout.” He mutters. You prime him with a disapproving look. “I need you to be on your own and as unassuming as possible.”

Steve was trying to protect you at best even though other circumstances led him to believe that you were his ride or die.

“Okay fine.” You concur. “What else?”

“You’ll be in touch with Alfie shortly. He’s got a slew of paperwork to go over with you before the press catches wind.” Alfie Ross, a disbarred lawyer who’s been doing shoddy charitable work on Steve’s payroll since the turn of a new decade. Your interactions with him have always been liminal and now your hands pushed paper just for them.

“Sure.” Steve continued to talk at you, foreseeing every partial detail on a grander scheme. You had about 30 minutes of listening capacity before you left for work. 28 minutes were up.

“This is all on me, Y/N.” He concludes with a seldom promise. Your gaze narrows while gathering your purse strings, initially adamant on leaving but then keen on his saviour like vocation. “My father will want answers and he’ll be conniving at that. But you’re my girl. You’re right here with me and so your safety is my top priority.”

“Right from the horse's mouth...” You deadpan while reaching for your phone. “Work calls. Do you think you’ll be OK on your own?”

“I’ll be fine.” He assesses your urgency with coyness, taking another large sip of coffee that deepens his tone. “Now go on. Be a ‘girl boss.’ Or a finance bro, I’m sure they’re a type.”

“Not mine.” You scoff already halfway out the door.

He continues to muse. “I’m sure there’s a rerun of Growing Pains on channel 6.”

“No visitors.” You stop to remind him.

“Oh yeah?” He quips while plopping himself on the chaise. The pain swelters a bit before he grunts, driving another hypothetical wedge. “What ‘bout that Andy fella?”

Steve knew everything there is to know about you and how you were waned into random impromptu date nights with men that were not him.

“He’s long gone. Not that it’s any of your business.” You sass and Steve is happy with himself, aimlessly flipping through the channels as you locked up to his soundly farewell.

“Have a good day, Angel.” He’d get to you some day and you’d be right there with him. Timing meant waiting. But it also meant everything.

#mob!steve x reader #steve rogers x y/n #steve rogers x you #steve rogers fanfiction #chris evans

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cybermeep · 2 months

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something i remember mentioning in a draft, although not sure as to if i ever said it aloud; whenever i wear my doc martens, i have a crippling fear they’ll cut into my achilles heel and leave me unable to move.. now, i know in actuality you might just have slight motion problems, not be left immobile, but its always been a prevalent fear. ive been afraid of being cut around that area for.. years, now. below the cut (hah) is uh. some stuff mentioning the wound and personal things. sort of just depressing.

…when i wore my black pair of doc martens recently, even with thick socks, i remember they hurt. the black pair is likely to be a bit too small. i remember getting home and my achilles tendon feeling absolutely awful. i take off my sock to see, oh wow, two injuries! IN THE AREA! suffice to say i freaked out.

now, imagine you’re wearing a regular pair, one not too small— your arm is fucked up, (im just being honest here, if you want me to lie to the like, two people that read these, i don’t see the point.) in emotional pain, cried uncomfortably earlier in the day, and now are home. taking them off.

..a pool of blood had formed and soaked up into one of my socks, i bled so much from the area. i wasn’t even aware, but after figuring it out i was afraid. i now have a bandage on the area. i feel overwhelming uncomfortable in my own body. i dont like feeling the pulsing of a wound; it disturbs me.

now here i sit, arm scraped and heel uncomfortably vulnerable. i puked, and i still went and got up. it wasnt worth it.

as i walked by the wetlands near my house, i felt myself tear up at a memory. of a time when i was naïve and simply wanted to do new things; of the time i collected mushrooms in the pouring rain, marveled at vernal pools. i checked my mailbox; the spiders were nowhere to be found. i saw a roly poly while i was unlocking my front door; i looked above me and saw the long squished carcass of a bug, its blood green. i felt myself shake as i looked away from it and fumbled to find my keys.

i think about the small area i was in, the one next to the cafeteria with a small bench. i remember starting to tear up at the realization i was uncomfortably nothing in my seat, turning away as to at least somewhat hide my tears, to then have a teacher ask me if i was okay. i said i was fine; i just wanted to leave. i didn’t want to be seen crying—i dislike having people see me in emotional distress in that way.

sitting in there reminded me of the last time i was in that place, which seemed to make me feel even worse and cry just a bit harder. eventually i was able to compose myself and was able to get a small drink. i then got a friend a drink for her friend, as she was dehydrated.

as i sit here, in my bed, awaiting a bureaucratic lady to come stop by, i feel the following statement ring as true to an uncomfortable degree;

i am physically, emotionally, and mentally at my fucking limit.

….i will be fine, by all accounts. like ive mentioned before, i don’t die easily. its just.. jarring, to realize. even now i don’t have the ability to sit in the solace of my own room and cry, as she’ll be here any second and most certainly will wonder about my tears. It feels as if im stuck in some box i wasn’t aware i was inside of.

i want to go home, but i am home.

#wound mention #<- just incase…#cybers tangents

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peggy-sue-reads-a-book · 2 years

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Oh, My Sunlight

Pairing: Patroclus x Achilles

Rating: Mature

Additional tags: hurt/comfort, angst, blood, soulmates, Underworld

Summary: Patroclus reunites with his beloved Achilles at the entrance of the Underworld.

Part I

… and light spills in a flood like a hundred golden urns pouring out of the sun.

Patroclus:

Incoherent with relief. The words sound familiar. I have thought them before. My heart races. Not the memory of my heart, but my real true blood rushing, thudding to life, pulsing heavy in my ears, heating the surface of my skin.

“Patroclus!” he is the first to speak. His beautiful voice. But it cracks with panic. I was distracted, too overwhelmed to ask why he does not hold me: now I wonder how many seconds his hand has been pressed to my stomach, grasping to stem the blood. It floods between his fingers, down his wrists. And the pain which has for years been a dream returns in pounding downbeats. A spear. Bruising rocks below the wall. “Patroclus, you’re hurt!”

He is slower to illuminate, his shadow weaker. I would cling to him but am seized with fear I cannot keep him. It had happened to Orpheus. Tears rush, the gold of his hair bleached and brittle, dangling to his waist.

I cannot see this.

“Patroclus, y-your bleeding.”

A plea so strangled no one would know him but me. I am sick. He’s as skinny as the day he fell. His lips are parched. There are deep, puffy shadows beneath his eyes. He stares at me, eyes unable to land. Hector had kicked my teeth in. My skin is in rags. And the panic in his beautiful eyes. I cannot see this.

“Patroclus,” he chokes. And I realize what has happened. He waited for me at the mouth of the underworld. He has had years to go mad. “Th-they offered me water … to forget. They said it would make it stop … that I could move on.” His breath rattles. “Oh, Patroclus, I couldn’t!”

I can’t hear this anymore. My Achilles allowed to lose his mind when someone should have made him pass into the underworld, made him forget. They let him wait here and worry like an abandoned dog. I say, “I would have found you.”

He tenses, flushing to life. “Patroclus, I’m so tired.” There is color again, his irises a shocking green in their bloodshot whites. I reach to touch him. As gently as possible. His flesh is priceless gold to me. He seizes my hand but his grip is light. I look down and tendons stand in the ghost’s hand with the effort to make me feel him. When I find Hades, I will kill him for leaving him here. I think this and it does not even register as absurd.

And then I feel it. The sting of my wound lessening. A sharp pain in my wrist — I forgot it had been crushed by a chariot wheel- and then it ebbs away. The blood stops, and my flesh closes beneath his hand. For a moment there is wonder on his face. Then he is sobbing again. “I know,” he says, “I thought about it. I thought—I thought that it would be easier for you.”

“Achilles, it doesn’t matter. You have me.”

“I mean if I forgot all of it. It would be easier for you if I did not know you. You were so loyal”, he says miserably, “if I ran to you, you would not stop me. You would never be unkind. His face blanches. I let you go.”

He thinks I cannot forgive him, that at this moment I am only being patient. I take both his hands and fold them against my chest, chaffing warmth into his arms. “You’re freezing, love.”

He turns his face away from me. “I was so selfish,” he whispers “You. Briseis. It was because of me. I let you go.”

“Hector,” I correct him.

His shoulders drop in hopelessness. I breath and begin to comb through his hair with my fingers. I will see its sunshine return.

“What are you doing?” he says sharply, not looking at me. He’s never spoken to me this way before. Bitter.

“Taking care of you.”

He stands rigid, angry, as I smooth his hair, clean away his tears. When I lean to kiss his swollen eyes, he barks, “enough! Stop it, Patroclus, enough! You’re dead because of me don’t you understand that?!”

He sees my tears.

“I should comfort you,” he whispers. His face is scorched with humiliation. I know that face. Aristos Achaion can’t stop crying and he hates it. “I waited for you. Did you know? I wanted to be right here. I thought— You would come and I would be here for you. I’d carry you to heaven if you wanted.”

More than anything I want our life together, his hand on my cheek, his lips in my hair. All this which is gone from me. How do I say you were worth my life?

He crushes me against him, rubbing his face against me like a young child. “I’m sorry, Patroclus, I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Philtatos, my beloved, you can’t go. I’m sorry. I can’t do this, you can’t go anywhere from me again please, you can’t, I’m so sorry.”

I listen, stroking his back the way he likes. This was his bad dream. The one I had woken to when we were boys and he has been so embarrassed. Awkwardly, I had held him. The memory is sharp and lucid again. I hold his face and press my nose to his. I remember that. The boy in my arms. Joy I will never lose, will never see taken from me again.

“Patroclus, I love you.”

I tighten myself around Achilles and he is again a miracle.

Listening to Damien Rice, 9 Crimes and I Don’t Want to Change You.

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another-whump-sideblog · 2 years

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Jane’s Chapter Pt. 1: Things in Jane’s Basement

TWs in the tags

Masterlist

1. Chains. There are piles of them in the corners and they hang from various hooks on the ceiling and walls. You start to realize something is very, very wrong.

2. Blood. What else could it be? It stains everything. There’s even some splattered on the ceiling. Oh god. Oh god.

3. Knives. Lots and lots of knives, of every possible variety. Why the fuck are there so many knives? What could she possibly need so many knives for?

4. Tools. Normally that wouldn’t be very suspicious, but seeing pliers and hammers and drills laid out next to chains and knives, it feels wrong. Things are starting to fall into place. Odd things about Jane that you decided to ignore suddenly make sickening sense. You should be running, but you’re frozen, unable to look away. This can’t be real.

5. A car battery. That’s what that is, right? You haven’t seen one outside of a car before. It has wires hooked up to it, arranged neatly beside the other weapons. She used these on people. She used these on Kit and Dollie. Oh god, Oh fuck-

6. Syringes. So many syringes, some with stuff in them and some empty. There are bottles too, some with poison warnings on them. Kit was never delusional. Jane was torturing them and they warned you over and over again and instead you listened when Jane said they were still trying to find a medication that would curb the paranoia.

7. Muzzles and collars and leashes. What did she do to them? What the fuck?

8. Whips and ropes. Some are stained with blood. You need to leave, you need to leave right now. But can you leave the others behind?

You feel a presence behind you. Shit.

9. Jane. “I told you not to go into the basement, Bunny.” She giggles and tugs on your arm so you face her. “Aww, you’re shaking. Are you ready to see what happens to disobedient pets?”

10. Zip ties. She ties your legs together, tight tight tight, and chains your wrists to the wall. “There’s a good Bunny, already know better than to fight me. If you’d tried to run, I would’ve sliced your Achilles tendons! I’ll go easy on you, since you’re being so good.” You're frozen in fear, so terrified you can barely comprehend what she’s saying.

11. A box of nails. It goes with the hammer. She presses a nail against your left elbow, smiling. You can’t move no matter how hard you try. Why are you freezing up like this???

She brings down the hammer and drives the nail into your elbow, and you can move again. You writhe and scream and thrash and all you can feel is pain pain pain, you can’t even label it as sharp or cold or aching, it’s just pain running all through your arm and it won’t stop, it won’t stop it won’t stop! You hear giggling.

12. A hose. She waits for you to stop screaming before getting up to pull it out. You’ve traded the screaming out for begging, thinking back to what she said earlier. “Please, please, I’ll be good, I won’t disobey, please stop, I’ll be a good bunny, a good pet, whatever you want, please don’t hurt me, I won’t fight you, I’ll be good, I learned my lesson-“ you are cut off by a powerful blast of cold water that slams you against the wall. Water fills your lungs and it keeps coming, keeps coming, and your throat burns and you’re feeling lightheaded (heavy-headed? You feel light and heavy and the same time) when the water stops.

You cough up water and it hurts so bad in your chest and your throat and your nose and your arm, fuck, everything hurts please make it stop please please please-

You are blasted with water again.

13. Kit and Dollie. You don’t know when they got here. They sit and watch from a distance as Jane falls into a rhythm, blasting you with water and letting you breathe for only a couple seconds before doing it again. You thought everything hurt before, but now the cold is doing its job, and your ears and fingers and toes hurt as well. It’s never going to end. Kit and Dollie just watch. You hate them.

14. A first aid kit. Jane asks if you’ll go against her orders again and you say no, no, never, you’ll be so so good, and she smiles and tells you that she meant it when she said she was going easy on you, that if this ever happens again it won’t be just one nail in your arm and you nod and nod and apologize until she tells the others to come fix you up. She unlocks your chains and vanishes.

Dollie quickly grabs the first aid kit. She pulls the nail out without warning and you scream and try to scramble away, but your legs are still tied. She holds onto your arm and dries it with her shirt, then cleans the wound with some kind of cloth from the kit. You can’t stop crying. She bandages your elbow and you cry and cry and cry.

Kit brings several towels, a blanket, a shirt, pants, underwear, and a knife. You instantly recoil, and you can’t even beg because you don’t know what the hell they want.

15. A drain. You just noticed it. You watch the water that was drowning you just minutes ago make lazy circles around it. You feel a bit dizzy.

Kit speaks softly. “I’m going to cut off these zip ties, okay? I don’t think you’re stupid enough to try to run after that, so we’ll get these zip ties off and then we’ll get you in some dry clothes and warm you up.”

They approach slowly, and you let them. You watch the last of the water circle the drain as feeling returns painfully to your legs. You keep thinking it can’t hurt any worse and you keep being proven wrong.

16. Your pride. Kit strips you of your clothes and you don’t fight or resist. They hand you a towel, and you start to dry the water soaked deep into your skin. Every small movement hurts, and eventually Kit takes the towel back and starts drying you themself. You must’ve been going too slow. Whenever the towel gets too wet (by their standards, at least), they trade it out for a dry one. Once you’re over the humiliation, it’s kind of nice.

After you’re mostly dry, they help you into the dry clothes and wrap you in the blanket. You lie against them, too tired and too scared to resist or question. They comb their fingers through your damp hair and tell you things, answering questions you hadn’t thought of yet. “Dollie is quiet because she gets punished for speaking without permission. She lied when she said me and Dollie got our scars before coming here. If you try to run away, she will find you.” The blanket slips a bit, and they gently pull it back into place.

“She thought it was so funny, to have you trust her and make us watch. We had to wait in suspense, not knowing when she’d get bored and make you one of us, one of her pets... I’m so sorry.” You think Kit is crying. You close your eyes. Maybe you’ll wake up and this will all be a dream. Dollie hums a pretty song, and you feel numb in a nice comfortable way.

This is not the last time you’ll be in the basement. Not even close.

A/N: Let me know if I should tag anything else!

#whump #whump writing #whumpblr #intimate whumper #creepy whumper #pet whump #i think #nonhuman whumper #multiple whumpees #whumpee #whumper #caretaker #2nd person pov #if any of this is medically inaccurate it’s fine because this is not our universe lol #let me know what else to tag I’m new at this #torture tw #drowning tw #someone gets a nail hammered into their arm #jane’s pets

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