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#first time making graphics in over a year and so out of practise
nicoline1998enilocin · 4 months
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Fluffcember Day 4 | The softest pillow
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Pairing | Boyfriend!Sebastian Stan x Girlfriend!Fem!Reader
Word count | 4.1K
Summary | You've been dating Sebastian for over five months, and he has invited you to spend the night at his house for the first time. He has planned a comfortable and romantic night for you both, and you've never had more fun staying at home than you did with him.
Warning(s) | Established relationship (boyfriend/girlfriend), use of pet name (Sweetheart), small age gap (~ 7-8 years).
Smut | Oral ~ M receiving, throat fucking, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it!), creampie, lots of praise, hair pulling, dirty talk, Daddy kink, cockwarming.
Rating Explicit (E)
Request | @buckys-wintersoldier Hey, my lovely big me💞 Listen to me, I'm sure you will love that or I hope you will. You can decide the character you want to use for this one, but could you write a fluffy oneshot that includes these sentences: 1. "No, you can't get up! You're my prisoner for today." (I'm so in love with this one, I found this and now I'm in love) 2. "I remember practising how to ask you out in a mirror." I know they don't fit that well, but I'm pretty sure you will make a wonderful oneshot out of it. Hehe. Thank you in advance, and I love you, big me. 💞
A/n | This one-shot it written for day 4 of my Fluffcember 2023 Challenge. Thank you so much for this sweet request, and I am glad I found the perfect prompt for your challenge! 😉 I want to give a big thank you to @ccbsrmsf1 for proofreading this as always 🎄
Events Masterlist | ''You're my new pillow'' | @buckys-wintersoldier Masterlist | Holding hands | @anyfandomkinkbingo
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Banners by @vase-of-lilies | Divider by @firefly-graphics | GIF credit to the owner
Main Masterlist | Sebastian Stan Masterlist
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Dating Sebastian has been a true rollercoaster of emotions for you, but only in the best way possible. From you meeting him during an interview a little over a year ago to him asking you to be his girlfriend, it was like a fairytale.
Today is the day you're about to interview the cast of a new movie called The Martian - and today, of all days, will be the moment that you're going to be interviewing Sebastian Stan, your celebrity crush for the last few years.
It will be an absolute dream come true, and you've been endlessly preparing so you can conduct the interview of your life. And not just to impress Sebastian.
The black dress you've wanted to wear is hanging in your closet, ready to be put on, but you pick out some black lingerie before you can do that. It's not like anyone will see it, but the confidence boost it gives you is indescribable.
When you have the lacey fabric on, you admire yourself in the mirror for a few minutes before getting dressed and doing your hair and makeup.
Your hair is in loose curls and up in a ponytail, with a few loose pieces framing your face, and your eye makeup is simple, but the dark lipstick you put on gives your look an exciting edge.
Now, all that's left is to read over your interview questions a few more times and make a few last adjustments before it's officially time to go to your interview.
It's good that you've gotten into the habit of arriving early everywhere you go, and you've arrived about 20 minutes early so you take the time to freshen up in the bathroom.
You don't anticipate anyone walking by when you walk out, and you accidentally bump into a broad chest. You let out a squeal when a pair of strong arms envelop you.
"Woah! Careful there, Sweetheart," the man says with a chuckle, and your eyes snap up to see who the voice belongs to. It is just your luck that you bump into none other than Sebastian, and you're glad he caught you before you could fall.
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to run into you!" You tell him as he lets you go, but he gives you a reassuring smile.
"It's okay, Sweetheart. It's not every day that someone as beautiful as you bumps into me," he tells you with a dashing smile, making the butterflies you feel in your stomach wild.
When it's time for the interview, Sebastian recognizes you and lets his gaze wander over your body and long, exposed legs a few times. He can't get enough of looking at you.
The interview is over far too soon for the both of you and just when you're about to pack up your stuff and go home to work out the interview, Sebastian stops you.
"I hope I'm not overstepping here, but would you mind grabbing a coffee sometime? If you're from around here, that is," he says, suddenly getting a little shy.
"Well, I'm out here for work until tomorrow morning, but once you're back in New York, I'd love to take you up on your offer since I live there," you tell him, and you can't help but smile.
The thought of Sebastian asking you out makes the butterflies go crazy, and when you see the relief washing over him, you know you made the right choice by saying yes.
"Let me give you my number, and you can text me when you're back in New York if you still want to grab a coffee, of course," you tell him, and he nods furiously before grabbing his phone and letting you put your phone number in it.
"I have to go now, but it was lovely to meet you, and I can't wait to grab a coffee with you when we're home," he says, and he bends down to place a soft kiss on your cheek, his stubble tickling you a little bit.
Little did you know it would be the start of a great friendship and one of the most loving relationships you've ever built with someone. It was your first Christmas together that would change the dynamic, however.
"Do you want to spend Christmas together this year? If you don't plan to go home, of course," Sebastian asks you during your weekly video call.
He's away to film another Marvel movie, but Christmas will be spent back in New York, which is perfect timing for both of you. You haven't seen him for the last three months, and even though it's nice to video call, you miss his hugs, smiles, and touches. You miss him.
"I would love to, but only if you're cooking dinner for me because the lord knows if I do it, there won't be anything to eat for us that evening!" you joke, and Sebastian laughs wholeheartedly, which makes your heart skip a beat or two.
Your crush on him has only intensified over the last year, and he has developed feelings for you as well, but with his busy shooting schedule, you don't see each other as much as you'd like.
Sebastian plans to make it extra special this Christmas and wants to spend the holiday with you. He's been planning on telling you how he feels for a while, and it will be the perfect opportunity to do just that.
"Of course, I'll cook; I'd rather not starve on Christmas, thank you very much!" he quips back, and you shake your head, chuckling at his comment.
It promises to be the most memorable Christmas you have ever spent, and you're glad you don't have to celebrate it alone this year. With your parents living on the other side of the world, seeing them over Christmas is not an option, so you usually take some time off, read a book or two, and relax.
"In that case, I'll gladly celebrate Christmas with you, Sebastian. I can't wait," you tell him, and the weeks leading up to it felt like they flew by.
It is the day before Christmas when Sebastian arrives in New York, and you've offered to pick him up from the airport, which he gladly accepted.
"Hi, Sweetheart," he says as he walks out the doors after baggage claim, hauling a suitcase behind him and a backpack over his shoulders. He's been filming in California for a while, so he has a healthy glow all over his face, making him look stunning.
"I can't believe we're spending Christmas together; it's a big step from having to spend it alone," you tell him softly, getting a little embarrassed that you just admitted to him that you're usually alone on the happiest time of the year.
"Wait, you're always alone on Christmas?! I'm glad I offered to spend it together! Can't have my best girl being alone during the holidays now, can I?" Sebastian asks, and you nod in agreement.
You didn't miss how he called you his best girl, and it made your cheeks heat up, which didn't go unnoticed by Sebastian. You both have this effect on one another, and you wouldn't change it for anything.
The next day, Sebastian rings your doorbell a little after noon, and you've opted to wear a Christmas-themed sweater. When you open the door, you find Sebastian with a Christmas sweater and a present under his arm.
"You look gorgeous today, Sweetheart," Sebastian tells you as he pulls you into his side and kisses your cheek softly. It has yours heating up instantly, and you're feeling very fortunate to have someone as sweet as him by your side today.
The afternoon is spent preparing dinner, drinking hot cocoa, and watching Home Alone, an absolute Christmas classic. When you think this day couldn't be any more perfect, Sebastian whips out an envelope and hands it to you.
I wrote this for you, and I'm sorry if it's a little cheesy, but I figured I go big or go home, and I'd rather not go home, so..." he says, a deep red blush taking over his cheeks and neck as he hands you the envelope.
It's a light pink envelope with your name in his handwriting, and you pull open the envelope to find a small letter inside.
Sweetheart,
The past year, you have shown me what it is like to live life to the fullest, no matter what life throws your way. Meeting you has also brought me immense joy; because of that, I want to ask you something.
Will you do me the honor of making me the happiest guy on earth and be my girlfriend?
~ Sebastian
When you finish reading the little note, you slap your hand over your mouth out of excitement and practically fling yourself into his arms as you pull him close.
"I'd love to be your girlfriend, Sebastian."
His hand cups your cheek before he pulls you in for a soft, sweet kiss. Even though it's not the first you've shared with him, it is by far the most special one, and it is the cherry on top of the Christmas cake.
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Today will be your first time staying at Sebastian's house; honestly, the nerves are starting to kick in. He's seen your place a few times and slept there, but this is quite a step outside your comfort zone.
In your home, it's precisely how you like it and where you feel most comfortable, and you've discussed this with Sebastian. He is a true sweetheart because he has repeatedly reassured you that it's okay and you can sleep at home if you don't feel comfortable.
Your outfit has been laid out and ready to go for the last two days, and you can't wait to put it on and officially make your way to see Sebastian because you've missed him a lot.
Between his filming schedule and you flying all over the country to do more interviews, you have little time to see one another, but now that the universe is finally letting you be together, you want to look your absolute best.
After a shower and a thorough grooming session, you're putting your hair into two space buns with a few loose strands framing your face, and your makeup is very natural.
When your outfit is on, and your overnight bag is packed, you text Sebastian to tell him you're about to leave since it's still a 45-minute drive to his house, especially with the New York traffic.
Your work bag is also coming since you'll head straight to work the following day. It's a good thing he lives close to your office because that gives you more time to cuddle up to him, which is one of your favorite things to do in the morning.
What you didn't know, however, is that Sebastian has been preparing for your arrival. Not just by making sure his house is spotless but also by putting a little ''welcome home'' package together for you.
When he's about to step into the shower, he hears his phone go off, and when your name appears on his screen, he gets a wide grin, and his mood is instantly lifted.
''Can't wait to see you soon, Sweetheart,'' he says to no one, and he hops into the shower to prepare for your arrival. His place is spotless, there are clean sheets on the bed, and the care package is waiting on the kitchen island, ready to be unpacked by you.
He went above and beyond by choosing out a pair of the fuzziest socks he could find, as well as a big box of your favorite tea and a cute mug with it, a book from your wishlist you can leave at his place, and a bag of your favorite sweet treats to finish it.
He also has a small black box waiting for later, but that would have to wait until you two are comfortable on the couch because he wants to save it for a special moment.
When he's done in the shower, he quickly dries his hair and puts on a simple outfit before spraying his cologne. Now, he's ready to welcome you at his house and getting nervous because he's unsure if you will like it.
He grabbed the little box he was planning on giving you later and flipped open the top one last time as he looked at its contents. It shines beautifully in the sunlight, illuminating the room through the large windows.
With a small sigh, he shuts the box and puts it in one of the side table drawers next to his couch. It's all he can think about now, but before he can think about it too long, his doorbell rings, notifying him of your arrival.
He jogs to the door, and when he's there, he straightens out his long, dark brown locks and clothing one last time before swinging open the door and welcoming you inside.
''Sweetheart, I'm so glad you made it,'' he tells you as he pulls you in for a hug, and you instantly melt into his embrace.
''Missed you,'' you tell him, though it's muffled by the jacket he's wearing, and it only makes Sebastian chuckle.
''What did you say, Sweetheart? I don't think I got what you said just now,'' he tells you, and you reluctantly pull out of his hold so you can tell him again how much you've missed him.
''I missed you, but I'm thrilled to see you again,'' you tell him, pulling him closer so you can kiss him properly. Your lips fit perfectly with his, and it lights a fire inside of you that instantly makes you want more.
He takes your bottom lip between his teeth and nibbles softly before letting go with a soft moan. It was all just a plan to tease you a little so he could make the rest of the night unforgettable.
Your eyes are half-lidded as you look at him in anticipation, but instead of giving you what you're looking for, he pulls you into his house, closing the door behind you.
''I got you something to welcome you into my home and hopefully make it our home,'' he tells you as he interlaces his fingers with yours. He steps to the side to reveal the little basket on the kitchen island when you're in the kitchen.
''I-Is this for me? You didn't have to do that!'' you tell him, though your curiosity takes over, and you can't resist a peek inside the basket.
You take out everything and look at it, especially the mug he bought for you that leaves you chuckling. When you pick up the book and read the back, Sebastian walks closer to you and pulls you into his chest, his arms wrapped around you and his chin leaning on your shoulder.
''I figured you could leave this here, so you will always have a few things around here that are all yours for the next time you come over,'' he tells you, and you close your eyes as a huge smile escapes.
''I'm glad I'm allowed to come back after today,'' you say as you put the book on the counter and turn into his hold, kissing him softly and slowly until Sebastian bends down and lifts you onto the kitchen island.
''Well, there's one more surprise for you, and you need to close your eyes and stay seated, alright?'' Sebastian asks, and you hum in response, so he walks to the living room and gets the small black box he was holding earlier, unable to wait any longer.
''Alright, you can open them,'' Sebastian says, and he's standing in front of you with the black box open, and your eyes are immediately pulled to the contents of it.
''I want you to have this, Sweetheart, because you already have the key to my heart, and now I want you to have the key to my house as well. I want you to be able to come and go whenever you want to since there's no one else I trust more than you.''
You take the key out of the box and look at it before closing your hand around it and stretching the other one out to take Sebastian's and pull him between your legs.
''In that case, it's only fair if I give you the key to my house as well, but only if you promise not to sneak up on me in the middle of the night because I will knock you out if you do it!'' you tell him between chuckles.
You seal your promises to one another with a kiss, and you put the key beside you on the counter before your hands slide into his hair, pulling softly, earning yourself a groan from Sebastian.
''Let's move this to the bedroom, Sweetheart, and I'll give you a tour of the house later. Right now, I need you,'' he tells you between open-mouthed kisses along your neck and collarbone, your head thrown back to give him access.
He pulls you off the counter, and once you're sturdy on the floor, he whispers something in your ear that has your knees buckling underneath you.
''You'd better enjoy the walk while you still can, Sweetheart, because I'm going to make sure you won't be able to walk for the rest of the day.''
He grabs your hand and leads the way to his bedroom, and he kicks the door shut before he attaches his mouth to yours again, the kiss a clash of tongues, a fight over dominance which Sebastian wins.
You are both undressing one another and when your dress has found its way onto the floor, you're standing in front of Sebastian in your white lingerie with red hearts on it. His breath hitches as he takes it in, his large hands gliding over the soft fabric adorning your body.
''Hmm, it's too bad you're not as innocent as this fucking lingerie makes you look right now, Sweetheart. Luckily, it'll be on the floor soon anyway,'' he purrs in your ear, making you unbelievably wet.
Your long fingernails drag from his chest, over his abdomen, down to his belt, unbuckling it quickly before pulling the fabric of his jeans down. You crouch down with it before sitting on your knees, and you palm his now hard cock through his underwear.
''How about I show you just how not-so-innocent I can be with my mouth?'' you tease him, and you feel him throb in your hand. He throws his head back with a loud groan as he's getting painfully hard now.
You pull his boxers down and throw them to the side, allowing his long, veiny cock to spring free right in front of your face, the red tip already leaking a bead of precum that you happily lick off.
''Tastes so good, Daddy,'' you whine softly, and the grin on Sebastian's face is unmistakable; he's about to ruin you in every single way you can think of.
After a few more small kitten licks on his tip, you take it into your mouth and you suckle softly. And Sebastian removes both hair ties from your hair, letting it fall around your head.
''Much better, Sweetheart, that way Daddy can fuck your beautiful throat like he wants to,'' he says, and your nails dig into his thighs at the idea, making Sebastian hiss at the feeling.
While you're looking up at him with big, glassy eyes, you slowly take more of him into your mouth until your nose is pressed to his pubic bone, and you're choking around his length.
When you pull back, you take in a few deep breaths of the oxygen you have just deprived yourself of, and you smile wickedly at Sebastian, who grabs some of your hair and pushes his cock back into your mouth, needing to cum down your throat.
''Want me to fuck this throat, Sweetheart? Want me to fuck this tight, perfect throat and cum in it, make you swallow it like my perfect cumslut?'' he asks you in a slightly degrading tone, but it only serves to make you even hornier, and your cunt clenches around nothing.
You moan around him, and he takes that as confirmation he needs to start fucking your throat and chasing his high in the process. The gagging sounds you make only spur him on, and his hips are snapping at a rapid pace until he shoots his cum down your throat and over your tongue, ensuring you get every last drop.
''Fuck, you're so good for me, Sweetheart, such a good girl for Daddy.''
With your eyes half-lidded and your panties soaked, Sebastian helps you up and walks you backward to the bed until you're lying down. When you're comfortable, he takes off your bra and panties so you're entirely bare for him, and he crawls over your body.
''Let me make you feel good, Sweetheart. You deserve it after making me feel so fucking amazing; my soul left my body through my cock,'' he whispers between kisses from your stomach and your breasts up to your neck and jaw.
''Please, Daddy,'' you beg, and Sebastian's too impatient to make you wait any longer, as he needs to be buried inside you right this moment.
He lines himself up with your entrance before pushing in slowly, letting you adjust to his length before pushing in further. When he's fully sheathed inside of you, he lets out a groan, and a moan escapes your lips.
His hands find yours, and he interlaces his fingers with yours before slowly pumping in and out of you, making sure you feel every single inch, ridge, and vein inside of you.
''Hmm, I remember practicing how to ask you out in a mirror after that interview. You bumping into me that day is truly the best thing that has ever happened to me, Sweetheart,'' Sebastian confesses as he keeps his slow, almost unbearable pace the same.
''Couldn't live with the fact that I might not see you again, so I practiced, and I'm so glad it worked out, Sweetheart. I can't imagine being anywhere other than inside of your perfect, tight, soaked pussy right now. She's clenching around me, baby. Are you about to cum for Daddy?'' he asks you, and you nod; all that's leaving your mouth are moans and whines because you're so close.
''Hmm, you better cum around my cock, Sweetheart, want to cum inside this perfect pussy,'' he groans in your ear, and he lets go of your hand to rub your clit while simultaneously picking up the pace, and you lock your ankles behind around his hips.
''D-Daddy! Please, need to cum,'' you plea, and he listens because before you know it, you fall apart from the combination of his fingers and cock inside you, and Sebastian closely follows you.
Long ropes of his cum shoot into your puffy, overstimulated cunt, but he doesn't want to pull out since you're so warm and comfortable. He turns over with you in his arms, and he pulls the comforter over both of you as you snuggle into him, still buried deep inside you.
You take a short nap in his arms as you cockwarm him, and when you wake up, you feel Sebastian tracing soft, slow patterns on your back.
''Hi, Daddy,'' you whisper against his neck, and he turns to look at you.
''Hi, Sweetheart. How was your nap?'' he asks you, and you can confirm it was the best nap you've had in a long time. After you've woken up entirely, you're both taking a bath together before moving your cuddle session to the couch, and you're ordering dinner so you don't have to leave each other's sides.
Later in the evening, you're attempting to get up from the couch, but you're not allowed because Sebastian pulls you back onto the sofa, making you squeal.
''No, you can't get up! You're my prisoner for today!'' he tells you and pulls you onto his lap to attack you with many tickles, making you laugh and squirm uncontrollably.
''N-No! Please, sto-o-o-p!'' you tell him, and eventually, he does. But not after a few more surprise ones when you've caught your breath again.
When it's finally time to go to bed, you lay your head on Sebastian's chest with a soft sigh, and before you drift off to sleep, you mutter a few more words to him that have him chuckling softly.
''You're my new pillow, so I will never let you go.''
This was when he officially knew he would marry you one day because he could not live without you for another second. He wants your love and happiness around him for the rest of his life.
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subject-044 · 4 months
Note
Hi hello I absolutely adore your band AU!! I was wondering if you have any thoughts on the band's appearances, like clothes/hair dye/etc.? Especially given you've mentioned things past highschool
I rlly rlly want to draw these dorks practising together and want to stay true to your ideas :3
Hello I saw this just before I was going to go to sleep and then laid awake Thinking About It for the next 30 minutes so here I am!
Under the cut because there's a LOT!!
Richie
He layers just as badly as in canon
So in my head it goes:
Long sleeved stripey T-shirt
then a graphic short tee on top (which eventually becomes a band T-shirt nearer then end of senior year when Steph joins the band! (And when I design the logo lmao))
THEN a zip up hoode
I'm not done
Then a leather jacket he found at a garage sale (it's slightly too big for him normally so it fits over everything else.)
Ripped jeans + belt chains
He has one of those goth belts with all the metal eyelets in it
Boots!! He has loads of different coloured laces he wears each day!!
And ofc he has his blue hair
He has his ears pierced too- he has these skeleton studs and they're all he wears.
Oh and the green and black bracelet Max eventually makes when he becomes the band's friend. It's tied onto his belt loops every morning.
Peter
Pretty similar to canon in my head
He takes off his suspenders and bowtie when they practice though (he feels safe then)
His hair is longer! He wears it in a man bun because it made him feel more masc before he came out to everyone (in middle school)
When he felt more comfortable (and after he came out) he decided to keep his hair long and the man bun just kind of stuck
He gets an undercut maybe? I can't decide in whether that's good or not.
He had LOADS of ear piercings (industrial, tragus, three on each lobe, conch, helix) but he's too scared to get facial ones somehow
He wears dangly earrings in his main lobe piercing
After he makes friends with Steph and stops wearing his suspenders+bowtie altogether he unbuttons and untucks his shirt during practice.
(Steph almost passes out the first time he does this. She can see his collar bones. Victorian woman seeing ankle for the first time core)
Richie clips a short chain onto his belt loops "So we match!"
His yellow and orange bracelet becomes his hairband- you can't usually see it unless you're looking for it/it's in a ponytail
Ruth
Ruth was actually so so difficult for me to decide
Her normal style just goes so hard yknow?
I think she starts wearing Docs like Richie
But she just has rainbow laces and that's it she doesn't change them
She gets a leather jacket too and paints the band logo on (badly)
The band tee she'll wear but it'll be over-sized and half tucked in
Logo front and back babey!!
I don't know what else for Ruth so if you have any ideas please feel free to use them
Her blue and white bracelet is just on her wrist like a normal person lmao
Steph
Nose piercing Nose piercing!! She has a little ring
Her style is already SO SO good for the band AU!!!
She has fingerless leather gloves
She also has tattoos methinks
The beginnings of a rose + thorns sleeve on her left arm
And a shitty stick and poke star on her right wrist (over her veins) she got when she was 16- it's started to fade so she gets other stars tattooed on her wrist around it (one for each band member?)
She's the one who commissions an artist to design the logo, and gets t-shirts made for each of them!!
She, and Ruth both get the logo put on leather jackets. Steph's is proper vintage and is more of a biker jacket though.
She tries to convince Richie and Peter to get ones too, but Richie doesn't want to damage his jacket and Peter refuses to wear one at all (he won't wear the shirt either)
(She catches him using it as a sleep shirt. She teases him about it for weeks)
She cuts her band top into a crop top but she doesn't always wear it.
She dyes the tips of her hair red for while
But it fades into pink weirdly quick
So she dyes it back to her normal ombre
Steph's pink bracelet hangs from a hole made in one of her drumsticks. Her bracelet was made first (Max cried when he saw it)
Max
Max isn't technically part of the band
But he is their #1 fan forever and ever
So he has a shirt too that he wears to all of their (eventual) gigs!! The logo is a bit faded/damaged and washed out because he keeps washing it the wrong way
He has a scar in his eyebrow from when Steph punched him after she first joins the band (this kickstarts his redemption.) (Punchstarts?)
And he has his purple and yellow bracelet around his wrist!
I still haven't figured out how to fit Grace into this AU at all. I do HC that she thinks all music other than Christian Music is Of The Devil™ and she plays the flute but that's about it honestly... One of these days I'll figure something out
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grippingbeskar · 1 year
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chapter twenty three - selfish
frank castle x fem! reader
warnings: canon typical violence, graphic description of injuries and general gross stuff, needles?, bobby bein a bit of. a creep again ugh.
a/n: there is so much happening in this chapter. please god make it make sense.
[series masterlist] [previous chapter]
─── ・ 。゚☆: *.☽ .* :☆゚. ───
“Wake up.” A hand slaps you across the face, and you squint as your eyes manage to open. “There you go.”
You were still here. It had to of been… hours now. That’s what it feels like. Really, it feels like you’d never left. Everything’s the same, and you feel just as small. Just as alone as you always did. Except for him, leaning over you, observing your every movement. You tried to open your mouth, but your jaw was so stiff it felt wired shut.
“I’ve got a lot more work to get done before you leave me again. You with me now?” He says, grimy hands dragging along the inside of your wrist. It’s only as you look down, feeling the urge to tear that hand from his arm, that you see the IV stuck in your vein. Blood. He was taking your blood. He turns his attention back to a small screen. “Such a beautiful signal you get here. See this? Your father would love to see these numbers.”
“Shut your… fucking…” Exhaustion burns through you, eating at every nerve and cell, screaming at you to drift off into that dark bliss. If you closed your eyes, you could see him. Maybe he’d show up on the water bed again. You don’t know why that memory, of all the ones you had, came to you, but you’d cling to it anyways.
“Shh. Save your energy. Can’t have you dying on me.” He pours something down your throat, and you cough and splutter for a few minutes before anything goes down. You hate that it helps. It’s water. You want to throw it up out of spite, but your body hauls it in before you get the chance.
He’s no longer wearing the gas mask, and the air tastes clean apart from the metallic tang of blood still settled in your mouth. Your feet were bare, and the floor underneath was ice cold. You tried to lift them up, but the metal cuffs around your ankles didn’t let you.
“Never worked for three years, yet you still try it every time. You think I would ever let you go now? Over something as silly as reinforced cuffs?” Bobby hums, pressing his hand into the needle under your skin as his touch grazes over it. You wince, yanking away as much as you can. “I’ve had a lot of time to practise. To perfect keeping someone like you in containment. Keep you hidden.”
“What are you…talking about?” You manage with the water now settling in your stomach. Keep you hidden. How could you ever be more isolated than you were here?
“You may have been my first— and a special one at that, but you were not the first.” He takes the needle out of your skin with faux sensitivity. Like he almost cares if it cuts you now. “It’s a changing world out there. Super Soldiers, Gods raining from the sky… money can buy most things, but it hasn’t been able to buy me enough strength. Until now.”
He stands, walking around and grabbing the back of your chair. He drags you to the left, where you can see down the hallway. The door to the stairs you climbed down was wide open now, and a man was standing at the end of the hall.
“You see, I was investing in the wrong things. Training, guns… you name it. Until your father showed me the error of my ways. Science is where the real strength is.” Bobby crouches behind you, his hands holding your shoulders too tightly. “Of course, it’s been harder to master since your father passed. I haven’t been able to make the change permanent as he did— but I believe Ive found a way to increase its potency. Did you study much science with your father?”
The memory of him makes you want to cry. You wish you just had more time with him— you were going to fade away here and all his memory would go with you. You never even got the chance to tell Sam about him—
“Answer me.” He shoves your head forward, pain shooting up the back of your neck. You grit out a ‘no’ and he sighs. “No matter. Your father perfected the formula for your cell chemicals to shift and heal over. Only, the replenishment of those chemicals in other bodies is a little harder to grasp. Making it specifically for your DNA, and as much as I would love to have a million versions of you to play with, I need it to work for everyone.”
He brings over a bag of your blood, and clicks his fingers. The man at the end of the hallway moves toward you, standing at the entrance of the cell.
“Now, if my theory is correct…” He hooks up the IV again, but instead of attaching a new bag to your arm, he leaves it attached to your blood bag, and then stabs the man in front of you right in the divot of his elbow with the needle. “Even though we want to heal bones and organs, the most important part is the platelets and plasma. Tell me, sunshine, where is it that you find those?”
“Blood.” You spit, feeling some of your own drip down your chin.
“Good. Very good.” You both watch as the blood starts to disappear from the bag, going straight into the man’s veins. “This isn’t so bad, is it? Almost easy, I would say. You just have to listen, and do as your told.”
You recognise him— one of the men who used to stand outside your cell on days you needed to be guarded. Never speaking to you. Kicking your food through the gap in the wall. He looks almost asleep, and you think he might be under the effect of that gas from before— eyes half lidded and his knees weak.
“So, giving someone the proteins from your enhanced blood, theoretically, of course, should aid in the enhanced healing. Mix that with the incredible red and white blood cell counts you show, and you can create a virtually unstoppable force. For however long the shot of blood stays in his system. I had some stored from our previous years, but I have a feeling it’s effects will be more… productive, with a fresh supply.” The bag is half empty when he rips the IV out. The man doesn’t flinch, but now his eyes are wide and his knuckles white with how hard he’s fisting them at his sides. It’s almost like he’s hyped up on adrenaline, pupils dilated and staring at you. He takes a step forward, and you think Bobby is going to let him beat you to death. Instead, he pulls out a gun and shoves it into the man’s direction.
“Take this.” He says, and he does it immediately. “You see, the fresher the protein, the faster the recovery time. The guys downstairs, they have your blood in their system, and boy— does it make them pack a punch. But, their system doesn’t regenerate as easily. Some of that blood is months old—years. They die easier. Today, we’re going to see if your dear old dad was onto something. Getting blood straight from the source. It’s why I need you around. Might even let you test one out yourself like old times… but enough talk; back to our test.”
Bobby stands, walking around from behind you and controls the man’s movements, positioning him however he pleases. The man is obedient, moving without resistance, his eyes stilling on yours.
“Shoot yourself in the head.” He commands, and then the man clicks the safety off the gun and pulls the trigger.
You don’t make a sound, but you feel the hot splash of his blood across your face and arms, and then the dead weight of his body as he falls forward into your lap. A tear falls down your cheek, not in sympathy, but just pure shock.
You do scream now, because the man who’s brains paint the wall behind you stands up, pushing himself off you with ease. He sways slightly, like he’s drunk, and then blinks a couple times before returning to normal. He’s not hazed anymore— and even though his blood was still dripping down your face, still hot… he turns his head to Bobby, and the bullet wound is completely healed. Gasping for air, your head spins to Bobby, who was grinning.
“What the fuck have you done?!”
“I made him perfect! Like you!” He takes the gun from the man’s hands, who was still staring at you. “It worked even faster than I thought. Fresh is better, as they say.”
He hooks you up to another IV before you’ve come back to yourself, not even feeling the prick of the needle as the clear tube near your head turns a dark red. He was taking more…
“You—“ He snaps to the swaying man, who breaks his gaze from you. “Load these syringes and take them down. I want as many of them filled in the next twenty minutes. Don’t worry if she passes out… she’s a resilient one.”
The man moves quickly, opening a briefcase filled with long silver tubes, all ending in sharp points. He empties the rest of the first bag into three of the needles, then waits for the next to be filled. Everything gets fuzzy as he takes the next bag down and attaches another, and your hands go numb. You stare at them, making sure they’re still there. Bobby grabs your jaw, pulling you to face him.
“It’s good to have you back. I have to admit I had missed your… presence. My offer still stands, you know. It doesn’t have to be this way. We can work together. Build our own—“ All you can conjure up is the energy to spit in his face. He growls, grabbing you harder. “Fine. Have it your way. Once I’ve taken care of your little toy downstairs, I’ll be back. And I won’t be so withholding this time.”
More blood leaves your body, and you watch him walk away. You were losing so much so fast, you know you were about to pass out again, and you should be worried about that, but all you can manage to hold on to is the fact that Frank was somewhere here, and you couldn’t get to him.
It has to have been hours. Maybe even days. You have no idea. You hate it. You always lost time down here.
Your heart was as icy as the ground under your toes, and about as cracked and stained as the patch you were sitting over. The man next to you continued to sort through vials and tubes, and you drifted back to that sweet darkness, Franks voice nearly calling you if you dove in to it hard enough.
─── ・ 。゚☆: *.☽ .* :☆゚. ───
“That all you got?! Fucking puss—“ He’s cut off by another groan. His own, but he hardly recognises it by how high pitched it is. Another fist flies at his face, and he can feel the bone crack. He tenses, preparing for the next hit.
He needs to stay awake. He needs to stay awake enough to get to you. He saw everything— that whole fucking display, and even if he didn’t get any sound or words, the minute that piece of shit laid a hand on you, Frank snapped out of his haze. Doesn’t matter how much of his blood and guts covered the floor, he would drag his shattered leg behind him if he had to. He’d get to you.
Antagonising these guys in here had been easier than he thought. At first they were in some kind of trance, but when the loud bang of Bobby’s shotgun went off, the bullet just missing him— taunting him, they snapped. Now, it’s been…he’s got no idea how long, but they have to get tired soon. Get a little slower, get distracted, and then Frank will make his move. Maybe he’ll just get numb. He knows he’s cracked ribs, every time he breathes in something sharp stabs his side. He has to keep going.
Breathing in, the men surround him— and even Frank turns his head when there’s a knock at the door.
The guy who walks in is covered in blood, and he’s holding a briefcase. It’s the same one he thinks he saw when he was watching you, but his eyes are so blown up that he could be seeing things.
“Boss wants these distributed.” He says, and the three men hover around him as he unlocks it. They’re whispering something, and seemingly forget about Frank for a second.
Their mistake.
He’s slowly but surely working himself free, knowing he’s going to have to dislocate his thumbs to get out. He’s fought with worse injuries, but with how much blood he’s lost, he needs something. An edge. Something that will just get him out of this room. He knows there’s guns outside, and the slick of his blood makes it easier to slide out. He just needs one damn thing to go his way today…
“Is that really it?” One of the men hold up a needle. It’s bright red, with the biggest point Franks ever seen on the end.
“What’d you expect?”
“Hulk had green blood. Something like that, I guess.” Another man says off handedly, never looking back at him, and fuck— they were asking for it now. Franks right hand tugs at the cuff, and he squeezes his eyes shut, biting down on his lip so hard it bleeds. Not that he’ll be able to tell what’s bleeding anymore. Bone pops as he tugs the rest of the way, in one sharp movement he’s got a free hand.
He doesn’t wait.
Whatever’s in that syringe is important. Important enough that the guy who shot himself in the head got back up and walked down four flights of stairs. It does… well, Frank doesn’t know what the fuck if does, but if it heals a bullet to the head, Franks betting on the fact it’ll be enough to get him out of this room.
He lunges, throwing his body toward the syringe dangling in the man’s hand. The briefcase splatters on the ground and a multitude of curses ring through the room. One breaks, another falls right next to Franks head. He turns, only to see it kicked away. He pops his left hand out of the cuff in the shuffle, hoping they don’t notice it’s free.
“I thought he’d be better. Look at him.” They peer down at him on the floor, still cuffed by his feet, and from their view, still one hand, too. It’s why they don’t realise him reaching behind, grabbing two sharp points and dragging them over.
“Guess he’s past his prime. Clean this up, and don’t finish him off just yet. Boss wants round two.” The men laugh, turning their backs for a final time.
Frank stabs himself in the back with two needles. He feels it instantly— like the time he got shot up with adrenaline. Everything is turned to ten, and he groans and thrashes on the floor. The men turn around to look at him just in time to see his two free hands, but by then it’s too late.
Frank’s broken the chain on his legs, one giant whack of it against the concrete sending the links off in shattered pieces. He rolls, not feeling any pain on his sides. He stands, easily. Way too easily. He should be hunched over, fighting for consciousness.
He’s never felt fucking better.
He lands a punch on the advancing man, the one who broke his ribs. He grabs him by the head, feeling his skull bone crack under his grip.
He doesn’t have time to think about it, because the next ones already coming. He throws himself at him, tackling him to the floor. He beats him— over and over, so hard his hands meet concrete after three blows. He went through him.
One man’s on his back, arm around his throat, and he easily rips him over his head. These guys were fucking nothing now. He felt like he’d been shocked by some kind of electricity, except this was the kind that felt fucking amazing. He belted the man in front of him, then slammed his head into the wall. Blood and brain covered the only clean part of the room, and one man was left.
The man who shot himself.
“Stop! Wait!” The man says, holding the briefcase up. “I can tell you what he’s doing. Where she is!” Frank takes a few breaths, not even feeling winded.
“You work for him?” The man nods. “Where?”
“S-security.” Frank towers over him, and he goes for the handle of the door, but Franks too fast. So fucking fast he doesn’t register that he’s got the guys hand tight in a fist until he hears him scream.
“You know she was down there? All that time, huh?” The man looks up, wide eyed. Frank cracks the bones in his hands.
“Fuck! Yes— yes, we knew but I swear—“ Frank doesn’t care what the rest of the sentence is, because he picks up the briefcase, and uses the end of it to cave his head in.
He keeps hold of the case as he kicks the door down, swiping the shot gun Bobby abandoned. Then he takes a chance, testing his durability, and jumps over the railing of the two story platform.
After the beating he received, he should be struggling to even walk— but he lands it easily. He doesn’t even have that kink in his neck from this morning. Spent so much time staring down at you sleeping next to him. Not even that. No blood coming from anywhere, and he could see for fucking miles in front of him. No swollen eyes.
He was healed. Completely. Strong, too. Stronger than he fucking should be. He doesn’t know how long he’s got, but he knows he’s not wasting another second of not having you safe. He takes the stairs up four at a time, never needing to catch his breath.
─── ・ 。゚☆: *.☽ .* :☆゚. ───
Frank’s arm was around you, holding you tighter than you could ever remember. You weren’t shivering anymore, the effects of the ice cold water long forgotten the minute he pulled you to him under the covers.
It was nearly morning, and you were still hazed with sleep. The embarrassment and pain can’t reach you here, not when you are so close to drifting off. Another few hours of sleep would do you good. Just letting your eyes flutter closed. You blame it on this nearly-asleep-half-conscious state that you turn over, seeking more of the warmth his skin offers. He tenses next to you, feeling you shift, before accepting the new position and letting your limbs tangle with his own. 
It’s about as safe as you have ever felt. Frank on all sides, something that should make you feel boxed in. He’d let you go with one word, but you can trust him not to. You don’t want him to. Frank’s arms tighten around you as you settle your head just below his, nose brushing against his collarbone.
“You okay?” His voice rumbled through your head, all the way down to your toes. You didn’t answer, wanting to linger in this state a little longer. Your breathing was even, and you all but melted into him with one last, long sigh. “What the hell are you doin’ to me, huh?”
His lips touched your forehead before one hand tangled in your hair. He doesn't brush past this time. This time, it’s purposeful and practically permanent. He scorches your skin, kissing you softly, right on the little scar above your eyebrow.
You feel him tug you closer, your leg nearly on top of him now. You can hear his heartbeat in your ear, racing when your hand slowly brushes up his side, stopping under your head. Then it slows, and he kisses you one last time before you’re asleep again…
You can hear something. Maybe. Theres a beeping sound coming from the monitor, but that’s not what it is. This place echos everything. The walls nearly savour the sounds, sending them back to you so loud, that if you close your eyes you could swear it was happening right next to you. This is different, though. 
It’s screaming. Someone screaming.
You force your head up, slowly blinking your eyes. There’s spots in your vision, but you can see people. People, flying around the tight space of the corridor. Flying… you swear they were moving through the air, limbs whacking around in un-natural directions. Something loud cracked, and then a loud, male groan. Almost a scream, but this wasn’t in fear, or pain. Someone was coming, and they weren’t stopping until they got through.
You only knew one person who would fight for you like that, but as much as you tried to fight against it, sleep dragged you down into the dark. This time, Frank was getting further away, and you weren’t so sure you could pull yourself back up.
─── ・ 。゚☆: *.☽ .* :☆゚. ───
It was pitch black, but all Frank could see was red. Dark, thick red, blood that can only be from deep, hidden parts of the body. Blood gets thicker the further in you go, and Frank was tearing right to the centre.
He found more men on the stairs, using the shotgun and the pulsing strength scorching through his body to take them out. He admitted it felt good— fucking easy, tearing through these guys. They had the higher ground but he had every advantage. He couldn’t help but feel like something was off about it, though. He has no idea what he gave himself, it just had to be enough to get to you.
When he finally makes it up to the door, he’s sprinting. More faces blur past his hands and bullets, but he can only focus on one. You, your head down, eyes closed. He throws someone with one arm as far as he can manage, and he doesn’t see the guy get back up. He’s still looking for Bobby, but all that was on the back burner now. Now, all he could focus on was you.
The bodies stop dropping, and he realises there’s no more coming. No more footsteps as he reaches the door to your cell, no more gun shots. Not even a breath that wasn’t his own.
You weren’t breathing.
He drops the case he’s still managed to hold, ignoring the slow beeping of the monitor. He rips at the handcuffs, but even with all this stuff in his body he can’t manage it.
“Come on. Hey! Come on, wake up…baby, fucking wake up.” He could hear the horse crack of his voice and he was pulling so fucking hard and it wasn’t enough. He’s shaking you by the shoulders, then he looks down, seeing the snapped locks of the briefcase.
There’s still four or five syringes in there. He doesn’t know what it does— he can hardly tell if he’s gonna live when this feeling dies down. He’s still staring at them, though. Reaching for one.
He could do it. It brought him back, healed whatever those assholes did… and your a hell of a lot stronger than he is. He needs it to work. He needs you to open your fucking eyes, but is it worth the risk? Was it worth it if it backfired? Was he that selfish, that he’d take the risk— the risk of you dying because of what he did, just so he wouldn’t have to live without you? He’d take you down with him if he did this— fuck knows what Bobby put in these things. It could be anything. But he couldn’t let you die in this room. Couldn’t let you go.
Frank Castle knows he’s selfish, but it’s like his body has already made up its mind. His hand is fisting on of the vials, hovering over your thigh. The beeping’s getting slower, and you twitch in his hold, the last signs of life fading from you. For a second, he thinks he shouldn’t do it. That he shouldn’t take you down with him any further than he’s already done. But he can’t see you die. He couldn’t.
“Please. Just— need this to work. Please.” He drops his head and plunges the needle into your thigh without another thought. Almost instantly, your eyes crack open and your heaving air back into your deprived lungs. Frank holds you upright, trying to make sure you don’t fall backwards, but he can’t see past the tears forming in his eyes.
He doesn’t remember the last time he cried like this— like a knife was tearing it’s way through his chest, nearing his throat and there wasn’t a damn thing he could do to stop it. He didn’t want to stop it because you were fucking here— covered in blood and dirt but breathing. He chose right. Did right by you, for fucking once. Looking around the room terrified, you say a word, and he feels like the luckiest guy in the world because the first thing you think to say is his name.
“Frank!” You scratch out, shoulders still heaving with the effort of taking in air. “Frank— we have… you have to get me… please I can’t be in here anymore—“
“Shh. Shh— you’re okay. I’m gonna get you out, just like I promised, yeah?” You stop spinning your head around and stop your thrashing when your eyes meet his. He feels your hand go to lift up and touch him but you can’t move. “Fucking hell. I’m so sorry, sweetheart.”
“You’re crying.” You say softly, and Frank shakes his head, laughing out of pure exhaustion.
“Yeah, I am.” Your head tilts, and fuck— he can’t help it. He shuffles closer, holding your head in his hands. You look wrong in his hold, like something precious and way too expensive, something he’d never earn the value of in his lifetime. You press into his touch, and he just can’t let you go.
“You came.” Wet tears stream down your face, and he wipes them away with his thumbs. “I thought you were— I thought you might not make it here.”
“I promised.” It’s all he has time for right now. He has a hostage he needs to fuck up. “Where’d he go.”
You flick your head down in the direction of where he came.
“He has the keys. You gotta— once I’m out I can help you.” You blink a few times, and it looks like your seeing his face for the first time. “You… how did you get out?”
“He’s got these guys— strong, like you, nearly beat the shit out of me. Injected myself with that.” He looks over at the briefcase. “Never felt better.”
“You aren’t hurt.” You say, and it should be a good thing, but Frank starts to worry because you look uneasy.
“Not anymore. You know what it is?”
“Yeah.” That fact that you don’t say it right away makes Frank think he doesn’t want to know.
“I gave it to you, too.” You shake your head, and his worries evaporate. A simple move from you, and he’s easy. Fuck— he was glad you were here.
“It’s fine. It won’t kill us. You need to go. Get the keys, get me out. Bring him with you.” Frank nods, taking another second to look at you. Just making sure— your eyes were wide, a little fearful but alive and bright. Open. Skin was warm. You were okay. “I don’t want to be here anymore. Please.”
Something crashes behind Frank, and he turns and leaves before saying another word. He was going to drag that cunt back here kicking and screaming. He had to be alive— but Frank has learned a thousand ways to make a man wish he wasn’t.
─── ・ 。゚☆: *.☽ .* :☆゚. ───
Six minutes.
You counted it.
It took Frank six minutes to track down the country’s biggest gang leader, the man who has evaded the FBI and CIA for years, the man who had built an entire, intricate network of tunnels and bunkers to avoid being caught. Without his men, that Frank also took down, it took him six minutes to beat him bloody and drag him back to you.
You used to be so afraid of him. He was the man who haunted your nightmares, a face you’d see every time you closed you eyes. Almost a bogeyman. Seeing him here, on his knees, eyes swollen shut while Frank rips the keys out of his back pocket… it’s surreal almost.
“You w—“ Frank kicks him in the stomach, whatever words he was going to say lost in the burst pain. While he falls to the ground, breathing slow, Frank unlocks the handcuffs and you stand way too fast. Your first steps are the three that gets you out of this fucking room.
Frank sees you bolt outside, back pressed against the opposite wall. Then he turns, punching Bobby in the face before grabbing him by the leg and dragging him out and down the hallway. He’s groaning in pain, trying to say something but Frank just keeps dragging him. You walk behind, a sick enjoyment bubbling through you at the sight of him so… weak.
“How are we getting him up the stairs like this?” You ask once you’ve stopped at the base of the giant staircase. It must of taken you an hour to come down here, and your head was still a little fuzzy from the blood loss. Your own blood doesn’t heal you as well— fucking figures.
Frank doesn’t say anything, just starts dragging him up the stairs like a sack of flour. His head bangs against the first step, and Bobby shouts and wails like a kid. Similar to how you would of screamed for him to stop when he cut you open—
“Frank.” You say, and he stops. You look down at the man, wondering what Frank did to him in those six minutes in the dark that made him look so deformed. His arm was broken, the strange angle it was at made it obvious. One of his eyes was less bruised than the other, and he used it to lookright at you.
Maybe he thought you’d tell Frank to stop. That you’d taken pity on him. That you’d feel sorry for the way he looks. He’s still staring at you when you see a small flash of his teeth, something that could be a smile if he wasn’t missing so many teeth. You let him hold the hope for just a second.
“Make sure he’s still alive when we get to the top.” Frank huffs, like it’s an imposition, and you walk ahead, letting the pained cries of the man behind you bounce off the echoed walls. He deserved to feel what it was like to have hope it would stop, only for it to never end.
─── ・ 。゚☆: *.☽ .* :☆゚. ───
When you finally reach the outside of the building, Bobby has passed out from the pain four times. You counted. It won’t be enough. You had twelve years of that shit. This was mild— you had a thousand days like this. It should be therapeutic to see him miserable and begging but all it does is make you angry.
Frank throws him in the back seat of the car, using rope and the seatbelts to tie him down so he can’t move. Then he ties something around his mouth, saying something to him you can’t hear. When you get back in the car, Franks hands are stained with blood.
“I’m hungry. You hungry?” He asks loudly after a moment of silence, his hands so tight on the steering wheel you can see his forearms start to shake. “Fuck. I could sprint a mile right now.”
“You feel okay? Good?” You weren’t a hundred percent sure about the effects your blood could have on him— or, the concentrated version of your blood.
“Fuckin’ fantastic. Don’t know what was in that stuff, but I haven’t run it out yet.” You can tell he feels uneasy about it, but the rush is almost overwhelming, even if he has burnt through some of it.
“It’ll be a while before it’s out of your blood system.”
“Yeah? How you know that?” His head moves a little too fast, and you wonder weather that’s how fast you move. If you look this… creepy, really. It’s fucking creepy.
“Because it’s my blood. It’ll pass through in a while, you just have to wait. He— Bobby said it wasn’t permanent.” At the mention of his name he stirs in the back and Frank reaches around, punching him in the gut while keeping his eyes on the road. “Maybe I should drive.”
“I’m good. Tell me about it— the blood shit. Help me focus.” Hoping to calm him down, you spill every little remnant of information you can remember. It’s technical, trying to explain how the plasma in your blood can be modified to heal bones and gunshot wounds, but he listens. “So why’d it work on you? If it’s your own?”
“It’s more concentrated. Based around the healing parts of my blood. He must of found a way to extract only the parts that make me strong. I lost a shit tonne of blood back there, so maybe the shot kicked my own healing back into gear.” You flick your eyes back to where Bobby is passed out again, his blood staining the seat. “I doubt I’d get it even if he explained it himself, but it’s a version of what they did to me. Only lasts a little while, but it makes you stronger. Faster. Heals you more easily. And apparently makes you jumpy as fuck.”
“I ain’t jumpy.” He grumbles, the sound sounding so much like Frank that you settle back a little, relaxing at it. “When you were in there… I uh— saw what that guy did in front of you. That kind of thing would be… if Madani found out about that, or any of those guys at the CIA. What your blood can do…”
“I know.” They’d want it. It was the edge they have been looking for. Like Bobby said, America had been fighting Gods and Super-humans for years, and they wanted something of their own. You, or your blood, would be it.
“Don’t say anything about it. Far as they know, we were in and out.” Frank looks in the review mirror, gaze hard as he checks Bobby’s positioning.
“He might say something. What if they ask him about it?”
“Can’t talk without a tongue.” You look at him, trying to figure out if he’s joking or not. He looks serious. Very, very serious. “What?”
“You— nothing. I just want to go home.” You breathe heavily, your eyes shutting for a second. Everything hurts, and your body isn’t healing as fast as Franks did with the lack of blood in your system. Now you know why you didn’t heal fast after you were shot. You must of lost too much in the water.
“You mean back to New York, yeah?” When he says it, the words confuse you. Of course you’d be going back to New York. You don’t have anywhere… well, you don’t have anywhere. You don’t have a place, now you think about it. The only house you ever lived in is owned by someone else, but that hasn’t been home for a while.
When you said you wanted to go home, what you really meant was you wanted out of this car. You wanted to go back to somewhere warm, and safe, and somewhere you didn’t have to think about any of this. The only place you’ve ever really been able to do that, have any of that is when you were with Frank.
“Sure.” Is all you managed.
“Sure? What’s that mean?” He turns the car a little too hard, and Bobby whacks against something in the back.
“It means that— well, I don’t exactly have a place there, do I? I mean, I know Matt said we could stay until—“
“We’re not doin’ that again.”
“I didn’t think it was all bad.” You say absently, but Franks eyes catch yours in the mirror and his hands grip the wheel even tighter. “But I don’t have a house.”
“Stay with me.” Even after everything you’d done with him, been through with him, he still managed to catch you by surprise.
“Really? You’d want me to live with you?”
“Why? You got a bunch of cats you need to move in or something? You snore?” You don’t want to smile, not with who’s behind you, but he’s impossible not to smile around. “Course I do.”
“Gotta dump the baggage first.” Frank grumbles something under his breath at your words, then turns the car again, too hard. Even you struggle to stay upright. He’s still fighting off the rush of energy he’s feeling running through his veins. “Maybe we should call someone. Go to a doctor, or call Curtis. You’re still jumpy.”
One of his hand’s dropped from the wheel, and after he checked the rear view mirror one more time, confirming Bobby was passed out, his hand landed on your thigh. He did this a lot while he drove, his hand nearly covering the entirety of your thigh. Fingers absently wandering, like he had all the time in the world to tease you, even if he didn’t mean it. This time, he definitely did. His thumb was drawing circles on your skin, his palm slowly dragging the rest of his fingers up.
“Just got to work it out of my system, yeah?” You swallowed, the simmer of heat in your stomach bursting into flames at the horse growl of his voice. He dipped his hand over further, the sensitive skin of your inner thigh twitching in anticipation. You weren’t sure if it was because he was half high on…you, or what he exactly was planning to do, but as his hand gripped you tighter making you jolt in your seat, you sat a little wider. Giving him access. He swore under his breath.
“Yeah. Maybe you should g-go on that run. Work out or something.” He smirked, and held his hand there while you held your breath. He was toying with you, fucking with you, for sure… was he really going to…here? The tip of his fingers were so close, and you were practically sweating now, heart thumping in your ears.
“I think I got a better idea.” He looked at you quickly, his eyes nearly completely black, pupils blown out. Your eyes squeezed shut, at his mercy completely.
Then, his hand slid down slowly, resting where it usually did when he drove. Much lower, and much further away from where you fucking need him right now. When you open your eyes again he’s still smirking, a smart ass look on his face like he knows how worked up he just got you, even when he’s the one with all the extra energy.
All of a sudden, like Frank often encouraged in you, you forgot about everything else except how long this car ride was. You said you wanted to get home, but the more you thought about it, it was less about a destination and more about him. Home.
[next chapter]
─── ・ 。゚☆: *.☽ .* :☆゚. ───
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aryasage · 17 days
Text
set me on fire (so i can rise)
so fpx has been doing ridiculously well and deokdam beat ruler for the first time in his career and i sat down and vomited thirteen hundred words of brainrot onto the page. i had originally intended it for tumblr so i'm posting it here but it's theoretically long enough for me to post it as an actual fic so like. if anyone wants that let me know. no previous knowledge really needed and i'm too lazy to link stuff so just. here you go have fun
title is from fpx's phoenix because come on it was too perfect of a situation
(deokdam and viper are both aphelios, ruler is xayah, life is tahm kench, missing is thresh, flandre is graves, milkyway is kindred, none of the others really matter)
canon-typical violence under the cut but nothing graphic!
also don't yell at me about the moon formatting i already know i can't fix it ok
Deokdam has never beaten Ruler. He’s faced him more times than plenty of other AD carries, but each of their twelve matches has stayed in his head for longer than he’d like to admit. Maybe it’s that he’s the first world champion Deokdam ever faced. It’s hard to forget the feeling of barely even being able to stand in his presence, let alone put up a proper fight. But as the years went on, Deokdam’s losses to the other AD carry only got more and more depressing, and…well. He guesses it’s sort of a Thing by now. 
And so, even though he and his team have been doing far better than anyone expected, even beating TES and JackeyLove, Deokdam can’t help but feel apprehensive about their upcoming match. But…they’ve come this far by trusting each other. And so, as they start their warmups before the match, Deokdam taps Life on the shoulder. “You were his support for years,” he says quietly. “What’s his weakness?”
A sly smirk spreads across Life’s face, and he responds just as quietly. “He has a habit of overstepping. He’s overconfident. And it happens more often than you might think, especially now that he doesn’t have me anymore…”
Deokdam hesitantly returns his smile. “Thanks. I think I have an idea.”
As Deokdam exchanges bows with Ruler, he keeps his eyes trained on the other AD carry, watching his every move. He steps forward first, just as Life predicted, and Deokdam can’t help but smile. Something feels different this time as he takes a step back, dodging Ruler’s first attack and beginning the dance back-and-forth, and Deokdam thinks he knows why. 
“I think I’ve figured it out,” Viper says, his voice of moonlight so similar to Deokdam’s and yet nothing alike as he offers his hand to Deokdam, who takes it gratefully, allowing Viper to pull Deokdam to his feet.
“What, how to beat me? Because I’m pretty sure you figured that out a while ago,” Deokdam says, trying to pass it off as a joke, but his magical voice betrays his frustration. He’d accepted Viper’s request to spar over the offseason without a second thought, eager to practise both with his friend and someone with far more skill than him, but after the third day, Deokdam is just exhausted, and Viper absolutely destroying him every round isn’t exactly making him feel much better. 
“No, not that,” Viper says, sighing. “Let’s sit down. We should get water anyway.” Well, he’s right about one thing, at least. Even though it doesn’t do anything to put out the fire in his throat, Deokdam’s definitely dehydrated by now, and just the act of drinking it is refreshing. It also means he can avoid asking what Viper did mean for a bit, but eventually, his curiosity gets the better of him, and he asks Viper just that.
“Oh, right. Well, I think I figured out your problem. Fighting,” he quickly adds, evidently seeing Deokdam’s face and how he was about to say he has far more than one problem to worry about. “You think too much about yourself.”
The words hit him harder than any dose of noctum. Great. He already feels awful for drowning himself in self-pity practically all of last spring and half of summer, but it hurts even more coming from his friend. 
Viper frowns. “Wait, no, not—” He sighs. “I don’t mean that you’re selfish, Deokdam. Just that you get too much in your own head. You’re so focused on what you should do that you’re not paying enough attention to your opponent, so when I do something unexpected, you get caught completely off-guard.”
Oh. The tension eases from Deokdam’s shoulders somewhat. That…makes a lot more sense. 
“I used to have the opposite problem, actually,” Viper continues. “I was always so focused on what the enemy was doing that I forgot my teammates were there too. I didn’t trust them, and our coordination would always be slightly…off. I never really fixed it until…well. You’re a lot better at it than I am. You’ve always had much better synergy with your teams. So you don’t need to worry about that. What I do want you to worry about is your opponent.” He stands up with a smile. “One last round?”
Deokdam can’t help but return it, standing up and following him back to the sparring ring. “Sure.”
“Okay. I want you to keep your focus on me. Your instincts are good enough by now, but you trip yourself up. Don’t think about what you’re doing at all. Just trust yourself, and try to defeat me.”
Just trust yourself. Your instincts are good enough. It’s not that Deokdam would ever say Viper was wrong in saying that, per se, but for the first time, Deokdam thinks he might have been right as he fires a shot at Ruler, clipping him in the shoulder and dodging away from the chains that Missing sends flying at him. 
Smoke begins to swirl around the battlefield, meaning Flandre must have taken out Xiaolaohu in his pocket realm, and if Showmaker hadn’t complained about it being completely unfair every other week in 2022, Deokdam would be realising just how annoying it is right about now. Thanks to Kellin, though, Deokdam has plenty of practice of fighting with irritating gases everywhere, and he can just barely make out the silhouette of Missing’s body right before he throws his hook at Deokdam, and he sidesteps it on instinct. Something grazes his side—one of Ruler’s razor-sharp feathers—but Deokdam hardly feels it thanks to the fire already burning in his veins. All it does is reveal Ruler’s position, and Deokdam fires another shot in his direction.
Ruler lets out a grunt of pain, but he must still think he has the advantage, what with the smoke everywhere, because he takes another step forward, obviously confident. Too confident, because now he’s close enough that Deokdam can see his figure through the smoke. He fires a shot at Ruler’s leg, trying to knock him off balance, and Ruler predictably launches himself into the air, flinging an array of feathers at Deokdam. But with his wings flapping to keep himself in the air, he’s blowing the smoke away, and Deokdam switches weapons, launching a gravity orb at Ruler and clenching his fist, pulling him down to earth. He thinks his legs are bleeding, but it doesn’t matter, not when he switches back to his first weapon, shooting Ruler right in the chest and eliminating him, a faint red mark glowing where his Guild’s magic protected him. 
With their AD carry gone, Deokdam and his teammates are able to make quick work of what remains of JD Guild, especially thanks to Milkyway’s arrows that Deokdam swears have homing magic on them. The rest of the match is a bit of a blur, but the ceremony afterwards stays clear in his mind. Flandre is just as good-natured as Deokdam remembers, and Yagao has a quiet smile even in defeat, but when Deokdam shakes Ruler’s hand, the other AD carry murmurs in Korean, “Well fought.” 
As he walks away, Deokdam catches a glimpse of himself, and if his heart weren’t already pounding out of his chest from the adrenaline rush, it would be now from the shock. Ruler’s glow given by the Rift might be powerful, but right now, Deokdam shines with a light far more important, moonlight gleaming brightly in an aura all around him. It doesn’t go away, even as Milkyway heals his wounds, and when they leave, Deokdam chances a look up at the sky. There, peeking through the stormy clouds, Deokdam can see Her light shining down from above for the first time since he came to China, and he can’t help but smile. 
Thank you, he thinks. I’ll use your gift even better than before.
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let's find a way to find a way out                    it's time to go to war.
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solcaeruleus · 3 years
Text
She Smiles Anyway
Spoilers for Words of Radiance
Text is property of Brandon Sanderson, audio from Graphic Audio's audiobook of Words of Radiance; I only did the art.
NO REPOSTS. I'd better not find this anywhere else than snug on my own blog.
Reblogs loved.
~~~~~~~
Now with some official stuff out of the way...
This scene was too beautiful for me to leave alone. I wanted to practise storyboarding (note that I have never followed a single course or anything on any of it so this is likely amateuristic as heck, at the very least in the technical department.)
Some more personal stuff on why this scene hit me so hard under the cut.
So... My brother told me to read Stormlight Archive about a year ago, when I talked about all the misfortune in our family and how I struggled with always standing on the sidelines, watching everyone I love be broken down one way or another without being able to do a single thing to help them.
'Not because the books are so great—which they are," he said. 'But because I think you could really use them.'
Well, it took me a total of 1800-ish wonderfully amazing pages to get there, but when I read Words of Radiance Chapter 71: Vigil... it clicked.
This speech. This... hits very close to home.
Reading this, ironically, I cried for the first time in months. I was able to cry for the first time in months.
And then I recalled what my brother had said and I realized this was the scene he had had in mind, most likely, and I broke a second time.
And then my brother dared to tell me that Shallan had always kind of reminded him of me and I broke down all over again.
(Funny thing is, when I asked, turns out this is not even the specific scene he'd recommended the books for. I haven't read past Words of Radiance yet but I'm curious to see what my emotional response will be once I reach the point he'd had in mind.)
Long story short, I just... felt so heard, so seen, when I read this chapter. I had to make something for it.
Brandon Sanderson, thank you so much for writing these books. Reading them, I finally felt something.
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gingerxarmy · 3 years
Text
Confessions pt2 - Reader x Driver
So here we have part two of Confessions . I had a hard time to understand how much I wanted to actually write. But it ended with some hard makeout session at the end. So if you ain't comfortable to read it to (--), it's nothing graphic more than naked skin. BUT ENJOY!
You ended up meeting him for the date night he promised you
Words: 2700 (ish)
Warning: Mention of alcohol and smut-ish
To overthink was nothing new, somedays you had better days, but lately it has been a constant thing for your to-do-list, everything started when you realize that he was the only one with a new phone number. You couldn’t contact him, if you didn’t send a direct message on Instagram. But thanks to him being a famous racing car driver you knew that he wouldn't be contactable on the app.
After that night you had been waiting for a text, a phone call or just something to ease your racing mind. To make you know that he thought about you just as much that you thought about him. He had confessed his love to you. If he wasn’t just drunkenly babbling stuff. But drunk sayings are sober thoughts as they say.
One thing that really made you uneasy is his reputation, what was so special about you that made him want to change? It was an open secret around the sport that he was a player. He always liked the attention, the girls flocking around him. Or so it appeared in interviews and videos. He would give a lucky girl a night to remember, but for him, it was only a challenge to get a girl the fastest and take her home. And you, you weren’t a one night stand kind of person, never been and never will be.
So here you are now, one and a half weeks later, in total radio silence. Waiting for him to reach out. In the heat of the moment you didn’t think about getting his number as well when he asked you about yours. And it felt wrong to send him a message on Instagram of all places. And who knews, he probably never checks his direct messengers on the named app. If it was you, you wouldn’t even bother to check the thousands of messengers they probably get sent everyday.
With phone in hand you scrolled through Instagram, trying to smooth the nagging feeling in your chest by looking at his profile. The whole circus was in the Netherlands this weekend to race. The new posts from this week were only pictures on his car from practise sessions. Which in say might not be so bad, the car’s livery is amazing this seson and you couldn’t say that it wasn’t kind of hot to see him drive on track. But just in this moment, you missed his face. Just to see in his eyes that he maybe did just as bad as you did to be countries apart.
You sight and put away your phone, it doesn’t make anything better to be here, late at night, looking at pictures of a man who probably only thought about racing this weekend. It was late, midnight was soon about to pass and you were working tomorrow. Bedtime it is, you decided.
After brushing your teeth and getting ready for bed you heard your phone go off. Vibrating like it’s life depended on it in the silence of your apartment. You picked it up and faced the display, unknown number it said. Who would be calling you at this time? A small part in you hoped that it would be him. That he had been laying awake, thinking about you, not being able to sleep and just needed to call you, hear your voice. You answered the call with hope in your chest. What if it wasn’t him?
“Hi,” you let out a breath you didn’t know you held when a familiar voice came through the line. “I’m sorry that I haven’t called earlier. It’s been a stressful couple of days.” You could hear it in his voice how tired and apologetic he sounded.
“It’s alright. I understand, It’s been a lot for me too,” you lied. It had been calm at work the past couple of days and it stressed you out. You needed customers to keep your pub going and the few regulars wasn't enough anymore when the business premises rent increased.
“So, I’ve been thinking about that date we talked about.” He said and your heartbeat started to race. Was he actually serious about that date after all?
“Yeah, what did you realise from that?” You let yourself ask.
“That I miss you, dearly,” you melted. He was actually serious! Or so you hoped that he was. “And we have two weeks till the next race after this one. So I thought about paying you a visit. If that’s not a problem. And like, I don’t know, make that drink I now owe you.”
“I would love that,” you smiled to yourself.
“Perfect, I really need to sleep now. But I call you and we make up the day and time!” You let out a small giggle and agreed, wishing him good luck on the weekend and a good night’s sleep before ending the call. The anxiety you had felt the last couple of days disappeared in an instant, making you fall asleep with a smile stuck on your face.
***
It was five days after the phone call that you decided to meet up, he was supposed to pick you up at five to invite you to dinner at his place, at his place! You were elated and had been trying to pick out something to wear for the last hour. What was the meaning for this date? Get to know each other? You had been talking at your pub for months. Sure, you didn’t know who he was alone, between the four walls he called home. But you could say that you knew who he was quite well when he was out. But five different dresses, two pairs of jeans and a skirt later you decided for something casual. A dress would be fine, it was quite sexuall in you should be honest but you felt yourself tonight. It was him, you had seen him drunk more times that when you had seen him sober at this time.
Five past five you got a text messenger that told you that he was outside, waiting. Putting on a jacket and your shoes, you made your way outside. His sports car stuck out along the sidewalk, making you feel small and out of place. He was rich, you knew that, but did he have to flex it on you?
You open the car door and slink into the soft seat. It was an amazing car, the outline of it made it easy to look at and the inside was screamingly expensive.
“Hi, you look beautiful tonight,” he said quietly. It made you feel better that he acted as nervous as you felt.
“Thank you,” you gave him a smile as he put a hand on your bare thigh. As a reflex you put your hand on his. Everything felt so natural, like the two of you had done this thousands of times before.
“I’m going to say this now so you are aware. But I got a spare room! But I promised you drinks and I’ve been to the shop just now, and I’m going to drink as well so I won’t be able to drive you home later.” You appreciated his honesty. But if you should be honest, you had been secretly wishing for a night at his place.
“I’m fine about that. Kind of had it coming when you talked about alcohol involved.” You watched the city move past the windows off the car as he drove you two, music on low volym and his hand still on you. Your chest is warm with so many feelings that you couldn’t name.
The car ride wasn’t long, the both of you had made smalltalk about the previous race weekend and his result. How he felt about it and what he expected for the next one. It was easy, almost too easy, you couldn't shake it off how everything felt so right.
“So, this is me.” He had said when you later had parked the car and made your way up to his apartment. He opened the door and the first thing you noticed was the view. It was a beautiful city you lived in and his apartment had the best view. The sun was setting and the pink and orange colors colored the white walls with a livingness you otherwise only saw in your dreams.
“It’s beautiful,” you say when you could tear your eyes away from the view to look around his home. It wasn’t big but it was really cossy. The kitchen was neat and the living room was framing the big windows that caught the beautiful city outside.
“Thanks, I thought about making you dinner first, don’t want you to get alcohol poisoning from my amazing drinks,” he said as he was on his way to the kitchen.
“Oh, please. I don’t think it’s something positive to kill someone on the first date you know?” He flashed you a challenging smile.
“If you say so.” The two of you started the dinner he had preplanned. You prepared the potatoes as he got the meat ready. Set the table and lit candles. It was melting your heart to get to do all this with him. To set the atmosphere together.
The food soon was placed on the table and you both enjoyed the meal. Talking about how both of your jobs went and what the plans were in twenty years, what you had for goals in life.
***
“Okay, I’ve been practicing. I’m not gonna lie.” He said as he started to take out a couple of bottles. “And because everyone likes Moscow Mule, I'm going to make one for you as a starter.” You nod in agreement as you watch him mix Smirnoff and Ginger beer.
A couple of minutes later he poured up two glasses, one each, and made his way over to the soffa where you had seated yourself with a pillow you found in your lap. You take the drink from him when he takes a seat next to you, an arm behind you on the backrest. You take a sip from the drink, trying it, seeing if it’s as good as the one you make daily.
“This is really good,” you say. And you can hear it in your own voice how the surprise came out.
“I said it before, I only go to your pub to get to see and talk to you, I usually make my own drinks if I feel like drinking.” He says and you feel how he lays his arm around you, it’s hesitated but he hugs your shoulder and you can’t help yourself as you lay your head against his shoulder. Taking another sip on your drink.
The candles now on the coffee table in front of you make it perfect. The two of you, a drink each and the small tune of some romance playlist he absolutely should have playing in the background. You had been arguing about the music before you started to cook the food, but now, he was right. It was an amazing playlist and fit the mood.
You finished your drink when you saw that he was already done with his. You had decided that you should be taking turns on mixing drinks. You gesticulated for his empty glass and made your way over to the table he had put all the bottles on.
“One or two?” You ask.
“Hmm, which one is the strongest?” He asks with a smile on his lips.
“They are quite equal in that, but I think you would love this one,” you said and started to blend the ingredients. You bring the finished drinks back and give him his glass back. Watching him take a sip, trying it out.
“Oh, my God. This is amazing.” He says and takes another sip. You laugh.
“That’s the name of it. Isn’t it amazing. The Oh, My God drink.” You laugh and take a sip of your own.
“It’s an amazing name for it.” He places his arm behind you again, playing with the ends of your hair. Drinking the drink and watching the candle dance in front of you.
His hand found his way into your hair, feeling how it stops and how he starts drawing circles behind your ear. How he gently turns your head so the two of you face each other. You get eye contact before you turn your gaze away, the nervousness starts to creep up on you. Your heart sped up and you can’t help but let your gaze linger on his lips. Wishing for the plump lips to be on yours. But what you didn’t know was that he was thinking the exact same thing. You could see how his lips came closer to your face as you let your eyes meet him. You can see the question in his eyes, licking his lips. And without overthinking about it, you press your lips to his, placing your drink on the table and then place your hand in his hair. Oh, what you had fantasised to drag your fingers through his hair.
He had placed his own glass at the table and soon had his hands on your hips, guiding your leg over his so you straddle his hips. Deepening the kiss as you feel his hands roaming your body as he tries to remember every inch of every curve that makes your body yours. You both high on each other, his hands not still on one place longer than a second and your hands in his hair, trying to get a grip on the situation. You feel how his tongue tries to get past your lips, and with no resistance at all, you part your lips. Both your tongues fight for dominance as you continue. But soon the air in your lungs ends and you need to break the kiss.
“If we continue this, I’m not sure I can end it.” He says breathlessly. His face is buried in your neck and you feel how he leaves kisses from your ear down to your collarbone.
“I don’t know if I want you to stop,” you let out a moan as he placed a kiss behind your ear on your sweet spot.
“You sure?” He asks, leaning back to look into your eyes. You meet his eyes and for a second you only sit like that. Letting the situation sink in, you in his lap, his kiss swollen lips and a desire for the both of you ecually strong for each other. You let your eyes close as you lean into his touch, breathing in his scent and feeling how he guides you to a new kiss.
--
“Then let's take this to the bedroom instead.” He grabs your lover back with one hand and carefully stands up by pushing himself up with the other hand. You lock your legs around his hips as his free hand finds its place under your bum, squeeze it as he connects your lips once again.
He guided the both of you to his bedroom, never breaking the kiss more than to breathe. He stops walking and you break the kiss to ask why he stops, but the only thing that leaves your lips is a small surprise sound as he drops you onto a soft fabrik, the bed.
“I’ve been thinking about this for so long, you have no idea what you do to me,” he says and buries his head in the crock of your neck, leaving kisses downwards.
“So have I, and I hope all your rumors are more than talk.” He looks into your eyes before pushing your dress up, letting his hands explore your naked legs, but his eyes never leave yours.
“Oh, baby, you have no idea what I can do to you,” and you hadn't, the evening had ended with the both of you, high of the orgasm and a new feeling he had named that day in your pub when he had first told you about his feelings. He was the love of your life as well. And you hoped that your story had only started.
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Tiny Dancer || J.S.
Part One
Pairing: John Shelby x fem!reader
summary: After serving in the Great War as a nurse, a young woman starts to work in a shady joint back in Birmingham. Life isn't taking it easy for a pretty girl like her, but things start to change when some handsome, gently cocky bloke cast an eye on her dancing on stage.
a/n: First of all, English ain't my first language, neither is French. I used some french words for realistic ballet language (translation given). This story will be a few chapters long. I don't know how many will be written...depends on my mood, time and your feedback <3 Also, please don't be put off by all the trigger warnings below. I just try my best not to hurt anyone reading my stories. It won't be as dark and sad as you may think!! I've been struggling with anorexia and body dysmorphia and went through a post traumatic disorder due to rape, once. So everything written about these topics come from personal experience.
present writing - This style flashbacks (war, crimes) - This style cutbacks (childhood) - This style
(y/n) - your name (y/l/n) - your last name (y/h/c) - your hair colour (y/e/c) - your eye colour
trigger warnings (whole series): eating disorders (anorexia), body dysmorphia, post traumatic flashbacks, self harm, suicide mention, depression, graphic violence, sexual harrasment, mention of rape, swearing, tobacco and alcohol, drugs
words: 1.085
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"UN. DEUX. TROI. QUATTRE. REPRISE!" (one. two. three. four. repeat!), the teachers raucous voice echoes through the dance room, breaking the sweet sound of Tchaikovsky. The dance hall was huge, with mirrors on every wall, even on the entrance door and only some small windows aloft. A few dimmed lights on the ceiling gave just enough light so the dancers could see themselves and their teacher. She was a goddamn perfectionist and former ballet performer from France, who now saw her second chance in her current class. Young girls are incredibly teachable, flexible and persistent. But they are not less naïve and daydreaming. (y/n) was the biggest one og them all and always dreamed of becoming a professional ballet dancer and performer, just as her teacher Mme Bouvoir… One harsh slap on her tights wakes (y/n) up out of her memories. "Focus, Princess! Or do you need another private lesson?", a vile voice whispered in her ear. She dared to turn around just to look into the cheesily grinning face of Mr. Baker, her boss. This slap, his voice and his facial expression make her want to vomit right on his feet. But she keeps herself under control, as usual. She purses her lips and shakes her head: "No, sir. I can do this." Her voice nearly breaks, due to endeavour, exhaustion and tension. "Then fuckin' do it!!" Mr Baker yelled at her and gave her another slap on her tight, like an old horse he wanted to make run faster. This isn't the place (y/n) always wanted to be. This isn't the glamourous life of a dancer she's been dreaming of since she was an eight-year old girl. This isn't what she expected to be when returning from the Great War. This is hell. And Mr. Baker was the devil himself.
Finally, practise lessons are over and (y/n) just wants to disappear in the changing room to get herself clean but a well-known, harsh voice called her and the other women back. "We are not finished here, Ladies! I got an important announcement to make!", Mr Bakers grin twisted into something more bizarre, but his whole body language tells the dancers that this will be something serious. He clears his throat before lightening a cigar and continuing: "Todays' evening we will be having some very important guests in the audience. And I want everything to be perfect. I want you to be perfect, to give everything you girls got!" His eyes were glistening with lust: "And with everything I mean ev-ery-thing." He emphasises the last syllables carefully so no doubts were left on what he meant. Some of the girls look excited, happy even, some lose all the colour in their cheeks due to be shocked by his words and their meaning and some got tears in their eyes. Only one of them dared to speak up, (y/n): "You cannot expect us to act like bloody whores to whoever comes around this night! We are no toys!" Her hands are clenched into fists and her jaw tenses up, trying to prevent more dangerous words coming out of her mouth. Mr Baker stares at her with a mixture of disbelieve, anger and amusement. "My sweet summer peach", he starts, licking his thin lips before taking another drag slowly, "you are toys. My toys. You belong to me, since I pay your pretty arses. So I decide whatever you have to do. And if it's being a whore to every man in this fuckin' city. You'll have to do it!" He nearly yelled the last phrases. But suddenly his figure calms down and an unreadable smile appears on his face. "Which makes me think. You, my beautiful (y/n y/l/n), you will be the main attraction. You got your long wished for solo debut on my stage tomorrow. You will be my Swan Queen!" Watery Lane, a few hours before
Laughter, cheers and the clinks of expensive crystal glasses can be heard from inside the Shelby Parlour. This one is a day like no other since the Great War and the Shelby Brothers got all reason to celebrate today. They finally made it to run an almost legal business. Tommy was waving the fresh printed legitmation card in his hands while explaining that this hasn't been possible without the help of his two brothers, Polly and the Peaky Blinders. "Gentlemen", his deep voice shouting through the bawls of his family, "Ladies", he nodded to Polly and Ada, "today we made history!" Everyone raises their glasses, praising the success of their work. John saw his opportunity, climbs up on a chair to get some attention and waved with a cigar and his whisky glass in both hands: "If this ain't a good day to celebrate?!" Everyone agreed cheering and clapping their hands. "And as fate would have it, I just know the best place for that, eh!" His too well known smirk appears on his lips. Noticing Pollys and Adas raised eyebrows he adds that they don't have to worry. It would be appropriate for Ladies, too. But the two Shelby women declined thankfully, explaining the boys should celebrate this day in their very own way. Tommy sent out one of the Peaky Blinders lads out, immediately, to get the pub reserved and prepared for their evening celebration. While the man leaves the parlour, Arthur, Tommy and John are making the other ones of the Gang going to the Garrison, handing them out some extra cash money. "Johnny Boy, hurry up! You don't want to marry one of those girls there, eh?", Tommys voice halls through the door while John was shaving his face and does his hair perfectly. He grinned to himself: "Well, ya never know, Thomas." Then he starts laughing, imagining his brothers facial expression on the other side of the door. Under normal circumstances Tommy would have sermonized his younger brother, but today went too well, so he just let it slip and chuckled.
Another knock on the door and Arthur reminded John that they wanted to celebrate tonight and not in three days. The young man quickly closed his waistcoat, arranged the sterling silver chain with his pocket watch. "I'm coming.", he said in an acted annoyed tone, before wrenching open the bathroom door. "Oh dear Lord, spare us with this image, please!" his brothers groaned. All three burst out into childish sniggers, grabbed their overcoats and their peaky hats and run off into the night.
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madfantasy · 3 years
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Dearest Mani, you are always in my heart and prayers! You're incredibly talented as an artist and a writer (I think you could write a good autobiography, I find your writing both heartbreaking and fascinating), and so strong and persistent! I dreamed of becoming an artist as a kid, but wasn't allowed to study drawing, but when I became a teen nobody could prevent me from learning... but I was too hesitant... with too low self-esteem... so I never learned, alas. Be blessed, my darling!
Oh dear Bianca, thank you so much, bless your heart🫂💛
I always fear when I share about my life that I be a burden.. I have to apologise
I'm sorry you had that experience, I understand at times people think of art as not a rewarding path and maybe discourage people from it, but if its your dream, its yours and it is in you, and you're never late to start if the dream still dwells within the space of your pleased mild unconsciousness and the results shouldn't matter most of the time, the more you do it, the more it be obvious what you can and can't do, and what you want and don't want to do in the vast fields of art~
I honestly have never considered art as something I'd go with, I actually was a mathmatic wiz and enjoyed solving these equations like chewing on sour candy,  my mouth frothing at the thought of getting more... and wrestling, its still my second goal..
Art was something I did out of necessity; I wasn't allowed to express much, it was similar to the life style of military (the irony here is my last name means warrior, and alot of distant family were inrolled, including my guardians) it was a life line mechanism your body forcesyou to do, to breath.  I didn't think of it,  I didn't plan it, I didn't consider it Art, so I always feel because I didn't seek it as art or have sought to learn it properly or have in my possession a sealed certificate of learning it, i can't call myself an artist! (But that continuesly was proven wrong as I became more and more involved in it)
And the amount of resistance I got towards me drawing equalled me stubbornly drawing even more. It was as if I was involved in the dark arts, which it was to my family, my teachers, my peers— everyone. It was a reason for them to crush me, but it didn't crush the urge to draw non stop.
I remember as a kid they let me cuz its child's play, and was aware of all those adults saying to my guardians, oh Mani's art is amazing but you know what to do when they grow up. They beat the freak out of me every time they caught me doing it. So my choices became draw while they are asleep ( or my own sleep time under the covers) or at work. Second place is at school, I was taking every pause possibility to draw like I'm possessed to, while decently acing school. I mean I literally did my homework and everything at school so I don't have to do anything home but draw.
Inevitably I was found out at school, even tho I was and still a very quiet shy kid, and I try to hide my art anyway possible whilst drawing. Evey time the consequences were either of those two: utter humiliation, or a praise with guilt.
They praised me saying its amazing but I can't do that, and to please stop it. Or just being silently fascinated by it and taking it without telling me its good so they "won't encourage me"
The humiliation was me pointed out as what not to do to the whole class, and telling me I'm going to hell when I die and be forced to try and make those creations I made come to life, seeing that I could not, be tortured with alot of graphically disturbing description of fire and burns. First when I was 7 years old. I remember standing too in a line in front of the whole school at queue as the "shameful" students line, watching some of my peers cry and me just standing there just struggling not to laugh. Cuz idk
Other time peers snatching my art from me and running around with it and calling me names, and such, and it takes a bit more than rough housing by me to get it back. Often school calling home and getting my share of beating from there too.
I remember the biggest humiliation I got is by a freaking art teacher snatching my mouths stocked folder thanks to the stupidity of a peer I didn't even allow to share my art with leaving it wide open for the teacher to see. They took it, questioned my classmates as to how the frk nobody reported my art to the admin or whatever. And if they were okay with the horrors I make. They were heh.
But didn't stop the admin from basicly spreading that and assuming that i am crazy and need psychological help. Which made more hard beatings at home hearing that in the phone call they made.
I eventually fell out from school because of continuing decline financial situation and my mental stability. The cycle didn't end, guardians never stopped killing me over it, destroying my art, threatening, the whole work— till I got commissioned for the very first time. Like only few years ago. They let off seeing now it brings money..
Till this day they don't know what I draw thanks to switching digitally nd speaking English. Also they don't have the health to go around snooping in my stuff anymore right around the time too
The bottom line is, I don't know how everything just fell into place, into being an artist rather than it being a choice to make.. still carrying those shackles of always get those flashes of being hurt by it, regretting posting and drawing always and feeling its never good enough or not being something acceptable or sought-after. But on the flip side, it's the embodiment of freedom, it's the most accomplished, happy, fulfilled, humaaaaann I ever be while practising it.
What you love and will be will happen no matter what and how long...
I'm sorry for more sad dibble about my life..
I am happy today; I just wore like passes as a boy trouble maker here and my guardians were laughing and hyping me to go out on the streets and make some trouble. The exact intention hehe. And I wanted to share but can't do that publicly but posted on my ko-fi hehe
Leaving u with sev wip , and all my love 💛🌟
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transgendercannibal · 3 years
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but you're a mirage in the middle of the night | klaus & esther mikaelson
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summary: he doesn’t say anything, doesn’t tell her about how he’d fled the ruins of his home to run from a father who wanted him dead, about the countless nights he’d spent staring at the full moon as months faded into years and he faded into nothing, about the days of feeding in the darkness with his brothers, bloodlust seeping in through the cracks of his skull, filling in the bruises in his mind. klaus doesn’t know if he’s dreaming, if any of this is real, but he doesn’t want it to end; 859 words + read it on ao3!
author's note: i am half dead and sad and high on energy drinks so this isn't as polished as my other fics :) written for the “i wanted to be better than this” prompt for @hellotvshowtrash’s #april2021promptchallenge and beta'd by the wonderful @robinlikeitshot hi i absolutely adore you <3 thank you so much. as always, likes are greatly appreciated, but reblogs and feedback would mean the world to me!
warning(s): klaus makes bad life choices, graphic descriptions of nightmares, murder, death and blood, implied/referenced self-harm (nothing super graphic), grief/mourning, more dysfunctional family feels! esther and mikael’s a+ parenting, mayhaps a hallucination of a certain dead family member, may be slightly ooc but you can pry soft vulnerable klaus from my cold dead hands <3
It’s the fifth time Klaus has been here.
Chest heaving, boots hitting grey stone, he rests on the edge of the cold roof with his boots dangling in the frosty air, watching the dark break with silvery rays of moonlight. He shivers, bruised and battered and exhausted, tipping his head back and looking up at the pitch-black curtain draped over the night sky and feeling as distant from his body as the blinking lights above. The clouds have cleared to let the stars shine down, but the wind still rattles along the housetops and whips his hair over his face, the bitter cold seeping through his tunic and into his skin.
He’d woken up only hours ago, desperation dripping from his voice, throat swelling with the pressure of tears, and the whisper of his mother’s name on his lips. In the silence of his room, when he’d closed his eyes, he'd watched, watched, watched, frozen under the thick black line of the horizon as Esther stared up at him with her wide, blank eyes, following him, taunting him. All he could hear was the beat of his heart in his chest and the pulse of his blood through his veins and the one thought racing through his mind as he crumpled forward with the last dregs of strength left in his body—Not now. Not like this.
Klaus nearly drifts away as shadows creep into the corners of his vision, the distance between his thoughts and his body growing further apart as he takes in shuddering breaths of clean, cold air. His fingers curl around the starling necklace in his hands, tightening his grip around the metal until his skin splits open and red starts to well, a spark of pain moving through him like static shock. He'd never forget that bloodstained morning, burying her torn and broken body with his siblings, invoking the eternal vow over her grave, hands slick with crimson, tears burning behind his eyes and his father’s name like a prayer on his lips.
I love all my children, but you, Niklaus, you’re the most special. That's why I am giving this to you and you alone. Promise me you will wear it always.
His vision falters, the grey and bleak sky wavering and doubling before him as though he were drunk. His lungs and throat feel raw, skin pallid and stretched over stark bone as hollow footsteps sound behind him, first one set and then two and then three—the ghost of a hand reaches out for his shoulder, the only proof she’s there, beside him. Klaus flinches, almost wincing at the familiar presence of his mother by his side, and for one moment the mask slips—the practised ease, the affability, the easy smile, and he feels small and scared and everything that Mikael saw in him, made him believe.
He can hear the change in her breath, the quickening of her heart, but it still feels so faraway, unmistakably now someone else. Esther’s hand reaches out for his, brushing the pad of her thumb over his knuckles as he stares at the ground with glazed, empty eyes, tears of guilt and desperation burning his cracked lips. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” he chokes out, the words sounding hollow even to his own ears, glancing at his mother with red-rimmed eyes. And for the first time, Klaus is terrified of seeing himself reflected twofold in her impassive stare. “I wanted to be better than this, I should’ve—” his voice breaks, almost pathetic in the way he cradles the necklace in his shaking hands.
Klaus has no sense of time, no sense of how many seconds pass between then and now, but he’s collapsed into Esther’s arms, head buried in the crook of her neck and body hitching with fear and half-smothered sobs. She presses a kiss to his temple, holding on tightly to his tunic, his shoulder, his hand, anything to keep him tethered to this earth, to ground him through the pain.
And it makes him think of that stormy night so many moons ago, of being four years old and swaddled in blankets, nudging his mother awake and fiddling with another one of his carved statuettes. He’d snuggled against her chest as she’d wrapped her arms around him, burying her chin in his head of golden curls. Thumbs swiping away tears and whispering soft words, telling him it would be okay, that it would get better.
He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t tell her about how he’d fled the ruins of his home to run from a father who wanted him dead, about the countless nights he’d spent staring at the full moon as months faded into years and he faded into nothing, about the days of feeding in the darkness with his brothers, bloodlust seeping in through the cracks of his skull, filling in the bruises in his mind. Klaus doesn’t know if he’s dreaming, if any of this is real, but he doesn’t want it to end. So he just closes his eyes, feeling the world slowly spin around him.
You’re a good boy, Niklaus. You did the right thing.
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pi-cat000 · 3 years
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BNHA: something sad (Resentment)
Summary: The last time Katsuki sees Izuku alive the other boy is rushing to save him.  A ‘the Sludge Villain incident gone wrong’ aka Izuku dies.
Characters:  Katsuki Bakugo
Fandom: My Hero Academia
WARNINGS! Major Character death, swearing, heavy angst, graphic descriptions of violence
Other parts in this AU: (Something Sad),  (Anger), (Grief) 
This is the direct sequel to (Implosion)
......
“Not many people get hit with a concussive blast of this strength and walk away will so few injuries.” Is what the paramedic that looks Katsuki over says, hand glowing a faint blue as he uses some sort of diagnostic quirk.
“It looks like you have a few cuts, bruising, strained muscles and sprained wrist from what I can see. I’d recommend getting a proper examination at the hospital but there’s nothing life-threatening here.” The medic continues.
The emergency doctor at the hospital confirms the diagnosis and shakes his head in disapproval, adding, “…bruising on your ribs and a fractured finger. No concussion, thankfully, but you’ll have a nasty bump on the back of your head. If your quirk didn’t make you naturally resistant to these sorts of shock-based blasts, you would be dead..”
After that, everyone is practically falling over each other to lecture him on how irresponsible and reckless he is.
..
His mum arrives and there is a lot of shouting which just pisses him off.
“HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO REACT WHEN I GET WOKEN UP AT ONE IN THE MORNING BY POLICE TELLING ME THAT MY IDIOT SON, WHO SHOULD BE ASLEEP, IS IN HOSPITAL!!”
 “WHAT THE HELL WERE YOU THINKING!
Then there is the quiet disappointment he gets from his father when his mum is done yelling which only fuels his resentment.  
“I don’t understand why you did it son. Did you want to get into that fight? Or was it a mistake? Please. We can’t help if we don’t know what’s going on.”
Eventually, he finally snaps, “I fucking felt like it! That’s why I did it! And you know what, I’d do it again.”
It wasn’t like he could or even wanted to explain that he’d jumped out his window to wander the streets at midnight because he had had a bad dream and his All Might poster had looked at him funny. That the rage and anger were preferable to that sinking empty feeling that had turned his every waking moment into a pointless repeat of everyday routines and useless interactions.  That every time he let himself pause and reflect, Deku’s stupid smiling face was mocking him from the afterlife.
Next, he spends an hour with Senior Officer Watanabe recounting every possible detail from his stroll through the streets to his climactic fight with Lanky, Tiny and Grease-Hair.
“Well, you definitely don’t do things in half measures kid. So far we have private and public property damage, unlicensed quirk usage, quirk usage with the intent to harm, vigilantly activity, assault...”
“Assault! Why the hell is that on the list. Those bastards started it.”
“You can’t go around beating people up no matter how good your intentions are!”
“So, you wanted me to just watch!”
“Yes!” A long breath, “I know it can be hard but you need to wait for the pros. You got lucky this time but what if things had been different? You had misread the situation. What if you had been badly injured? What if you had accidentally injured the victim or killed someone? There is a reason we make people get a license for Hero work. Seison Masuyama is a B-rank villain.”
“B rank? He wasn’t that strong.”
 “His quirk, Kinetic-Force, collects kinetic energy and releases it in one overpowered attack. It’s deadly to most people. You were lucky he had already used it once that day and that you were resilient enough to withstand it."
After multiple repeats of the ‘you’re lucky you’re not dead,’ with a side order of ‘it’s a good thing you’re still a minor because you could go to jail for this,’ he gets to go home.
It is three in the morning by the time he arrives back at the apartment, two exhausted parents in tow, having been issued an ‘official warning,’ an order to complete 100 hours of community service and instructions to undergo a psychiatric evaluation. He has never felt angrier or more resentful.
A days later and he is back at school, wasting his time watching clocks and avoiding classmates. 
Nothing had changed.
The car screeches to a stop at the school gates, throwing Katsuki forward in his seat. His mum turns to fix him with a stern glare, eyes narrow.
“If you’re not waiting right here by the gate when I come to pick you up or so help me I’ll be escorting you to and from your classroom from the rest of your school life,” she threatens.
“Lay off you old bat,” Katsuki snaps as was becoming routine since his mum had started driving him the short distance to school, “I got it the first million times.”
“I’ll believe that when I see it.”  A finger is pointed at his nose, waving in an almost menacing fashion. “Remember. Here. School Gates. 4:00pm. Don’t you dare think about ditching again.”
 Katsuki sneers and kicks open the car door, turning to slams it shut with as much force as possible in retaliation. He stalks through the gates, shouldering his way through a group of loitering students.  They all scatter when they recognise him. In some ways, he prefers dealing with the anger and yelling of his mum than his father’s quiet disappointment. That doesn’t stop it from being annoying as hell.
A spike of pain runs through his hand from where he must have used a little too much force on the door. Maybe he should take his father up on those kickboxing classes. Sure, he had practised punching after reading a bunch of online guides, but reading and solo practice were completely different when compared with real actual fighting.  That was assuming he was going to be getting into more real fights.  He opens and closes his bandaged fist, feeling a slight sting in his wrist and fingers. He glares. Four days on and he can still feel the echo of adrenalin.  The thrill of righteous anger had been so much more satisfying than the directionless rage he was accustomed to. It had rekindled some of that fire that drove him to be the best, to win, chasing away the sickening emptiness which had been dogging his every waking step.
He wants to feel that again…He wants to do something other than listlessly go through the same daily motions as he drifts towards his now uncertain future. 
“Hey Bakugō!” 
He keeps walking, ignoring whatever loser classmates wanted to talk to him.
“HEY!”
A hand lands on his shoulder and Katsuki twitches, a hairs breath away from spinning and firing a blast point-blank into the pest’s face. Instead, he stops and deliberately turns to glower at the pathetic piece of trash behind him. Murata Taheiji from his homeroom is standing there, one hand on his hip, flanked by two other boys he doesn’t know the names of. Two more appear to stand in front of him, blocking his way. They are all puffed up like they think they’re hot shit. Katsuki scoffs. Are these failures really trying to bully him? HIM!? 
“How about you get the fuck out of my way and go find a first year to pick on. You know, someone more on your level.”
That gets him an irritated scowl that transforms into a patronising grin, “You were always such a stuck up prick Bakago…Acting so high and mighty all the time. Not anymore, I know the truth. You’re just like the rest of us.”
“Huh?” he drawls, dragging out the sound, turning so he is facing the boy, “What the fuck are you on about.”
“My dad works for Musutafu police dispatch and he told me something real interesting yesterday.” A dramatic pause, “He said that you got arrested a few nights ago.” There is a laugh that is echoed by the four surrounding him. By now the confrontation has garnered the attention of several onlookers, who are slowly drifting closer.
“All that shit about being a Hero and you got arrested. What’d you do? Steal some candy from a convenience store? We all know you don’t have money.”
Around them, the growing audience is eyeing him with varying levels of eager anticipation like they think he’ll break down and start crying because of some dumb-ass insults. Damn, if that doesn’t just piss him off. How dare these losers think him that weak.
“Don’t compare me to your loser selves,” he dismisses aggressively, making to turn and forcefully elbow his way past. He is stopped by Murata’s hand which is still on this shoulder.
“You know what I think. I think you’re all talk.”
Katsuki stills, letting the words sink and curdle in his stomach. In one short move, he turns and steps in close to Murata so they are almost nose to nose.
“Don’t fucking touch me,” he warns.  The other boy tenses, looking like he wants to say something else equally stupid. If he remembers correctly Murata has some sort of muscle-enhancer, reflex quirk. One of the only worthwhile quirks in the school.
Katsuki jerks his elbow up and around in a quick jab. It smacks into the loser’s face. Crack. Guess having fast reflexes didn’t make a difference when you never saw the blow coming.
There is a cry of surprised pain and shouts of alarm from the peanut gallery. The other boy falls back, tripping over his own feet. It is ridiculously simple to lift a leg and deliver a kick to the stomach, not even a strong kick, so his failed bully thuds onto the ground, tossing up a small puff of sand. Unlike the fight in the ally, there is no rush of excitement, no spike of anger or adrenaline. No exhilaration. He is just irritated and maybe a bit disappointed. That’s what he gets for expecting anything out of the pathetic losers that went Aldera Middle School. They were more annoying than anything else.  
Murata rolls around in the dirt, wheezing, trying to draw breath. He can almost imagine Deku running up to complain about his violent tendencies or sprout some shit about Hero’s needing to protect people like Murata didn’t ask for it when he decided to try his luck bullying someone obviously stronger than him.
The reminder of Deku sours his already shitty mood.
“Ah…you broke my nose. YOU BOKE IT…ah…it hurts. Do something!” The idiot calls to his equally idiotic friends as he tries to stop blood from pouring down his face.
Katsuki gazes coolly at the boy before directing his attention at the four other ‘bullies’ standing frozen around him.
“You extras got something else to add to that?” With Murata out of the game, the rest of the pathetic group shuffles about uncertainly.
“Ah…we’re good,” The tallest one says nervously, “Sorry about that Bakugō. No hard feelings right?”
He scoffs.
One of the boys moves forward to pull Murata upright, kneeling and pulling out a tissue to help stem the flow of blood. “Crap. I…I think Murata needs to go to the nurse. This looks serious.” There are a few more apprehensive glances in his direction like the other boys think he’ll insist on continuing the ‘fight’-ha! like this has been anything near a fight- until they are all bloody messes on the ground. Kaksuki rolls his eyes. As if he has the patience to deal with any more of these losers.
“Cowards,” he mutters, shoving past. The crowd of students who had gathered to watch the failed confrontation, scramble to get out of his way. A strong breeze rushes through the school’s courtyard, drawing attention to how quiet it has suddenly gotten. Barely audible whispers follow in his wake and he can feel many sets of eyes on his back, watching.
“He always did have a bad attitude.” They murmur.
“Guess he’s a real delinquent now.”
“…did you hear what Murata said. Do you think Bakugō actually got arrested?”
“That’s got to be fake right? Murata is full of hot air.”
“No way. I believe it. You don’t have to share a class with him, I’m telling you, Bakugō’s gone nuts.”
“Kind of scary when you think about it. With a quirk like that...”
He doesn’t know why they’re all so shocked. This isn’t the first fight he has gotten into on school grounds. Okay, so maybe he’d held off doing any real harm before now, well aware that U.A. would probably check his school record. It had never mattered to him because there was no point in beating up weaklings when he was obviously superior. Except for Deku…the only person he had ever really hurt, the only person he could get away with hurting without repercussions. And now he feels like extra shit. God, what a huge farce it had all been. Kaksuki clenches his fist and growls, wondering if it isn’t too late to ditch and go find somewhere secluded to blow off steam. Anything to escape this feeling of frustration.
 He doesn’t have time to make a proper decision because news of his ‘fight’ had obviously spread to the staffroom. One of the second year homeroom teachers comes barrelling out of the school’s front entrance, eyes immediately landing on him.
“What happened!” Their eyes move past him to the bloody Murata, “Go wait in the principles office. Now.”
Well, he didn’t want to deal with his annoying classmates anyway. He stalks away, the sounds of the teacher fussing over Murata growing fainter behind him. When he arrives, the principal’s office is empty and he flings himself down into one of the comfy couches, irritated. The bell for homeroom goes off and Kaksuki remains sprawled across the couch, arm across his face to block out the light and his view of the clock slowly ticking away.  
Just as he begins to contemplate leaving, Principle Fukuhara comes strolling into the room. 
“ Bakugō,” the man lets out an exasperated sigh, “Sit up please.”
Katsuki moves his arm to peek out and glare at the man, deliberately ignoring the instruction.
“I just finished talking to Ms Yuki and the school’s nurse.  You broke Murata Taheiji’s nose. I hope you realise how serious this situation is and that there will be major consequences. Aldera Middle School does not tolerate this sort of violence on its grounds.”
Silence. That was a fucking lie. Slowly, Katsuki pulls himself upright, meeting the man’s hard stare with his own. 
“Well, do you have anything to say for yourself and your disgraceful behaviour..”
Katsuki narrows his eyes, “The idiot was asking for it.”
Obviously, it's the wrong response going by how the skin tightens around the man’s eyes, “I see...I’m sorry you feel that way. Up until now, our school has been more than lenient. We have overlooked your shameful behaviour these last few weeks because we wanted to give you time to settle after going through such as tragic incident. However, I am afraid that this time you have gone too far. Your parents will be notified. You’ll see the school councillor. You will be staying back for after school detention. Since this is your first major incident we…”
“First?” He cuts the man off. He is sick of hearing the moron’s voice. “Hahaha and people say you don’t have a sense of humour.” He laughs an unpleasant laugh which increases in volume until he is almost shouting.
 “What sort of shit hole are you running? Three years I’ve been beating up the dumb idiots that come here and now you decide to care. Why is that huh? Is it because I’m no longer going to put this shitty place on the map and become a famous hero! HA!”
He lets his voice quieten, sneering “I’ll never be a hero so you’re shit out of luck.” Finally saying it out loud is like throwing a bucket of water over the embers of an already struggling fire. It hurts deep in his chest. The expression of shocked disbelief is almost worth it.
“Thanks for proving what a worthless profession it is,” he finishes with another hash laugh, rage simmering under his skin. When he tries to stand and leave a hand lands on his shoulder, pushing him back down.
The principal, who still looks somewhat stunned at his sudden outburst, orders, “Sit back down Bakugō! I am far from finished.”
Why do people always feel the need to grab him. He is so fucking sick of everyone pulling and tugging on him, trying to control him and hold him down. Katsuki turns slowly, that simmering rage pulsing, running down his limbs. Pop pop pop go his hands. He feels as explosive fire gathering in behind his eyes and in his shadowy stare. It is not the dramatic, adrenaline-induced anger he had felt when preparing for the ally fight. No, this is a dark burning rage, fuelled by his growing resentment.
“Touch me again,” he growls, low and intimidating, “and I’ll kill you.”
The principal snatches his hand back like he has just been burnt. A poignant silence follows in the wake of his threat.
“Suspension,” the man says, swallowing,  “You’re suspended. I’m calling your parents right now.” And is it just him or does he look genuinely worried? There is even a hint of fear in his wrinkled face. Katsuki takes vindictive joy in the achievement. Finally…finally the worthless morons are seeing him, truly seeing him and not whatever Bakugō -delusion they’d all cooked up in their heads.
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lifeofkaze · 3 years
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When Stars Ignite - Chapter 11
HPHM Rockstar AU
A/N: As always, the lovely KC (only in mention) belongs to the beautiful @kc-and-oc . Thank you for everyone holding my blushing little hand through this and listening to me whine about it. Also thank you for all the ones providing me with research information 👀. You know who you are! 💛
General Warning: This whole fic has a general warning of being NSFW / 18+. We will give specific warnings for every chapter in itself, but several adult themes will be more or less present in every chapter, may it be explicitly or in mention. These include sexual topics, drug abuse, (ab)use of alcohol, smoking and a whole lot of cursing.
Specific Warning: Langague, depiction of alcohol consumption, depiction of drug abuse, graphic depiction of explicit NSFW content - do NOT read if under the age of 18!
~~~
Find the masterpost here, the previous chapter here and the next one here. The songs featured before every chapter can be found on this pretty badass playlist here.
~~~
This work is a collaboration with @the-al-chemist
Taglist: @slytherindisaster @night-rhea @carewyncromwell
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And we were trying different things
We were smoking funny things
Making love out by the lake to our favorite song
Sipping whiskey out the bottle, not thinking 'bout tomorrow
Singing Sweet home Alabama all summer long
~ Kid Rock - All Summer Long ~
~ 10 months prior ~
It had been an unusually hot day, even for the middle of August. The heat hazes over the scalding hot streets were omnipresent, and people everywhere were trying to find some relief from the burning sun.
Lizzie loved every second of it.
She didn’t mind the high temperatures at all and relished the warmth on her skin as she stepped outside the old house in Kensington. It belonged to Ethan Parkin and Equinox had been keeping their rehearsal rooms in his converted cellar ever since Lizzie could remember.
They had just finished a long day of putting together the last details for their upcoming European tour. It had taken them all day until everyone had been satisfied with the results. Finally outside again, Lizzie intended to make the most out of the remaining hours of daylight.
It had suited her just fine when Orion had mentioned the poetry slam happening just around the corner of where he was living. He had invited all of them to come, but all except Lizzie had already made plans for the evening. Skye had wanted to come as well, but after receiving a text, she had abruptly changed her mind again.
So now it was only the two of them riding on the West Kensington tube station towards Gloucester Road. Orion was casually carrying a huge bag containing one of his guitars over his shoulder.
“Why are you taking that with you?” Lizzie asked him curiously. “You usually keep them in the rehearsal room.”
“Everything has its time, may it be little or large. The time of the strings on this guitar are almost over; I need to replace them,” Orion said. “I don’t have any suitable ones at the rehearsal room though. I’ll just drop the guitar off at home and we’ll be on our way again.”
They had just hopped onto the Circle Line that would take them to Notting Hill; Orion watched her from across his seat. “Why do you look so surprised?”
Lizzie tilted her head to one side. “In all these years, none of us has ever been at your place before. Except for Merula, of course,” she added matter-of-factly.
They were about to reach Notting Hill Gate and Orion motioned for her to get up. “Then it’s about time.”
They had to walk a bit from the tube station to the house where Orion was living. Although it took them about fifteen minutes to get there, Lizzie didn’t even notice. They passed through bustling streets, several of them lined with market stalls selling food and curious little trinkets. The colourful terraces and fronts that made Nottinghill so famous brightened Lizzie’s mood even further.
She and Orion were talking about all kinds of things, the band, the tour, the fact that Lizzie had never been to a poetry slam before; something, Orion told her, they would definitely need to change.
When they arrived at their destination, Lizzie dipped her head back and looked up at the brightly painted front of the old house. It was bigger than the ones surrounding it and Lizzie presumed it was made up of several flats.
“Are you coming?” Orion called over to her; he was waiting in the doorway, holding the door open for her.
Lizzie smiled as she followed him into the cool darkness of the stairwell. “I just thought this place fits you.”
He laughed softly as he climbed the stairs behind her. “What makes you think that?”
“It’s a mix of so many different things,” Lizzie explained, “traditional, but also free-spirited and unconventional, old-fashioned and modern at the same time; just like you.”
She heard Orion laugh again. “Well, if you think so.”
They walked right to the top floor, where two dark blue doors branched off the landing. Orion unlocked the one on the left and stepped aside to let her enter his flat first.
Lizzie found herself standing in one huge, sun-filled room; her eyes were immediately drawn to the big skylights in the bare brick walls through which the light was filtering in. It was a lot tidier than she would have expected from someone with as much creative energy as Orion. But even though the furniture was pretty minimalistic, the room seemed to breathe Orion’s energy.
Everywhere she looked Lizzie could see something that was so inherently him; a half-finished travel book on India, a bowl full of colourful crystals, a small dreamcatcher hanging over his bed in the far corner of the room. Almost every free surface was occupied by plants of all forms and sizes; they added a pleasant pop of colour to the otherwise neutral toned place.
Everything Orion needed on a daily basis seemed to be in the room Lizzie was standing in right now; the only thing she was surprised to notice was the total lack of anything to do with music. While she kept her main drum kit at their rehearsal room when they weren’t on tour, she had a smaller one over at her own place, as well as some other percussion and a guitar for when she felt like a change.
Her unasked question was answered when Orion walked past her into an adjacent room Lizzie hadn’t noticed before, his guitar still strung over his shoulder. Curious, she followed behind and had to chuckle when she saw the reason why there were no traces of Orion’s love for music in the main room.
The whole second room of his flat had been turned into some kind of home studio. All of their awards and golden records were hung on the walls, alternating with several old guitars. All of them seemed to be in pristine condition.
On Lizzie’s left side was a huge table that was littered with notebooks, plectrums and a simple switchboard she assumed Orion used for recordings. What piqued her interest was located on the other side of the room, however; all the instruments featured in their band were set up there, including a worn looking, blue drum kit, almost similar to the one she had at home for practising.
Lizzie smiled and stepped closer to it as Orion deposited his guitar on the worktable. She ran her hand over the floor tom, one of the horizontally mounted drums. Something about it felt oddly familiar.
“Do you remember it?”
Lizzie looked up from the drums and saw Orion leaning against the doorframe, watching her. “You should, it’s the one you used on our first tour. The label let me have it for practically nothing.”
The memory made her smile and she tapped her fingers against the slightly worn drum head in a quick, alternating rhythm. “Why am I not surprised at all that you’re using half of your place for making music?”
He mirrored her smile. “Passion is like a living thing, it needs room to breathe and be free if it wants to thrive. Did you think I made up all the instrument parts for our songs only in my head?”
Lizzie picked up one of the drumsticks and flipped it, laughing as she caught it again. “And your neighbours are okay with you running your one-man band up here?”
“So far, no one has complained,” Orion grinned before pushing himself off the wall. He motioned to her to follow him. “Come on, the studio’s great but I want to show you the best part of this place.”
She followed him back into the other room, where he led her to one of the huge skylights. Lizzie noticed the steep, rickety looking steps beneath it. Orion reached up and undid the latch before quickly climbing upwards and vanishing through the window.
When she didn’t follow immediately, his head popped back into view. “What’s wrong?”
Lizzie eyed the steps sceptically. “These don't look really trustworthy.”
Orion laughed and extended his hand to her. “Don’t you trust me?” His eyes twinkled with amusement. “Or are you scared?”
“As if,” Lizzie snorted indignantly and climbed up after him, completely ignoring his offer for help.
Her momentary flare of stubborness died as quickly as it had come when she stepped past Orion and out onto a beautiful terrace, set back into the roof of the building. It wasn’t a particularly large space, but it was more than enough for a sunchair, a set of lounge chairs and a table. A huge parasol protected the area from the sun, but even so it was burning hot up here. The ground was laid with wooden floorboards and several chains of fairy lights and small lampions were fixed to the walls or wound about the railing of the sunshade.
Not one to be intimidated by the heat, Lizzie walked over to the wrought iron railing and leaned over it, admiring the breathtaking view stretching out in front of her. The skyline of London was glittering in the sunlight and she could make out the sea of green that was Kensington Gardens.
“Wow,” she breathed, “the view is fantastic.”
She heard Orion chuckle from somewhere behind her. “It is.”
Lizzie’s eyes fell to the many plant pots lining the length of the terrace. Like the plants inside, they added something peaceful to the atmosphere; she had never known Orion was so into gardening.
She ran her finger over the leaves of one of them. “Who’s taking care of these when we’re on tour?”
“My neighbour,” Orion answered, “she knows her way around plants. She is teaching botany at Queen Mary University.”
Lizzie had spotted a very familiar looking specimen with distinctly pinnate leaves. She turned to Orion with a grin. “And your professor neighbour is alright with watering this illegal little fellow here?”
Orion laughed. “She’s very liberal on the matter, really. Where do you think I got it from?”
“All for scientific reasons, I presume.”
“It does open the mind to a new level of creativity,” Orion shrugged, making Lizzie laugh out loud.
“That sounds so much like you. No wonder I don’t get the lyrics half the time.”
Lizzie stepped back from the railing and wandered over to the sunchair. The heated surface bit into the bare skin of her legs as she lounged into it, but she enjoyed the warmth as soon as the initial pain subsided.
“I can definitely see why this is your favourite place,” she sighed, “I could just stay here all day.”
“The poetry slam doesn’t start for another hour,” Orion said, “and it’s not far from here, so we don’t have to go just yet. Do you want a drink or something?”
Lizzie turned her head and shaded her eyes with her hand. “I like the sound of that.”
***
One glass of ice cold white wine turned into two, and then turned into a number Lizzie couldn’t possibly remember anymore. The sun had long gone down and the poetry slam had started ages ago, but they were still sitting on Orion’s rooftop terrace with no intention of going anywhere anytime soon.
With the sun gone, the air had grown cooler; the floor and walls were heated by the day’s sun, but Lizzie had found herself hugging her bare knees, shivering just a little. Orion had gone back inside to bring her something to keep her warm; he had come back with a plain black hoodie that she had gratefully accepted. Orion was much taller than Lizzie was, however and so the sweater hung loose around her shoulders and went down past beneath her hips. Lizzie had to roll up the sleeves several times until her hands were free again, but she was glad for the extra warmth it provided.
It didn’t surprise her that Orion didn’t grow the weed plant out of sheer botanical interest; accompanying the wine, they were sharing a joint with a mixture he had created himself. Lizzie couldn’t tell if she was primarily drunk or high at this point, the only thing she knew was that she had never in her life seen anything so fascinating as the fairy lights reflected in her wine glass.
“Like teeny tiny fireflies,” she giggled as she twirled the glass between her fingers, delighted by the way the light sparkled in the cold drink.
“I think you’ve caught a bit too much,” Orion chuckled but handed her the joint back anyway. Although he had been wearing a very detached grin on his face for the last half an hour or so, he wasn’t nearly as giddy as Lizzie; but then again, he was probably much more used to smoking than she was.
“And besides,” he continued, holding his own glass up against the lights, “they’re clearly little stars; how can you not see that?” His face grew pensive. “A whole, tiny wine glass galaxy.”
“You’ve no idea what you’re talking about,” Lizzie declared firmly. She lounged deeper into her armchair and took a deep drag. She dipped her head back and slowly blew the smoke into the air; the way it made the lights hazy was really pretty. “And it’s called a teacup galaxy.”
“Aren’t we all galaxies in our own teacups, in one way or another?”
Lizzie hummed in response. “In that case, I’d actually prefer the wine glass.”
She closed her eyes and let the sensation of the cushions in her back envelope her for a moment. From somewhere in the neighbourhood music was drifting up to them; from what she could hear, it sounded tropical, Caribbean maybe. Her thoughts being deliciously hazy, Lizzie could just imagine not being on a rooftop in London, but on a beautiful beach somewhere far, far away.
She smiled to herself; there could be worse company on a tropical island than Orion. The smile turned into a smirk as she thought about the many different tattoos she knew were decorating his well-toned upper body; she could most definitely imagine having worse company.
Indulging the idea of lounging in the warm sand with a drink and the rushing of the waves in the air a few moments longer, a sudden thought struck her and she sat upright.
“I just had the most brilliant idea.”
Surprised by her unexpected outburst of energy, Orion almost dropped his glass. “I told you smoking broadens the mind,” he said after regaining his composure. “What is it?”
“We should so change our tour display. It’s boring.”
A mixture of intrigue and scepticism showing on his features, Orion tilted his head. “So your suggestion would be?”
Excited by her flash of genius, Lizzie placed her now empty glass on the table between them and leaned forward. “Two words: steel drums.”
Orion didn’t say anything for a moment, a crease forming on his forehead. Then, he broke into a dazzling smile. “That must be the best idea you’ve ever had.”
“I know, right? But it gets even better.”
“How could it get better than steel drums? More steel drums?”
Lizzie contemplated that possibility for a moment but discarded it quickly. “No, I don’t think so.” Her eyes lit up as she thought about her idea. “But you and Ev could totally play ukulele.”
Orion sighed. ���Totally.”
A thought seemed to cross his mind. “But I’m not sure Ev can play the ukulele.”
Lizzie was dismayed by this. “I thought if you can play the guitar you can automatically play the ukulele.”
“If you want to call what Ev does playing.”
She had to snort with laughter at Orion’s dry tone. “We’ll just replace him with KC, she’s the prettier one anyway.” The thought of KC performing a hula dance on stage had her laugh even harder.
“There’s a problem though,” Orion broke her out of her entertaining thoughts.
“What’s that?”
“You can’t play the steel drums.”
“Who says that I can’t?”
“Well, can you?”
“I can learn,” Lizzie replied stubbornly. “How hard can that be? You only have one steel drum and I have... “ She frowned as she was trying and failing to envision her drum kit in her head. “How many drums do I have? I can’t remember.”
“More than one, in any case,” Orion laughed and extended his hand towards her empty glass. “You go think about that, and I’ll get you a refill.”
Lizzie was quicker though, snatching the glass out of his reach and getting up. “Don’t worry, I can go myself.”
She walked towards the skylight leading back into the flat but had underestimated the effect of both the drugs and the alcohol on her body. Shaking her head a little, Lizzie took a moment to steady herself.
Just when she thought she had found her balance again, her foot caught in the wire of one of the fairy lights. She stumbled forward with a jolt, ripping the plug right out of its socket and plunging a good portion of the rooftop into darkness.
Luckily for her, Orion didn’t feel the effects of their smoke as much as she did. His reaction time was still quick enough to catch her before she could hit the ground. She could hear the breath leaving his lungs as she collided with his chest; at least he was softer than the floorboards would have been.
He laughed as she straightened up again. “Careful, drummer girl, that was close.”
Lizzie tilted her head as she looked up at him curiously. “You’re close.”
Only now realising their position, Orion mumbled an apology and started to move away from her but Lizzie was quicker. She had already scrambled up onto the seat next to him, still feeling a little dizzy. Her feet were resting on the arm of the lounge chair, her legs lying draped across Orion’s thighs.
“No, it’s alright,” she giggled and leaned against him, “you’re more comfortable than my chair anyway.”
Leaning towards the table to retrieve Orion’s glass, Lizzie’ head started spinning again and she had to grip his shoulder for support. She was glad when she felt Orion’s arm come around her back for added support.
“And besides,” she held the glass up triumphantly before bringing it to her lips, “that way, it’s easier to share this.”
They were sitting like that for a while, Lizzie leaning against Orion’s chest, her head nestled into the crook of his neck, while he had his arms around her. The music she had been hearing earlier was still playing, faintly carrying up towards them. Lizzie had her eyes closed, alternating between listening to the upbeat melody and the calm rhythm of Orion’s heartbeat.
Now that she was relaxing, she became increasingly aware of the combined effects of the many glasses of wine and the spliff they had relit again. She felt as if she was floating through a haze on the soft sound of the steel drums, as if she could fly right into the night sky until she was surrounded by a glittering sea of stars.
The only thing anchoring her was Orion, the steady rising and falling of his chest, the ends of his hair brushing against her cheek when he moved, the touch of his fingers against hers when he handed her back the wine they were sharing.
Her head was spinning and she hooked her finger underneath one of Orion’s woven bracelets, as if the physical holding on to him could prevent the rooftop from revolving around her. The breathy sigh leaving her lips turned into a giggle.
“I don’t know what you’ve put in that stuff but, damn, it packs a punch.”
Orion chuckled, the hand around her back playing with a strand of her ponytail; she had to laugh as he tickled her neck with the ends of it. “There’s nothing out of the ordinary in there.”
She leaned a little away from him so as to better see his face. “So, what is it? Spill it!”
His smile turned into a smirk. “Who am I to tell you all my secrets? A little mystery only adds to the fun.”
Intrigued by his evasiveness, Lizzie raised her eyebrows. “Is that a challenge?”
A curious expression flickered over Orion’s face for a moment. “Maybe.”
“Whatever it is, it’s thoroughly wrecking me,” Lizzie declared; that didn’t stop her from taking another sip of wine, however.
She could hear the laughter ringing in Orion’s voice. “That’s got less to do with the grass and more with all that wine. And the fact that you’re really, really small.”
“I’m not really, really small!” Lizzie replied indignantly.
“Of course you are, look at you; you’re basically a midget.”
Lizzie shoved him playfully, trying to keep a straight face but failing. “I’m not a midget and I’m not small!”
Orion caught her hand without so much as an effort. “Just look at you, you could wear my sweater as a dress.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, I’m the perfect size.”
There it was again, that curious expression Lizzie had seen just a moment before. A crooked smile appeared on Orion’s face as his eyes flickered from her face over the rest of her body.
“I can hardly argue with that.”
Lizzie regarded him for a moment, trying to take his measure. The mood had shifted from the relaxed cuddle they’d shared into something entirely different. There was a sudden tension hanging in the air that made Lizzie’s skin tingle and she was sure that it had nothing to do with either the grass or the alcohol.
The corner of her mouth quirked up. “Is that so?”
She leaned forward again to put the wine glass away, using the momentum to shift her position. Turning slightly, she straddled Orion’s thighs, one arm resting lightly on his shoulder.
His dark eyes followed her every movement as she plucked the joint from his lips, gave it one slow, deliberate drag before putting it out against the wall, never breaking their eye contact. Holding the smoke inside her mouth for one long moment, she dipped her head back and blew it against the night sky. When she looked back at Orion again, his eyes on her were intense, making a shiver run down her spine. His hands were holding her hips, waiting on what she would do. Her lips curved into a smirk as she leaned in, her lips close to his ear.
“Only one way to find out.”
There was nothing hesitant about the way their lips found each other for the first time. Lizzie could taste the same fruity sweetness of the wine on his lips that was still hanging on hers.
Orion’s grip on her waist intensified and she could feel the rough skin of his hands as they found their way underneath her shirt, his fingers feeling deliciously cool against her heated skin. Her breath accelerated as their kiss deepend, her lips parting willingly as Orion’s tongue brushed against her lower lip.
She buried her hands in his long hair, as he pulled her closer, their bodies pressed together as closely as their position would allow. A low moan left Orion’s lips as she softly pulled at his hair, the movement of his head following her lead as he dipped it back into his neck.
Breaking their kiss, Lizzie’s lips started moving over his cheek to his jawline, her breath ghosting over his bare neck. She could see the goosebumps on his skin and feel his fingers dig into her waist as she teasingly ran her tongue over his collarbone. He sucked in his breath in surprise as her teeth nipped the sensitive skin and Lizzie couldn’t help but grin as her lips travelled upwards again.
Capturing his lips in another searing kiss, Lizzie’s breath hitched as his hands were sliding down from her waist over her hips. They came to rest on her bum, squeezing it tightly for a moment. She could feel his jeans becoming tighter as she ran her hand over him, coaxing another moan from his mouth. The sound made the heat spread from her stomach through her chest and into the rest of her body; she wanted to hear more of that.
Her fingers started working to undo his belt when he suddenly stopped her, gently pulling her hand away. Her eyes flew towards his face, a crease appearing on her brow.
“You not okay with this?”
Orion’s eyes were sparkling as he pulled her in for another kiss that took her breath away. When he pulled back, Lizzie’s head was spinning.
“Let’s take this inside,” he muttered into her ear. His voice sounded a lot deeper than what she was used to and she shuddered in anticipation.
Lizzie reluctantly climbed off him to let him get up. Orion couldn’t resist kissing her again, as he walked past her. Taking her hand, he pulled her towards the skylight that led down into the darkness of his flat. He climbed down the steps without a moment of hesitation; Lizzie, however, had to channel her concentration on something different than the burning need to feel Orion’s hands on her skin before tackling the unfamiliar steps.
And sure enough, two steps down, she misplaced her foot and felt herself falling for a moment. But for the second time that evening Orion was there, his hands providing her with something to hold onto.
Standing on the steps, Lizzie was a little taller than him. She gave in to the urge to pull him towards her and steal another kiss from him. His hands ran over her exposed thighs, leaving a trail of goosebumps behind. Lizzie’s muscles tensed when he lifted her off the stairs, her legs wrapping around his midsection as he carried her over to his bed with a few short steps.
He lowered her down onto it and got rid of his shirt. There was no light in the room except for what was falling through the windows from the streetlights outside, but it was enough for Lizzie to see all of the countless tattoos decorating his skin, all the thoughtful quotes and intricate patterns.
She propped herself up on her elbows, locking eyes with him as he joined her on the bed. Reaching for his belt again, this time Orion let her undo it without objection. The deep moan she drew from him as she ran her hand over him a second time made her breathing speed up as well.
Much to her surprise, now that they’d changed location, their roles had reversed themselves. Where Lizzie had been in charge up on the rooftop, it was all she could do to keep her wits together as Orion let his hands roam her body.
The sweater she had still been wearing went almost instantly, quickly followed by her shirt and her shorts. Lizzie closed her eyes and held her breath as Orion worked his way from her lips over her neck, trailing kisses down between her breasts, lingering there for a sweet moment before moving on even lower. His soft lips combined with the bite of his beard almost drove her insane, but Lizzie just so managed to pull herself together.
Pushing him off her, she used his moment of confusion to flip him over, straddling him again. She shuddered at the feeling of him through her pants but pushed the thought aside; not just yet.
“Did you really think I was going to make this so easy for you?” she purred as she twirled his necklace around her finger. She smirked as she slightly repositioned herself on top of him, creating a delicious friction between them that had not only Orion exhale very slowly.
Lizzie pulled her hair tie out, enjoying the tickle as her light brown curls fell down beneath her shoulder blades. She bent forward to kiss Orion again, but he was simply staring at her.
“What?” she asked with a slight chuckle.
“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered, brushing her hair that had fallen over her shoulder and was almost reaching his bare chest out of her face. Lizzie enjoyed the light pull as he raked his fingers through her mane. “So damn fucking beautiful.”
Lizzie felt a smile form on her lips before she kissed him, teasingly biting his lip. She could feel Orion’s hand wandering up her bare back to where her bra was still hooked. With a practised movement that didn’t surprise her in the least, he undid the clasp and Lizzie shrugged it off. The cool air coming in from the still open skylight hit her bare breasts and made her shiver from more than cold.
Orion’s hands danced over her thighs and up her sides until they found her breasts. Lizzie shuddered as his fingers grazed her sensitive spot at their base, her eyes closed to enjoy the sensation fully, when he suddenly stopped.
Opening her eyes again, she saw a curious look forming on his face as he turned her slightly so the light would better shine on her. Lizzie chuckled to herself; she knew exactly what he was so surprised to see.
“I never knew you had a tattoo,” Orion said, his eyes wandering over the black writing.
He traced his fingers over the inked words sneaking over her ribcage to the base of her breasts; the touch of his calloused fingertips made her sigh.
“You recognise the words?” she whispered with a smile, running her hand over one of Orion’s own tattoos on his chest.
“Unbounded like water, burning like wildfire,” he smiled, “of course I do; I wrote them after all. I had no idea you had them inked.”
She smiled back at him; the quote was taken out of one of her favourite songs Orion had ever written. “They’ve pulled at something in me ever since I heard them for the first time. I wanted to carry them with me wherever I go.”
A series of different emotions flickered over Orion’s face, much too quick for Lizzie to distinguish in the half-light of the room. He sat up, wrapping his arms around her, keeping her close. He kissed her with a passion that took her breath away.
“I want you,” he whispered into her ear, his voice low and husky in his throat, making Lizzie draw a shivering breath as she leaned her forehead against his.
“Then come and take me.”
It was all Orion needed to hear. He let himself fall back onto the bed, drawing her down with him. Their lips met in a passionate kiss before he flipped them around, so he was on top of her.
His head dipped against her shoulder as Lizzie reached down, tracing the edge of his boxers before her fingers disappeared beneath it. She ran them up and down his length, noting how his breath hitched, his arms tensing around her as she worked against him.
He stopped her after a few more strokes and moved away from her hand. Repaying her in kind, he ran his fingers over her pants, so very slowly, his eyes never leaving hers as she moaned at his touch. Hooking his fingers underneath the fabric, he pulled them off, leaving her fully exposed to him, but there wasn’t a single moment Lizzie felt vulnerable at all.
She gasped as Orion began to touch her properly; the touch of his rough fingertips was surprisingly soft, and combined with the trail of kisses he left on her hot skin, he made her feel like she was on fire. Her breathing strained, she managed to rasp out his name just before she would lose it completely.
Never stopping the movement of his hand, Orion looked up at her with a wicked grin on his lips.
“Anything the matter?”
All she wanted was to feel him by now but her words died on her lips as Orion slightly twisted his hand, making her inhale sharply.
With a low chuckle he withdrew his hand, making her miss his touch immediately. That short moment of regret was instantly forgotten when she felt Orion position himself before slowly pushing inside her.
For a fraction of a second, the reality that she was sleeping with one of her best friends hovered on the border of Lizzie’s mind, threatening to hit her; but when Orion started moving against her, their bodies instantly found a common rhythm. They were in tune with each other from the very first moment, all thoughts forgotten.
Their ragged breaths, her sweet sighs and his deep moans were a music of their own. Lizzie had her legs wrapped around Orion, her nails digging into his forearms; she could feel his muscles working underneath her fingers as he supported his weight with his arms. Even through the haze of her drunk and drugged mind, she was impressed with how flawlessly they were working together; his body against hers was feeling so incredibly natural, like they were meant to be that way.
She had no idea how, but just like before, Orion managed to hit all the right spots at the same time. Lizzie had trouble focusing on anything but the fire building inside her. She couldn’t form a coherent thought anymore, wasn’t able to think any further than the next breath, the next shock of pleasure Orion sent through her body as they moved.
Feeling she was almost there, her hold on him tightened as he picked up the pace, shifting slightly to take a little strain off his arms. Taken by surprise at the suddenly different angle, digging her fingers into Orion’s shoulders was all Lizzie could do as her high crashed over her like a tidal wave. Her body shook as she buried her face against Orion’s chest, clinging to him as if for dear life.
Hearing his name fall from her lips in a broken moan with her nails biting into his back, Orion couldn’t last much longer either. Their rhythm became an off-beat one, his movements more erratic than before. Lizzie could feel the muscles in his back tremble as he rode out his own high. His head dipped into the crook of her neck as both their breathings were starting to slow.
Orion stayed on top of her for a moment longer and kissed her one last time before pushing himself off of her. Lizzie breathed in deeply, running her hand over her tangled hair.
“Huh,” she chuckled, “who would’ve thought.”
“Who indeed,” Orion smirked.
The sizzling tension between them from before was gone and it just felt like it had always done between them; relaxed, familiar and completely natural.
They looked at each other for a moment before simultaneously bursting into laughter, nothing more than friends again, the sound carrying through the dark, out of the window and into the black night sky.
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sareyen · 4 years
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I Fell In Love With Your Ugly Face (Cherik)
A huge fluff-fest: Charles and Erik have pulled ugly faces at each other from across the train platform every single day since they were children. It was their tradition. But one day, Erik stops - and Charles doesn’t know what to do.
It started when Charles was 11-years-old, the day Charles finally persuaded his mother to let him take the subway instead of the Xavier’s private car, giving him a new sense of independence that he had been sorely lacking in his sheltered life.
Charles had a pep in his step, his heavy backpack strapped across his shoulders, private school uniform crisp and well-ironed, shoes freshly polished and fluffy brown hair neatly combed across his head.
Charles had always looked like a posh schoolboy, so put together and neat. It didn’t help that he had a round-cheeked, angelic face fitted with baby blue eyes.
Not like the boy standing on the other side of the platform.
They were standing directly opposite each other on opposing sides of the platform waiting for their trains to arrive. The other boy looked a little older, but maybe that was because he was much taller than Charles, even back then. Contrasting to Charles, the other boy was all hard lines, with brown hair that sometimes looked copper under the fluorescent lights of the subway and steely grey eyes. He had a scowl on his face as he looked at Charles, their eyes locked.
Charles didn’t know what compelled him to do it – his mother had always instilled in him to always look ‘clean, calm, polite and respectable’. Maybe it was because the other boy, dressed in ripped black jeans and a well-loved band T-shirt looked so comfortable in his dishevelled manner, had inspired Charles, who had never felt that free.
So, Charles pulled a face at the other boy – he scrunched his nose up, twisted his red mouth to the left and made his eyes bug out. Charles knew he looked ridiculous and ugly, but that was the point. The other boy blinked, shoulders twitching in surprise as he just stared at Charles, grey-blue eyes flicking up and down once.
Charles almost felt embarrassed, until the boy on the other side of the platform pulled his own face right back at Charles – his sharp cheeks puffed out, eyes splitting in two different directions, and mouth opening in what looked like a strangled and misshapen ‘o’.
Charles burst out laughing at the boy’s face, the sound carrying across the near-empty station. The other boy smiled in response, showing a startling number of teeth, but his eyes crinkled in the corners.
Before Charles could say anything, the mystery boy’s train pulled up and he gave Charles another small smile before getting on. Charles watched him as the train pulled away, wondering if he would see the boy again.
***
Charles did see the boy again. The day after, in fact.
The boy was be standing on the opposite side of the platform at the same time as the day before, wearing ripped jeans in a lighter shade and a different band T-shirt. His hair was a little less messy this morning, and the boy was holding a backpack on one shoulder, colourful pins studded into its front pocket. Charles still wore his preppy school uniform, ironed and pressed, polished and clean.
When the boy saw Charles standing across him again, the corner of his mouth lifted and he nodded a brief hello. When Charles dipped his head in return, smiling himself, he was startled when the boy suddenly pulled a shocking face, one that was much better than the last one. This time, he had included a double chin while his pupils migrated towards the middle of his face, one eyebrow going up as he flared his nostrils.
His handsome face was contorted with forced ugliness, and Charles giggled before wiggling his nose to loosen up his own face. The boy watched, that half-smile now on his face, as Charles pulled his features this way and that, making himself as ugly as he could like the boy on the other side had just seconds ago.
Charles heard a little chuckle, which was drowned out by the noise erupted from the boy’s approaching train. The boy got on the same as the day before, again tilting his head down in a silent ‘bye’, Charles managing a wave as the boy disappeared from the station again.
Charles had a feeling he would see the boy again tomorrow.
***
That night, Charles stood in front of his bathroom mirror atop a plastic stool. He scratched the back of his ankle with his foot, absent-mindedly rubbed his belly over the silk pyjamas he wore while he stared at his face.
The nameless boy had pulled a very good ugly face this morning, and Charles felt like he had to try harder to coax more laughs out of the boy, who naturally seemed a little stoic. Charles remembered the small smile he had on his face and the sound of his short chuckle, something warm fluttering in his belly.
So, that night, Charles spent far too long in the bathroom practising making ugly faces. His mother was concerned, but Charles was 11, almost 12 – she didn’t need to know what he was doing locked up in the bathroom, so she never asked. She was usually too inebriated to remember that he was there, anyway.
Eventually, after brushing his teeth, Charles decided on the face he was going to pull the morning after, and went to bed with a smile on his face and a thrum of giddy excitement under his skin.
***
Charles saw the boy on the other side of the platform every weekday from that point on, and every day they would pull a face at each other. Summer, autumn, winter, spring; they saw each other every day on their way to school, Charles always in his pressed and starched uniform, the nameless boy with the shark-like smile alternating his band T-shirts or graphic hoodies depending on the weather.
One year passed, and then two, and every day they would see each other and pull a face without fail. Funnily enough, they had never spoken to each other in all that time; they would nod in greeting, pull their faces, chuckle and smile to themselves, and then the mystery boy would get on his train and leave, sometimes staring back at Charles as he grew smaller and smaller.
Charles worried that one day the boy would stop coming – maybe he would move to a different school, since he looked older than Charles. Or maybe he would move states and cities, and Charles would never see him again.
Sometimes, when that fear hit him as the boy’s train drew away, Charles would vow to himself that he would ask for the boy’s name the day after.
But he never did.
Maybe it was fear, maybe it was awkwardness, but Charles could never bring himself to speak to the boy. It was like they had this agreement in their odd tradition – they never spoke to each other before, so what if by speaking, Charles would break the fragile thing they had now?
Charles didn’t want to lose this thing that he had with the nameless boy whose face made Charles laugh every day.
So, Charles just kept going – he kept preparing new ugly faces to make every day, and suddenly, four years had passed.
***
It was the end of the spring of Charles’s 16th year. He hadn’t changed a whole lot in the four years since first pulling that face at the boy – his face still held its boyish charm, his nose a little too big for his cherubic face, and he had developed a darker smattering of freckles over his nose bridge. He grew a little taller, but not as tall as the boy on the opposite platform.
While Charles felt like he hadn’t changed much, the other boy had. He had grown taller, his long limbs showing lean but strong muscles under his band T-shirts. Sometimes, he would swap out the T-shirts for sleek black high neck tops that clung to his form, Charles’s eyes widening the first time he saw it. The boy’s face became more angular, his eyes a little harder and his hair cut short and neat. Charles thought that he was handsome, even when he pulled the most ridiculous, unflattering faces he could muster.
Charles clung to his backpack with that familiar hum of anticipation, one that hadn’t waned ever since he was 11-years-old. He had been stressed with assignments and mock exams lately, since he was on track to graduating early; Charles was the top of his class and had no need to worry, but worrying was in his nature, even if he looked like he was put together on the outside. Charles had always thought graduating early was a good thing, but then he would remember the boy on the opposite platform. When Charles finished high school, he wouldn’t take this specific train at this specific time any more.
He would never see the boy on the other platform again.
If the boy was older than him, he would probably be graduating soon as well. But if he was the same age as Charles, and one day he didn’t show up…
Charles didn’t know if the other boy would feel the same way, but if that happened to Charles, he would probably start crying in the middle of the platform.
When Charles padded down the stars, he could see the boy standing in his usual spot, like always. He had his hands shoved in his pockets, and he was glancing around the subway station with antsy eyes, appearing more agitated than usual. He was usually always very calm, almost bordering on cold – at least, until he would pull his face and smile when Charles returned it with his own.
The nameless boy spotted Charles then and immediately nodded, though for some reason he didn’t smile. Charles’s heart fluttered despite itself, and he quickly took his place in front of the boy.
Charles had prepared a very good face today, since he wasn’t sure how much longer he would be able to do this for. Each face was more precious now that Charles felt like this… relationship was coming to an end.
Not that anything had really started, anyway.
Charles counted to three in his head, and then pulled the face – double chin, squiggled mouth, upturned nose, wide and lopsided eyes, hollowed cheeks. Charles knew he was positively ugly, and he had expected the boy to laugh and make his own face, like always.
But he didn’t.
Charles immediately dropped his ugly expression, heart thundering in his chest. The boy just looked at him, almost seeming… pained. Charles’s heart dropped in his chest, echoing around the deathly quiet platform.
The other boy just looked at him, not making his face like he usually did. His train soon came, and he got on it, but this time Charles didn’t wave as the carriage pulled away.
Charles felt numb, body frozen.
He was sure the face he was making when the other boy disappeared was uglier than any he had made on purpose.
***
Charles didn’t know what to do – it felt like the other boy had ended their tradition, just like that. Sure, it was a stupid thing that shouldn’t matter this much – he didn’t even know the boy’s name or his school. But, it had felt like Charles’s heart had been broken when the other boy didn’t make a face back at him.
Maybe the other boy was older, like Charles thought. Maybe he grew out of it – it was childish, and stupid, and Charles knew that it was, but it was still something that he looked forward to every day. Even when his mother ignored him, even when he had a hard exam that day or even when Charles was just feeling plain miserable, knowing that he would see the boy and be able to share an ugly face and a laugh made him want to get up in the morning.
But now that the other boy had grown out of it… grown out of Charles…
What was the point?
Charles didn’t go to school that day, calling in sick.
***
 Charles skipped class for the rest of the week to ‘recover’ from his cold (lovesickness, he laughed sadly to himself), but knew that he had to go back to school. It was his final year, and he couldn’t afford to miss any more classes or exam prep.
Charles ended up taking the Xavier car the Monday of the week after. Logan, the family driver, just raised a gruff brow when Charles climbed into the backseat looking glum.
“You okay, Chuck?” Logan asked, and Charles offered him a weak smile, nodding. Logan didn’t look convinced, turning on his loud music and driving Charles to school with nothing else said.
Logan ended up taking Charles to school every day after that, all the way until finals.
Charles wondered about the boy often, especially as the car passed the station, and he knew Logan noticed.
“I can drop you off at the station if you want, Chuck,” Logan offered every day, and Charles would always shake his head, give him a sad smile, tearing his eyes forcefully from the station.
“No, thank you, Logan,” Charles would murmur.
“Alright, Chuck. Whatever you want,” was Logan’s programmed reply, before he twisted the volume knob of the Rolls Royce and filled the car with his music.
It was a new morning tradition, one that Charles didn’t really like at all.
***
It was Charles’s graduation day, and he wore his clothes more crisply than usual. His hair was neatly styled, shoes freshly polished, tie held back with a luxurious silver tie bar. He didn’t have his school bag this time, not when he was just going to his graduation.
Logan had called in sick at the last minute, even though Charles knew that the man hadn’t succumbed to a cold at all during his long service under the Xaviers, and the man had been working as their driver before Charles had even been born.
Since there wasn’t time to organise another driver last minute, and Sharon was in no way sober enough to drive one of the family’s luxury cars to the graduation ceremony herself, Charles had to either take the subway or not go at all.
So, that was how Charles found himself walking down the steps of the familiar subway station that he hadn’t been to in almost a month.
Each of his steps echoed down the stairs, and since the graduation wasn’t held at peak hour, it was mainly deserted.
Like usual, Charles’s eyes naturally drifted to the opposite platform, where he knew the boy wouldn’t be standing – it wasn’t their normal time, and the boy had probably left any way. Charles felt tears springing into his eyes when he saw that the opposite platform was completely empty, but he held himself together. It somehow hurt more to miss someone he didn’t even know the name of.
Charles turned his eyes away from the empty platform on the opposite side, dropping them to his feet as he trudged glumly across the black-scuffed tiles of his side of the platform.
Then, there was the sudden echo of frantic steps, the staccato noise bouncing off the walls in the empty station.
The footsteps were getting louder, moving closer and closer, and Charles finally lifted his eyes.
“What-” Charles gasped out as he saw the source of the noise.
It was the mystery boy, wearing a plain white T-shirt, ripped black jeans and combat boots. His hair was messy and he wasn’t holding his usual school bag either, but he was making a face of shock, relief and…
Hope?
The nameless boy ran across Charles’s side of the platform until he was standing right in front of him – up close, the boy was taller than Charles thought, and smelled like soap and fabric softener, and a little bit like coffee.
“You…” the boy breathed out, brows bunching together as his words failed him, grey-blue eyes staring at Charles with a strength and intensity that made his knees buckle. The mystery boy’s voice wasn’t exactly what Charles had expected, a little low and rough, but exceedingly gentle as he spoke to Charles.
The boy usually on the other side of the platform was now standing so close that Charles had to crane his neck up to meet his eyes. Charles nibbled on his lower lip like he always did when he was nervous, the other boy’s gaze dropping there for a moment, before looking back into Charles’s bright blue eyes.
“I thought I’d never see you again,” the other boy finally said, Charles letting out a short, strangled noise from the back of his throat as the taller boy gently grabbed Charles’s wrist, like he thought he was going to disappear right in front of his eyes. “I don’t even know your name, but I hoped…”
“What are you doing here?” Charles whispered, voice cracking a little. The other boy blinked, like he had the first time Charles pulled a face at him.
“I… I recognised your uniform and saw that… your graduation ceremony was today. I didn’t know if you were a senior or not, but I… I had to try. The chance was small, but I had to try, so I’ve been waiting here for you,” the boy said, words coming out in a rush. The boy sucked in a deep breath, like he wasn’t used to talking so much so quickly, before looking Charles dead in the eye again. “I was about to leave, since the ceremony starts soon… but then you came.”
“I…” Charles started, shocked speechless by the other boy’s words.
He waited? For me?
Charles’s eyes teared up, and the other boy looked startled, mouth opening and closing like he didn’t know what to say. The hand around Charles’s wrist felt hot, the heat travelling all the way down Charles’s arm and into his heart.
“Why did you stop?” Charles whispered, voice trembling slightly. The boy now pinched his eyebrows together again in confusion.
“Stop…?”
“The faces,” Charles explained, dropping his eyes down, embarrassed. “That day… you didn’t make a face like normal. I thought…”
The other boy groaned, making Charles look back up at him. Charles was surprised to see that the other boy’s cheeks were a little flushed, and realised that he was embarrassed.
“I… Gott. Okay,” the other boy said, hand squeezing around Charles’s wrist. “I like you. I’ve liked you for a long time now. Maybe… Maybe ever since you made that face at me, all those years ago.”
Charles’s mouth dropped open, the other boy continuing, tip of his ears now turning a little pink.
“You’re so beautiful, even when you make those faces. And your smile. I just… I didn’t want you to only see me as… that ugly guy who made ugly faces. I didn’t want to look ugly in front of you anymore,” the boy admitted, cheeks now bright red and his mouth pulled down in a slight scowl, which seemed like his default expression.
“You like me?” Charles squeaked out, eyes wide. The other boy’s eyebrows pinched together again, but he nodded stiffly.
“I do,” the boy said again, sliding his hand from Charles’s wrist to take Charles’s hand instead, twining their fingers together. Charles’s breath caught in his throat and his heart stuttered.
“I believe I like you too. I… I really like you too. For a long time,” Charles breathed out, the other boy’s eyes now widening, before his mouth slowly pulled out of its scowl and into a wide, gloriously breathtaking smile that showed all of his white teeth.
The other boy was about to say something, but was cut off when the approaching train blared its horn to signal its presence, both of the boys jumping. The train slowed, its doors opening, and the boys looked at each other, sharing a smile.
Charles let the other boy tug his hand, the two of them getting on the same train for the first time.
The carriage was empty apart from Charles and the nameless boy, and the two of them sat side by side, hands still linked.
“Where are you heading?” the boy asked, Charles letting out a soft laugh, leaning into the boy’s side a little as the train swayed.
“Graduation ceremony. I’m a senior,” Charles said, the other boy letting out a laugh under his breath alongside a muttered ‘thank Gott’. “And you, my friend? Where are you heading? This isn’t your usual train.”
The other boy smiled, looking into Charles’s eyes, the two of them leaning in with a pull of gravity.
“Wherever you’re going,” the boy replied, Charles laughing. “My own graduation ceremony was yesterday. I’m also a senior. Or, well, I was a senior, 24 hours ago.”
Charles smiled, staring into the boy’s eyes – the boy, whose name was still a mystery.
“I’m Charles,” Charles said, their noses bumping together. The other boy let out a breathy chuckle.
“Erik. I’m Erik,” the boy that was usually on the other side of the platform murmured, just before they both leaned forward to close the last thread of space between them.
Their kiss was short and sweet, and when they pulled back, they were both smiling.
And at that moment, they were making the best faces they had ever made before.
Note: This was inspired by a manga that I can't remember the name of where the characters pass by each other on the way to school and pull faces at each other every day for years, until the boy stops and they fall in love - if any one knows this, please let me know so I can properly credit it! Thanks for reading! x
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theunderdogwrites · 3 years
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THREE BOOKS THAT NEED TO BE WRITTEN AND THEN IMMEDIATELY BANNED
Banning books is not common practice here in Canada. Instead, we “challenge” certain titles. I love us.
The first book banned in the United States was in 1637. And the name of that book is: New English Canaan.
It was written by an English businessman named Thomas Morton. In 1624, he arrived in Massachusetts with a group of Puritans, but left them because he didn’t want to abide by the strict rules and conventional values that made up their new American society.
Morton stomped off and created his own colony (now Quincy, Massachusetts) with the forbidden old-world customs that the Puritans loathed. The Puritan militia exiled him, sparking his anger. He filed a lawsuit and wrote a TELL-ALL-BOOK. Read that again. The first book banned in America was a tell-all-book critiquing and attacking Puritan customs. It was so harsh that even other New English settlers disapproved of it. He compared the Puritans to crustaceans. Imagine living in a time where the most abhorrent insult was being compared to a lobster (the cockroach of the sea back then). Nowadays people will call you a lousy, dirty heathen for forgetting your reusable grocery bag in the car.
If you ask the all-mighty Google search engine which books have been banned, the first site to come up is this one:
http://www.ala.org/advocacy/bbooks/frequentlychallengedbooks/classics
It gives a substantial list of books that have either been banned or seriously challenged over the years and lists the MANY reasons why. The list contains such classics as:
- The Great Gatsby: Challenged at the Baptist College in Charleston, SC (1987) because of "language and sexual references in the book
- Ulysses: Burned in the U.S. (1918), Ireland (1922), Canada (1922), England (1923) and banned in England (1929). (Side note: this book was thought to be “like the work of a disorganized mind” and that makes me laugh)
- 1984: Challenged in the Jackson County, FL (1981) because Orwell's novel is "pro-communist and contained explicit sexual matter."
-  Of Mice and Men: Banned from classroom use at the Scottsboro, AL Skyline High School (1983) due to "profanity." The Knoxville, TN School Board chairman vowed to have "filthy books" removed from Knoxville's public schools (1984) and picked Steinbeck's novel as the first target due to "its vulgar language."
-  Slaughterhouse Five: Banned in Levittown, NY (1975), North Jackson, OH (1979), and Lakeland, FL (1982) because of the "book's explicit sexual scenes, violence, and obscene language."
I’ve read all these books, except for Ulysses. It’s a 730-page quest I’m not stoked to embark on anytime soon. And with the exception of Slaughterhouse Five, all of these other books were school assignments.
I’ve said this before – I’m a free speech advocate, BUT words and actions have consequences. Do I always agree with those consequences? No. I struggle with ‘cancel culture’ and the unwillingness to let people atone for their behavior. But pulling at that thread right now will start a whole other conversation and I’ll spiral off topic for a long time.
I did a quick search on what books have been banned / challenged recently and found a few:
- Thirteen Reasons Why by Jay Asher (published in 2007)
- The Absolutely True Diary of a Part-Time Indian by Sherman Alexie                    (published in 2009)
- Beartown by Fredrik Backman (published 2016)
- Kafka on the Shore by Haruki Murakami (published 2002)
The reasons range from the books being obscene with very vivid descriptions of sex to being vulgar, graphic and just unnecessary subject matter to the use of filthy words to reference masturbation and themes viewed by many as anti-Christian. A couple of these books were specifically targeted because they were being assigned in high schools and parents were the driving force behind getting these titles removed. Fair enough.
There is always going to be someone who gets offended by some thing. Always. And if they have the drive and can convince enough people to see it their way, well then that some thing could be at risk.
Out of all the books I’ve ever read, I can’t think of a single one I found offensive enough to warrant keeping others from reading those words. And I’ve read Mein Kampf. No, this is not me supporting Hitler. If you want to read it, go for it. But let me save you the time you’d be wasting by reading that book with this quick review: Even Hitler distanced himself from the book.
The recent dust-up around the Dr. Seuss books got me to thinking about books I’d like to see written just so they can then be banned. I’ve come up with three. Lucky you.
1. The Cat Owner’s Guide to Being Owned
Synopsis: So, you got yourself a cat? Welcome to The Thunderdome. Prepare to be dominated! This book will assist you through the process and inevitable transformation into the 1-20 year sentence of being a servant to your house tiger. You will be taught how to cope with your newfound humility because of realizations such as:
1. You are no longer in charge
2. Scooping piss and poop from a litterbox is a chore you willingly took on when you brought that fucking cat into your home
3. Failure to fill a food dish that is already 65% full results in constant pestering and could bring on serious consequences ranging from the destruction of your valuables to urine-soaked bed sheets. Please note: you no longer own any valuables
4. Your size is a non-factor. The house tiger is a brilliant survivor who will not think twice about eating your eyes should you die in your sleep
By the end of this book, you will have come to the conclusion that you may have made a mistake.
Why this book should be banned: If the cats get a hold of it, WE ARE DOOMED.
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 2. Your Period and You, by Dr. Peter Tampon
Synopsis: Dr. Tampon is a renowned Florida based gynecologist who understands women and the female experience better than most women. And in this follow up to his multi copy selling debut “Lady, It’s Not Your Hypothyroidism, You’re Just Fat and Lazy!”, he will tell you all the reasons why you get so fucking batshit crazy one week a month. Discover your body through the eyes of a male professional and learn practises to save everyone around you from certain peril should they speak to you during Aunt Flow’s monthly visit. Techniques include: just keeping your mouth shut, crying into your pillow to avoid bothering others with your weeping sounds, going for a long, long walk so no one has to deal with your imagined pain & discomfort and Dr. Tampon’s personal favorite – it’s all in your head.
Why this book should be banned: If it’s not self-explanatory then chances are you’re an actual tampon.
 3. In Absence: A True Crime Novel About The Disappearance of Kindness
Synopsis: It’s 2021 and in the midst of a worldwide pandemic – Kindness is missing. But where did it go? Some will blame The Maskless Deniers – a group of petulant children posing as adults hellbent on spreading selfishness and misinformation about their personal freedoms being violated. Perhaps science is the culprit; with all it’s pesky facts and unashamed insistence that you pay attention. Others will say it’s The Sheeple – those willing to blindly follow without question while forcing others to adhere to public health orders. And then there are those who will say the world is full of jackasses who feel they have invisible permission to create chaos and screw civility in the eye socket, so Kindness packed its bags and left on its own.
Why this book should be banned: Maybe it shouldn’t? Maybe this needs to be written about and just left alone.
 “We but mirror the world. All the tendencies present in the outer world are to be found in the world of our body. If we could change ourselves, the tendencies in the world would also change. As a man changes his own nature, so does the attitude of the world change towards him. This is the divine mystery supreme. A wonderful thing it is and the source of our happiness. We need not wait to see what others do.” – Mahatma Gandhi
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How do you write smut and not make it sound cringy? As a virgin who has never partaken in sex, what. the. fuck.
Your writing is a godsend btw <3
This is such a good question, first off, thank you for asking me of all people!
Smut is tricky, and you will always feel that what you write is cringe. every single time i write smut i worry i’ve done it wrong.  And lack of real life experience can be daunting. Please remember that everything gets better with practise: for me, i’ve dabbled in erotica and romantic scenes for a lot longer than a twenty year old writer should have experience for, that is to say i had wattpad when i was 13.
everything is below the cut because this got longgggg
1. description. talk about the room around your characters: is it cramped, spacious? what does the couch feel like? what are they wearing and how quickly can they take it off? if their relationship is friendly before the scene, there might be nerves: describe them. If they hate each other, describe the adrenaline, the self-hatred for sleeping with that particular person. Look at things like breathing pace, body temperature, talk about the way the characters’ skin feels. are their hands calloused? Small and dainty? Talk about the way they move from one point to another: most people kissing tend to stumble a whole bunch. if you’re focused on making out, you aren’t thinking about your feet. 
onto more graphic stuff. sweat, the nipping on skin when someone gives you a hickey, the electricity that passes through you when someone’s hands touch more sensitive areas of the skin. whispering seductively into someone’s ear, building the tension with verbal foreplay or actual foreplay. 
2. the timing. sex scenes have a cookie cutter layout: a and b make out, a and b have sex in x y or z way, and they both get to finish by the end (unless you’re writing comedy, where you might find a male partner finishing very quickly). The average length of time sex takes in real life is between 5-40 minutes, for both partners to come. If you are doing a short, hide in a closet and fuck sort of scene, it will be short. Your descriptions are important still, but they should match the length of the scene. If it’s 40 minutes and multiple orgasms for a lady, it will be more drawn out, so so too with description. i am always aware of my timing when i write: i don’t feel comfortable writing longer sex scenes like other writers, so i stick to a timing in my head of between 10-25 minutes. you can cater to your own needs: readers don’t see the process of why you chose a short sex scene over a longer one.
3. words to use. the language of smut is weird to navigate. some terms are so outdated reading them hurts. again, take the scene you have and work with it. more common slang like cock, dick, cunt, pussy, all work in the right context. direct language like this works best in scenes that have pace, whether it be a manic stripping off of clothes in anger, or a quickie in the shower. there’s aggression in some of the words that matches the enemies to lovers tone: cunt especially gives off a much more male-domineering vibe to a situation, unless you reverse expectations.
on the other hand, words like shaft and member, pearl or bud (for describing the clit), they have a much softer read to them. slower scenes work well with softer language, and i’ve often found it easier to focus on emotion and feeling in these scenes. for penetrative sex, you don’t really talk about the vagina so much as what sensations occur upon penetration. softer language works for that softer feel. 
if you want sweet sex, talk about feelings (emotional, physical); if you want rougher sex, talk about other senses (what kisses taste like, the smell of sweat in the air, hearing grunts and moans, seeing your partner’s body), focus on more primal ideas.
4. rolling waves of pleasure. I absolutely despise describing cumming, and finishing off the sex scene in general, because in real life there’s an awkwardness to it. unless you’ve been with the same partner for years, there’s going to be some cringe there. but as an author, you can eliminate it: change the silence to revelation. but cumming in general is hard to write. the language for it always feels weird, especially for girls cumming, because no one has really figured out what that sensation is. we only compare it to other ideas. rolling waves of pleasure is the most common phrasing of a woman cumming: it is overused, but it is effective.
There’s plenty of other phrases you can use: talking about building pressure or heat in the abdomen, the neediness that sets in when you are right on the edge, and finally relief of it when you do cum. this goes for girls and guys. you’ll find movement needs to seize when one partner cums, at least for a moment. women can have multiple orgasms during sex, with proper stimulation, but men realistically cum once ‘per round’. in short, men (and when i say men i am using it as a more common umbrella term for people with penises, obviously this isn’t always the case) have a longer recharge time. sex usually finishes, or takes a break, after the man has cum. their body will lose a level of control (usually best put as ‘movements becoming sloppy’), and they will thrust harder a few times before ejaculating, in the case of vaginal or anal sex when he finishes still inside a woman (again, woman is an umbrella term). finishing outside most likely involves using their hand to finish themselves.
which brings me to
5. oral is good. oral sex (hand to genital, mouth to genital) is so useful in sex scenes. in longer scenes, it will play a big part in setting the tone of the upcoming sex, in shorter scenes it can be the main event. there’s levels of experience that come from eating a girl out or giving blowjobs: there’s a level of skill in fingering someone to completion, or giving a handjob. clitoral stimulation is so important too: there’s a good percentage of women who won’t get off on penetration alone, so use that bundle of nerves generously.
and again, descriptors here matter on situation. it’s good to include lube or spit in the mix with oral, nobody wants a dry handy. in the case of penises, pleasure in variations on a repetitive process (added flares of blowjobs include spontaneous moves of the tongue, including the hand to some degree, teasing the tip of the shaft). for vaginas, there’s a lot more to work with (fingering and eating out at the same time, tongue, the clit cannot be overstated here). i always have some hesitation writing oral, and i think a lot of writers can feel that. why drag out the possible cringe even longer? but oral is foreplay, foreplay is important. if you’re going to bypass it, make a point of it: have a character insist on the ‘‘main event’ because of need, of time, of excitement. 
6. you are going to feel cringe anyway + final tips. smut is always going to be a little weird to write. accept it now. but the thing is, even cringe smut is enjoyable. what i’ve offered is only my advice on this, from my point of view as to what makes decent smut. you could try some of this and realise it doesn’t work for you or your writing style, that’s ok. the best way to learning to write smut is a) practising and b) reading smut! pick up on phrases other authors use that you like, rewrite scenes in different locations, with different actions.
when i say use protection, do it. whether it’s contraception in the form of the pill or jag or patch or whatever, or a condom, promoting healthy sexual habits is never a bad thing. unless you got characters trying to actively get pregnant, or they live in some reality where contraception isn’t a thing/because female repression was everywhere until like 50 years ago and even then we sort of suck at letting women be free to have sex yada yada, protection is going to be used. and the pull out method is not protection, let’s not pretend it is. get that male love interest putting on a condom, get your lady lead (again, generalisation to the max) on some birth control, and let them have at it (note: condoms on after oral). if it’s a same sex sex scene, please remember that condoms are still definitely a good idea for two men if there’s penetration (obviously two women is a completely different story).
finally, don’t be mean to yourself. my most read story right now contains smut i’m not particularly in love with, but it was an attempt and people appreciate you even trying. writing good smut is not easy: and while us writers tend to hold ourselves to impossible standards, you really need to let them go with smut writing. it’s a try and fail process, it’s much more about learning what works for your writing than the act you’re putting on the page. you’ll fuck up more than once; you will succeed much more than you think you will. genuinely, just give it your best shot.
i believe in you nonnie, and i hope this helps in some way shape or form.
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miraculousandbts · 3 years
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BTS | Nightmares | Drabble Series
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Summary: It hasn’t been that long since debut, and this is the first time you’re sleeping with one of the guys. You, very unfortunately, have nightmares though.
Pairing: Member X Reader (Platonic)
Genre: Fluff, Angst
Word Count: 5.1k
Warnings: Nightmares (obviously), crying, y/n fell off the bed, mentions of abuse (nothing graphic though), jump scare, a figment of y/n’s nightmare
Seokjin
You removed your glasses and kept them in their case. Seokjin was just washing up before bed. You had already taken a shower and brushed your teeth. The thing was, all of you were learning a new choreo, and you and Seokjin had a part together, in which both of you were doing different steps than the others. All morning, you both practised. And now both of you were exhausted enough to go to bed early, which the others learned their steps for the same part of the song in the dance studio.
He came out toweling his wet hair to dry them enough so he could go to bed and not wake up with a headache next morning. You had suggested they sleep together, as you were afraid of being alone in the dark while barely anyone was home. You told him the real reason without hesitation though. "Ready?" He slipped in next to you, pulling the covers on top of him. You yawned in reply.
"I'll take that as a yes." He chuckled as you closed your mouth, and then your eyes. Both of you had a habit of keeping pillows around you for comfortable sleeping, so right now, both of you had a pillow for your head each, a pillow behind you, a pillow behind him, and a pillow between both of you.
You wrapped your arms around the pillow in the middle, eyes still shut. But there was already an arm on the pillow. You slightly opened your eyes, and saw Seokjin sleeping like a little baby, hugging the said pillow. You smiled and went into a deep slumber.
*****
Seokjin flailed his arms around a little. He could hear whimpers and small sobs, though he was too sleepy to register what the sounds were, exactly. "Mmm." He whined, annoyed by the disturbance. He slowly blinked his eyes open. And that's when you let out another small sob.
He looked to his side and furrowed his eyebrows to see you crying a little in your sleep. Still sleepy, it took him a second to figure out that you were probably having a nightmare. He started to get up and move towards you. "Hey, hey, hey. Y/n. Wake up. Hey." He took your head and caressed your cheek, trying to gently wake you up. Letting out a last whimper, you slowly opened your eyes.
Everything was blurry, not only because you were sleeping a moment ago, but also because of the tears. But you could make out the figure of Seokjin leaning over you, barely sitting up. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you realised that your head was in his lap, and he was caressing your cheek and letting his fingers slide through your hair to calm you down. But you were still a little freaked out by the nightmare you had to acknowledge this.
You could no longer remember what it was, but you do remembered it was scary. You let out a breath and snuggled further into him, throwing your arms around his torso. "Shh, shh." He kept rubbing his hand up and down your head, and sometimes your arm.
And that's how the members found you both the next morning; asleep without a care in the world as you both cuddled.
Yoongi
You were sleeping soundly when you felt someone pat your arm covered with the sheets. You slightly opened one eye and saw Yoongi finally out of shower and asking you to move over for him to have enough space to sleep. You closed your eye and silently shifted. This was the first time you were sleeping with one of the guys. Both you and Yoongi were very chill about it.
All of you had moved into the new dorm today, and three out of six rooms were filled with all of you guys' personal belongings. Hoseok had suggested that everybody would choose rooms and set their stuff the next day. After all of you agreed and had dinner, came the problem of where would all of sleep.
Taehyung simply suggested that three people sleep in the big rooms each, and two go in the third room, which was considerably smaller.
The maknae line, hearing this, ran straight to one of the bigger rooms. Yoongi suggested he sleep with you, as he took the least space while sleeping. All of you agreed, and here you are. Five minutes later, both of you were sound asleep.
*****
You furrows your eyebrows. You were seeing a nightmare. You moved around a little. And fell off the bed. A loud thud resounded. You sat up, knowing very well what just happened. You rubbed your head and then your eyes to wake you up enough. As you become sober after a few seconds, you hoped that you had not woken anyone up. And at that moment, you heard a meek, "y/n?" 'Shit!' That's all you could think. The first time you sleep with him, and you wake him up. Great!
"Uh, y-yeah?" You whispered back. You then saw him peek his head over the bed to you. "You okay?"
"Yeah." You got up and climbed back on the bed. He moved over and made a 'come closer' gesture with his hand. You leaned towards him, while he ran his hands over your head to check if you had any bumps. "Does it hurt?"
"No, no, I'm fine. Sorry for waking you up. You can go to sleep again."
"Why'd you suddenly fall down the bed anyway? Was I taking too much space? I can go sleep on the couch."
"No, no! I just had a nightmare." You casually stated and laid down, gesturing for him to do so too. He did just that. "Was it scary?" You shrugged the best you could while laying down in the mess of the bed sheets, " Must've been enough to disturb me enough for me to fall down the bed."
He hummed and to looked at him. He opened his arms, inviting you in. You raised an eyebrow, wondering if he thought that you were still afraid. But you still moved in and snuggled into his chest. He reminded you of your elder brother, how he would give you random hugs and forehead kisses, how he would basically act like a clingy koala to you. Yoongi was not like that, but in the moment, it felt like it.
You involuntarily sighed. "If you think that I think that you're afraid, you're wrong. I just don't want you to fall off the bed again." You let out a breathy chuckle and closed your eyes for the final time, knowing he did the same. "Goodnight." You whispered, sure that he didn't hear it. But he replied with his own goodnight, and that's when you both started falling asleep again.
Hoseok
"Why are you being so awkward, Hobi?" You twiddled your thumb, and looked at him, sitting at the opposite edge of the bed. "This is the first time I'm sleeping with a girl who's not my mother or noona." He gave you an awkward smile, knowing you were nervous too. "How about we just forget about the gender difference and sleep like we normally would? I'll be honest, you're the first guy I'll be sleeping with."
"Wait, what?"
"Yeah, I mean, I've chilled in the same bed as you guys, but I've never slept with any of you. The last time I slept with a guy was back when I was three, and the guy was my father."
He hummed and got in the bed. You followed suit. For the next ten minutes, both of you laid there, staring at the ceiling, being still as statues. Finally, sleep hit you like a ton of bricks. You rolled over, and faced Hoseok. He was still in that position.  You sighed, and snuggled into the cozy sheets. "Hobi? Go to sleep."
He looked at you, and sighed. "Actually, I'm nervous, because according to the members, I sleeptalk."
"It's better than sleepwalking. Go to sleep." You took his arm, and then snuggled in that. You saw him break out a smile. He turned towards you, and closed his eyes, indicating that he'll try to sleep now. You let out another sigh, and let darkness take over you.
*****
Hoseok woke up. He heard some repeated noises which just wouldn't stop. He kept turning and twisting, until finally he opened his eyes. And that's when his brain worked to tell him that the noises he was hearing was sobbing and sniffling.
He suddenly woke up and looked at you. You were failing your arms around, and moving your head harshly, while sobbing continuously. He freaked out, not knowing what to do. He shook you harshly, and you opened your eyes after a few seconds. You looked at him, and he looked back at you, wide eyed.
You let out another sob, and moved forward to cling onto him. He wrapped his arms around you, considerably calm than before, and rocked you back and forth lightly. Slowly and steadily, you calmed down, but you still didn't let him go. No words were exchanged, his presence itself was comforting.
He pulled both of you down, and started stroking your hair and back, to lull you into sleep. It seemed to be working, as your eyelids were starting to get heavier and heavier. Finally, you fell into deep slumber. Hoseok stopped moving and glanced at your face. You looked so peaceful, sleeping like a little kid, still subconsciously clinging onto his t-shirt.
He stroked your head one last time, and fell asleep too.
Namjoon
You came out of the bathroom, toweling your hair. You were thankful you had short hair, so you could wash it often. You found Namjoon sitting against the headboard, reading a book. He was wearing his glasses and plain pajamas, the only light nearby being the lamp. You kept your towel aside, switched off the lamp, and switched on the main light. He had started looking at you, following your moment, when you came out.
"Why'd you do that?"
"Reading in low light effects your eyes negatively. Even five year olds know that." You deadpanned.
"Won't you get disturbed?"
You reached inside your bag and took out a book. "Nope! I've got my own book to read. Let's read for twenty minutes or so and then sleep?" You got in the bed and pulled the covers to cover your legs, mimicking his position. He nodded, and went back to reading.
You all were on the Red Bullet Tour, and you all were currently in a hotel. There were four rooms, and you and Namjoon were together in one room. You both were okay with it, though you could see the slight nervousness in his eyes, and you knew it was because he took a considerable amount of space while sleeping. That, and he had a habit of cuddling, be it the fluffy cozy covers, a pillow, or at times, a human. Your intellectual leader was actually a big baby with an even bigger brain. You had seen him sleep before, so you knew.
But you were absolutely fine, knowing you took a lot less space while sleeping, and you loved cuddling too.
Five minutes passed, then fifteen, and then thirty. Neither of you wanted to sleep, despite the fact that you had a performance the day after. You were too engrossed in the murder mystery in your hand, and he was in the same position with his poetry book.
You rubbed your eyes, drowsiness finally setting in. The action did not go unnoticed by him, and he checked the time. "Hey, it's been longer than we expected. Let's go to sleep." You nodded silently, kept the book on the bedside dresser, and laid down. He, on the other hand, got up to switch off the light, and keep the book in his bag so he wouldn't forget it.
Both of you just laid there for five minutes, and when you randomly looked in his direction, you saw him asleep, his head poking out of the blanket. He looked like a human burrito.
'Wrap Monster. Pffft!' You laughed internally at the pun you made half asleep, then mentally noting that you needed to stop spending so much time with Seokjin after a while. You were pulled out of your gibberish thoughts when he moved towards you, snuggling further into the covers.
You smiled and wrapped your arms around him, satisfaction settling in when cuddled back. After that, it took you only a minute before you fell into a deep slumber.
*****
Namjoon felt something moving. Then he heard small whimpers. He was too sleepy to acknowledge them, so he tried to go to sleep again. Then he felt something moving against him again. He finally pried open one of his eyes. But he saw nothing in front of him. His eyes widened. Where were you?
That's when you let out another whimper, and he looked down to his chest. You were curled up in a ball, clutching his shirt tightly in your hands, whimpering. He knew you were having a nightmare, and he started stroking your cheek slowly.
You might not have slept with any of the guys before, but you had slept in front of them. And they usually sent Namjoon to wake you up. He had once complained that you were hard to wake up, so you has told him that it was easier to wake you up by stroking your cheek.
He also weaved his hands in your hair, then taking them out. He repeated his actions for a minute or so, and then you finally opened your eyes. "J-Joon?" You whispered shakily. "Yeah, angel?" You were the youngest, and the only girl of the group, and Namjoon knew how rowdy the boys could be, so he had made his personal mission to protect you and be responsible for you. He had a younger sister in real, and you just reminded him of her so much, that it was natural for his older brother instincts to kick in.
You both had gradually gotten very close, resulting in him even giving you a nickname. Angel, he called you, because of your sweet and kind nature. You always saw the good in people, and helped people to become their better selves. More often than not, you also let the hate comments get to you, being the innocent soul that you were.
You did sometimes do a complete 360 and became the most savage person on Earth. But you only let this side of you come out in front of the guys, when you felt extra comfortable. The boys were rubbing off on you, and you didn't mind. It was better than being naive and being bullied all through your school years.
That's what your nightmare was about. Your bully beating you up physically, all the while saying stuff and calling you names. He was the only one who knew about this, and he also knew what you had just dreamed about.
"J-Joon!" You buried your face in his chest and cried your heart out, his heart breaking a little  with every sob and every sniffle. "I-I'm s-so s-scared. S-so s-scared. H-help. Please. Please." And then you started sobbing and whimpering again. "Shh, shh, shh. Everything will be just fine, angel. You're okay. I'm here. I'll always be here. Nobody will ever harm you or touch you again. I promise angel. Shh." He could feel tears forming in his own eyes.
He kept saying sweet things to you, and soon, his soothing velvety voice finally calmed you down. You would still let out a sniffle or a whimper every once in a while, but that was the after effect of crying so much. The last time you were bullied was in school, and that was a few years ago. When people had come to know about you debuting, they had stopped, but they did leave hate comments, and you felt tremendously guilty that the boys were on the receiving end of the hate because of you.
You felt his arms tighten around you. "Oh, angel." You heard him mutter. If anyone else except the boys had said so, you would've thought that you were being a burden in them. But the guys had proved to you a lot of times that they genuinely loved and cared for you. You knew he was sad for you, and you felt bad for waking him up.
For him, you tried to be strong. Strong enough to not get effected by things like these. Strong enough to deal with your shit on your own. And while you knew that these boys, who you had started seeing more like brothers, would always be there for you, you wanted to make them proud by being strong and not relying on them too much.
With that thought in mind, you whispered, "I love you, Joon." And then you felt asleep, not hearing him say, "I love you too, angel."
Jimin
"Chim!" You clung onto him as soon as he laid down. You all had decided to change the sleeping settings, suggested by yours truly, so you could mingle in and get to know the boys better than before. Unfortunately for you, everyone picked Jimin to sleep with you. You both were already very close, so this was completely unnecessary. On the other hand, you were kinda happy it was him, because everyone else would've been super awkward with you. Both you and Jimin were very clingy, and the people you clinged to were often each other.
"Y/n!" He clung back to you. You both giggled and let go of each other. The weather was very hot and humid today, and all of you were sweating profusely. You reached for the remote and used it to switch on the AC.
"Ah! That feels so much better." He sighed at spread himself like a star fish. You did the same, and one of your arms and legs ended up on top of one of his arms and legs. "This really does feel good." You agreed with him. Then you both spiralled into silence. Which lasted for two minutes tops.
"I'm bored! And not sleepy!" He whined. "Me too..."
You both turned toward each other, thinking the same thing, and smirked. Suddenly getting up, you both started jumping up and down on the bed. Which lasted for five minutes, because a very angry Hoseok stormed in and gave you both a earful about making a racket in the middle of the night while everyone was sleeping. He went out muttering something which suspiciously sounded like 'we never should've put these two monkeys together...'
Now, both of you we're sitting cross legged on the bed, pouting. You sighed. "We really should go to sleep." He agreed and you both laid down. Despite the fact that neither of you were very tired, both of you fell asleep considerably fast, curled up and facing each other.
*****
"NO!!!" You yelled. "No..." you let out strangled sobs reacting the word again and again. Your body shook with every sob, every whimper. He was gone. Gone forever. How could you live without him? Your sunshine, your best friend, your brother, gone, just like that. "Jimin..."
You gasped, and sat up suddenly. You were having trouble breathing. Your brain didn't register the small comforting hands rubbing your arm and your back. Your brain didn't register the small sweet words coming from from your side. You were just too shook up from the nightmare. You were the kind of person who cherished their every single relationship. Within the two years you had known the boys, you had gotten very attached to them, especially Jimin.
Your tears finally stopped flowing down like rain, and you frantically looked around. "Jimin, Jimin, Jimin." You turned towards him, and as soon as you saw him, you jumped into his arms and hugged him tightly like your life depended on it. He, on the other hand was very confused.
He had woken up because he heard you cry in your sleep. But then you started taking his name again and again. He started wondering if you were dreaming about him. Just as he was about to touch you, you sprang up, scaring the daylight's out of him. And now again, you kept chanting his name like he'd disappear into thin air.
"Y/n?" You whimpered back.
"What happened?"
"Nightmare." You had trouble saying that one word. He figured he shouldn't ask you anymore questions regarding the topic. He simply hummed and laid down, taking up you with him. You snuggled into his chest, and he wrapped his arms around you. You could feel his breath on your neck, and it calmed you down a lot.
Soon, you both feel into a peaceful land of nothingness.
Taehyung
Both of you were cuddled up against each other, watching a short comedy movie before bed. Both of you knew that one of the elders will be here soon, scolding you to go to sleep soon, and how they were regretting their decision to let both of you sleep together. Taehyung had been whining all day about how Namjoon wouldn't cuddle with him, and he needed a cuddle buddy, so you volunteered.
Everyone was very reluctant to agree to the idea, but his puppy dog eyes plus your puppy dog eyes resulted in melted hearts from cuteness overload.
You both giggled again quietly, the movie nearing it's end. After a while, you both finished it in a fit of giggles. And then you saw him sobering up. His eyes widened in a way which said he was interested. You were going to tell him that sleep was important, and that they should do that, but before you could say anything, he started, "y/n, this video is less than a minute long, let's watch."
'Less than a minute? Okay.' You internally shrugged.
Before you could see the thumbnail, he clicked on it. Shrugging, you sat beside him, and saw what was it about. It had a very creepy looking corridor. And suddenly, BAM! A jump scare frightened your soul out of you. You were so shaken up, you didn't even scream, just sat there with wide eyes, clutching your chest and breathing heavily.
You not screaming led him to believe that you weren't afraid, and he simply got up to switch off the lights, and kept the phone on the table. By this time, you had calmed down. You laid down, thankful that the lights were off, and he hadn't asked you to cuddle yet. Just as you thought that, an arm snaked around your waist, pulling you closer to him. He snuggled his face into your neck, and fell asleep shortly.
You couldn't sleep though. The jump scare kept replaying in your head. The human brain was amazing wasn't it; it kept replaying stuff you wanted to forget, be it your last embarrassing moments, or scary things like this. Finally, after an hour of trying sleep partially came to you.
*****
You had only been asleep for two hours or so, and that too not even properly, when the jump scare replayed in your head more creepily and scarily than before.
You suddenly jumped and sat up, trying to take big breaths and shaking violently. As you were wrapped in Taehyung's arms, he too woke up, from the sudden movement. "Y/n? You okay?" He frantically asked. His eyes finally adjusted to the dark lighting in the room, and that's when he saw you shaking. The lack of reply from you scared him even more.
"Y/n." He kept his hand on your shoulder. You jumped back in surprise, almost falling off the bed. "Y/n." At this point, he was repeating himself. "T-Tae." You moved towards him and wrapped your arms around his torso, resting your cheek against his chest. He didn't know what was going on, but he slid his arms around your waist nonetheless. A tear slid down your cheek, from all the frustration.
"Y/n, what happened? Please tell me. Don't scare me like this." He whispered in his smooth deep voice right in your ear. "Jump scare video." You simply replied. "Oh. I didn't know you were scared. Why didn't you tell me?"
"I was afraid you'd think of me as a scaredy-cat."
"Aw. I would've teased you, yes, but everyone has their fears. Now, for instance," he pulled you back and looked at you, "Hobi hyung is so afraid of snakes." You let out a small smile, recalling how freaked out he was when you all had to go take pictures with snakes. He did a complete 360 while the photo was being clicked, but he had screamed a lot. It was hilarious.
While you were thinking about Hoseok and snakes, Taehyung saw you smiling a little and smiled. He proceeded to tell you hilarious stories which happened before you joined as a trainee. You both spent at least an hour quietly smiling and grinning, giggling and laughing. You don't remember when, but you both has fallen  asleep sometime after you decided to lay down instead of sitting in that uncomfortable position. Well, uncomfortable for him, you were more than happy sitting like that, in his arms.
The next morning, you woke up and found the boy almost completely on top of you, nuzzling his head in the crook of your neck.
Jungkook
You and Jungkook were in your new room. Being the maknaes, Namjoon had decided to put you both together. That, and Jungkook took a lot of space while sleeping, while you slept curled up in a ball.
Right now, you were trying a new game, and he was taking a shower. You heard the water stop, but paid no attention. Continuing with the game, it took you to complete a level as long as it took him to wear his clothes and come out of the bathroom.
"Hey." You didn't want to be rude and ignore him, but your focus was still on the game. He looked towards you. "Can I join?" You could hear the hopefulness in his voice. You smiled and nodded, picking up the other consol and stretching your hand in his general direction. You felt him take it from you, and you aggressively started punching the buttons with both your hands. He waited for you to finish the level, which you soon did, and then changed the game into two-player mode. (I've never played a video game. Forgive me.)
Both of you spent an hour playing the game, until Seokjin entered and sternly told you both to finally sleep. After promising him that you both would sleep as soon as you finish the level, you both got engrossed in the game again.
"No, no, no, y/n! Behind you!"
"Ah! No, no, no, no, YES!"
"SHH!"
"Sorry, sorry." You nervously chuckled.
"Anyway, the level's done. We should go to be—*yawn* —d. And that just proves I'm sleepy."
You both laughed. He switched off the lights, as soon as you packed up the game. Soon, you were both in the bed. "Goodnight, y/n."
"Goodnight, Kookie."
*****
"Kook, Kook, Jungkook." You shook the boy next to you, who was deep in sleep. You just had a really scary nightmare, and you needed comfort. You were kind of guilty for waking him up, but knowing that he wouldn't mind bought a little relief. "Hmm? What happened y/n?" He asked you sluggishly.
"I-I. Can I sleep with you?"
"You are sleeping with me."
"No, no, can I, like, you know, ugh! Can we cuddle, or at least hug?"
He was wide awake by now. "What's with the sudden request?"
"I may or may have had a nightmare?" You voice turned squeaky towards the end.
"Oh." The threw his head on the pillow, and you almost thought that he would call you a scaredy-cat and go back to sleep. Instead, he opened his arms as an invitation. You gladly nuzzled into his chest, sighing a little as you did so. He started rubbing the small of your back. He smelt good. Like soap and comfort.
"You okay, though?" You hummed, his gestures and smeel lulling you into sleep, slowly. You felt him smile, and you smiled too. "Thank you, Kookie."
"Go to sleep, y/n.
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