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dailyaudiobiblechronological · 7 months

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9/17/2023 DAB Chronological Transcription

Daniel 10-12

Welcome to Daily Audio Bible Chronological, I'm Jill. It's the 17th day of September. It's the happy, bouncy music that just makes you wanna smile. We are walking through the word of God together. We do it every day in chronological order until we get through the entire Bible in a year. We are opening our eyes to see, our ears to hear, and our hearts to receive all that God would say, do, speak to us in our lives as we see the stories of our own lives mirrored in the pages of the Word of God. Today we're continuing in the book of Daniel. And we're reading chapters 10, 11 and 12. And this week we're continuing in the English Standard version for a few more days. Daniel, Chapter 10. I'm so glad that you're here.

Commentary:

This finishes the book of Daniel today. Just a short book with 12 chapters. That's three days for us. And so tomorrow we will be starting another brand new book.

Prayer:

Father, we thank you for this day today. We thank you for this present moment right now. We thank you for this time with you. Thank you for your presence that never leaves us. You are always with us. You never forsake us. And we thank you for your word that truly changes us from the inside out. We thank you for the wisdom that we are able to obtain through your Spirit.Thank you for the understanding that you bring to us as new revelation is revealed to us through your Word. And we thank you that we can rest in the mystery of that which we don't quite understand just yet. We love you. We honor you. We worship you. And may our lives, may we reflect the glory of God. We pray this in the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit. Amen.

Announcements:

Daily Audio Bible. That's home base. Take a look around if you haven't yet. That is the home base. That's the mothership. If you don't mind indulging me. I don't know. It's just what I like to call it. If you'd like to partner with the Daily Audio Bible, we thank you so much for partnering with us and saying yes to the word of God, being read fresh every day and going forth not just in our country. Let's- I just want to reiterate that this goes to all the world thanks to modern day technology. If we could just get technology to be perfect I would probably have less gray hair than I than I currently do. If you're giving by mail, it's DAB PO Box 1996, Spring Hill TN 37174. Or you can hit that give icon, it's up at the top right hand corner of your mobile device. Or look for the give icon on the website as well, it is there if you need prayer, if you'd like to pray for someone that's previously called in, if God is just moved on your heart and you need to act upon that movement of God speaking to you, you can call 800-583-2164 or we have conveniently located red circle button, it's up at the top right hand corner of your mobile device. Just hit that, you've got two minutes to speak and then turn your wheel to chronological after you hit the submit button and send it off, you can also reach out and find a fellow dabber, listener, Double dabber, triple dabber...a little dabble, do you? Whatever your dab affiliation is, you can find them hopefully on social media. Daily Audio Bible, DABC Friends, Daily Audio Bible Chronological and DABC Friends, and of course Daily Audio Bible Women. I'll meet you at that last place. Now, that's not a podcast. That's just a page. That's where we connect as women over there. Sorry fellas, we try to keep you off and away so that we can just connect as women and share some things from our hearts. That's gonna do it for me today. I am Jill. We will turn the page together tomorrow as we start a brand new book of the Bible on this journey together through the word of God. I look forward to it every single day. I'm Jill. Until tomorrow, love one another.

Community Prayer Line:

Hey, my hopeful DABC fam, I wanna borrow a profound thought from Lady Jill as she has been bringing the heat the last few days. But specifically on today, the 9th, she talked about being a hope pusher, and that's what our desire to be right now. I want to be a hope pusher for a caller, a sister that called in, believe it or not, well over a year ago. And I believe, if I'm not mistaken, her call was aired on the DAB community prayer and encouragement by mistake. But she mentioned Jill and so I'm just assuming that she is a DABCer and her message was intended to reach Lady Jill. And so to this sister who didn't leave a name, you called in well over a year ago and you mentioned that you had been abused and that you have been going through a very rough time and you're well in your 60s. And that you're feeling hopeless. And I wanted to stop by and be a pusher of hope to you. This verse of Scripture from Lamentations has been an anchor in my life, and it says it is good that a man should both hope and quietly wait for the salvation of the Lord. That's Lamentations 3:26. So to you, dear sister, and to anyone else that's feeling hopeless right now, I want you to wait in that quiet place and trust that your God is coming to see about you being changed.

Good morning, DABC. This is Tonya calling from Suffolk. I wanted to lift up Lauren, which is the one that got into the accident during swimming I believe. And parents as Cheryl and Greg. Heavenly Father, I lift up these three to you. Lord God, Dear Lord, we love you, Lord God like no other. Father, Father asking right now in the mighty name of Jesus, Oh God that you just give that family the strength to endure. Heavenly Father give Lauren the strength, father to keep on keeping all fathers, he continued. To keep on. Ask again that you just strengthen. Then we remarried on September 3rd, 2023. So I just thank God for that. And just to keep us in your prayers as well. You guys have a great day, love you.

Hi, this is Tammy calling from the Central Coast of California. I am on my way to go see my daughter Sophia, so I just wanted to call and just with the praise report that she's just allowed me this opportunity to come and visit and I just wanted to say thank you to all of you who have prayed over that relationship with her from what I understand the relationship with the gentleman that was much older than she was has ended, so thank you Jesus. And that she realized that at 17 he was much too old for her and has seen the light and so I'm just. I'm so grateful and just privileged to be in a family that is willing to take up our burdens and bring them to the father. And so thank you. I'm so excited to be able to see her beautiful face and I'm grateful for for you all. God bless you and make it a great day.

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myaaxauthor · 2 years

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An excerpt from Chapter 1 of my FFXV fic, The Moon For a Star.

“Ravus!” the young princess exclaimed as she leapt forth to embrace him. “I haven’t seen you all day, look at what I made for you!” from a hidden pocket in her dress, Lunafreya presented him a painting of a sylleblossom, the national flower of Tenebrae. “It’s beautiful, Lunafreya, you’re improving with every day,” expressed Ravus as he admired the painting. “I wanted you to have something to remind you of home while you’re away,” she beamed at him with her large blue eyes. “Thank you. I have something for you as well.” Ravus motioned for a nearby servant to bring a small box, no bigger than the size of his hands. He opened it and from inside retrieved a small ornate, round white box with gold detailing and gold sylleblossoms embossed all around. He handed the delicate gift to Lunafreya who was immediately enamored by it. “Wow, what it is? It looks small to be a jewelry box.” She examined it, unsure of how to open it. “Let me show you.” Ravus pulled a necklace out of the box he held. It was a silver chain with a white star on either side of a gold moon pendant. He took the ornate box from Lunafreya and placed the moon pendant in a similarly shaped indent on the box and turned it twice for the top of the box to spring open, revealing a silver unicorn spinning around to a lovely piano tune. “It’s a music box! What’s this song? I’ve never heard it before, it sounds lovely.” Lunafreya swayed contently to the tune as she held the music box in her hands. “I composed the song myself a few weeks ago. It’s called Moonlit Melodies. I know you love when I play for you, so while I’m away you can listen to this and pretend like it’s me playing.” “I love it Ravus, thank you!” Lunafreya embraced Ravus tightly as he chuckled at her glee. “Here, you keep this necklace with you always. Do you see what it says in the back?” Lunafreya turned the moon pendant over, in tiny script it read Flowers at Sea. “In two weeks I hope to see you wearing it when we’re in Altissia.” Ravus placed the dainty necklace around her neck and the young girl’s face lit up. “Really? In Altissia? I’ve always wanted to go!” “I spoke with mother about it. You two will meet me there on my return trip from Lucis. How does that sound?” “That sounds amazing, I’m so excited!”

#ffxv #final fantasy xv #the moon for a star #lunyx #lunafreya nox fleuret #ravus nox fleuret #nyx ulric #luna x nyx #ao3fic #ao3 link

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findingjoynweirdstuff · 3 years

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Dream SMP Recap (March 9/2021) - Roses and Blood Vines

One day remains before Ponk’s attack. Ponk gives Foolish another warning, another chance to join the Egg. Foolish still says no.

Hannah returns from a five-day journey feeling sickened by something. The Blood Vines have crept onto her house...

Something has to be done.

---

VOD LINKS:

Ponk

Tubbo

Foolish

Ranboo

Hannah

Karl

Eret

Captain Puffy

---

- Ponk makes his way through the Nether to the Temple of Undying. He surveys the place, wondering what to blow up first.

- He scouts through the chests, taking some diamonds here and there.

- Ponk places a few pieces of TNT in Foolish’s snake statue as a warning and heads back.

- Foolish joins the call, Ponk now at the Oogway Shrine.

Ponk: “Foolish...you know that time is ticking, right?”

Ponk: “Are you familiar with the hourglass parable?”

Foolish: “No, I am not.”

Ponk: “Me neither, but an hourglass has lots of sand in it, right?”

- Ponk starts talking through the Egg

“Hello, Foolish...the time is ticking...blood, fire and explosions will happen. You’re going to die, Foolish, if you don’t join me. DEATH.”

Foolish: “You speak of my summer home?”

“Your summer home will be no more.”

Foolish: “We’ll see about that.”

“Tick-tock goes the clock.”

- Ponk abruptly switches back to his normal voice and starts talking to Foolish about that scene in Kung Fu Panda where Oogway paralyzes the leopard guy by poking him, and the leopard guy broke out of prison to defeat the five people

- Foolish asks if there’s a meaning to this. Ponk tells him he stole all of his music discs and put TNT in their place.

- Ponk says to be careful about the tripwires he put. Foolish says that with his emerald eyes, he will see through them.

- They go back and forth about preparations and Ponk’s plan. Ponk tries to convince Foolish that actually, he already blew it up (he didn’t)

Ponk: “Look, Foolish...I’m here to offer you another chance, okay? You can join the Egg, be a happy family, y’know? You can be a god, but you have to serve the Egg...”

Foolish: “You see, Ponk, I think the Egg will lead to heartbreak. Misery. Regret. And then death.”

Ponk: “Remember, Foolish, remember...you can never save a life. You can always prolong it.”

Foolish: “I might disagree with that...but that’s for another time.”

- They get distracted by Skeppy’s prank on the mansion

- Ponk goes to an Ender Chest and shows Foolish its contents. Foolish is outraged that Ponk actually took all his discs -- even Pigstep!

- Ponk shows Foolish the Wall of Pog Women

- The subject goes back to the Egg. Ponk asks again if he wants to join the Egg. Foolish says no.

Foolish: “I don’t think the Egg is good for anyone, and you know? The Egg may not even need you guys! The moment the Egg has enough power, it’ll toss you all aside like the little ants you are.”

- They start talking about cats

- Ponk meets Foolish down at the spider spawner and attempts his Technoblade-killing tactic on him.

- Ponk continues to prepare

- Foolish is still working on Tubbo and Ranboo’s mansion

- He goes to see Michelle in Snowchester. He ponders how strange their family is. A sheep pirate, a totem-part-shark and his totem son, an undead zombie piglin baby, the other brother -- a green blob?

“Nice meeting you, Michelle...um, yeah. Hopefully you never meet Dream.”

“...Just your average Minecraft family...”

(More “Schrödinger’s canon” family dynamics for now, but this is the moment the Wiki is referencing if you were wondering)

- Foolish continues work on the mansion

- Hannah heads back to the main Dream SMP area

- She’s been trying to make the server more beautiful, adding trees, flowers, natural things. But she was off picking flowers for the main pathway when she woke up with extreme nausea. She could barely walk.

- It’s finally time. Something is pulling her back.

Hannah: “It’s definitely time to bring spring to the server. This server is so, so messed up. There’s not enough trees, there’s not enough flowers, there’s not enough anything, especially in the main area."

- The only thing keeping her strong -- alive -- are the rose flowers. It took her two days to find the strength to walk back.

- Hannah starts planting flowers everywhere. The pathway is deteriorated, there are no trees, no flowers, not enough natural fauna that weren’t planted by the people. Her flowers have been picked and turned to dye by people. She needs more flowers to stay strong.

- She sees her house has been covered in Blood Vines. She suspects the Blood Vines have been eating up some of her rose flowers. All of it has to go. She doesn’t know who or what this is, but she believes it’s trying to kill her.

- Sam (and Tubbo disguised as Ranboo) arrive, and Hannah speaks with Sam about her house. Sam was coming to clean up the bank site.

- Sam helps Hannah start to clear off the Vines.

- A cow gets in the way. Hannah says it must be contaminated and kills it.

- All of a sudden, Sam shouts to not break anymore. Hannah looks and Bad and Antfrost have arrived.

- Bad says he thought Hannah was a supporter of plants. They don’t see why Hannah needs to clear the Vines away. Hannah and Sam insist they’re just trimming, doing some landscaping because Hannah is allergic.

- Bad and Ant suggest testing? They can take Hannah to a place with a large concentration of Vines and see if they have any effect.

- Hannah says she’s willing to try. Sam tells Hannah he can’t go down there again. They tell Bad and Ant -- Hannah will try it while Sam takes a trip to the Nether. Sam whispers to Hannah that while they’re gone, Sam is going to clear the rest of the Vines in secret.

- Bad and Antfrost admire the Vines in Hannah’s house. Even the dogs seem to like it. Hannah promptly kills the dogs to put them out of their misery.

- Bad and Antfrost take Hannah down to the Egg Room. Hannah puts down a rose to help, but they destroy it. They tell her that the Egg likes her.

- They make her a “seat” (box) of black concrete and say she should stay there for “exposure therapy.” They convince her to put her items in an Ender Chest even as she’s having doubts, and leave her alone there.

- Hannah thought she had no enemies on this server, but she may have made a mistake.

- Karl wakes up in his library. He hangs up the poster for “The Haunted Mansion” and writes the Tale down.

- He writes his next diary entry. He feels confused. He doesn’t know who to trust anymore. At least the Inbetween seems like a genuinely peaceful place, but there were those books warning him about it.

- He decides he needs to get into that portal the next time he visits the Inbetween.

- His memory is getting worse. He needs to tell his friends the stories, but worries he won’t have any at this rate.

- Bad and Sapnap arrive to Kinoko. Karl wants to get new members.

- Sapnap kills Bad, sending him back.

Bad: “What have I told you about playing with fire there, son?”

- Karl plans to spread out advertisements about Kinoko.

- Foolish and HBomb arrive.

- They go to the Holy Land to put up posters.

- George arrives and they all decide to put up a massive poster in front of the prison, where the mining fatigue will make the blocks harder to get rid of. Bad protests this as a prison guard.

- They do it anyway

---

Upcoming events remain the same.

#dream smp #dream smp recaps #long posts

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dabis-girl · 3 years

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Living Arrangements ~ Dabi x reader x Hawks

𝗔/𝗡: Only I would come back from an extended hiatus with a fick that on one asked for. This is my blog and an attempt at chasing serotonin so ima write to my hearts content. And also I spent way to much of my time looking for a font app that was worth a damn for my ✨asetheic✨ so I care at least a little 🤷🏾‍♀️

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬/𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬: 𝐬𝐞𝐱, 𝐩𝐨𝐥𝐲 𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩, 𝐩𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐬𝐞 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐤, 𝐬𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐝 𝐝𝐞𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐝𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧, 𝐧𝐢𝐩𝐩𝐥𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐮𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧, 𝐚 𝐬𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐥𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐩𝐞𝐭 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲.

*𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐦𝐟 𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐭 𝐢𝐬 𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐝 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐬 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐧𝐨𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐥 𝐬𝐞𝐱 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐞 *

“Fuck, what time is it?” You said looking to your boyfriend who was hovering above you, shirtless with his fingers tucked underneath the elastic of your shorts.

“Does it matter?” He replied tugging your shorts down your thighs.

“ Yes, I have a class in at- in two minutes.” You said pushing him off before scrambling to his desk that was littered with trash and weed crumbs, you opened the computer to log in to class. Behind your boyfriend swiftly pulls your shorts down while you are entering the meeting password. “Dabi fucking sto-” you protested slightly before you felt him press into your surprisingly inviting pussy. Dabi let out a low groan as he bottomed out inside of you and the piercing at the tip of his dick nestled against the opening of your cervix, but he didn’t move.

“Dabi.” You whined pushing your hips back against him, completely forgetting your class.

“ Shutdaup, finish longing into your class.” He instructed and as he sat in the desk chair keeping himself sheathed inside of you.

Following his instructions, you entered the class and kept your camera off. But you knew that wouldn’t last long Dabi encouraged you to turn on your camera and you had to frame it perfectly so that he couldn’t be seen. Now that you were sitting his dick was rubbing your insides differently. It was hard to keep a straight face as you kept shifting around, Dabi’s fingers were digging into your hip trying to still you. He gritted his teeth trying to keep his composure as your walls quivered around him. Every so often you would back over your shoulder at him, begging him with your eyes. Eventually, he cut you a bit of slack, snaking his hand between your legs to toy with your clit. You placed your forehead on your hands in an effort to conceal your expressions from the camera

“Focus.” He said tapping his finger to the desk

It was hard to focus on biochemistry with your boyfriend’s massive dick marinating inside of you and the pads of his fingers relentlessly you couldn’t help but wonder if your face was showing through on the screen or if anyone was even paying attention. You were knocked out of thought by your boyfriend shifting underneath you causing a whimper to fall from your lips and immediately you looked to the screen to see a few faces of awe and thankfully the professor said nothing but you knew that would come back to haunt you if she ever watched the class recording. Dabi continued rubbing circles on your clit and he was driving you crazy and it wasn’t long before your cunt was spasming around his cock

“What if I just fucked you right here on this camera in front of all of your precious peers and that uptight professor.” He chuckled as his hands ran up to your breasts to tweak your nipples causing you to start rocking your hips back and forth. “Fuck,” he moaned. “Yeah, that’s what you want right?” He teased still letting you rock yourself on him. You could stop your eyes from rolling to the back of your head and your mouth lolled open. “Jesus fucking christ cut the fucking camera before I embarrass you doll.” His voice was shaky as he dug the tips of his fingers into your hips.

Before you had gotten the chance to turn your camera off Dabi slammed your laptop shut, bucking his hips so that the tip of his dick pressed flush against the opening of your cervix. His bottom lip was tucked between his teeth trying to keep his composure as profanities fell from his mouth. Not a word was spoken as he proceeded to lift you up before slamming back down of his dick eliciting a yelp from you he did this a few more times before instructing you to get up. He positioned you so that you were leaving over with your face pressed against the mattress with a firm grasp on the back of your neck so that he could take you from behind. Lining himself up with your dripping entrance he was at a point where he could no longer keep his composure his hips snapped against yours at an unbearable pace. You had inched yourself up enough to the point to where your hipbones rutted into the box spring, the slight feeling of discomfort meant nothing with the way Dabi was mercilessly pounding you into the mattress.

At this point he had your right leg hiked up on the bed as he pistoned himself inside of you. Reaching around he gave your clit a few harsh slaps before continuing to rub you. You moaned uncontrollably at his actions knowing that any advantage you had was gone, he had a way of tuning your body like an instrument. He was like a guitarist tuning and plucking the strings of his instrument. You were working up a release when you heard the door open and shut, you weren’t worried knowing it could only be Dabi’s roommate Keigo. His presents excite you causing your cunt to flutter around the dick inside of you even more gaining Dabi’s attention.

“Ah- Keigo fuck she’s happy t-to see you.” Dabi’s words came out broken as he proceeded to plow into your sopping core.

“ Keeeiii-gooo,” You said with delight in your voice.

Dabi. Keigo and you had a mutual agreement, Dabi was your boyfriend originally and asked if you would ever be open to a threesome, at first you thought he meant bringing another girl into the bedroom which you weren’t opposed to but you were taken back when he mentioned Keigo. The first time you were all together it was better you could ever imagine, their unrelenting hands all over you. It was just better this way always having someone by your side, having all your perverted little fantasies filled by having dick available to you at all times. Simply put you were more than fulfilled.

“ I thought I heard you guys in here.” Keigo smiled. “I have some time to kill before this exam,” He began pulling his phone out of his pocket to check the time. “Mind if I join?” He said while climbing up into the bed, the question was directed more at Dabi than you. Keigo proceeds to pull his shirt over his head exposing his perfectly chiseled chest, meanwhile, Dabi had withdrawn himself from you completely for the impending position change. “She came yet?” Keigo asked as he situated himself at the head of the bed leaning against the wall with his legs spread. “C’mere little bird.” Dabi’s grip on your neck released as he allowed you to crawl up the bed to greet Keigo. You gave him a kiss before cuddling up to him.

“She came once already, I wonder how many she’ll give us today,” Dabi said as a devilish smirk crept across his face while he pumped his dick. Keigo positioned you so that you were leaning with your back against his chest and were sprawled open Keigo made quick work of pulling your shirt over your head to gain access to your budding nipples. With one hand he was tweaking your nipples while the other trailed down between your legs to manipulate your throbbing clit.

“Oh, my little birdy is soaking.” He said pulling back his hand to give your aching cunt a few taps. He sunk two fingers into your pussy before spreading them and pulling them out, your hips involuntarily chased his fingers while you whimpered at the emptiness, and the boys couldn’t help but notice.

“Aww, Keigo don’t tease her,” Dabi smirked crawling up onto the bed and positioning himself so that his hips lined up with yours. He then began to tap the head of his dick agist your clit and dipping himself between your folds gathering your slick. Your whimpers snowballed into full-blown moans and you knew what he was doing, he wanted you to beg.

“D-Dabi.” You whimpered writhing in Keigo’s arms. “ fuuck.” you proceeded to moan as needed to be filled. “Please Da-ah.” You couldn’t even get it out all the way before Dabi shoved his dick back inside of you.

Dabi’s pace was relentlessly paired with the stimulation coming from Keigo you knew that you would last much longer. Your light whimpers morphed into moans that Keigo swallowed as he pressed his lips to yours. Of course, Dabi couldn’t have that your little mons were like music to his ears so he thrust himself inside of you so hard that you yelped and he could feel your pussy tighten around him causing a gutteral moan to fall from his lips.

“Oh my God I can feel you slutty little pussy sucking me in.” Dabi breathed. Keigo took that as a sign to apply some more pressure to your sensitive bud and you clamped down harder on dabi’s dick. His thrust were getting sloppier as he reached his edge.

“Are you gonna cum little slut?” Keigo teased peering down at you with half-lidded eyes, blonde tufts falling into is face. “Come on princess are you gonna come for me? You look so good when cum.” His words paired with the way dabi was snapping his hips were enough to send you over the edge.

“Oh fuck she squirted.” Dabi gasped before went over the edge himself filling you up in the process. Your cunny was still squeezing him as he tried to pull out.

“I loved to help you get cleaned up little bird but I have to book it to the testing center.” He leaned down and planted a kiss on your forehead. “But I’ll be back for you little one.” He shifted off the bed and you could plainly see the tent pitched in his pants. “Make sure she’s alive when I get back yeah?”

#my hero academia #boku no hero smut #dabi x reader #boko no hero academia #mha dabi #mha hawks #dabismut #dabi x hawks #dabi x reader x hawks #hawks imagine #myheroacadamia #hawks smut

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roanniom · 3 years

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My request is probably so lame lol. But will you please tell us about Valentines Day with Flip? How does he spoil you and make it extra special for you? I’d love it if you could throw in some praise kink and size kink too please!

I love all your writing and you’re so talented! Thank you for entertaining my request! 💛

Hi my lovelies, thanks for your patience with this, seeing as it is coming over a week after Valentine’s Day. I wasn’t 100% I had another Valentine’s story in me after my Clyde and Charlie ones, but I chose to combine these prompts, got a little inspiration today and voila - a sweet and salty Flip one shot was born. Hope you’re cool with me combining and taking a bit from each of these requests! ❤️

Stupid Little Day in February

Flip Zimmerman x Reader

Word Count: 3,890

Warnings: NSFW, PIV sex / semi-public sex / unprotected sex, angst in the form of Flip wanting to love up his lady but having work get in the way

Flip had never intended to find himself in this position. He was a perfectionist, giving everything he had and then some in an effort to be successful in all he did – high school sports, his career at the department, his relationships. It’s why he always tries to make time for the boys, being there for Ron whenever he needs help or just someone to bitch to over a beer after work. It’s why he does his best to shower you with love and affection every chance he gets, bringing home little gifts and spending lazy Sundays doing nothing but you. And he thought that, all things considered, he’d been doing a damn good job.

That is until he overheard you on the phone with your friend the other day. You were twirling the coiled cord around your finger while you lounged on the couch laughing and chatting animatedly. He’d walked by and into the kitchen, careful not to disturb you, but as he cracked open a beer he heard something that made his stomach drop.

“Yeah I know I love Valentine’s Day, but Flip hates it so I can be cool with that.”

Flip had left his beer on the counter and moved silently to the doorway, ears straining to hear the rest of the conversation, mind racing to all the times he had, indeed, condemned the holiday of love as a sappy excuse for bad boyfriends to redeem themselves. A day to stimulate the gift industry. You’d laughed and teased him for his soap box routine and grumpy demeanor but you hadn’t argued.

“Besides, I’ve told you. The man gets me flowers like three days a week. He remembers things, like really remembers things. And he listens. I’d trade fancy dinner, red hearts, and chocolate for him any day.”

And though you’d defended him to your friend, your words had stuck with Flip. He wanted to give you the moon, he would if it wasn’t so damn high up. The least he could do was indulge you in something you enjoyed. You did that for him constantly – sitting through football games, hanging with the boys at the bar, listening to country music though you told him that deep inside it made you want to murder the jukebox. You sucked it up and took it with a smile so you could be with him. Flip kicked himself for not being able to do the same with some stupid holiday.

But at the exact moment Flip vowed to right this wrong, the universe seemed to have made a competing vow to ruin all of his efforts. It seemed that the revelation had come to late, being that it was already the night before Valentine’s Day. He was horrified the next morning to find, after a series of tense calls made at his desk hunched over and hushed so none of the other detectives could here, every restaurant in town was booked full. Which ended up being a moot point because the chief demanded he stay late, regardless of how much he gnashed his teeth.

“Everyone with a serious gal already asked for the night off, Zimmerman. It’s too late now. Guess your gal isn’t that serious,” was the only reply he received.

Head in his hands at his desk, Flip flinched when his back received a firm clap.

“Now I know we’re in the contemplating-marriage-territory here with this girl,” Ron said, pulling a seat up and fixing Flip with a concerned look. “What’s all this about not taking time off?”

Flip repeated the conversation that he’d overheard, sure to explain that he had no intention of disappointing you despite your good nature.

“You do realize that this could easily be remedied by a simple call to your woman, right?” Ron asked as Flip massaged the space between his eyes.

“I wanted to surprise her. Calling at this point feels like admitting defeat.”

“Do you hear yourself? ‘Admitting defeat?’ This isn’t some damn battle, it’s a holiday for a fat little baby with wings.”

“Hey, he does have a weapon,” Flip countered, though this time he cracked a smile. Ron laughed heartily.

“Yeah, one that’s been used to shoot you and your little lady enough to kill a small elephant. You guys are pumped so full of the love juice it’s a wonder you’re able to concentrate on anything else.” Ron turned then and flicked the large stack of files on Flip’s desk with a smirk. “Or maybe that’s your problem, Zimmerman.”

Flip shook his head.

“That might be the case for me, but – ”

“Are you seriously about to argue that she doesn’t feel the same way?”

“How the fuck would you know?” Flip asked gruffly. Ron, used to Flip’s gruffness much as you were, plowed right on through.

“Well besides all the dinner parties and barbeques and nights we all go dancing?” Ron raised an eyebrow with a laugh. “Patrice, man! You think those women get together and don’t talk about us?”

“Patrice has told you things?” Flip’s whole body tensed and Ron was quick to reassure.

“Calm the fuck down, I don’t want any of your dirty details. All I know is your woman is crazy in love with you. I don’t think some stupid little day in February is going to rock your world as much as you think it will.”

“Maybe you’re right,” Flip conceded, putting his head in his hands.

“I’m always right, you just never listen,” Ron said good-naturedly as he headed back to his desk. Over his shoulder he tossed one final piece of wisdom. “Whatever you do, just call her!”

~*~

And Flip did try to call you. Ten times as a matter of fact. It wasn’t until the sun set out the window and he hung up the phone for the tenth time that he remembered you’d had plans to hang out with your mother today. While that probably should have made him feel better – you had filled your day with plenty of things and probably wouldn’t even notice his failed attempt at romance – he couldn’t help but agonize the fact that it proved you had expected so little of him in the first place.

It’s with this on his mind that Flip buries himself in his paperwork. It’s 8pm and every member of the Colorado Springs police force that hadn’t taken the holiday off is out for a dinner break, Flip having sullenly waved them off so he could sulk in peace. He’s neck-deep in casefiles when he hears the sound of footsteps coming in from the bullpen. It was much too soft to be the tread of any of the beat cops he’d expected to see tonight and Judy, the night shift receptionist, wasn’t due in till later.

“Burning the midnight oil there, detective?”

Flip’s head snaps up at your voice to find you leaning against the doorframe to his office, arms folded casually across your chest, cheeky smile gracing your lips.

“Baby, what are you doing here?” Flip asks breathlessly as he makes to stand up. He freezes mid-motion, however, when you hold a hand up.

“Ah ah ah, no need to get up,” you tsk, closing the door with a gentle click and dropping your bag to the floor before making your way over to him. He hesitates but lowers himself back into his seat, eyes trained on your frame slinking toward him. You drop your palms to his desk and hoist yourself up onto it, prowling forward across the surface on your hands and knees toward him. “I heard my man needed some cheering up.”

“You did?” Flip asks, a smirk forming at the corners of his mouth as he leans back in his seat to enjoy what has already been and promises to be quite a show. Legs spread wide and hands gripping the arm rests he hasn’t really even heard what you said. Instead he is focusing every single brain cell on the cleavage that is visible through the red peacoat he’s never seen you wear, chest now slightly exposed as you slowly slide off the scarf you’d used to obscure it.

“Yeah. I heard you wanted to love on me but couldn’t because of work,” you say in a low voice, scooting forward so that one leg dangles off the edge of the desk on the outside of Flip’s left thigh while you place your other foot on the edge of his chair to the right of his other thigh. His gaze flits to the expanse of inner thigh that is now visible to him, your legs bare beneath the peacoat despite the freezing mid-February chill outside. His hand shoots up to smooth over your thigh, warming your skin, just as his brain catches up to your words.

“Now where exactly did you hear that, sugar?” He asks with a small frown. One of your hands reaches out to his shoulder, pulling him in his wheeled office chair closer to you and the desk. The same hand slides down his shoulder to smooth back and forth over the plane of his chest, just as your other hand threads into his hair.

“I can’t go around divulging my secrets,” you say breathily, leaning forward and arresting his lips in a sensuous kiss. You are the first to deepen it, tongue flitting over his lips to beg for entrance before plunging into the depths of his mouth. You kiss him greedily like you’re seeking the breath from his lungs to be the source of your own oxygen. Like the pressure of his lips on yours will warm the late winter cold from your bones. When you slide off the desk and into his lap, straddling his thick denim-clad thighs, Flip moans into the kiss, making you break away with a pleased hum. You relish in the look of his kiss-bruised lips, red and wet from the fervor of your contact. “Maybe cupid dropped by with a little message. Told me to come on down here and drive you wild.”

Flip’s breathing deeply at this point but the new intake of air seems to get the gears moving better in his mind. He frowns.

“And by cupid you mean Ron.”

“Bingo, baby,” you confirm with a smile before pressing a kiss to his furrowed brow. “Don’t be mad at him, though. He told me how you tried to make tonight special for me and that you’d probably bite off the heads of everyone working the night shift if I didn’t make my way down here quick.”

“I set something up. I did what I could, things just kept going wrong…”

“Shhh….” Your kisses migrate from his forehead to his cheek, pressing into his dimples till his frown smooths out and his eyes close again. Only then do you move down to mouth at the column of his throat, pressing your lips to his Adam’s apple. “So how many are there?”

“How many what?” he asks distractedly, eyes still closed.

“Dead bodies of people who had the misfortune to cross paths with my grumpy mountain man?” you ask, the smile clear in your voice though you speak the words into his skin. Flips hands tighten around your hips.

“I’m only grumpy because you deserve the fuckin’ moon and I’m stuck here behind a desk.”

“Well, if you haven’t noticed,” you say, angling in his lap so that your lower back leans against the edge of the desk behind you. “I am also behind the desk with you. So maybe it’s not all bad.”

It is at this point that you pop the few buttons at the front of our coat, allowing it to drop open and reveal the gauzy, see-through red negligee you are wearing beneath. It comes down only to the tops of your thighs, but most important of all, you are completely bare beyond the fabric. Your breasts are held in the negligee’s sheer lace cups, nipples hard, and not a scrap of panties obstructs his view of your cunt, evidently glistening from this angle, even through the garment.

“Sugar.” He intones it soft, deep. It’s a statement. A warning as his eyes slide back up your body to lock on your own hungry stare. “You’re just looking for trouble here.”

With a devious smile you settle forward again, rolling your pelvis this time to rub your heat conspicuously over the growing bulge in his jeans.

“You can punish me later, Flip,” you whisper softly in his ear as you reach down to unbuckle his belt. “When you get home. But for now let me reward you.”

“What’s there to reward me for, darlin’?” Flip asks, helping you rid him of his belt and unfasten the buttons of his Levi’s. He’s not even sure why he’s pressing the matter. You’re here, rubbing your gorgeous body all of his in the middle of his workplace like some fucking fever dream and here he is, practically reminding you of his unworthiness. In some kind of verbal act of self-flagellation.

“Flip Zimmerman,” you chide, even as you pull his half-hard dick out of the opening you’ve made in his pants, careful to keep the rest of his clothing neat. “There’s always something to reward you for.” You begin applying a few measured strokes to his length, squeezing at the base and rolling your wrist to smooth the motion up to his tip.

“Fuck,” Flip grunts quietly, his head dropping to hit the back of the chair.

“This morning you sprinkled cinnamon on my oatmeal. Last night you handed me that lotion that smells like jasmine when I got out of the shower, the one I love so much.” You kiss his jaw as you say this and let your eye lashes flutter against his cheek in the process.

“Those are little things. Nothing,” Flip argues, still mentally kicking himself for the knee-jerk way he keeps dragging this on. Living in this guilt despite your loving ministrations which suggest you feel exactly the opposite.

“They aren’t little to me,” you say, your tone abruptly serious and your fingers digging into his jaw to keep him looking at you. “You read to me on Sunday afternoons. You take me camping whenever you get time off.”

Your tone returns to its original gentleness and you duck your head so that you can nip at Flip’s earlobe. Your hand continues its steady pace on his cock, thumb swirling around in the precum collecting on his tip.

“You fuck me. Good and hard and slow and fast and every which way I need it.” He’s painfully hard now, both from your hand and from your focused attention on him. From the words falling from your lips. He gazes back at you with blackened eyes and massages the skin of your hips and ass with his large, warm hands. You lick the shell of his ear then, marveling in the way it always turns red and hot, regardless of his confidence, regardless of his dominance. “You meet my needs, Flip, every day. And today is just any old day. So just like you do for me, I’m going to meet your needs, and you’re going to enjoy it.”

You say this as you lift yourself up with the muscles of your thighs and line him up with your entrance, sinking down on his cock just as you get to the last few words. Flip immediately mutters a string of hushed curses, fingers digging into your hips through your gauzy negligee so hard you’re already looking forward to the bruises. He breathes through his nose, his labored exhales fanning across your face as you work to adjust to him, eventually swiveling your hips a bit.

“You’re so fucking tight,” he mutters, dropping his forehead to yours. Your face is screwed up in pleasure-pain and you huff out a laugh.

“No, you’re just fucking huge.” Your statement gets a groan from him and you smirk as you begin to lift yourself up and down on Flip’s cock with his help. Your walls pulse, stroking his cock as your tongue moves on to stroking his ego. “You’re so big, Flip. Too big. I can barely take you.”

“You’re taking me just fine, sugar,” he shakes his head, eyes rolling back in their sockets as you grind into him on a down motion. “So wet. This little pussy takes me so well.”

“You fill me up, Flip. Stuff me – ohhh fuck – stuff me so full I think I might burst.” You reach one hand back to grip the edge of the desk for leverage while your other hand digs into the skin of his shoulder.

“Oh for me you do burst, baby. You burst and gush all over me like the good girl you are,” Flip whispers into your clavicle when you throw your head back, an automatic response to him beginning to aid you by thrust up into your quivering cunt himself. This sounds more like your Flip. Confident and powerful. Pressing all the right buttons to drive you wild. “My good girl.”

“I love it when you call me that,” you admit softly.

“A good girl?”

“Your good girl,” you correct.

“My good girl,” Flip repeats and your pussy clenches around him hard in response. So naturally Flip says it again. “You’re my good girl.”

Your breathing has increased rapidly, spurred on in no small part by the way one of his hands has snaked up to pluck a breast from its lacy confines. His head dips to suck your nipple into his mouth and you hum.

“Who’s good girl are you?” Flip asks into your breasts.

“I’m your good girl.”

You begin ridding him harder, faster. The slick seeping onto his cock around your swollen lips indicates that you’re farther along than he’d expect, a suspicion that you soon confirm with a whimper.

“Fuck, baby, I’m close.”

“Really?” he asks, incredulous. He’s used to marathon lovemaking. Even a quick fuck in a bathroom stall usually becomes indulgent for you two, trading speed for roughness and lewdness.

“I kind of…got ready before I – ah! – came here.” You bite your lip as you say it and Flip resists the urge to pull your lip out and claim it for himself.

“And by ‘got ready’ you mean…” he prompts, a wicked smile spreading on his face.

“I touched myself,” you admit, no shame in your words. “I touched myself while thinking about my handsome man and his handsome cock and the way it was going to fill me when I came over here.”

Flip grabs one of your hands then, zeroing in on your fingers. All the while he keeps thrusting up into you, feet flat on the floor and muscles rippling throughout his body with the effort.

“Did these fingers rub your little clit?”

“Yes,” you say, still confident. Flip licks a stripe up your index and middle finger, almost as if doing so would allow him to taste remnants of your essence.

“Did you stuff them inside your pussy. Press that little spot inside you like so much?” As he says it he thrusts up and forward, making his cock drag against your front wall in a way that’s got you buckling in on yourself.

“Oh god oh yes. Yes!” You’re trying to remain as quiet as possible but it’s getting harder by the second. The station was empty save for Flip when you’d arrive but soon other people would return. A fact that made your pussy drool all the more on Flip’s throbbing cock.

Flip watches you fall apart in his arms and speeds up the process by sucking on your fingertips, splitting them apart with his tongue and laving each equally. You swallow a moan as he brings your own wetted fingers down to the apex of your thighs.

“Show me,” he breathes, moving forward to kiss your lips. “Show me what I do to you.”

You begin rubbing your clit just as Flip assaults your senses in all other ways. He captures your mouth in a kiss while simultaneously returning to kneading at your breasts with abandon, tugging and squeezing at the pillowy flesh.

“Did you cry out my name in that empty house when you came?” he prompts. You shake your head feverishly, your thighs shaking around him as your climax nears.

“No. I didn’t cum. I saved that for you.”

In a flash of blinding pleasure, you unraveling on top of him, careful to suppress the reaction to little gasps and whimpers instead of the loud praise and guttural moans you would have preferred to let out. The suddenness of your orgasm catches Flip off guard and he is utterly unprepared for the way your walls flutter and pulse, ultimately milking his cock of his own release. You collapse in his arms with a shaky laugh, one he’s only able to reciprocate when the ringing in his ears begin to lessen and his heart stops trying to pound a route out of his chest.

You both revel in the afterglow for a few minutes after, holding each other like you aren’t in his office in the middle of the Colorado Springs Police Department. Like people aren’t about to file in after their dinner break, bellies full and completely unaware of the fact that Flip had just railed you into next February.

After a while, Flip finally pulls out and tucks himself away, once again the picture of professionalism. Or at least, as much the picture of professionalism as Flip cares to appear, what with his eternal flannel and comfortably warm in jeans, the wet patch of your arousal finally fading. He helps you clean up with some napkins he has stashed in a drawer, ultimately bundling you back up in your coat and scarf. You now look sweet and warm again, a stark contrast to the vixen who had crawled across his desk and stripped for him.

Now descent, you settle back into his lap sideways, opting not to straddle him tis time in case someone did finally walk in. You run a finger through the hair at his chin.

“You said earlier you said you’d ended up setting something up for me. What was it?”

Flip blinks at your question for a few seconds before letting out a laugh that ripples from deep in his belly.

“I sent Jimmy and his brother with a box of chocolates over to the house. They were supposed to sing you a Motown duet.”

“I would pay to hear that. When are they supposed to get there?”

“They’re supposed to arrive right now.”

With that you dissolve into a fit of laughter, falling into his chest as you heave from it. Flip’s arms wind around you and tug you tighter to him. And in that moment, he almost believes in this stupid holiday. Almost believes in the cartoon hearts and the fat little winged baby that flies around shooting people. What else could possibly explain the sharp pain radiating from his chest when he looks at you? The ache that dulls as it floods to his extremities, simmering into a warmth that fills him from head to toe? All Flip can think as he smooths his thumb over your smiling lips is that cupid better have a up-to-date permit for that bow of his.

~*~

Tagging some lovelies <3 (please let me know if you would like to be added to or removed from this list in the future!): @noocturnalchild @thedivinemissn @insufferablelust @historyandfandoms50 @lostinthedrive @thewilddingleberries @edencherries @mariesackler @safarigirlsp @direnightshade @sacklerscumrag @paper-n-ashes @clydesfavoritegirl @wayward-rose @hopeamarsu @thegreenmatt @barbers-glimmerin-darlin @finn-ray-nal-beads @fizzywoohoo @maybe-your-left @aliveandlonely @han-not-solo @morby @mrs-zimmerman @maryforyou @jynzandtonic @renmaulxo @millenialcatlady @equivocalrabbit @soggywhore @foxilayde @mylifeisactuallyamess

#request #queeniebee #anon #valentine's day #flip zimmerman x reader #flip zimmerman x you #Flip Zimmerman/reader #Flip Zimmerman/you #Flip Zimmerman smut #Flip Zimmerman fanfiction #smut #writing #roanniom #tw: semi public sex #cw: semi-public sex

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glitterge1pen · 3 years

Text

Put A Basket On My Bike

Kyōtani Kentarou x reader, sfw, fluff, word count 3,039

Your apartment complex was composed of seven buildings. Each building was made of two towers that went ten floors up. The two towers were connected by big concrete stairs that had green iron railing. A large platform would connect two apartments before the stairs took you to another floor.

Since the only thing that concealed the stairs from the outside was the railing most of the building was exposed. The sun shone endlessly and lots of people kept plants out on the space outside their doors. You had made a good choice moving here. But when you first moved in you had made one crucial mistake.

You were nice to the neighborhood kids.

You had been moving the last of your boxes into the front hall of your new apartment when three kids came bounding up the stairs. Their footsteps echoed in the labyrinth of stairs.

“Hey! Are you the one who just moved in? The new person?”

“It's rude to just say stuff, you to have to introduce us”

“Right!”

The most enthusiastic of the bunch was Flowerpot. The other stated their name was Poprocks and Flowerpot pointed to Sleep, who said nothing.

“Are those your real names?”

You asked with a sly smile.

“No! Of course not, what are you stupid?”

“Thats rude”

“Right, sorry”

Flowerpot explained that their nicknames were two summers old and that they had chosen names based on their absolute favorite things. You laughed.

“Your favorite thing ever is a flowerpot?”

“Not a flower pot, all flower pots!”

“You can't yell it makes you sound mean”

Flowerpot and Poprocks bickered and argued like this some more. They only stopped when the quiet Sleep spoke up.

“Can we play here?”

“Yeah can we?”

Poprocks reiterated.

“The lady that lived here before you was so mean, she never let us play up here! No one lets us play anywhere, Mad Dog is the only person who doesn't care! And he's mean to!”

You figured that Mad Dog was your across the hall neighbor.

“Does everyone who lives here have nicknames?”

“Mad Dog came with the nickname it's different.”

Flowerpot said, his tiny arms flinging up in the air as he ranted.

“If he lets you guys play out here why did you call him mean?”

Poprocks jumped onto Flowerpots shoulders, excited to speak.

“Because he uses bad words, he never says good morning or smiles at anyone and he always plays his music too late at night!”

She seemed pleased with the list of your neighbors' atrocities and once again you could only laugh.

“Okay, if my neighbor over there doesn't care that you guys mess around out here neither do I”

That first spring in your apartment was filled with various elementary school kids shooting nerf guns, fighting with pinecones, petty arguements and a rare homework session. Other kids from different buildings would often flock to your floor as well. You didn't know most of these ones, but occasionally when Flowerpot, Poprocks, and Sleep would speak to you and talk about apartment complex drama. You were able to differentiate with ‘the kid who always wants to be Mikey when you guys play Ninja turtles’ or ‘the kid who brings over water guns’ and so on.

You left out a bowl of candy for the kids and on your way out for the day you usually ran into Sleep’s mom, who would thank you for letting the kids “make a mess in front of your house” before waving you off.

Besides the pleasant atmosphere of your new home, there was also Kyotani.

☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾　　

The first time you saw Kyotnai was two days after being officially moved in. He was bringing up his groceries and looked tired so you only waved to him before heading inside your own place. You found that Poprocks was right. Sometime around 11:30 Kyotnai started listening to music. Loud. So loud. You were across the hall and could feel the vibrations of the music. The people below him must be pissed. You were pissed actually.

The next morning when you saw him pulling a bike over his shoulders on his way down the stairs you stopped him.

“Hi, I just moved in a couple days ago,”

You trailed off, he was staring so intensely. You turned away, forgetting where you were going with this conversation beyond the simple introduction. After telling him your name you expected him to introduce himself. He just kept looking at you, eyebrows creased, head tilted up to look at you as you were two steps above him. A panic settled in over you. Your mind scrambled for anything to grasp to make this less awkward.

“Those kids who play out here called you Mad Dog-”

“My name is Kyotani.”

☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾　

After the terrible first meeting you had with your neighbor you did your best to avoid him. You didn't want to deal with whatever it was that had transpired between you two. Well actually, nothing had transpired between you. Much to your surprise that was just how Kyotani was.

When he went to pick up his mail from the front office, he would shoulder check anyone who was standing too close to his mailbox. When he left to go somewhere on his bike he rode in the middle of the parking lot, once you had watched him turn onto the street and when a car almost hit him he just flipped them off.

You couldn't decide if he was arrogant, always running late and that's why he came off as rude, or if he just didn't care. Maybe it was all three. For about two weeks you waited for him to leave first in the mornings and put your headphones on when the music from across the hall got too loud.

☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾　

You had gotten home unexpectedly early. When you came up the stairs you stopped and watched the scene before you in slight amazement. Poprocks and some of the girls from another building were all huddled around Kyotani. One of them had brought their bike over.

“I’m sorry, I know you fixed it that one time but it came off again and I tired to do it but I didn't do it right”

The girl was almost crying and Poprocks patted her back soothingly.

“You're like nine its a miracle you even kinda knew how to fix this”

Kyotani said, his voice still had that gruff edge but you thought it wasn't too bad when he wasn't being horridly awkward.

“Look,”

He said pointing down to a part of the bike by the pedals.

“The chain works because it's tight, when you switch gears that changes how tight the chain is. When it fell off you put it on the wrong ring”

Now he moved his hands to the back of the bike and pushed on another part.

“Because the chain isn't tight, you can just pick it up, and put it where it's supposed to go, put it around the ring, then you just let go of this back here, and done”

Kyotani removed his hands from the bike. The girls cheered and spun the back wheel of the bike to test it.

“It's that easy?”

The girl said with a smile.

“That easy. I can break it again and you can try to fix it”

“No!”

All three girls shouted at once before hurrying away past you down the rest of the stairs. It was now that Kyotani saw you. There was a brief moment of eye contact before you pretended to look for your keys and he went inside his apartment.

☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾　

A couple days later you found yourself headed down to the pool. It had been a mostly shitty week and then you remembered the hot tub. There was only about an hour or so until the pool area that stood in the middle of the complex closed. But you were going to make sure it was an hour well spent. You got yourself ready, grabbing head phones, something to look at while you sat in the hot tub.

It had been cloudy all day so you doubted that anyone was down there. It hadn't rained and the sky had thrown no lightning so you felt safe heading down. Covering your swim wear with a t-shirt and grabbing some sandals you headed down.

You were walking along the cement path to the pool when you spotted a familiar blonde head already in the hot tub. Your steps faltered and you almost stopped. But you lived here, this was your home. You didn't want to feel uncomfortable around anyone here.

Opening the gate with your key three people turned to look at you. You ignored the note of your presence and took off your t-shirt, tossed your belongings onto a beach chair, and did your best to feel confident.

“Mind if I get in?”

“Sure!”

It wasn't Kyotani who answered, but one of the guys he was with. He had brown hair that swopped in front of his eyes a bit.

“This is Iwaizumi,”

Kyotani said pointing to the other person in the hot tub with you guys.

“And this is someone who wasn't supposed to come today but wouldn't stop calling me”

Mentioned person ignored Kyotani and focused only on you.

“My name is Oikawa, nice to meet you,”

After saying this Oikawa turned away from you to face Kyotani.

“You know you if you wanted me to leave you could have just asked”

Oikawa’s voice was double dipped in sarcasm and his face was so dramatic.

“I did actually tell you to leave”

Oikawa and Kyotani went back and forth like this. It eased your nerves, made you feel welcomed. You watched the lap of small waves and bubbles in the stream of warm water. You wished you could stay out in the relaxing water longer.

“Are you a friend of his”

Iwaizumi asked motioning his head to Kyotani, he sat across from you but the other two boys were too engrossed in arguing to pay attention to what he was saying. You sure weren't close to Kyotani, you were barely aqutinaces, but it would spoil the mood if you said otherwise. So only responded with a playful,

“Maybe”

Iwaizumi nodded before asking another question.

“You live here too?”

“Yeah, I actually live across from Kyotani”

Oikawa saw an opportunity to jump in here.

“What's that like? Terrible?”

“Shut up Oikawa”

Kyotani said quickly, flicking droplets of water at the other with his fingers.

“Besides the loud music it's not too bad”

You said with a shrug of your shoulders. Kyotani turned to you, a puzzled look adorning him.

“The music is loud?”

“Are you kidding? Has no one ever said anything to you before?”

The words came out as a stifled laugh as you watched Kyotani try to process this information.

“Why didn't you say anything before?”

You were about to answer when a crack of thunder cut you off.

“Shit”

Kyotani said before hosting himself out of the hot tub. The other boys followed suit and you all headed up to the building together.

“What are your plans for the rest of the night?”

Oikawa said, pulling you to him by the shoulder in a friendly gesture.

“You should ask someone if it's okay to touch them before you touch them dumbass”

“Oh he's actually right about something, sorry about that”

Oikawa apologized and pulled his arm off you.

“Apology accepted, and I was planning on watching a movie maybe getting some take out, nothing extragevent”

“Let us come over!”

“Really?”

You said, surprised that your rather normal plans excited Oikawa.

“I can use a movie night where I don't have to watch a Godzilla movie. By the way did you know there are a lot of Godzilla movies?”

“It’s not every time, okay? I let you pick movies too!"

Iwaizumi said, suddenly getting defensive. The two were in their own heated conversation now as Kyotnai and you trailed behind them up the stairs.

“Are you sure it's okay if we come over?”

“I’m sure”

☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

"Oh, sorry I can come back another time,"

You said to Kyotani, propping open the swinging door with your foot. Usually you did laundry on a different day but the week had been busier than expected.

"It's okay. I'm leaving-"

He was cut off by the sound of Sleep and Flowerpot jumping down the stairs. There were laundry rooms on every other floor, they sat on platforms in-between the sets of stairs. They only had a washer and dryer, and enough room for one person to come sit watch over their clothes.

"Hey let me help!"

Flowerpot dipped underneath your laundry basket and pushed it up from your grasp. Sleep rushed to help his friend before the basket had chance to fall over. They placed it onto the washing machine with a thunk.

"How come you little shits are so nice to them and not to me?"

"Because they're nice to us!"

Flowerpot said pointing at you.

Kyotani made a sound somewhere between a growl and a gruff laugh.

"What and I'm not?"

Flowerpot crossed their arms, not backing down to Kyotani.

"Just because you fix our bikes and toys and stuff doesn't count"

"I don't know, sounds pretty nice to me"

You said teasingly.

“The parents of the building hanging out!”

“Huh?”

You said as Poprocks bounded into the cramped room and pulled herself up on top of the dryer. Her swinging legs shut the hatch that Kyotani had just opened. The kids laughed at his annoyed expression.

“You guys always do stuff for us, and even though it's not a yard you let us play in your yard”

You were able to laugh but Kyotani said nothing, his head buried too far into the dryer for you to see his face.

“Speaking of parents dont you kids have other adults to go bother?” You asked them.

“Woah, Mad Dog, how hot is it in there?”

Flowerpot asked curiously when Kyotani pulled his head and the last of his clothes from the dryer.

“What?”

Kyotani said.

“Your face is so red it has to be really hot-”

“Hey don't do that!”

Both you and Kyotani said at the same time as Flowerpot attempted to stick his head in the dryer. Kyotani yanked at the kids shirt pulling him out.

“I’m fine! I’m fine! It's not even that hot!”

“It's rude to yell like that”

“I know!”

“Then why are you still yelling?”

With that Flowerpot chased Poprocks out of the room, Sleep and Kyotani following them out. Leaving you alone to do your laundry in quiet.

☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

“That's weird”

You said looking at the banking app on your phone. Your paycheck hadn't deposited yet. Most Fridays the money just showed up in your account. You closed the app and then opened it again only to get an error message. You tried on your laptop. Then you googled your bank's name and found a couple articles talking about how your bank was updating their app, website, and other internal servers. Something hadn't gone correctly though. A lot of people couldn't access their accounts online.

You decided you would deal with this issue tomorrow. You opened up the fridge trying to piece together a meal with what you had when pure fear raced up your spine. It was the first of the month. Rent was due. You ran to your room putting your shoes back on, checking what time the bank closed, grabbing your wallet and then running outside.

You were halfway down the stairs when you saw the bus you were supposed to be getting on pull off down the street. The one time the bus was there when it should be and you weren't there to get on it. The bank was going to close soon, it was about four miles away you wouldn't be able to walk there in time. You turned back up the stairs and knocked on Kyotanis door.

“How fast are you on your bike?”

☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

Riding on the pegs of Kyotanis bike was a church like experience. You leaned over him, arms tightly wrapped around his shoulders. At turns and stop lights you closed your eyes, or buried your head into him. Everything was just blurs of sound and color. The two of you left behind whistles of speed as Kyotani continued to pedal faster and faster.

“I have the-”

The person in the car couldn't even finish before Kyotani spat out his own retort.

“I’m on a fucking bike!”

This was true. He was on a bike and somehow both very good and very bad at riding it. When he turned into the parking lot of the bank you two spun as he braked. You felt disoriented and didn't want to let go of him just yet.

“Do you have rent to pay or not?”

“Okay, okay, I’m going!”

You jumped down from the pegs and jogged into the bank. Kyotani had managed to get you there with only ten minutes before the bank closed. You weren't the only one in line to speak to a teller though. Your fingers tapped on your arm, your foot bounced worrying that you wouldn't be able to speak to anyone in time. But another teller opened their station and you were saved.

☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

The ride home was much less stressful. You didn't feel nervous about being flung into oncoming traffic because Kyotani had also seemed to calm down. There was no aggressive speed or sharp turns. The wind felt gracious on your skin, the sun orange and cool in the dusk. It felt like you were gliding over the concrete.

“We should do stuff like this”

You said.

“What? Go to the bank again?”

“No, we should like hang out”

“Hm”

You slapped his shoulder.

“Don't just say hm”

“Fine, I agree we should,”

The words fumbled around in his mouth and it was the closet you'd ever see him stutter.

“Hang out”

☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

A/N: No editing , no planning, just the usual late night word vomit.

#kyotani x reader #kyotani kentaro #Kyōtani Kentarō #kyoutani kentarou #haikyuu!!#haikyuu x reader #haikyuu x gender neutral reader

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join-the-joywrite · 3 years

Text

Take my hand (take my whole life too)

"We played the Oprheum!"

The bouncing hug only lasted a second or two. While the boys regained a significant amount of lost strength, Julie's was slowly dwindling. She was, after all, only human and was out of home way later than usual. Her own internal clock seemed to be screaming at her to at least sit down.

Instead, she went down with the boys as her foot caught on a cable and she stumbled to the floor.

Alex made for a soft landing, one for which her apology was littered with giggles. Alex didn't mind. The slight pain was welcome in comparison to Caleb's jolts. Not to mention, he'd wanted to hug Julie ever since she cried during her not-so-private performance of her mother's song weeks ago. So he lay on the floor and squished Julie tight, only bringing forth more giggles.

"Hey, my turn!" Reggie yelled, rolling over and dropping himself half on Julie, fully on Alex.

"Oof," Luke commented, "that looks like it hurt."

"It did," Alex wheezed, adjusting himself to get used to the additional weight.

As one, all three of them held out an arm to Luke, who didn't hesitate to scoot closer and join the cuddle pile. Head on Alex's shoulder, he was right in front of Julie. He gave her a smile that, had she been standing, would've probably made her lose her balance. She gave him one back.

"I like this," Reggie murmured contentedly, closing his eyes.

"Yeah," Julie agreed, relishing in the fact that she could finally hug her boys, "me too."

They stayed like that for a moment before Alex sat up with great difficulty, sending them all tumbling. "You're all very heavy," he stated by way of explaining.

Julie chuckled and moved to stand up. Luke and Reggie grabbed one of her arms each.

"Stay," both whined. Reggie continued with a grin. "I promise I can be a soft pillow for you."

"I'd love to, honestly, but Carlos is waiting for me. He wanted to talk to me and. . ."

"Fine," Reggie huffed, "but just know that I'm feeling incredibly hurt right now."

Julie ruffled his hair, grinning when he closed his eyes and smiled under her touch. "There's always tomorrow."

Still, all three of them pouted when Julie stood up and righted her clothes.

"I'll see you guys in the morning," she said before walking to the doors. She paused just before closing it. "Thank you, guys."

Alex gave her a wave. Luke smiled at her with a dopey expression. Reggie continued to pout.

Julie bounded up the pathway, gait as giddy as her smile. Carlos was waiting for her in the living room.

"Hey," she said, joining him on the couch.

"Hey."

"Whatcha got there?" she asked, nodding to the paper Carlos' hands were clamped around. "Another French dip recipe?"

Carlos shook his head. "You know what this is."

"I . . . really don't."

"Your band! They're--!" Carlos stopped and glanced around looking for their father. He leaned across the vouch and whispered to Julie with wide eyes, "ghosts."

Julie forced a laugh. "What? No, don't be silly, there's no such thing as ghosts."

Carlos lifted his eyebrows. "Okay, then explain this."

Julie picked up the little black and blue page Carlos tossed to the middle of the couch, recognising it as a CD insert. For Sunset Curve. Julie's own eyebrows lifted slightly, but she continued to pretend like she hadn't a clue what was happening. Then she turned it over and knew the jig was up. Staring up at her was all four members of Sunset Curve. Trevor, or Bobby, sure looked different when he was younger.

"They're just lookalikes--"

"I'd believe you if they were here and we could touch them."

The idea of being able to hold and hug her bandmates brought a warm smile back to Julie's face. She quickly wiped it off and shook her head. "Where'd you even find this?"

"In the box with the French dip recipe."

"Ah."

Carlos suddenly looked around wildly. Julie looked around too.

"What? What happened? What are we looking for?"

"Are they here?"

"What? No, they're in the garage--"

"Aha!" Carlos grinned and folded his arms. "You're a terrible liar, Jules."

"Wh-- I am not!"

"You are, though."

Julie jumped slightly and moved away from Reggie. Carlos noticed and immediately turned his gaze where Julie looked. "Are they here now? Tell them I say hello!"

Julie rolled her eyes. "They can hear you, dork -- and it's just Reggie."

"Tell him that I say hello."

"Reggie says hello," Julie said, heaving a resigned sigh. "What are you doing here? I told you I'd see you in the morning."

"I knew it," Carlos whispered to himself as he watched his sister talk to thin air. She looked, in all honesty, a bit insane, but at least he knew he was right about the ghosts. "So how does the ghost thing even work? How come I can't see him now, but we can all see them when you play?"

Julie whipped her head from Reggie to Carlos. "It -- I'll explain it all tomorrow, okay? It's been a long day. Reggie, go back to the studio. Carlos, to bed. It's late."

"All right," Carlos grumbled, sliding off the couch. He paused at the stairs and glanced back to see Julie scolding nothing. He hoped he'd get to officially met the guys. Julie made them seem fun.

"All right, little man, what do you wanna hear?"

Julie repeated the question to Carlos, letting him know that it was Reggie who asked.

Carlos thought for a moment. "I like the song you were singing before you got back into the music program."

"Oh, that's not our song, that -- that--"

"No, it's okay," Luke said, "I'm sure we can work something out."

"I -- okay."

Carlos sat down on the couch, almost bouncing with excitement as Julie took a seat behind the piano. The melody she played wasn't loud and energetic like their usual songs. It was quiet and gentle. Even when the band kicked in, they were much softer than usual. Julie hummed along where the words should be so that Carlos could easily speak to the boys.

"I'm--"

"Wait!" Carlos said, jumping off the couch, cutting Luke off. "I'm gonna guess based on what Julie says about you."

"You talk about us?" Luke asked with a teasing grin.

Julie hit a particularly furious note. "Shut up."

"Luke, Reggie and Alex," Carlos said, pointing to the correct band member as he went.

"Nice, little man!"

"This is so cool," Carlos whispered, eyes widening when Reggie paused playing and knelt down for Carlos to stick his hand through Reggie's arm. "Woah."

The band noticed that they were very intangible to Carlos.

Luke was only slightly disappointed when Carlos chose to focus his attention on Alex next.

"I like your hoodie."

"Thanks," Alex said, beaming. "Here, you wanna try?"

"Nah, I don't play music . . . okay, maybe a little."

Julie laughed softly as she watched Alex stand and then point where Carlos should hit. To keep them from disappearing, she continued the piano. Luke kept up with his guitar, grinning at her all the while. Their little musical conversation didn't go unnoticed by Reggie and Alex, who shared a knowing glance before Carlos grabbed Alex's attention.

"Have you ever accidentally stabbed your drums through with the sticks?"

"No, and please do not do that. We have no idea what it costs to repair dead instruments."

Carlos handed the drumsticks back to Alex and hopped off the chair. He stood in front of Luke, who knelt down as Reggie had done.

"So. You're the one my sister has a crush on."

"Carlos!" Jullie yelled, standing up and slamming down about five wrong keys.

"It was nice meeting you," Carlos yelled as he fled the garage.

With her face burning, Julie chased him down.

Alex and Reggie did their best not to laugh. They really did. But the shell-shocked look on Luke's face was hilarious. Even the withering glare Luke sent them didn't help quieten their laughter.

Up in the house, Ray Molina thought he was about to witness a wrestling match. "Julie! What are you doing?"

Julie, who suddenly realised there was no way to explain why she was attacking Carlos without either sounding like a lunatic or exposing the phantoms to her father, slowly slid down to the ground.

Carlos sat up on the couch. "Julie has a crush on Luke! Julie has a crush on Luke! Julie has a--"

"Oh, that is it!"

Perplexed, Ray watched Julie spring back on the couch with a war cry, followed by a pained, "How could you say that in front of him?!"

"Who's Luke?"

Carlos, seemingly determined to ruin Julie's life, broke out from her seeking arms and grinned at Ray. "The beanie boy in her little boyband--"

"CARLOS!"

"Julie," Ray said, a playful warning edge creeping into his voice as he folded his arms, "is there something you want to talk about?"

"No! Not at all! Excuse me, I have to go, um, rehearse!"

"Rehearse?" Ray exchanged an amused grin with Carlos. "What for?"

"Uh, future gigs? You know, since we played the Orpheum, we might get like a ton of calls and -- oh, like this, see?" As Julie held up her phone, both Ray and Carlos saw Flynn's name, but both decided to give Julie a small reprieve. In the meantime, Carlos could fill Ray in about this little crush business.

"You are not going to believe what just happened," Julie said, taking the stairs two at a time. "I took Carlos down to the garage to meet the guys, you know, 'cause he figured them out and he wanted to meet them, but then he told Luke I have a crush on him and I ended up chasing Carlos back to the house 'cause I didn't want to stay in the garage with Luke -- and Alex and Reggie -- and then my dad caught us fighting on the couch and then Carlos told my dad that I have a crush on Luke and my life is over!"

Flynn took a moment to respond. "Well . . . it's not like he's wrong, is he?"

"Flynn!" The wail that Julie threw into her pillow as she face planted her bed was equal parts betrayed and mortified. "How am I supposed to show my face at practice now? Can I come and bury my head in the sand at your place?"

Flynn laughed over the phone. "Grow up, Jules. You turned Nick down for this air cutie. Nick. You made your choice, now live with it."

"Flynn," Julie growled.

"Okay, okay. Look, you have to talk about it at some point. There's no way you can have that kind of fire on stage without some mutual attraction, and that's just Luke and Reggie. Then there's Luke and you. Jules, that's not even a fire anymore. There is something serious between you two and even though I still think it's a bad idea because he's, you know, air, I still think you need to talk about it before the wrong thing blows up."

"I know," Julie sighed. "I can handle Luke -- I think. It's my dad I'm worried about. How do I explain it all without him wanting to take me to a shrink?"

"Don't tell him anything. Show him. Maybe with a little less flair than you did with me. Play him something soft. Like . . . wasn't your mom in a couple of bands when she was our age? Maybe he'd know one of her songs. Maybe if you guys played something of hers, he'll have enough of his head around him to know it's all real, but enough of it will be in the clouds that it'll be easy to explain."

Julie stared at her phone, at the contact photo she had of Flynn. "You are a genius."

"I know. So, I was just calling to ask how you're holding up, but I'm going to assume everything is fine and the guys didn't cross over?"

"Yeah, no, it was really weird. Caleb's curse just sort of . . . broke, I guess, after I hugged them."

"Wait, hold up. You hugged them? What was that like, arms hanging in the air and hoping you were touching?"

Julie sighed a happy sigh. "We have a lot to talk about."

"I'll be there for dinner, no excuses -- and I expect your dad to know what's going on by then."

Julie rolled over and muffled a groan of despair into her pillow.

"Rough day?"

"It's only ten," Julie whined, lifting her head to give Alex her sad eyes.

Alex smiled. "You'll be fine -- I mean with your dad thing. With Luke on the other hand. . ."

Julie faux sobbed into her pillow, eliciting a soft chuckle from Alex, who sat down on her bed. He reached out for her shoulder then quickly drew back. Ever since Julie left the garage last night, it had been on his mind -- on all their minds -- that the hug was a one-time thing. He didn't want to confirm their fears if they were right.

"Hey, it's okay, Jules."

Julie let out a strangled wail that took Alex a few seconds of clamping his mouth shut to avoid laughing at the poor girl.

"I'm serious. You know, Luke, he . . . he's not great with feelings. He talks with music, with songs, with lyrics. He says the most important things when he looks at you on stage or at a rehearsal or when you're writing music together. He's just scared. I mean, we all are, but him most."

Julie sat up, hugging her wail-pillow to her chest. "You sound like you're speaking from experience."

Alex shrugged. "All I'm saying is, give him a chance -- and give Carlos a break. Honestly, he might have just done you a favour."

"I cannot believe you're taking Carlos' side."

"I'm not! I'm not, I'm just -- things are already complicated. How much worse can they get?"

Julie sighed. "I don't know. . ."

"Well, it's not like Luke does either. He's locked himself in the bathroom and Reg and I think he's been crying in the bathtub this whole time. We'd phase through the door but Luke can actually hit us if he wants to so. . ."

"Oh, and you think I can't?" Julie teased.

The two shared an amused grin, but beneath it, both were thinking the same thing. What if she couldn't?

"All right, I'll tall to him. But you and Reggie have to leave."

Julie ventured into the empty garage. She looked around for Reggie and Alex, unsure if she was relieved or not when she didn't find them. Up in the loft, they watched Julie disappear as she headed further in towards the bathroom door.

She knocked gently. "Luke?"

Silence.

"Come on, I know you're in there. Alex says you've locked yourself in and won't come out."

"I'm not Luke."

"Okay, but I need to talk to Luke so can you pass on the message for me?"

"I'll let him know."

Julie smiled, finding Luke's behaviour somewhat amusing. She leaned against the door. "I'm sorry about Carlos, he . . . he just really enjoys embarrassing me in front of people. I guess he figured since you guys can't really speak to other people, you'll have to talk to me and we'll all have to confront whatever he said so that's why he picked you to tease and --" Julie broke off with a sigh.

The bathroom stayed silent.

"And I'm sorry for running out after him. I was just . . . I was afraid of what you'd say."

When Luke spoke again, though his voice was much softer, it was also much clearer. As if he were closer to the door. "Why? Was he . . . telling the truth? Did you say something?"

Julie fidgeted with the sleeves on her yellow jersey. "No, but I'm not exactly the most subtle person and if you haven't noticed, I suck at lying."

Luke laughed softly. "Oh, we noticed. Everyone knows you're a horrible liar."

"Thanks," Julie said with a grin, "I mean, I really just came here to affirm what a bad liar I am."

"Ooh, sarcastic too."

"Shut up."

"Well?" Luke said after a moment of silence. "Was he?"

Julie leaned against the door and sighed. "What does it matter? It's not like anything would come of it."

"It does matter, Jules. It -- it matters because -- well, I mean, you matter. To me."

"I know," Julie said softly, turning so that her back was against the door. "It sucks, doesn't it?"

"Not all of it sucks," Luke murmured from the other side of the door. "We could find a way. You've already done so much that no other lifer ever has, as far as anyone knows. Why stop there?"

Julie laughed. "Your ambition is very inspiring, Luke, but everything has a limit."

"So find that limit, then. You'll never know how high it is if you stop now."

Julie felt something brush her hand and glanced down to see Luke's arm phasing through the door. She wanted to reach for his hand but she was afraid she'd just pass through him. So she made a joke instead.

"You do realise that a floating arm is way more unsettling than anything else ghosts have ever done, right?"

"How's a floating head?" Luke asked, pulling his hand back and leaning forward. He gave Julie a grin. "That's always scary, right?"

"Stop it, that's weird."

Neither noticed that Julie had managed to make physical contact with Luke until after she'd shoved him back into the bathroom.

"If I come out there, are you going to poke me in the eyes again?"

"First of all, I didn't," Julie said, appreciating that Luke wasn't reacting with the panicked excitement she felt. "Second of all, I'll try not to."

"Okay, but if you do, I'm really going back into the bathtub."

Julie twisted her fingers and wrung her wrists and bounced nervously as she waited for Luke to step through the door.

"Can we try that again?" Luke asked, holding out both hands to her.

The scene felt vaguely familiar to Julie, and everything came crashing down when her hands passed through Luke's once and then twice.

"You're nervous," Luke said softly, "there's no need to be. You didn't think last time. You weren't nervous."

"I can't. I don't know what it is--"

"Yes, you do. You know it's not us doing anything. You're the one with all the magic, Jules."

Nervous but now confident, Julie tried once again. She thought she'd be able to walk on water whe she felt Luke's hands close around her own. The smile he gave her was the usual dopey look she always noticed him wearing around her.

"See? It's all you."

Julie squeezed his hands, almost like she was afraid she wouldn't be able to hold on much longer. "I like this," she murmured.

"Hey, Jules?"

"Yeah?"

Luke watched her eyes widen the tiniest bit as she gave him a questioning look. "Uh, do you -- about what Carlos said . . . We will talk about that, right?"

"Yes. I promise. Just . . . later?"

"Okay." Just the promise was enough for Luke. Besides, he could hold her, now. He could hold her hand, brush her hair out of her face, hug her. He could even flick her nose or tug her curls to annoy her, nudge her around when she didn't laugh at his jokes. And if -- he hoped she did -- but if she didn't feel the same way he did, then being able to be her best friend and just high five her now and then would still be enough. She wasn't just out of reach anymore.

Ayeeeee this just be sitting in my notes??? I found it like this??? All it needed was a title??? Speaking of, I might change that title and steal it for a sad fic oop

#julie and the phantoms #julie and the fat ones #julie and the himbos #jatp #julie molina #luke patterson #juke #jukebox #jatp fic

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notalittlebutalottie · 3 years

Note

Lottie, sweetheart, I am in urgent need of some hurt/comfort. Do you have anything that you might be willing to share? Please, please, pretty please! 🥺 THANK YOU! 💙🌼💙

Aga, I appreciate your commitment to this ask that I asked you to ask ❤😘 I started writing this in January when I was feeling my sad girl shit™️ and it’s been nearly two months since I last posted a drabble this long so...be gentle 🌼 Quite frankly, I don’t even know if I like it...but I hope you guys do!

♡ KLAROLINE DRABBLE #65: No Lights on the Horizon♡

New York City rains far more than Caroline had anticipated. It seems to coincide with every bad day and kick her when she’s already down. It waits until she’s out of the subway and on the long stretch of block to pour from the sky. She trudges along as best as she can but the mop of hair that begins to weigh her down isn’t exactly motivational. Then, when she’s finally stumbling into her apartment building, her clothes are dripping with each step. Today is no better. It’s worse. Her bag feels heavier than usual and her attempt at dolling herself up by way of stilettos has proved to be an ill-choice. But the stairwell feels unbearably long, heels or no heels. Sleep has been hard to come by as of late and the higher up she gets on the stairs, the harder she has to pull herself up by the banister.

It’s not all bad living in New York, though. The Spring she arrived was one of the most thrilling moments in her life. Freedom from her small town of Mystic Falls was an alluring prospect but nowhere near the true excitement of what she experienced. And then September came, the seasons changed and it all went to shit. Her first job is fine, her co-workers are fine, and the pay, while questionable, is fine. But life has been nothing but a drizzle since her mother’s death. The two weeks she spent back at home collecting pitiful glances from townsfolk and attempting to box up her childhood home while her absent father looked on weren’t cathartic in the slightest. All she can do is throw herself into work and hope that the gaping hole she feels will close up eventually.

When Caroline finally reaches her door, she can hear a cacophony of voices and it draws a tired breath. She lets her eyes fall shut and her shoulders sag for a moment. The bi-weekly meeting of the MFSG or Mystic Falls Support Group is one strict in her calendar. She had started it only a week after settling into life in New York to rally all those who had escaped their small town of Virginia. She had been more gung ho about the idea than the others at the time, most of them content to go their separate ways, but managed to succeed with some prodding. Katherine is adamant that the name sounds cheesy but when Caroline asked for a better idea, she rolled her eyes and told her, “whatever.”

It’s Caroline’s turn this week and she’s sure she cancelled it but her mind hasn’t been very focused past the daily motions. Of all the things she doesn’t need right now, it’s her friends arguing back and forth over meaningless crap while she pretends to care. The energy they’ll no doubt demand from her is energy she just doesn’t have right now. She contemplates whether she can make a break for the nearest coffee shop and wait them out. It won’t be a proud moment but at least she’ll have some peace. She scraps that idea the moment she realises that the collective stubbornness of her friends far outweighs hers alone.

She fumbles with her keys, taking a deep breath because she really can’t be crying over opening a freaking door, and twists it roughly when it’s finally in. She does her best to blink away all exhaustion as she’s making her entrance and even that feels like a terrible effort. The least she can do, she thinks, is brush her damp curls behind her ear in hopes that it somehow makes her presentable.

“Finally, the host is here!” Katherine yells before she even crosses the threshold. When Caroline does step in, she’s quick to comment, “You look like hell, Care.”

Caroline manages an eye-roll but she can’t bring herself to grin as she says, “Thanks, Kat. I’ll let the weatherman know rain doesn’t go with Ralph Lauren.” No one takes note of her demeanour, thankfully. They’ve all collected on the couches at the far end of the room, their belongings strewn over the coffee table. She’s lucky to have such a nice apartment when Kat and Bonnie share what’s practically a shoe box and Matt’s couch-surfing at Elena and Stefan’s place. If she was less needy, she might complain about the shared bathroom but even that is much larger than the New York average.

When she pushes the door shut behind her, Katherine is already continuing on a conversation, “So anyway, Greta told me that April told her—”

Caroline sheds herself of her brown duffle coat and clumsily lets it fall onto the hook beside the door. She kicks off her shoes and spends a few seconds standing idle. She wonders if locking herself in her room would give them the hint to leave or whether they’ll take to banging on her door until she reappears. Just like the coffee shop idea, it becomes null and void when she remembers who her friends are.

“How was work?” she hears to the right of her, low and careful. Her shoulders hitch upwards but she forces them to settle before looking in the voice’s direction. Klaus is standing in the kitchenette, paint stained henley and sweatpants on, his eyes fixed on hers as he holds a mug.

“Fine,” is all she can muster for now.

Stubborn friends aside, Klaus is another thing she just can’t deal with right now. Her relationship with him wasn’t a planned one and neither was the not-so-happy ending to it. She had initially asked Rebekah if she could crash at hers but apparently, giving up even one inch of space was too much for her. So Caroline was pawned off onto her brother with the empty room and poor social skills. Scratch that. Great social skills and an even greater unwillingness to use them. And a serious ability to push her buttons. Between their heated discussions over music and run-ins after showers, it wasn’t long before she began thoroughly considering the moral quandary of jumping into bed with her friend’s older brother. Katherine, of course, encouraged her the moment the arrangement was mentioned. She’d done her best to avoid it but just one wandering eye and a quirked lip at one a.m. was all it took for her to be nestled in his lap with his hands on her hips and their lips battling for dominance.

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#klaroline #klaus mikaelson #caroline forbes #klaroline fanfiction #the vampire diaries #the originals #kc fanfiction #drabble #hurt and comfort #human au #romance #klarolineagainnaturally

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m-iila · 3 years

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[ 📁 > m-iila > navigation > scene selection > late night lightning ]

chapter 004 - lightning boy + thunder girl ( night three )

❝KAMINARI looked down proudly at his creation. Glancing up at the person attached to the hand he drew on.

"You got a problem with that?" He faked an attitude.

Her grin grew, "Nope."

"Good, it's your turn." The boy placed the pen in her dominant hand and watched eagerly as she drew an O in a left-corner box.

The two passed a single marker back and forth. Filling up each individual box, flooding the girl's skin with ink.

"Playing defense, dear ( l/n )?" Kaminari cooed.

"Possibly." The girl was too focused to let his sneaky small-talk distract her. She handed him the marker. "Why?" With a smirk, their eyes met again. However, the girl was no longer covered in fluttering butterflies. At this moment she was a lioness. Stalking her falsely proud prey, preparing for the pounce.

"I would say that's a pretty smart strategy," Kaminari played his next move. This time blocking her two straight marks on the top row. "But it's not going to win." His ego grew alongside the grin on his face.

( y/n ) pouted, "Come on Kami. Aren't you supposed to go easy on me?" The girl played a simpler move, plopping a mark in the lower corner. Not surrounded by one of her pawns. "Oops." She sighed with defeat.

The boy plotted. Making his planned second to the last move. He laughed at her request. "Sorry ( y/n ), but-"

He was cut off by ( y/n )'s final mark. "Checkmate! Or um, what do you say in Tic-Tac-Toe?" She paused to think as the yellow boy froze in shock of his loss, "Tickity-Tackity-Toes, Denki Kaminari." The girl exclaimed with pride.

"B-But," he was left astounded as the girl beside him snickered with success. Kaminari was surprised at his loss. The boy was positive he would have won, and he had no intentions of losing. After all, he was a persistent hero in training. "Rematch! I call rematch!" Kaminari jumped up and chanted.

"Oh, you're on goat eyes!" The girl excitedly took on his challenge, giggling with a glow in her eyes.

The pair continued to play. Coating each square inch of their skin. Smearing blue ink across their limbs. Two competitive heroes were sprawled on the floor as ( y/n ) drew the final board below the boy's right knee. Right now the score was marked;

Lightning boy - 25 Thunder girl - 26 ( y/n ) absolutely despised the nickname. Which made Kaminari love it even more.

The girl sighed with proud eyes. "I guess you could try and tie it. But your sad skills will never live up to mine." ( y/n ) moved her pawn in a corner spot and handed him the pen. The boy flicked her forehead and snatched the blue utensil.

"You underestimate the megamind I contain."

( y/n ) ceased to contain her laughter. "I think you mean mastermind-" Bubbles of giggles popped from her lips. Kaminari found it hard to concentrate on his next play with the sparkling sound. Her laughs sounded like the sprinkling of soft April showers. The ones that brought May flowers. Attaching joy and light with every dewdrop. Her happiness matched that of Spring. The boy adored Spring.

"Ya know." Still waiting for his move, she began to converse. Unknowingly bringing Kaminari's attention back to the game. "My mom never let me drawn on myself."

The boy hummed for her to continue. He was shaking the remnants of the pen, trying to regain flow in the limited blue color. While simultaneously rummaging through his recent thoughts.

"I don't know. She always had weird strict rules like that. Growing up, I wasn't allowed to watch shows with people in them. Or listen to country music."

Kaminari snorted at the prior.

Which continued ( y/n )'s laughter from before. "I'm serious. She is full of ridiculous rules."

The rain began to hit the ground a little harder. Sounds of splashing puddles surrounded the area. But the two were in their own world drawing shapes on Kaminari's leg. The score was lost. it no longer mattered and faded into the evening. Or would it be morning? Time also began to lose purpose in their world.

And in this world, there was just one problem. No more canvas. The two had their limbs inked with blue doodles. There was nowhere to continue, and it wasn't like they wanted to stop.

Mindlessly clicking the mechanism submerged in thought. The girl was struck with a bright idea. She pulled the boy in front of her closer. Gently pressing the tip of the tool to his forehead drawing an X.

( y/n ) leaned back to examine her fine artistry.

"And what was that for?" He smiled.

She stood up, casually looking behind her shoulder at the boy with a shrug. "For future reference. So I know not to flick your megamind." ( y/n ) teased.

As the girl began to move she felt a force pull her down. Back onto the ground held by the boy. Kaminari snatched the marker from her grasp and drew a big circle on her soft cheek. Recreating her previous motions, he pulled back surveying his masterpiece.

"There."

( y/n ) repeated the boy's question from mere moments ago. "What was that for?"

"Now we're even."

"Even," The girl returned his words.

It seemed to her, that when he spoke the world listened. She heard nothing but him. The axis stopped spinning, just for an instant, waiting for his words. Wherever he went her mind seemed to follow.

"Wait!" Kaminari's exclamation shook the dreamy-eyed girl out of her otherworldly daze.

"Wait?" She began to question.

He pulled her into his lap. Igniting the pen once more. Making dashes and doodles about her cheek. "Now it's finished." The girl started to raise her fingers to her cheek, only to be stopped by his hands. "It'll smudge."

She hummed. "And what might it be?"

"Well, an artist must always add their marks."

"Kaminari, did you sign my face?"

A smug emotion pulled at his features. "Of course I did- ( y/n )!"

She silently drew his face closer to hers. Tracing the lines of her signature across his cheek. "Even." ( y/n ) plainly stated.

"Kami I-." She started.

"Yes?" His bright eyes glowed hazy, like the soft melted gold of dawn.

"I-," she bit her lip searching for the words. Alas, tonight she settled for "I had fun tonight. Thank you." A shining smile bloomed on her face as she recalled the full night they had together.

Something changed in his eyes, she couldn't exactly read what but the golden globes lost a sense of curiosity? She couldn't quite tell, but they weren't the same as moments prior.

"Me too." He shared a small smile as well.

"Goodnight dear Lightning boy."

She saw a smirk adorn his features at the nickname. As the girl got up to leave she heard a faint, "Goodnight darling thunder girl."

#🌼m-iilaswriting #⚡late night lightning #⚡lnl #denki kaminari #kaminari x reader #denki kaminari x reader #bnha #mha #reader insert #female reader #fanfiction #bnhafic #my hero academia

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magalidragon · 4 years

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Tiny Dancer | a drabble set in the “It Is What It Is” universe

a/n: For @stilesssolo I said I would do a drabble of smol!Jon in ballet tights. 🤣 Here it is! Also I just threw his moodboard together in like ten min which is why it is trash. But then again, so am I, just absolute Jonerys trash, lol.

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Dany grunted, separating back the heel of her ballet shoe from the fabric, reaching down with her knife and gouging out the shank of the shoe, releasing a triumphant cry when she yanked it out, holding it into the air like a prize. She dropped it to the floor with the rest of the detritus that accumulated when she prepped her shoes. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw her boyfriend frowning at her, over top of his book, his glasses glinting in the light coming off the fireplace in front of them both. “What?” she asked, chuckling, not stopping her destruction of the shoes.

“Aren’t those things rather expensive?”

“About 200 dragons a pair, yes.”

“And you just…destroy them?”

She folded the shoe backwards and forwards, easily moldable now that the shank was out. Once she had it the way she wanted, she picked up her darning needle and threaded it, beginning to work on the ribbons. She shrugged. “It’s a disposable product at the end of the day, these need to fit me perfectly.” She wiggled her toes out, so he could see the broken nails, bruises, and calluses that covered her small, yet strong, feet. It used to upset her, how she couldn’t wear sandals or get cute pedicures the way all her friends could, but she was proud of her feet. They showed how good at her profession she was, how athletic and strong. They were what kept her going. “Because they protect these, ultimately.”

“I guess I won’t understand.” He set his book aside, crawling onto the floor to sit with her. One of her cats, Drogon, was fussing with an end of her ribbons, batting it back and forth in his paws. Ghost eyed them all and she kept watch on him out of the corner of her other eye, lest he run off with one of her shoes again. He’d taken a liking to them.

Although she’d discovered one day that his chewing on one of the shoes had actually softened the toe box a little. It wasn’t a habit she wanted him to get into though. “You didn’t see your mom doing this?”

Jon laughed. “Yeah, I did, sometimes helped her. She would give me the shoes and have me bang them on the floor with her.”

“That’s actually genius.” Little boys were all about that loud noise and screaming. Lyanna getting a small tiny Jon to beat the shit out of her pointe shoes was actually a nice sight. She pursed her lips up, smacking a kiss to his cheek. “Baby Jon.”

His palm came over, pressing to the very tiny bump on her waist, his face soft and goofy. “Baby Dany.”

Her hand covered his, squeezing lightly. “Baby You and Me,” she said, accepting his kiss. He patted her belly gently and moved, getting to his feet. She glanced down at her bump, which had not deterred her from dancing; if anything she wanted to keep it up, to stay in shape throughout the pregnancy. It had been quite a shock, discovering that after only a year they were expecting, but it was only a matter of time.

The bell at the front of the house, a small cottage they’d located on the outskirts of Winterfell, rang—more like gonged—Ghost released his high-pitched whine, closest thing he could do as a mute. He jumped up and bounded after Jon to the door, while she remained on the floor, stretching out her legs to either side into a semi-splitz and forward bend, figuring maybe she’d prep for a workout later and get some stretching in.

At the front door there was a happy laugh, the sound of bags rustling, and a moment later Jon entered, smiling wide. “Mom came to visit.”

“I actually come bearing gifts.” Lyanna, who wasn’t quite as petite as her, nimbly stepped around the various objects on the floor, and held aloft two gift bags. She glanced at the shoes piled up that Dany had been working on, and chuckled. “Oh, I remember those days. Shoe prep. You know I used to get Jon to…”

“He told me,” she laughed, coming up and reaching for Lyanna. It was still amazing to her that this woman would be her mother-in-law one day, when she idolized her as a small girl. She poked at one of the bags, nudging into the tissue paper. “You didn’t need to bring anything.”

Lyanna patted her belly, which Dany pushed out a bit obnoxiously, since at five months she wasn’t quite as big as she’d expected to be. Doctor said itw as because she was an athlete, she might not pop until the end. “I did so have to bring something for my future grandchild. Also…” A devlish look crossed her face, her gray eyes twinkling. “I found something while cleaning out the house.”

Whatever it was, Jon was wary, his matching gray eyes narrowing. “Oh?”

“Hmm. Be a dear and get me some tea.”

“You don’t need tea, what is it?”

“Jon, get your mother some tea,” Dany chastised. He huffed, storming out of the room, throwing a censuring look over his shoulder. She stuck her tongue out at him. Once he was out of earshot, she whipped around to Lyanna. “Oh gods, what is it? What did you find?”

Lyanna grinned, hand diving into the other bag. She removed a DVD case, smirking. “Had to get this transferred from the recorded copy but it is so worth it.”

One of the things that Dany had wanted desperately to see when she’d begun dating Jon and after learning that his mother had forced him into ballet shoes when he was little, were ballet photos of him. Except, to Lyanna’s enduring disappointment in her son, when he was a teenager, Jon had gone through the house and purged it of any photo of him in ballet clothes, lest his friends or Robb might locate them and humiliate him. Lyanna was still pissed off at him for it.

“Didn’t leave me with one photo!” she raged, when Dany had asked her about it at their first dinner together. Jon hadn’t cared and calmly continued eating, saying it was for the best.

Lyanna hurried to the TV and plugged in what she needed. A moment later, the screen flickered and Dany was greeted with the greatest thing she ahd ever seen in her entire life. Except maybe the sonogram of her child. This was an exceptionally close second.

The footage was homemade, from someone’s old-fashioned camcorder, and from the front row of what she recognized was the main auditorium at the ballet academy. The curtain pulled open, the audience applauded, and then a line of little girls in pale pink leotards, tights, and tutus walked onto the stage, eagerly waving at their parents. They couldn’t be more than five. And then….teh greatest thing ever….Dany yelped, covering her mouth with her hands, tears springing to the corners of her eyes.

In both adoration, love, and because she thought she might start laughing nonstop.

A little Jon Snow, dark curls tangled on his head, in a white shirt and gray leotard tights, bringing up the rear of the line. He looked down at the camera and to her amusement, he scowled. Then he reluctantly lifted up his little hand and waved, before focusing his attention on the instructor, who Dany couldn’t see. He snapped to attention immediately and began to follow the program, little feet moving as they ran across the stage, prancing and doing plies and jumping here and there.

“Oh my gods,” she breathed, a hand on her belly and the over stilly over her mouth, watching the tiny Jon on the stage. She kept repeating it, while Lyanna giggled nonstop beside her.

“He’s so adorable! Oh, I forgot how tiny his frown was. Such a grumpy little boy I had.”

”What the bloody seven hells are you watching?!”

Lyanna paused the video, turning to glare at her son. “Your dance recital when you were five. It’s all I have of my only child doing ballet. Give your mother this much, you burned all the other pictures.”

Jon was flushed so red, Dany worried he’d stopped breathing. He closed his eyes. “Where did you find that?”

“The studio actually. I’m sure there’s more I can locate soon enough.” She picked upt he other bag, handing it to Dany, beaming. “And here’s your other gift.”

Dany giggled, almost jumping in place, so full of love and giddiness. She grabbed something soft from inside the bag and tugged it out, bursting into tears. “Fucking hormones,” she complained, wiping her eyes and holding up the little cotton onesie. She sniffed. “Oh Lyanna! It’s so sweet!”

Lyanna wiped at her own tears, hugging her tightly. “Well you’re having a little dancer.”

“A tiny dancer,” Jon read from the onesie, as Dany held it up, placing it over her belly. He chuckled. “Thanks Mom.” He pointed to the television, his image mid-leap in gray tights, intense focus on his small features frozen on the screen. “But not for that.”

“Oh hush and give your mother a kiss. I need to get back to the school.”

Dany couldn’t stop, wiping at her tears and saying thank you to Lyanna, for so many things. The onesie, the video, for producing Jon, even. They managed to get her out of the house, even with the tea Jon had made for her and put into a travel mug, like he knew she wouldn’t be long. He probably was hoping she wouldn’t stay long. He hugged her, wiping at her eyes. “Don’t cry,” he chuckled. “It’s just a silly little gift.”

She shook her head. “No, it’s everything. I just love yo so much.”

He softened, touching his forehead to hers. “I love you too.”

A few days later, at the studio, Dany finished with her workout and went over to the stereo to turn off her music, when the door opened. She glanced over to tell whomever it was she was almost done, when she saw Jon slip in. “Jon!” she exclaimed. He held two cups of coffee in his hand. She grinned, flicking off the music and rushed to him, shoes clomping on the hardwood. “You brought me tea!”

“Herbal, no caffeine.”

She flicked down the coffee collar, his writing scribbled out. <i>Baby might need this more than you.</i> She patted her belly, kissing him. “Yes, baby did need it. Thank you.”

“I have something else.” He shifted, reaching into his pocket. He pulled out an envelope, passing it over to her. “My mom isn’t always right. Contrary to her belief.”

Dany took the envelope, curious. She set the tea on the top of the piano and flicked opent he envelope, pulling out a few old photos, the glossy images spilling forth into her hands. She stared, mouth falling open, at the treasures she now held. “You didn’t destroy them!”

They were of little Jon, just like the video from the recital, only in these ones he was in a studio, very small and holding his mother’s hand, while she wore her ballet leotard and skirt, his little chubby feet and legs in tights. Another holding onto the barre. She beamed, flicking through them. They were bloody adorable. She looked up, pressing them to her heart. He smiled, sheepish. “I guess I subconsciously held onto those because I was going to fall in love with a dancer.”

She giggled. “Maybe you did.” She looked down at them again, shaking her head, still smiling. “They’re perfect. Thank you.” The photos returned to the envelope, she put them carefully into her bag, and bounced back up. “Come on, dance with me.”

Jon smirked. “I don’t dance.”

“You’re having a baby with a dancer. Guess what Jon? You dance.” She giggled. “I’ll hsow you my baby pictures of me in a tutu. I think my mother ingrained me young, just like yours.”

“Funny how that works,” he laughed. He spun her around, tugging her up to his chest, and kissed her softly. “Love you.”

“Love you too.” She took her coffee and together they clinked the lids together, before he spun her back around, dancing lazily around the studio, both of them laughing goofily.

#jonerys #jonerys au #my moodboards #jonerys drabbles

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nemesis-is-my-middle-name · 3 years

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this is (yet another) interview

"I know you keep talking to Arthur," Lewis says one day, almost as soon as they sit down.

Her heart jumps, and then sinks. "Oh. Um."

"I- I'm not angry!" He looks up and waves a hand, trying to reassure her. "It... I... I worry about you - a lot, but... it's not like I can stop you. I just... didn't want you to feel like you had to keep," another, more relaxed hand-wave, "dancing around it."

She relaxes at that. "Well. You guys are, uh, weird. Parabiologically speaking. I... can't exactly just walk away from that." She bites back the start of a rant about all the cross-classification he and Arthur have. Lewis always listens politely when she goes off on tangents, but, as she forcefully reminds herself, they're in the middle of a conversation already.

His expression softens at that, and then he looks away again. "How... how is he?"

"Huh?"

"I mean- what's he like. Arthur. You are researching him, after all." When he looks back, there's something else in his eyes. They're narrowed slightly, brow almost furrowed. "I'm just wondering... what you've gathered about him so far."

"Oh." She's almost disappointed by the clarification. It's much simpler than what she originally got from the how is he – a question about her research, not his well-being. "He's..." she drums on one hand with the fingers of the other, pursing her lips as she thinks of a good way to summarize.

"I mean, I said weird, right? I've told you about the classification system- which is bullshit-" she adds under her breath, "-but it works as a framework. So, he's not quite a poltergeist or a wraith, because he's not... dangerous. Poltergeists are-"

She's interrupted by an incredulous voice. "Not dangerous?"

"...yeah. I mean- he doesn't fixate on harming people. Poltergeists are defined by their desire and drive to cause chaos and harm, and wraiths by their anger that overrides everything else. It's... a pretty blurry distinction, and a lot of people use them interchangeably," she admits, "but it's important if you're not just focusing on getting rid of them-"

"And you don't think he's either of those." Lewis sounds a little impatient now, gently nudging her back on topic.

"Well... no. He's... I mean, I can sit down and have a chat with him. Can't do that with something that just really, really wants to hurt you. So, his mentality is more that of, say, a true ghost or even a lost soul. But neither of those typically come with any sort of power, magically speaking. And he... I mean." She gestures forward. "He's almost on your level. So I almost think he's- well, both of you- some sort of... poltergeist or wraithlike entity that lost the drive but somehow retained all the power. Or you've somehow repressed or... counterbalanced it with something else. I mean-" she blinks. "He did. Reformed wraith, I've heard that before somewhere..." she adds the last part under her breath.

"I wonder what changed," Lewis murmurs, so quietly she almost doesn't catch it. Almost.

There's a moment's pause. Then he asks, "okay, so he's not- hostile." (She makes a vague, noncommittal noise at that, which prompts a curious look from him.) "When... you see him, how... does he act?"

"...suspicious. I mean, he doesn't trust me. I think he still thinks I’m some kind of... ghost hunter, or something. But, he doesn’t exactly try to hide that he hates having me there. He’s just kind of... reclusive, in general."

“Oh,” he says, and the word sounds almost... sad. And then it’s gone again. “And you still don’t think he’s dangerous?”

“I mean... no? He’s never tried to attack me, even when I’m really annoying him. I’m more worried for him than anything. He’s... so jumpy.” She looks down to take a bite of her food, and spends a moment chewing. "I don't know why. It's like he expects me to... suddenly change my mind and go full Ghostbusters on him. Do you guys get bothered by hunters a lot?"

"Not really. The occasional one will show up, but they usually run off when they encounter me." He shakes his head, not looking at her. "I don't... think that's the reason. Why he's jumpy."

"Huh. Do... do you have a theory?"

He looks down into his food for a while, and then sighs. "I guess not."

"Mm-" Vivi raises her fork. "I just remembered, he said something else to me, too." He'd actually said it a while ago, but she'd always been hesitant to bring it up before now. Reluctant to mention that she'd been going to visit Arthur, and unsure of how he'd take it.

"What was it?" He frowns at her, as best he can.

"Um, he said... what was the exact phrasing? That you, uh, you're nice until you decide you don't like someone, and you hold a grudge for forever."

Lewis snorts, but she catches a flicker of genuine hurt in his eyes. "Really. Well you can tell him that it's not a grudge, and he knows damn well he deserves it. If he didn't want me to hate him, maybe he shouldn't have-" and then he seems to catch himself, and goes silent for a moment. "...Anyway. Don't listen to a thing he says about me. It's all biased nonsense. But... maybe don't say that to his face? He might, ah... get angry."

"I'll, um, sure." This could be a good lead, probably.

Vivi sits in an armchair, swinging her legs and watching Arthur pace back and forth across the room. At some point, his fidgetiness had won out over whatever politeness he'd been trying to maintain, and now she almost never sees him stop moving. He's always pacing back and forth in the room, or fidgeting with one of the trinkets he has sitting out there. A lot of them seem like pointless machines, she's noticed, wind-up spiders and silent music boxes that seem to only exist to move and make noise. And to be built, she has to guess.

"So, I mentioned to Lewis what you said the first time we met," she says, trying to sound as casual as possible.

He stops, seems to process what she means for a moment, and then glances at her. He doesn't look angry, which was her main concern. Instead, he looks... afraid, almost. "D-did you? What did- what did he s-say?"

"That..." she glances down at her notes briefly. "It's not a grudge, and you deserve it, and... if you didn't want him to hate you, you shouldn't have... and then he, uh, stopped talking, so I don't actually know what it was you shouldn't have done. I assume it means something to you?"

He sighs and folds his arms, looking away, and seems to shrink back into himself. "As much as it ever did," is his oddly cryptic answer. "Well. It's nice to- to know he hasn't ch-changed much, at least."

"Is it?"

"Means he isn't," he waves a hand at his face, "losing any fire."

A question springs to mind, but in a rare moment of wisdom, she bites it back and scribbles it down on the paper instead.

Would you be upset if he moved on?

"Anyway, I don't suppose you have any more pointed messages for me to pass on?"

He shakes his head. "Tell him... I don't care what he th-thinks, so long as he st-stays away from me."

She writes that down as well. "Will do."

#mystery skulls animated #this is an interview #the nemesis speaks #swift writes

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amayamiyaki · 4 years

Text

I recently got into writing angst. It's different than what I usually write but its always good to branch out of your comfort zone and learn try something new! So here's an angsty Shisui/Sakura oneshot!

If you're interested in sending me a prompt, please feel free to, along with the Sakur-pairing of your choice!

Title: Izana

Characters/Pairings: Shisui/Sakura

Rating: General

Prompt(s): meeting, hollow, binding

Izana

He's late.

Ironic for a man who’s compared to wind and lighting, but Shisui brushes aside the frustration that nips at the side of his neck. War waits for no one, after all—not even him.

Sliding off his mount, Shisui hands the reins of his steed to the attendant by the door and toes the sandals from his feet all in one movement, before slipping inside the teahouse. He hurries through the corridors, mindful of his swords as he passes the workers, smiling and tilting his head, searching, until the thundering laughter of his uncle catches his ear. A smile, true and soft, settles on his features, and he follows the voices until he reaches a set of doors manned by the wait staff. They bow to him, murmuring their welcomes but he can hardly hear them over the excited beating of his heartbeat. And when the doors part, it takes more control than he’d ever care to admit, to keep from rushing inside.

"Ah, there he is!” His uncle bellows, hand gesturing to him. Shisui bows lowly to his clan head, trying to keep his gaze from wandering to the women whispering to his side.

"My apologies, Uncle," Shisui began. "The meeting with Uzumaki-san went on longer than anticipated."

"It is of no concern," Madara replied with the wave of his hand. He appears unbothered—happy, even. "Sit. No more talks of war with women around."

Shisui straightens from his bow and makes his way towards his cousins, falling into the seat beside Itachi with a relieved sigh. Itachi pushes a choko towards him worth the side of his hand, observing him with a look of knowing.

"Uchiha Shisui, late,” He teases. “I never thought I'd see the day."

Shisui grasps the porcelain with a huff. "You know how the Uzumaki can get. They get lost in their thoughts more often than not."

Itachi hums but doesn't comment further, busying himself with the sake against his lips. However, that doesn't stop Sasuke. "Those fools enjoy the sound of their own voices."

"Sasuke." Itachi's voice is soft, but the scold is clear.

The two brothers share a bicker, their conversation veering towards swords and training and other things he can't find himself caring about; because how can he when his uncles share a laugh over the blush of the beautiful woman positioned between them?

She’s draped in scarlet silk and spirals of plum blossoms, her skin painted an ethereal white with brushes of pink and her rosy hair drawn up with glittering kanzashi. Her collar is red, the kind of crimson that makes Shisui think of war and death and fire—all things that he can’t even bear to imagine associating with her because she’s too beautiful for anything less than Amaterasu’s gardens.

Her Oneesan calls her Sakura.

She says her name with so much pride, smiles without restriction and tilts her glass encouragingly at the young girl who smiles back. Looking at her makes something within him burn—something wild and dangerous and wonderful.

"Won't you dance for us?" He hears Izuna ask. "You know Madara's heart only warms when you do."

The tease is innocent, Shisui knows, watching with a tight chest as the pretty Maiko beside him sets a gentle hand atop Madara's shoulder. But it still doesn't mean much to his heart.

"Izuna-san," She reprimands, though not unkindly. "Madara-san's heart is always warm. Can't you tell from the blush on his face?"

Madara turns away, but the corner of his lips curl with a hint of mirth "It's the sake, I assure you."

Sharing a sly look with the rosette and her Oneesan, Izuna’s hand comes down hard on Madara’s shoulder, making the elder of the two jerk forward. “Yes, yes. The pretty women on your arms have nothing to do with it.”

Perhaps it’s jealousy that makes Shisui’s knuckles whiten. He always was prone to jealousy. All Uchiha were. It’s in their blood, after all.

Sakura waves her hands and tilts her head, hiding her giggle behind her hand as Izuna teases his older brother, and it kills him, because those smiles are his. He owned them the moment he laid eyes on her—back when she was a fresh Maiko, dancing to the melancholy thrum of a koto and the hum of cherry blossoms in Spring skies.

He brings the sake to his lips, hoping to wash away the taste his uncles’ affection leaves in his mouth, when their eyes meet—pine and evergreen against wintry steel—and suddenly his chest feels less hollow.

The smile she wears now is his. He knows it. He feels it as deeply as his bones because that’s the smile she gifts him when he holds her in his arms, hidden in the shadows behind her okiya. It’s the same smile she gives him when he folds her hair behind her ear and kisses her brow.

It’s his and only his.

So his eyes soften and the jealousy resides, folding neatly into a little box at the base of his stomach. Shisui watches as Sakura finally acquiesces to their playful demands. Although her name is rooted in earth, she stands with the fluidity of water, walking in that way that makes the train of her kimono sway like a rippled pond. Then she stands at the front of the room, exactly where she’s meant to be.

Rawbone fingers pluck at a shamisen, the koto purrs; and Sakura dips her head to expose the unmarked skin at the back of her neck. It makes his breath stutter and his fingers twitch, and one glance at his younger cousins prove he isn’t the only one pleased with the sight. His uncles hum around their tobacco pipes, hands waving at the smoke that flitters into their faces, greedily taking in the graceful bow of their pretty dancer while his cousins shift in place. But it isn’t until she lifts her gaze to him once more, revealing something beautiful in those beryl eyes, that Shisui finds his chest truly bound.

She clutches the sleeve of her furisode, tugging it back to reveal a sliver of her pale wrist and the glitter of her fan. She rolls onto her toes, turning so her shoulder faces them, peers at them from the corner of her eye; then she gently waves her fan in a way that upturns her wrist.

She tells him a story—a story about a fleeting beauty that imprints his heart.

Her fan, spread wide, flutters and sways, traveling downwards. Then she taps it, creating the thunderous sounds of rainfall. She demurely hides her face with it, stepping towards the left, then again to the right. Then she lifts the fan above her head, shielding her petal locks from the showering rain. She lowers the fan to face the front of her, folding it inwards from both sides before reaching into the air with greedy fingers.

She draws the sunlight with her fingers, painting a vision of blooms and wind—the beginnings of Spring. He holds her fan tightly now, flat and with both hands, similar to how he holds his blade in its sheath, then pulls her hands apart to reveal a blade; she poses with it crossed over her shoulder.

The scene is different, he realizes. He recognizes the way she unravels her fan, tilting it as if she’s pouring sake, how she spreads it open like the petals of her namesake, before presenting it as a tray. He recognizes it, because it’s their story.

Her dance speaks of their romance, the lyrics her Oneesan sings purring of the way he had charmed her. She loves him, but never says it—she never does, even when their fingers intertwine beneath burning candles.

And it makes his chest hurt because he wants and wants and wants to hear her say it. No one knows. No one understands. Because to them, it’s a dance but to him, it’s a confession.

With the flick of her wrist, a second fan appears with an abrupt snap. The curves of her fan point inwards and she makes them flutter, like the wings of a butterfly. She lowers to her knees then, her smile more prominent than before. Her movements become more confident, more powerful if that’s possible. She connects her fans, creating one large one that makes him think of the insignia emblazoned across his back, rocking it back and forth above her head and spinning as she rises.

It makes him breathless.

The scene changes again, the music dropping into something quieter, more ominous while her expression hardens. Her fingers loosen from her left fan, making it dangle like a bud on a branch, then she twirls it, slowly turning on her heel with her right fan drawing the sunrise. She leans back, almost in a curtsey with her right fan poised above her head and the left in front of her, transiently similar to the way he wields his swords.

A battle comes in the morning.

Something creeps along the nape of Shisui’s neck, nuzzling him uncomfortably as he watches Sakura’s dance. Beside him, Itachi’s fingers tighten into his hakama and Sasuke’s chest is still. He chances a glance at his uncles to find all three leaning forward, so entranced in the Maiko’s romance that they don’t notice the emptiness of their glasses or the falling ashes of their tobacco.

She tucks her fans into her obi; hides her knuckles in her sleeves and pulls them to cover her body, tilting her head from side to side before lifting her hands in offering. She turns again as bells chime, revealing the spider lilies embroidered along the hem of her elaborate obi and the mountain painted into her neck. She stomps on the tatami, hands smoothly rolling to the side like swaying branches, then turns to the side, peering at them over her shoulder with the faintest upcurve of her scarlet lips.

And then her movements are frantic.

She moves to the left, then to the right, jolting forward before reeling back as if surrounded. Her expression is harrowed, brows knit tight as she faces enemies only she can see. Her shoulders become limp, her posture withdrawn; her arms sway from front to back almost lifelessly.

And then she draws the curls of raging waves with her fans.

Shisui sucks in a breath as he watches her left fan drop. She clutches the one fan between both hands now, slowly unraveling it like the petals of a flower.

Sakura turns back the way she came until she faces them again. She closes the fan again, her head canting side to side and expression somber. She looks lost. Hollow. And then she holds the fan like a knife, points it towards her belly as she slowly peers up at the heavens, and Shisui swears real tears glitter in her eyes in those seconds before they close.

And so the blossoms fall, so thickly they form clouds.

The music fades to an end and she comes to a stop with her head bowed and her fan poised. Shisui finds himself so entranced, that all he can do is stare—remembering himself only when the other men in the room applaud and coo.

“She’s wonderful,” Madara praises, clapping. And it stuns him, because Madara had never cared for geisha before. “Your Imouto’s dances get more and more intricate with every day, Tsunade.”

The blonde woman laughs as she refills his glass, eyes flickering towards her prodigy, who is already smoothing out her kimono. “Thank you, Uchiha-sama. Sakura is a special girl.”

“A special girl indeed,” Fugaku speaks up. “With a gift of storytelling.”

“One would think her tears were real,” Kagami agrees.

“You both must come to our compound,” Izuna insists. “Celebrate with us tomorrow night, after we’ve finally taken reign of Danzo’s castle.”

The young Maiko floats when she walks, and it’s with a displeased wilt that Shisui realizes that even though she sits beside him, it isn’t him that she sits with, but his youngest cousin. She doesn’t look at him, but Shisui can see the tremble in her fingers as she pours Sasuke’s sake. She acts as if there’s nothing between them, yet presses the side of her thigh into his.

It’s subtle, so fleeting that Shisui could convince himself it was a trick of his imagination. But then she does it again, and he knows.

So even though it isn’t him that she pours her sake for, or him that she charms with coy looks and her sharp tongue, he knows her heart belongs to him. He’ll tell her tomorrow—how much he loves her—after he storms Himura castle and takes the head of the man who killed his father.

He’ll tell her he loves her, and buy her freedom with his spoils. He'll spend the rest of his life traipsing through gardens of her favorite flowers, braiding the hair of the daughters she'll gift him. He'll give her every thing she so desires.

A shame he tells her with his dying breath.

#shisui x sakura #shisaku #shisui uchiha #sakura haruno #angst #naruto fanfiction #writing prompt #geisha sakura #uchiha family #star crossed lovers

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7r0773r · 3 years

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Heavy by Kiese Laymon

Inside Concord Missionary Baptist church, I loved the attention I got for being a fat black boy from the older black women: they were the only women on earth who called my fatness fineness. I felt flirted with, and like most fat black boys, when flirted with, I fell in love. I loved the organ’s bended notes, the aftertaste of the grape juice, the fans steadily moving through the humidity, the anticipation of somebody catching the Holy Ghost, the lawd-have-mercy claps after the little big-head boy who couldn’t read so well was forced to read a greeting to the congregation.

But as much as I loved parts of church, and as hard as I tried, I couldn’t love the holy word coming from the pulpit. The voices carrying the word were slick and sure of themselves in ways I didn’t believe. The word at Concord was always carried by the mouths of the reverend, deacons, or other visiting preachers who acted like they knew my grandmama and her friends better than they did.

Older black women in the church made up the majority of the audience. But their voices and words were only heard during songs, in ad-libbed responses to the preacher’s word and during church announcements. While Grandmama and everyone else amen’d and well’d their way through shiny hollow sermons, I just sat there, usually at the end of the pew, sucking my teeth, feeling superhot, super bored, and really resentful because Grandmama and her friends never told the sorry-ass preachers to shut up and sit down somewhere.

My problem with church was I knew what could have been. Every other Wednesday, the older women of the church had something called Home Mission: they would meet at alternate houses, and bring their best food, their Bibles, notebooks, and their testimonies. There was no instrumental music at Home Mission, but those women, Grandmama’s friends, used their lives, their mo(u)rning songs, and their Bibles as primary texts to boast, confess, and critique their way into tearful silence every single time.

I didn’t understand hell, partially because I didn’t believe any place could be hotter than Mississippi in August. But I understood feeling good. I did not feel good at Concord Missionary Baptist church. I felt good watching Grandmama and her friends love each other during Home Mission. (Be, pp. 54-55)

***

You were on your way back from Hawaii with Malachi Hunter while LaThon Simmons and I sat in the middle of a white eighth-grade classroom, in a white Catholic school, filled with white folk we didn't even know. These white folk watched us toss black vocabulary words, a dull butter knife, and pink grapefruit slices back and forth until it was time for us to go home.

We were new eighth graders at St. Richard Catholic School in Jackson, Mississippi, because Holy Family, the poor all-black Catholic school we attended most of our lives, closed unexpectedly due to lack of funding. All four of the black girls from Holy Family were placed in one homeroom at St. Richard. All three of us black boys from Holy Family were placed in another. Unlike at Holy Family, where we could wear what we wanted, at St. Richard, students had to wear khaki or blue pants or skirts and light blue, white, or pink shirts.

LaThon, who we both thought looked just like a slew-footed K-Ci from Jodeci, and I sat in the back of homeroom the first day of school doing what we always did: we intentionally used and misused last year's vocabulary words while LaThon cut up his pink grapefruit with his greasy, dull butter knife. "These white folk know here on discount," he told me, "but they don't even know."

"You right," I told him. "These white folk don't even know that you an ol’ grapefruit-by the-pound-eating ass nigga. Give me some grapefruit. Don’t be parsimonious with it, either."

"Nigga, you don’t eat grapefruits,” LaThon said. “Matter of fact, tell me one thing you eat that don't got butter in it. Ol’ churning-your-own-butter-ass dying laughing. "Plus, you act like I got grapefruits gal-low up in here. I got one grapefruit."

Seth Donald, a white boy with two first names, looked like a dustier Shaggy from Scooby-Doo, but with braces. Seth spent the first few minutes of the first day of school silent-farting and turning his eyelids inside out. He asked both of us what "gal-low" meant.

"It's like galore," I told him, and looked at LaThon. "Like grapefruits galore."

LaThon sucked his teeth and rolled his eyes. "Seth, whatever your last name is, first of all, your first name ends with two f's from now on, and your new name is Seff six-two because you five-four but you got the head of a nigga we know who six-two." LaThon tapped me on the forearm. "Don't he got a head like S. Slawter?" I nodded up and down as LaThon shifted and looked right in Seff 6'2's eyes. "Every thang about y’all is erroneous. Every. Thang. This that black abundance. Y'all don’t even know."

LaThon's favorite vocab word in seventh grade was "abundance," but I'd never heard him throw "black" and "that" in front of it until we got to St. Richard.

While LaThon was cutting his half into smaller slices, he looked at me and said Seth six-two and them didn't know about the slicing "shhhtyle" he used.

Right as I dapped LaThon up, Ms. Reeves, our white homeroom teacher, pointed at LaThon and me. Ms. Reeves looked like a much older version of Wendy from the Wendy restaurants. We looked at each other, shook our heads, and kept cutting our grapefruit slices. “Put the knife away, LaThon, she said. *Put it down. Now!"

"Mee-guh," we said to each other. "Meager," the opposite of LaThon's favorite word, was my favorite word at the end of seventh grade. We used different pronunciations of meager to describe people, places, things, and shhhtyles that were at least eight levels less than nothing. "Mee-guh," I told her again, and pulled out my raggedy Trapper Keeper. "Mee-guh."

While Ms. Reeves was still talking, I wrote "#1 tape of #1 group?" on a note and passed it to LaThon. He leaned over and wrote, "EPMD and Strictly Business." I wrote. #1 girl you wanna marry?" He wrote, "Spinderalla + Tootie." I wrote, "#1 white person who don't even know?" LaThon looked down at his new red and gray Air Maxes, then up at the ceiling. Finally, he shook his head and wrote, "Ms. Reeves + Ronald Reagan. It's a tie. With they meager ass."

I balled up the note and put it in my too-tight khakis while Ms. Reeves kept talking to us the way you told me white folk would talk to us if we weren't perfect, the way I saw white women at the mall and police talk to you whether you'd broken the law or not.

I understood how Ms. Reeves had every reason in her world to think I was a sweaty, red-eyed underachiever who drank half a Mason jar of box wine before coming to school. That's almost exactly who I was. But LaThon was as close to abundant as an eighth grader could be. (Meager, pp. 65-67)

***

When I came back from playing ball at the Greenbelt rec center during spring break, you made me read back over sentences I’d written in my notebooks back in Mississippi. You said I asked a lot of questions about what I saw and heard in my writing, but because I didn’t reread the questions I didn’t push myself to different answers. You said a good question always trumps an average answer.

“The most important part of writing, and really life,” you said, “is revision.” (Contraction, p. 85)

***

When I got in the house, you brought your belt across my neck. Earlier in the day, Ms. Andrews, one of your friends who was a teacher at my school, told you Coach Shitzler said I was in a sexual relationship with a white girl. You heard this “news” on the same day you watched a gang of white police officers try to kill a chained black man they later claimed had “Hulk-like” strength.

I did not know Rodney King, but I could tell by how he wiggled, rolled, and ran he was not a Hulk. Hulks did not beg for mercy. Hulks did not shuffle from ass whuppings. Hulks had no memories, no mamas. I wondered what niggers and police were to a Hulk. I wondered if all sixteen-year-old Americans had a little Hulk in them.

I knew, or maybe I accepted, for the first time no matter what anyone did to me, I would never beg anyone for mercy. I would always recover. There was physically nothing anyone could do to me to take my heart, other than kill me. You, Grandmama, and I had that same Hulk in our chest. We would always recover. At some point during my beating, I just stopped fighting and I let you hit me. I did not scream, I did not yell. I barely breathed. I took my shirt off without you telling me. I let you beat me across my back. It was the only beating in my life where watching you beat me as hard as you could felt good. (Hulk, pp. 96-97)

***

I listened to the Coup and read everything James Baldwin had written that summer. I learned you haven’t read anything if you’ve only read something once or twice. Reading things more than twice was the reader version of revision. I read The Fire Next Time over and over again. I wondered how it would read differently had the entire book, and not just the first section, been written to, and for, Baldwin’s nephew. I wondered what, and how, Baldwin would have written to his niece. I wondered about the purpose of warning white folk about the coming fire. Mostly, I wondered what black writers weren’t writing when we spent so much creative energy begging white folk to change. (Already, pp. 143-44)

***

I’d never given much weight to the idea of present black fathers saving black boys. Most of the black boys I grew up with had present black fathers in the home. Sure, some of those fathers taught my friends how to be tough. But I can’t think of one who encouraged his son to be emotionally or even bodily expressive of joy, fear, and love. I respected my father but I never felt that I needed him or any other man in the house to show me how to become a loving man. I knew, truth be told, that a present American man would likely teach me how to be a present American man. And I couldn’t imagine how those teachings would have made me healthier or more generous. (Seat Belts, p. 200)

#Kiese Laymon #book quotes

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ashintheairlikesnow · 4 years

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The Rescue, Part 3

I finally got the final part of the Rescue edited and ready to post! This is the third and final part of the series on how Danny and Nate got out of the cabin in Canada. Please read The Rescue, Part One and The Rescue, Part Two for context and to maybe have a refresh!

CW: STRONG dissociation (it’s a main theme of this piece and is vividly described), references to noncon and torture. Muzzling.

@whump-it, @finder-of-rings, @bleeding-demon-teeth, @spiffythespook, @burtlederp, @whumpywhumper, @18-toe-beans, @pumpkinthefangirl, @special-spicy-chicken, @whale-whumps, @swordkallya

The Rescue Part One || The Rescue Part Two

Nate Vandrum had a plan, but it took him most of a month after the day he was allowed to bring Danny back up from the dog kennel in the cellar to figure out where Bram hid the drugs.

Once he found them - in a small wooden box under a loose floorboard in the back of the bedroom closet, a place Nate and Danny never went because it was where Bram kept all his things that caused pain or worse - he began to pinch, just a little at a time, from each little bottle or bag.

Ketamine, ecstasy, rohypnol - this and that, the things Bram used sometimes when he wanted Danny to be fucked up and foggy for days, or affectionate and touchy, or just to knock him out. He didn’t use them any longer - Danny with the thing on his face day in and day out was obedient and blank-faced, an empty body that breathed and ate and moved in the bed, did as it was told and nothing more.

Danny was someone else, twenty-four hours a day, and Nate had waited too long trying to find the courage to save him but he wasn’t going to wait much longer. It was already becoming clearer every day that he was running out of time entirely before Danny was gone and didn’t come back.

By mid-November, the leaves had long since changed and fallen off the trees - the ground already hard and frozen - and he had all of it he would need. A mix of powder and crushed-up pills, every fucking drug Bram kept here. Not enough missing from any one stash that it would be obvious, but hopefully enough to buy Nate some time.

He has a plan. He would wait until mid-December, and he had one month to have everything ready.

He had his own hiding places, spots Bram didn’t know about because Nate had never had anything really worthwhile to hide. Danny never spoke any longer so he couldn’t tell on him - and Bram couldn’t see everything, could he?

Sometimes, Nate thought he could read minds. This time, Bram never showed a single sign that he knew Nate was up to anything at all.

After midnight, Nate would sneak out, put on a movie like in the days before. He moved Danny onto the couch where he would stare, blank-eyed, at a screen he didn't ever seem to really see. Sometimes he sat with him, rubbing at the places where the thing hurt the most, trying to calm the pain in his jaw for as long as he could.

Every time he touched along the edge of the muzzle, Danny would lean hard into the touch, using the pressure of Nate’s thumbs to soothe himself, all with those empty eyes, with all the core of Danny absent and only the body left behind. This Danny did not feel pain or fear unless he was actively being hurt. This Danny only sat where he was placed, cooked meals, made drinks - all of it with nothing behind his eyes.

With each passing week, that initial burst of rage on Danny's behalf cooled in Nate, set and hardened into a hatred that overrode every ounce of love Bram had forced him to feel.

What had been a forest fire became coal. What had been coal became a diamond

Bram could not see it.

Nate wanted Danny back, and watching him drift like a ghost doing whatever he was told had eaten away at him, day by day, until all that was left was the determination to get him the fuck out of here.

The mix of drugs, a handwritten note with all the directions he could remember Bram turning when he drive into town (left, straight for a long time - counted to 200 at least three times, turn right, more straight, turn left after counting to 75, left again after count to 50), a match here and there - Nate squirreled it all away, bit by bit, in the bookshelf behind his collection of leather bound Tolkein - a gift from Bram after one supply run, one of the most wonderful things the monster had ever given him. He didn’t dare to hollow anything out - he loved these books, that felt like sacrilege - but he slid little things here and there behind them, his black-handled knife with the silver stag engraving down into the loosening spine of the Silmarillion, and if he was careful, no one saw him but Danny.

Danny, still trapped in silence inside his own head, didn’t even seem to notice, not even when he was staring directly at him as he did it. He knelt on his mat, quiet and dazed, his eyes following Nate’s movements with a total absence of comprehension.

It was the eyes that drove Nate on, those empty fucking eyes. Bram never took the fucking thing off, and Danny - funny and sarcastic and kind of sweet Danny, who he'd taught four kinds of dance by now and who could do all the lines to Casablanca and who sometimes hummed music he remembered while he scrubbed the floors - never came back.

Even Red, nervous and eager-to-please and always trying harder, trying to be so good, didn’t come back. Watching a muzzled Danny move was like witnessing a walking corpse searching for a grave to fall into, simply waiting for permission to decay.

In October and November the leaves went bright and brilliant and then fell just as rapidly, the nights cooled and then shifted to icy winter, and Bram spent his days outside preparing for the snows that would all but shut them in here until spring. He knew something was different, he had to, but Nate smiled and stuttered said I love you and was everything he wanted in bed and did everything just right to hide the chorus of I'm going to save him, you fucking bastard that sang inside his head.

Nate took his chances when he had them, and he was careful. He asked for a book he remembered, and Bram brought it back to him and never even looked through it.

Which was good, since it was a book with a very detailed description on how to hotwire a car.

Although in the end he didn't expect to need that, Nate wanted a backup plan. You always had to have a backup plan. Bram had said it all the time -and Nate had learned every lesson either Bram or Ashley had to teach.

He knew how to steal, and kill, and bury the bodies, and he knew how to be a fucking monster, too, now.

Once he had everything, he waited until Abraham needed to use some old machinery and came back from a supply run with an extra four full canisters of gasoline more than he usually kept on-hand for trips to town.

He only needed one to fill the tank for the truck, just to get them to the nearest town with a police station.

The other three…

Well.

Nate settled in to wait. He was the perfect black-haired prince, Abraham Denner’s true love. He was everything Bram could ever have wanted him to be. And while he was all of those things, he watched the actual man he loved kneel, empty and broken, on the floor and eat scraps from Bram’s hands... and he planned a murder.

***

“I came back awake when he was ready to go,” Danny told Ryan, one night when he couldn't sleep. They were sitting at the kitchen table - Ryan had asked him to sit in a chair - and Danny let his fingertips trace a pattern in the woodgrain, little squiggly symbols that could have meant anything, or nothing, or everything.

Nate was still asleep, and part of Danny wanted to curl up on the floor and be there with him, maybe ask to earn the bed so he could sleep right next to Nate, but he didn't have to do that anymore - and when he asked to earn the bed, the sadness in Nate’s eyes hurt to see.

I'll sleep on the couch, Nate said almost every night, and every night Danny said, no, stay with me.

Nate stayed.

“What do you mean?” Ryan tilted his head, watching him with the soft honey eyes Danny had never forgotten, never stopped dreaming about. Here, and real now, and Danny always smiled a little bit every morning when he got to see Ryan again.

“When Nate got me into the truck, he took, uh, he took it off,” Danny said, rubbing at the bridge of his nose absently, soothing a phantom pain there. “He took it off my face. The first thing I remember is turning to look and he was throwing it into the cabin and the cabin was on fire.”

“On fire? The cabin was on fire when you woke up?” Ryan's eyes were wide.

“Yes. Before that, I was, um… I was gone, still.”

Someone else had been in the body for months. It wasn’t Danny - it was some distant thing that moved his limbs and ate the food it was given, but it wasn’t Danny in there. It wasn’t Danny in control the night that Nate set a fire.

No, someone else had knelt like a good dog with its head in Abraham’s lap, took scraps of food straight from his fingers with the muzzle off just long enough for dinner - not quite long enough for Danny to try and come back. Someone else had taken the constant movement of cold hands with grateful whines and whimpers for the affection.

Someone else stayed kneeling, not noticing its feet going steadily numb, as the two voices that made up its entire world chatted and talked. There were sounds, in the bedroom, while someone else sat on the mat and thought about nothing at all.

Then there was, for a while, silence.

Someone else heard the sounds of scraping and rustling and thumping and ignored them. Sounds meant nothing to dead bodies and that's all it was, now. A dead body that still, inexplicably, kept breathing and eating and hurting on command.

This other person, wearing Danny’s face behind the muzzle, stayed still as one of the others walked back and forth, pulling things from bookshelves and talking to himself. Someone else was very, very good and had been told to go to the mat, and so someone else stayed there.

Someone else tried very, very hard, and was very, very good and did not notice the heavy scrape of a sleeping body dragged outside, the thunk of the cellar doors pulled open. The time that passed as someone else sat alone in the cabin.

Danny Michaelson was far, far away, letting the other person live uncomplainingly without a voice while within himself, he never stopped screaming.

Someone else registered, as though through a distant fog, a voice that told them it was almost time to go. That someone else stared dumbly down at their ankle as hands unlocked the chain that tied the body to the wall - the body was chained again, because otherwise someone else would get up and walk around sometimes at night and it bothered Abraham to see it - and someone else thought, I will be ordered into the bed now.

That person raised hands to touch the hips of the one who would hurt them, only to have their hands gently pushed down and away, cupped their face around the muzzle, pressed it just a little at the jaw where it felt so good, it felt so soothing, and someone else closed their eyes and whined, deep in their throat.

"H-Hate that sound. We'll g-g-g-get the last b-bit off later," A deep voice said.

Someone else knew the voice, and moved towards its sound instinctively. The deep voice came with soothing touch, gentle words, no pain. Someone else wanted more of that voice. "We n-n-n-need help to g, to get the ankle cuff off. Th-the cops will help, I'm s-sure. Good th-th-thing it's been raining all month so the forest w-w-won't burn, too.”

Someone else did not care about the forest, but only about the hands attached to the soft voice, the good voice, the voice that did not hurt. The warm forehead that pressed lightly to its own. The thing that wore Danny’s face tried to put their hands up to the metal grid still locked in place and stopped, an inch away. Never touch the fucking muzzle, Red.

Someone else made a pleading sound, someone else begged without words in an animal's whine, take it off, I'll be good now, please take it off.

"Ssshhhhh, once we get out of there," The good deep voice said, and it didn't stammer at all. "The k-key to the lock on the b-b-back is in his truck. I've g-got you now, just trust me, okay?" The voice wasn't afraid, and it seemed like a good voice. It was his favorite voice.

Someone else relaxed.

It trusted the voice.

***

“I don't understand what any of that means,” Ryan frowned, putting his hands up over his face, as Danny tried to talk his way through it. “You were there, the someone else was you. Why do you keep saying it like that?”

He only shook his head. “Dr. Rosa calls it dissociation,” he said. “It's normal. She says it's normal, that- that I'm not… I'm not broken because of it, and it could take a long time to stop-”

“It's okay,” Ryan said, and reached out to grab his hand. Danny's skin still crawled at any touch he hadn't asked for, but he didn’t pull away. It seemed to make Ryan feel better, anyway. It made Danny feel disgusting, like a thing anyone could touch whenever they wanted. You can make my body do whatever you want. “You're okay. I'm sorry, I pushed when I didn't mean to. Keep talking. I want to know everything.”

Danny nodded, slowly, and took a deep breath.

***

Someone else had taken the offered hand and stood, walked with a slow, stumbling gait through the kitchen and out the door. Someone else shivered in the frigid air, until the owner of the voice slid a heavy woolen coat over their shoulders, clad only in a thin, torn-up T-shirt and even thinner pajama pants.

“S-Sorry, I forgot to g-grab a sweater, and it’s k-k-kind too late, now.”

Someone else wrinkled their nose at the smell of gasoline, overpowering and heavy, that filled the air and floated around, settled deep in their lungs. Someone else was led to Abraham's truck and put inside. Someone else listened to sounds they did not recognize. Someone else smelled the smoke.

Red hair, already long and shaggy because it was winter and Abraham liked his hair better long in winter, fell over empty blue eyes as someone else curled up against the early shivers that came with the frigid cold, pulled the wool coat more tightly around themselves, buried their body in it as best they could.

Someone else heard the driver side door open and close.

Green eyes met theirs, and someone else blinked, and for one moment Danny looked up at Nate and the strange, stricken expression on his face. Eyes wide, and his hair was mussed-up and messy, and he was wearing his sweater inside-out. He smelled like gasoline, too. Then Danny tried to speak, and felt the harsh bite of the muzzle cutting deeply into his jaw, and Danny slipped back away.

Someone else thought, puppies aren’t allowed in the truck. Puppies don’t go to town.

"I d-d-did it," Nate said softly, his voice shaking.

Did what?

Someone else had been dimly aware of a hand sliding around behind their head, the click of the key in the lock and the thump as the little lock dropped onto the floorboards.

Danny’s heart jumped at the sound of the lock falling. Someone else felt less, as Danny felt more.

Warm, loving hands were undoing the buckle that was always too tight. He felt the sudden lift of the pressure and pain that had become all he ever felt anymore, winced at the sting of fresh air against skin, the trickle of fresh blood as removing the muzzle pulled wounds back open that had been trying like hell to heal around it.

He watched - Danny watched - as Nate got back out of the truck, holding the muzzle by the straps in his good hand, his jaw set in a grim line.

The cabin was on fire.

Flames licked orange somewhere inside the living room, and Danny could see straight through the kitchen door to where the fire was racing along the lines of gasoline that had been splashed around. Smoke poured upwards into the sky, the opposite of the rainstorms Danny had been locked out in so many times. The big doors to the cellar were flung open, and Danny looked carefully away from the darkness there and back at the brightly shifting, dancing light that lit the clearing with a sickly glow.

He watched Nate walk with purpose close enough that he must feel the heat trying to push him back and throw the metal and leather muzzle as hard as he could through the open kitchen door, where it thumped to the ground and then skidded along to a spot where the flames lit the inside of the cabin so brightly Danny’s eyes couldn’t bear to look.

The muzzle was gone.

Danny went away again. He didn’t know for how long. He came back to someone shaking him. He heard Nate’s voice, low and worried, soft against his ear. He was whispering, "Pl-please, please, I wasn’t too late, I w-w-wasn’t, please, please come b-back to me, D-Danny, please…”

He remembered shaking his head, still far away, because it had hurt to come back, he didn't want to any longer. His jaw throbbed, his nose ached, there were spots across his body that lit up with new pains when Danny stepped back up to feel them. Then Nate's hand slid up around his jaw, cool fingers over the cuts that burned hot, and Nate's mouth was on his, and Danny… felt.

Warm, and soft and desperate, tasting lightly of the whiskey they’d been drinking, he and Abraham. Danny opened his mouth for Nate, because that was what you did - but it wasn't like before, this was different, and he closed his eyes, hesitantly kissing back.

"Oh th-th-thank Christ. W-Wake up," Nate begged, in a voice ragged and hoarse and half-gone from breathing in the smoke. "Pl-please, please wake up, there h-has to be something l-left of you to s-s-save, Red, please, please t-t-tell me I wasn’t too late, pl-please..."

"W-we're not allowed in the truck without Abraham," Danny said hoarsely, his disused voice like gravel in a sore throat. Freed from the metal grid, his skin ached. Burned and bled in the cold air. "You'll get in trouble."

Nate laughed, a half-crazed sound of relief, and turned with wide, white-rimmed green eyes to start up the truck. "F-fuck trouble, Danny. I got you out, I did it, we did it."

"You're not allowed to touch the keys," Danny said, almost plaintively, but it was sinking in, and his eyes were starting to widen. "Wh-where's Abraham? He's, Nate- he's going to be so mad when he finds us in the truck-"

"He w-w-won't care about th-that now," Nate said, voice firm and steady. "He d-d-doesn't give a shit about anything right now, Red. I hope he fucking chokes on his g-g-goddamn lying t-t-tongue.”

Nate shifted gears, and the truck roared to life as they jerked forwards and began to move down the gravel-lined dirt tracks through the woods.

“I'm getting us the f-f-fuck out of h, here."

***

“Where was Abraham? What happened?” Ryan had let go of his hand but Danny still felt the touch like spiderlegs and he pulled his hand back to himself, looking down at the tracks of scars along his veins, swallowing against the panic that threatened around the edges of his mind when people touched him.

“Nate gave him ketamine,” Danny said, and felt himself starting, slowly, to smile at the thought. “And some, um, some other stuff. “Got him too high to move and chained him to a bar Abraham had in the ceiling for-... for me, and left him to, um… to die.”

“Chained him…?”

“Handcuff Year.” Ryan winced, the memory of that conversation its own special torture. That first Christmas, Nate staring with an awful, resigned look of familiarity at the leather and metal cuffs in the box Danny had opened. “Nate found them and he… he tied Abraham up in the cellar with them to die.”

“But he didn't die. He's, he's on trial.”

“No, he didn’t. He was still… still alive when they found him, not even burned. Just smoke inhalation.”

Ryan whistled. “Lucky son of a bitch.”

“Blessed,” Danny corrected nervously, and watched Ryan's answering blank stare with a spike of guilt for not being better already. “His, um, he served a, a god, he said. We were blessed he loved us.”

“He was a fucking lunatic if he told you that bullshit. He didn't love you.”

“No.” Danny frowned down at the table. “You're right. Not me. He loved Nate.” And Nate had loved him back, right up until he didn't any longer.

Right up until he had to choose between them.

***

Danny and Nate drove away in the truck, and Danny saw the woods around him for the first time in months.

Had they always been so pretty? All the leaves were gone by now, bare branches everywhere reaching fingerlike towards them across the dirt path to the real road. There had been snow, but it had mostly melted with some sunny days while someone else sat outside in the thin, weak sunlight soaking up whatever it had to give, muzzled face tilted up to catch the warmth.

"Do you, um, know where we're going?" He asked, and hissed as his face hurt, his jaw too long held shut to keep speaking so easily again. His voice still sounded so weird, like he wasn’t meant to have one, and he barely managed to speak above a whisper.

"No," Nate said, and shrugged. "Other than we t-turn left and then there are s-s-signs. We'll find c-cops when we get to town."

He drove with one hand and reached the other out. Danny took it, and it was something solid, and real, something that anchored him to this side of his head and not the side that just went away.

Behind them, the cabin burned, a pretty orange glow against the pitch-black night sky.

When they made it to the road, Nate sat for a second, letting the truck's engine rumble as he and Danny looked at real, honest to God pavement.

Danny hadn't seen a road in four years.

"Red."

He turned, and Nate was looking at him, intensity in his face. Danny shrank away from it - expressions like that never boded well. "What?"

"N-No one's g-g-going to do th-that to you eh, ever again. Ever. Again. G-Got it?"

Danny nodded, slowly, but he wasn't sure he believed it yet. Not until Nate smiled, slow and a little shy, the way he used to smile before Abraham brought them here, and kissed one of the scars on the back of his hand.

"H-Here we go," Nate said, and turned the truck onto the road, the two of them driving away from the burning cabin to find a town, a police station, and hope.

***

“So by the time we got to town and the cops went back, everything burned down, but they found Abraham in the cellar, still alive. They found, uh, a lot of the… the things he used on us, too. They found the… for my face.” Danny shuddered, a little, phantom aches breaking out like a line of fire along the scars. “The leather burned a little but the metal part…”

“You don't have to talk about that. What about the bird?”

Danny blinked at Ryan's question.

“The bird?”

“The, the raven thing up on the wall. That you threw the beer bottle at. What happened to it? Did it burn?”

“No. Yes. Maybe.” Danny's heart skipped, just thinking of its pink eyes and empty dead glare, the way it seemed like it was always staring at him from its perch above the doorframe. “Nate said it wasn't in the house. The cops s-said they never found any sign of it, either.”

Sometimes he was sure he'd look out his window and see it staring back in at him, with that look in its eyes, waiting for him to go somewhere - anywhere - alone. Which was why Danny never did. He stayed with Ryan, or Nate, and he never, ever was alone.

On the worst Red days, Danny tried to come up with a plan for what he would do if Abraham came for him - even though Nate and Ryan told him nobody walks out of a maximum security prison.

It didn’t really matter.

Abraham would come back for him, eventually, and even if Danny didn’t want to think about it, Red knew.

Danny kept a notebook in the closet, and he wrote down everything he could think of, and he tried to make a plan for just in case, because he had been someone else for nearly half a year and he never, ever wanted to be someone else again.

When he was scared, at night, he curled into a ball next to Nate in the bed and he closed his eyes and dreamed about the rumble of the truck, Nate’s warm hand grasped so tightly onto his - the softness and ferocity in the kiss that brought him back to life…

And he dreamed of a cabin on fire.

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