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lovestrucked-again · 4 years

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Render Your Heart | J.Jaehyun

(Jaehyun’s Tattoo Edit - @rrregan) Summary: Growing up beside your brother’s best friend forces you to keep your crush a secret. But who knew, the way you’d expose yourself was when you asked for help from a dropout high school student. When your lie of an excuse gets caught and your long time dream becomes a reality. Careful though, don’t get caught.

Genre: smuT Pairing: bad boy!Jaehyun x reader (ft Taeyong big bro) Word count: 5.8k

Warning: Jaehyun has tattoos (sleeves, chest), hard dom!Jaehyun, fingering, rough, orgasm denial, dirty talk, explicit content, wet and messy sex, begging, orgasm control, spanking, humiliation, praise, punishment, teasing, nipple play, cum licking/swallowing, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, marking, cock worship, blowjob, throat fucking, hair pulling, gagging (on cock), cum swallowing i think i said that, rough sex, cockwarming, belly bulge, thrill sex? risk of getting caught, safe systems because that is very important to have, also safe sex please this isn't something you should follow

a/n: Yeet. I drank 2L of water writing this. Also thank you @hyuckiesgf for helping me read thru this <3. _____

“Y/N?”

He slowly slides the paperwork off your lap, exposing your legs in the short skirt you’re wearing, the almost non-existent breeze from the fan now hitting your skin, leaving you feeling very naked. His arm swings across your shoulder, closing the gap between the two of you sitting side by side against the couch.

“Y-yes?” You stutter out, your head turning to see his hand resting so close to your face.

“So why don't you tell me what you really want?"

You gulp down the saliva forming in your throat as you watch his hand fall to your legs, the veins from his wrist bulging out as he gently squeezes your thigh for a response. “Hmm? What are you talking about?"

His left hand creeps up your skin, sliding up the inside of your thigh as he tip toes up your skin, tracing his fingers very softly, gliding closer to the hem of your skirt, “You want me to believe you called a high school drop out for help, on a university assignment?”

His hand climbs closer to the inside of your thigh, and the background noise coming from the TV is no longer audible to you. Your figure frozen suddenly, feeling all the tiny details of his touch, the texture of his fingertips, trailing along the inside of your thigh, going up and then back down, moving around in an eight pattern.

“Why’d you call me over?” He murmurs, his eyes focused on your parted lips, watching as they fall open slightly.

“I-I wait – hold on.” Your mind runs in a mess as you stutter out a random string of words in an attempt to think.

The hand on your thigh suddenly halts, no longer gently squeezing and fluttering along your skin. “I’m waiting?”

You realise the nerves from your stomach, from the touch in your thighs, from the dim lighting in the midnight timing, were all connected directly to your pussy. His touch, causing your pussy to self-lubricate and swell at its own volition, in strict disobedience to your control.

“It’s not what you think.” You mumble.

“Is it not?” He whispers, flipping himself to face you. His free arm flies to the back of the couch, using it to support his weight as he leans forward, keeping you encircled by his body. Your eyes glance over to the side, following the abstract shapes tracing up his forearm. The simple black tee rising higher up his arm, exposing his pale skin – mostly obscured by the smooth paintings in ink that wind up his biceps. “What are you staring at baby?”

Abruptly, your breath hitches, your pussy simultaneously releasing a gush of wetness at the nickname, the darkness of his eyes staring down at you. His fingers press against the damp spot in your panties as his breath goes to the crook of your neck. Your cry of alarm being quickly muffled as you bite down on your tongue in resistance. His breath tickles your neck and your hands clench onto the sheet of paper you’re holding, scrunching it up unknowingly.

“Should I stop?” Jaehyun removes his face away from your side, moving to face you, letting his gaze fall on your lips.

Your mind spins around in circles as the inner conflict begins. The two of you had always flirted but took nothing seriously, not wanting to mess up the relationship he had with your brother. Taeyong would also never approve of it, his own wish was for you to find a more responsible guy who didn't have so many bad influences. Which was also hypocritical considering his own nature.

Jaehyun watches as your eyes flutter shut, your body involuntarily moving up for a stronger presence of his touch. He follows along smirking, deciding to press a little harder as he finds your sensitive clit.

“Fu-ckkk” You draw out, your body sinking deeper into the couch.

He towers over you, his shoulders squared and blocking your view from anything behind him. His dark eyes sweep over you, his gaze trailing from where his finger presses, up to your naturally pink lips before he lets out a low, deep, exhale of desire.

“Can I continue?” He whispers, leaving a soft kiss at the corner of your jaw.

Your hand still holding onto the paperwork is now crushed, the sheet mushed into a ball as you dig your fingers into it. Your other hand leaves the couch, reaching out to his chest, flattening weakly against his muscles. “Jae- th-this, fuck, we ca-cant do this.”

“Why not?” He pauses for a few seconds, waiting for an answer, but nothing forms out of your mouth, only the lifting of your hips to meet his touch yet again.

His drawn back to your clit when you can’t respond, gently pinching at it through the fabric as you let out a stifled moan. Your palm weakens against his chest as your strength drains from your body, achieving nothing. You may as well try pushing a whole truck instead. Jaehyun wasn’t budging, his muscle and strength, his chest and shoulders, alarmingly hard. And truth be told, you weren’t trying to get him off.

You knew you were slipping, losing your grip on your rationality as you moan out again feeling his fingers tease your clit through the thin material of your underwear. As your body relaxes into the couch, your skirt slides up, revealing the little amount of skin left unseen, all the way to your panties. His weight is still barely on you but his leg wedges between your knees as he kisses closer to your parted mouth.

“What about my brother?” You stutter out, your eyes squeezed shut at the sudden contact.

Jaehyun’s lips brushes against yours, forming a smirk after hearing your words, “Taeyong? He won’t know,” he places a soft peck, “unless you tell him.”

It sounded safe right? Jaehyun wouldn't tell him and there’s no way you ever would. You nod along to your thoughts, but within the next second, Jaehyun is devouring your lips. His hand which previously laid against the couch, now cupping your cheek as his other hand continues to rub you through your panties.

Your arousal grows as you realise how screwed you were if Taeyong saw this, how you probably looked so helpless pinned underneath his best friend’s figure. Jaehyun continues, both stimulating you and checking the level of your arousal. The ripples of lewd, mind numbing pleasure racing through your body making you panic, as you constantly try to detect the sound of the shower in the background. Waiting for it to stop and for Taeyong to come trampling through the scene. Your pussy was oozing and throbbing, obeying his fingers and his crushing desire as you panicked for your life.

You had yearned for his touch and sensation and savagery, and he was giving it to you, just like you had imagined it, and you felt herself melting under his assault. Your cries diminishing and becoming more like beseeching moans as he slips his fingers under your panties, parting it to find your slit.

“Fuck your so wet for me.” He groans, pausing in between your frenzied kiss. There’s only the sound of your soft gasps for breaths against the wet kisses before you realise there’s no other noise.

“Jae the showers stopped.” You mumble against his lips, bringing both your hands to his chest, pushing him back only slightly.

“Then we should hurry, shouldn't we?” The frantic moan that escapes your lips are left to mean anything: fear, urgency, or imploring lust, desperate to relieve the tension in your lower stomach.

You begin to whine and whimper into his mouth, begging him to hurry before you’d be forced to stop in order to spare your life and what little dignity left you had in front of your brother, but Jaehyun continues to take his time.

“Jae-” Your rational mind tries to tell you that if he was going to keep this up, you might come, that you may lose all your self-respect to the combination of his touch, your helplessness and the thrilling shame of being so close to danger. What is he going to think of me? If he knew this rough treatment, this anxious feeling of being caught, can make me climax? What would he say?

However, the low groans coming from Jaehyun as he plays with you, teasing your entrance, was begging you to forget everything. The humiliation that was increasing seeming to connect directly to the spot between your legs as you felt your pussy spasm desperately, sucking on empty air, aching for something as he slides across the moisture.

As you move your body up, desperately for his finger to enter, Jaehyun stops moving, pulling back his face so you see his eyes clearly. “Stop grinding your hips at me,” he growls, “you’re going to make me cum.”

Your pussy clenches involuntarily at his words, releasing another gush of wetness. “Isn’t that the point?” you stutter, your body deflating a little against the couch, dropping your hips which were previously moving in line with his hand.

“Not right now.”

Before your able to ask what he means, his weight is off you, immediately leaving the couch in search for something. You stay seated, dazed in confusion as he picks up the scattered paperwork on the floor placing it neatly on the coffee table.

“Grab your jacket.” He tells you.

“Why?” you ask, your mind still in a muddled mess.

“We’re going out.”

As you hear the knob of the bathroom door handle fumble, you quickly bring down your skirt, hurriedly standing up and pretending to be busy. Taeyong walks out with a towel in his hand, his eyes glancing between the two of you as he ruffles his wet hair.

“Where are you guys going?” He asks, having heard the last spoken sentence.

Jaehyun throws on his beaten leather jacket, letting it hang loosely over his frame, “You never taught her how to change a flat tire?”

“U-uh no? Was I meant to?” Taeyong asks, confused at the sudden topic.

“Well now I have to.” Your eyes dart over to Jaehyun, meeting his gaze as he signals you to follow along.

“It’s cold and dark outside” Taeyong shrugs, clearly unbothered by whatever was going through his best friend’s mind, “but whatever, suit yourself.”

Jaehyun grabs you by your wrist as you trail along. The sudden change in temperature instantly hits you as you step out the front door. He doesn't say anything but you peek around his body which leads you, waiting for him to glance back at you and say something. But he doesn't.

“Where are we going?” you ask, having to jog slightly to keep up with his strides.

“To finish what we started,” he simply replies.

***

There’s no hesitation left as he unlocks the front door to his apartment - so conveniently located in the apartment building next to yours. His jacket is shrugged off before you’ve even had a chance to slip off your shoes, the front door slamming shut automatically by its weight. Your core flutters as you notice the sound of just your heavy breathing, trying to remain calm.

“Why are you acting so shy suddenly?”

You look over at him, removing your gaze from your feet to look over, gulping as you see he had also removed his shirt within the little time you had just entered, “I’m not.”

He chuckles at your confident reply, gesturing you to come over, “It’s not like this is your first time over.”

“Well it’s my first time coming over for something like this.”

“Like what?” He asks amusingly.

“You know what I mean.” You mutter, your feet dragging you closer to him so your standing just inches apart. He holds a smug expression on his face as you’re forced to look up at him to match his gaze.

“Mmmm I don't think I do,” he murmurs, bringing your hands around his neck, making you stand on your toes to reach comfortably around his height.

“Asshole,” you mumble, breaking his gaze. You stumble back a little as your hands leave his neck, realising how close you’re standing.

Jaehyun wraps an arm around your waist, keeping you steady, “Be careful.”

The pull closer towards him brings you face to face with his inked skin and your attention goes to the patterns in front of your eyes. Your eyes follow the delicate shapes and lines along his shoulder which start from around his collarbone, down to the centre of his chest where the tattoo meets to form a flower. You can’t help but imagine how he’d look if he was entirely covered, the gap between the inks being marked by you. What you’d do to suck on his skin and mark it yourself.

“You can touch them Y/N, they don’t hurt” he chuckles, watching your eyes waver.

You shut him up when the contact of your lips brush against his skin, softly sucking at the vines on his collar, then trailing your tongue towards the ink down the middle of his chest. You bring your attention back to the clear patches of skin around his collar, deciding it’d look better with some of your artistic touches.

“Fuck,” Jaehyun hisses as you teasingly graze along his flesh before biting at it softly. The hand around your waist tightens and you can feel his nails digging into your skin. His free hand slides up underneath your shirt, between your closed bodies. You nip and suck at the uninked patch, moving your head back every so often to see the dark colour forming a mark.

His hands leave their spots, deciding to remove your shirt and you help him, guiding the fabric over your head, exposing your bra, and then your naked midriff as you feel the pulse in your throat beating in a growing excitement.

"Mmm... Beautiful. Just fucking beautiful" he hums. You feel yourself blush, heat rising at his approval. It was insane to you, and without reason, but you desperately wanted to please him. "Baby, I could fuck you all night long and not get tired," He grabs at your breasts, going at them hungrily as he begins to kiss and pluck at your nipple with his lips through the sheer fabric of your bra.

“Please,” you mewl, weak from pleasure. His hands cup your breasts as he gently pushes you backwards, until your back hits a wall and he stands looming over you.

"Mmm..." he grabs your bra, pulling it up over your breasts, then attacks them with a vengeance, sucking, licking, squeezing one while he devours the other. His need and passion so intense, so overwhelming you can hardly breathe.

He lets go of your breast and his right hand goes back under your skirt, finding your soaked panties and pushing the crotch aside. He pushes his finger into you and you cry out, arching up against the wall as you try and support your weight. Your legs spreading eagerly as the sloppy sound of his fingers filled the room.

"Please," you whisper, "Please..." He fingers you till you feel yourself start to bear down the looming orgasm and then he stops suddenly.

You watch as his hand flies to his zipper, your breath hitching as you gaze at the bulge straining against the thin material of his jeans. He catches your gaze and decides to move slower. He moves with excruciating ministrations, his fingers gliding over the waistband as he undoes the first button before sliding the zipper down. Through lust hazed eyes you watch as Jaehyun strokes his cock, covered by the thin material of his boxers, the fabric stretched for release. Eventually, he kicks of his jeans, the more apparent tent now restrained only by a single layer.

“Eyes up princess,” He smirks, watching your eyes flicker back up to him. You reach down desperately, wanting to touch him. Jaehyun grabs your arm, pulling you back as he finally removes the last layer, letting his cock spring free, hard and angry, arching up in its full arousal, erect and proud. The moment you see his entire length you let out a low moan.

“I just want to touch it,” you whine, freeing yourself from his grasp.

“You can,” he pushes your shoulders down gently and you immediately sink to the floor in eager when you realise what he’s implying. “Show me what a hot little cock-sucker you are and get me good and hard, baby. Good and hard.” He takes a handful of your hair and pulls you closer, his other hand holding his dick up like a weapon, aimed directly at your mouth.

The sticky velvet head of his dick presses against your lips and you can smell him, the scent of soap and denim and male sexual musk. You lean forward at the sight just as his heavy cock slaps against your lips and you obediently open your mouth, taking him inside.

He exhales a grunt of excitement and you feel his hands in your hair, pushing your head down impatiently as he lifts his hips and thrusts himself into you. His cock slides into your mouth and fills you: hot, thick, and pulsing with life, and you hear him groan in animal pleasure as you sink down on his thick hardness.

Your lips suddenly turning wildly sensitive as he tugs at the strands in your hair, grabbing your head and fucking his cock into your mouth, pushing the fallen strands of hair out of your face so he can see you getting fucked.

"Fuck!" he moans. "Oh fuck!"

You continue sucking, slobbering, pushing your head onto him and pumping, pausing only to slurp up the streams of saliva that poured from your mouth and down his shaft. You can hear your own guttural moans and sounds of obsequious sucking, and when your neck starts to ache and your lips grow tired, you just hold your head and mouth still, letting him use you, letting him thrust his angry cock into your throat and making you choke and gag.

"You're going to make me cum, baby!" he moans.

As the words leave his lips, you suck harder, jaw no longer slack, wanting him to cum in your mouth. But he wasn't ready to give it to you yet. He digs both his hands into your hair, prying you off as his cock pops out your mouth, slimed with spit and twitching with pre-orgasmic spasms. Jaehyun quickly grabs his cock, squeezing his length to stop his immanent ejaculation as you cry out in frustration.

“What are you doing?” you whine as Jaehyun leans down, wiping the substance off your lips. You were desperate for his cum in your mouth, and he was denying you.

“Not yet.” As his head rolls back, you continue to stare, watching him squeeze and clench his dick and the watery pre-cum roll down the angry purple head. You pounce on it, reaching forward to scoop it up in desperate need with a single swipe of your tongue, savouring its flavour before swallowing thickly.

“Fuck Y/N!” He yells, painfully sensitive and reacting instinctively by shielding his cock and pushing you away gently.

You barely move, your hands quickly falling to your side to keep your balance. If he wasn't going to let you have his cock, you were going to satisfy your oral need another way. You watch as his breaths become heavy, his own attempt of calming himself down. Your eyes are still glued to his cock, wrapped tightly around his hand as your gaze travels up his length, noticing his balls hanging in attetion.

Immediately, you crawl forward, ducking your head to come up from below as you lick and kiss at the hanging bottom, your wet lips running over them.

“Shit!” he moans, his hand squeezing tighter against himself as he watches you in shock. You were shocked yourself but you were more concerned about your eager need growing in the pit of your stomach. You slurp and suck gently at his cum filled balls, grabbing his cock from his hand as he lets go. “You’re such a bad girl.”

But as you begin to pump up his shaft, Jaehyun pulls you up by your upper arms, lifting you off the floor and picking you up into his chest. For a moment your mind goes blank, suddenly forgetting where you are.

It’s not until you feel the soft fabric of the bed sheets under your skin that you realise you’re in a different room. The dim light shining through his open bedroom curtains on your left and the reflection of your body in the mirror on your right.

Your arms climb to your chest, covering yourself in instinct as you notice him staring. “What is it?” you whisper.

“Why are you hiding them?” he asks, crawling up to your face, his hands at the side of your head.

“Because.”

“because what?” he asks, his breath reaching your lips.

“Because I want to,” you sass back. You can feel his body leaning against your crossed arms and you fight the urge to move.

“So much attitude,” he chuckles, attacking you with kisses. His tongue glides through your lips, meeting yours and his hands find your shoulder, pushing down lightly to keep you still beneath him. Your palms go to his back as his chest meets yours, bringing his body down closer to you in the midst of your kiss.

Jaehyun’s tongue is questing and inquisitive; learning the corners of your mouth with practiced flair, drawing sensual noises from you. Sounds you didn't know were capable of leaving you. Tentatively, you reach your arm up around the solid anchor of his arm and your rewarded with a deep growl of pleasure from your partner.

All you had now was need, this basic elemental need, and you wanted him to take you and do things to you. You wanted him to take everything you had to give, because nothing seemed of any value unless he wanted it. Jaehyun notices your change quickly as you fight back for power, your hands gliding to his chest, pushing him. You flip him over, rising onto your knees so you’re now straddling his lap. He makes no effort to stop your strength but continues to pull you close with his lips, waiting for whatever you wanted to do next.

But you pull away from him, the constant thought that plagued your mind being asked, “What happens after this?”

“What do you mean?” he asks, confused.

You sit up properly, his hands resting at your hips to keep you steady. You hesitate before responding, deciding between your words, “Is this just for fun?”

There’s a moment of silence, his eyes showing the gentler side of his emotions, “Do you want it to be?”

You pause for a second, weighing your options. Of course you wanted it to be more, you had fallen for Jaehyun the moment you saw him, but you were sure he only saw you as his best friend’s younger sister, “No.”

Jaehyun smiles at you, bringing your fallen strands of hair behind your ear, “Then let’s work something out.”

You feel his body shift and your suddenly thrown to your side, landing softly on the bed with a thud. In the dark room, you can hear him shuffling before his hand reaches for your skirt, tugging them down in a swift movement along with your underwear. You let out a squeal in surprise but he ignores it.

He walks over to the side of his bed, patting his lap as you crawl over to his side. He guides you over, placing you over his knee, your bottom naked under his hand as you shiver in anticipation.

“I think you know what’s about to happen baby,” he murmurs, stroking the back of your thighs. You let out a choked mumble, your ass clenching as you wait for the sound. “Didn't I tell you no before? I told you not to keep throat fucking my cock but you continued,” he hums, “and do you know what happens to those who don't listen?”

“What?” you squeak

“They get punished.” He squeezes your ass gently, watching it fill his palm, “Here’s how this works, red for stop, yellow for slow down and green for I’m okay.” He pauses, waiting for your response, “did you hear me princess?”

“Y-yes,” you stutter out, heart beating rapidly as you laid vulnerably over his knee.

His gaze darkens, as you respond, his voice coming out almost two octaves lower, “Repeat it Y/N.”

“Red stop, yellow for slow and green for okay,” you automatically reply.

“If anything’s uncomfortable tell me okay?” Jaehyun coaxes with a gentle whisper.

He draws his hand back and you close your eyes for what’s coming. The slap of his hand on your ass amazingly loud in the room, the sharp sting and burn immediately felt. You yelp at the contact, clenching your ass for the next slap to come.

“Count them for me baby.” He purrs, pausing for you to answer.

You let out a shaky breath, “One.”

Another slap comes. You draw in a breath, mumbling out the tally “Two.”

“Count them properly or we start again baby,” he warns.

And another, “Three.”

“Four.” The heat starts to sink into your pussy, radiating through your body.

“F-ive.”

“Maybe you should have listened to me?” he hums in response – another harsh spank following his words.

“Six.” you whine out, crying in pain. As each slap continues, the arrogance you had from earlier drifts further away, the sting of his slaps sinking into your pussy and causing your muscles to clench and clit to throb.

“Your ass fits so perfectly around my hand.” He praises, rubbing the skin delicately after the seventh spank. He shuffles back against the bed, sliding you over with him.

He grabs you by the arms again, lifting you up easily over him and lowering you down between his parted legs. You stare at his stiff cock so close to your entrance and your eyes widen as you watch him move.

“Time to do some work princess,” he orders, hands tightening around your waist.

“You want me to ride you?” You ask, unable to hide the hint of power you could feel rising in your chest.

“Don’t take that fucking attitude with me,” he warns, his hands digging in the side of your skin, “Or we’ll continue our counting.”

You didn't fight him, desperate for something to fill you below. Jaehyun had handled you so easily, like a doll, lifting you up and holding you by the arms, kissing you, nuzzling his face into your breasts as you arranged yourself around him. At the slight contact your pussy makes with the velvety head of his cock, you moan, wiggling your hips back and forth to work the head of his cock between your folds.

He holds you up, not letting you sink down any closer until you groan in frustration.

“Jae just let me!” you scream, frustrated as you claw at his hands holding your body up.

He chuckles in response, beginning to lower you and you feel yourself stretch and spread around his invading length. Then, he lets go of your arms, gripping onto your ass instead as you whimper out in pain from the soreness of before. But that was the least on your mind, finally feeling in charge of fucking him and taking him inside. Every movement of your hips has you taking his cock deep into your pussy and Jaehyun grunts in delight, his hands pulling your body deeper around him.

“Fuck such a tight little princess.” He groans. His cock is huge, and hard, and it split you painfully, but the pain was just what you wanted, the perfect price for the pleasure you desired. He pulls your body towards him, his hands bringing you to his lips around your neck. Jaehyun took advantage of your busy mind, slowing the kiss down, drawing the moment out until you were leaning heavily against him, dizzy.

Your pussy was melting, your juices running down his shaft in an obscene display of need but you were loving it, the wicked sense of control you now had, doling out his pleasure as he moans and gasps simultaneously as you sink down on his cock.

However, when you’re only still half-ready, he begins to thrust up impatiently into you, burying his cock into your hilt and you break your kiss to sob. He was filling you, packing you with his length as you gasp, leaning your forehead against his, feeling so totally fucked and consumed by him.

"Sit up” he growls, " I want to see my cock going into you."

You groan at the dirtiness of his words but obey, pulling yourself up as you watch his eyes flick down to where you see yourself stretch in a tight ring around him.

“So perfectly made for me,” he grunts as you slide down. Jaehyun brings your breasts in his hands, finding your nipples and rolling them between his fingers slowly, pinching and increasing the pressure till you gasp, your pussy spasming around him involuntarily. Your vaginal muscles clench from the immense size, making its long journey in and out of his now conquered territory. “Keep going princess, show me how much you want me,” he growls.

You rise up again, feeling the sweet suck of his cock leaving you, then push back down against him, filling yourself up, grinding to rub your clit against his shaft. Jaehyun moans, sighs, and grunts with pleasure as you continue in a working rhythm, starving to feel his hot release into your pussy. His fingers still tugging at your nipples, bounced in his hands as he bounced on him. But your body grows exhausted soon after your first climax, unable to keep up the same pace as before.

“Fuck I c-cant,” your voice trails off, your thighs weakening as your legs were giving out in support.

Jaehyun doesn't miss his cue, his hand reaching for your ass and the other for your neck as he flips you over, you’re back hitting the sheets with a soft thud in the midst of everything.

“I got you baby.” He whispers, his cock still buried in your pussy as he nudges between your legs. He doesn't move, waiting for you to regain your breath as he gently holds your legs against the sheets, helping you calm down the tremoring of your muscles. “What colour?” he murmurs, pressing a gentle kiss on your forehead.

“Greenish-yellow,” you mumble, “just give me a second.” Jaehyun hums in response, waiting patiently for your response as he holds still inside of you. He nuzzles against your hair. You take a few more moments, breathing deeply before you’re ready, “green.”

He takes no time in returning back to his movements. He pushes your knees up to your shoulders, fucking you hard, deep and with brutal passion. You grip onto the surrounding bed sheets, his full length of his cock sliding in and out of you faster and harder than you could’ve achieved by riding him.

Jaehyun buries his face into the arch of your throat, peppering kisses into your flesh as you gasp out for air with every thrust. His lips trail along the side of your collar before wrapping around the skin, lightly suckling at it. He tugs at the thin skin between his teeth and you feel the slight pang of pain as he bites down softly. Nevertheless, he continues – sucking and biting as many hickeys he can into your skin, gripping onto your opposite shoulder and tilting your head for further access to your neck.

“Your mine now, all mine,” he murmurs against your skin, “whose are you princess?”

“Yours,” you squeak, voice coming out at a higher pitch than usual.

You can feel the building tension, feeling his cock knocking against your hilt as you move, your stomach bulging with his length. You grasp at him, trying to reach for his bicep which holds your knees up, wanting to tell him you were close, but you couldn't move, couldn't say anything. You can only lie there with your mouth agape, eyes shut as he continues to dive in.

“Fuck I’m going to cum.” He groans. But you were already drowning in your own torrent of orgasm, crushed by the relentless fucking and his deep grunts. You feel his cock throb intensely inside you before it begins to spit hot waves of cum into you.

He continues to fuck you as you come, your pussy milking his cock as he shoots into you again and again, his face now buried against your breasts. He was still thrusting as you come down from your high, his member deflating but still insisting in sliding in and out on the slippery bed of your mixed juices. Slowly, you float back into reality, your body still uncontrollably spasms as the thick cloud of ecstasy still clouds your mind.

“Jae n-no more,” you whimper, feeling him retreat from your sensitive walls as the overstimulated pain and displeasure kick in. Jaehyun listens immediately, moving his weight from you so his hovering over your sweaty figure, your hair sticking to your forehead.

“No more baby,” he tells you, his hand skimming over your waist and then to your belly. He pushes down lightly and you feel a rush of cum leak out and trail down to your ass. He climbs off, panting still as he rolls over beside you, bringing in your exhausted figure to his chest. Your clammy skin and his comforting presence washes over you as he runs his large hands over your back soothingly, whispering loving words.

The ringtone of a phone from the bedroom floor snaps Jaehyun out of his trance, and when he tries to move you cling onto his arm. “Don’t go,” you whine.

“I’m just going to answer the phone,” he coos, “I’m not leaving.” He places a soft kiss on your forehead before climbing off the bed to search for the source of noise in the pile of your thrown off clothes.

The ringing finally stops and you watch as you make out the outline of Jaehyun’s shadow placing the phone against his ear.

“Hello?” Jaehyun doesn't say anything else for a while, just listening to the person on the other side of the call while he runs a hand through his hair. You throw your head back against the pillow and sink further into the scented bed sheets when you realise who the caller is, letting out a muffled groan. “We’re coming back now.” _____

Feedback always welcome!

#nct smut #nct imagines #jaehyun smut #nct jaehyun #NCT-WRITERS #nct127 jaehyun #jaehyun x reader #nct #kpop smut #smut #nct scenarios #nct fanfics #jung jaehyun #nct127 #jaehyun imagines #nct x reader

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whumpmatsus · 3 years

Note

Why hello there new blog. 👀 I shall watch with interest. Would it be fine to ask for Karamatsu with a bad stomachache/similar?

hehe, I hope you enjoy watching!

and YES of course! God I'm such a Karamatsu girl 😩

We've got some of everything here, I think? Oops All Matsus! XD ... but the Choukeimatsu is definitely strong in this one haha

enjoooooy! <3

It’s kind of a given that in a house with six brothers in close quarters, anything one of them catches is going to end up running its way through all of them.

It’s… less of a given that Karamatsu is going to be the one who recovers last.

Most of the time he’s the first one to push through it, seemingly via sheer power of will because he wants to take care of the others. Or, at least, he’s not usually the one still down for the count when everyone else is on the mend.

This time around, he’s been curled up on the couch since all of them woke up this morning. They’re all feeling fine, while he’s apparently still feeling like crap.

He’s set himself up with a wastebasket nearby and he’s refused everything his brothers have tried to shove down his throat ― water, food, even medicine is turned away. They all might think he’s just being stubborn if not for the fact that he’s so clearly still sick. Regardless, they’ve stopped trying to offer since they know he isn’t going to take any of it.

As far as Karamatsu himself is concerned, if whatever sickness he’s got is going to kill him, he wishes it would hurry up and do so already. He doesn’t know how much more he can take. There’s an uncomfortable, cramping heat in his belly that’s constantly threatening to flip into something much worse. He’s been vomiting for a couple days now, on and off, like the rest of his brothers. Unlike them, however, it hasn’t gotten much better for him.

He tries so hard to be cool and unbothered. This is starting to worry him, though. How come everyone else is back to normal while he continues to struggle not to puke at the mere thought of plain rice?

For as much as Totty claims to hate germs, the youngest has been camping out next to the couch most of the morning, playing on his phone. It affords Karamatsu a view of the games Totty’s playing and the videos he’s watching; distractions as he tries to keep himself from tossing what little there is left to toss in his stomach. He isn’t sure whether or not Totty planned it that way, just that he’s grateful for something else to focus on other than the unbearable nausea.

“Heyyyy, Karamatsu-nii-san,” he suddenly speaks up, holding the phone closer to his miserable older brother’s line of sight. “What do you think of this pretty girl? Is her dress the right color for winter? It’s cute, but, I don’t know… I think maybe she would have looked better in blue…”

Now, Karamatsu isn’t sure what it is about the video clip Totty is showing him. It might be the bright lights in the background, or it might be the twirling motions the woman on the screen is making. Or, quite frankly, it might be nothing at all, since he feels so horrible.

But only a few seconds after he squints at the video clip, his stomach rebels against something. Although he wants to reply to his dearest younger brother, the second he parts his lips to give a clever retort, he feels his stomach clench. Saliva pools in his mouth, and he quickly raises a hand up to his face.

He swallows once. Twice. Three times. He tries to take a breath, in through his nose and out through his mouth like Choromatsu taught him. Nothing helps, because he ends up gagging anyway.

Immediately Totty yelps and launches himself away from the sofa. All the noise, particularly Karamatsu’s heaving, catches the attention of the rest of the sextuplets. Soon enough, someone has hurried over to hold the wastebasket beneath him, and someone else is using what feels like all their strength to help prop him over it so he doesn’t miss.

A brief glance up reveals that the one holding him is Jyushimatsu ― of course, he’s the most coordinated of them all ― and Choromatsu is playing trashcan jockey. Karamatsu’s head swims again, and that small motion is all that’s needed for his stomach to protest again. He retches a few times before whatever is left, which can’t be much at this point, splatters into the can.

“Totty!” he can hear Choromatsu scolding the youngest. “W-what the hell was that for?!”

“What was what for?!” Totty retorts. “I was trying to cheer him up! It’s not my fault!”

Ichimatsu snickers from his spot in the corner. “Che, so you made Shittymastu sick by trying to help. Sounds about right for you.”

“Excuse me?! You take that back or I’ll post that video of you being a drunk asshole online so everyone can laugh at my big, dumb brother!”

“HEY!” It’s Osomatsu who quiets the entire room with one sharp word. He’s knelt next to the couch, one hand trying to keep Karamatsu’s hair out of his face. “Would you guys all shut the fuck up? For God’s sakes, let the poor bastard puke in peace! The last thing he needs is to hear you douches arguing while he’s giving the trashcan a new coat of paint!”

For his part, Karamatsu appreciates his older brother standing up for him when he’s unable to do so himself. It’s just a little hard to convey that when his body is trying to bring up everything he’s eaten ever in his life.

It hurts, too. The sensation in his stomach is tight now, painful like there’s a knife stuck in his middle. Every gag makes a stabbing, all-over pain spiderweb through his whole body. As if he’s made of porcelain and something is repeatedly making cracks.

Finally he thinks it should be over, because nothing else is coming up. He shudders and heaves and it doesn’t produce anything other than an uncomfortable ache in his throat. Honesty, his entire body is aching now.

He lets out a few ragged breaths before slumping back onto the sofa, predictably pulled into a more-careful-than-usual Jyushimatsu hug. “It’s okay, Karamatsu-nii-san! I’ve got you!!”

“Aaah.” Karamatsu lifts his hand and places it, shaking, on his little brother’s head to praise him for a job well done. “Jyushimatsu… I’ll leave it to you… to tell my Karamatsu girls… I loved them…”

He hears Ichimatsu scoff. “You should be more worried that you were puking without puking than your nonexistent fangirls, you dumbass.”

“Yeah, that was weird,” Osomatsu agrees. “You heard that too, Ichimatsu?”

“Mhm. It almost made me want to hurl again.”

“Yeah… he should be better by now. I mean, we’re all fine. And he hasn’t been eating, so it’s not like there’s anything left in there. What’s his stupid body trying to throw up? His Goddamn kidneys?”

Karamatsu hears Choromatsu groan. “Oh, my God, you guys are disgusting!” When Karamatsu looks up, the third eldest is hovering over him with a concerned expression. “Ah… they… might be right, though. Karamatsu-nii-san… you’re just as sick as we all were at the beginning of this. It doesn’t seem like you’ve improved like we have. How… do you feel now? Any better since you threw up?”

He tries to laugh. It comes out sounding more like a sob, though. “N… no…” It feels like even too deep a breath will tip the scale on his nausea and cause another avalanche. “I’m… I’m dizzy… it still hurts.”

“A-ah, gosh…” Choromatsu’s hand sets lightly against Karamatsu’s cheek, then neck, and if his face is any indicator, he doesn’t like what he feels. “You’ve… still got a fever. And you’re sweating and lightheaded and… still throwing up. Shit.”

He moves his hand to gently card through his big brother’s hair as if trying to reassure him. “Karamatsu-nii-san… d-do you think you could make it to the doctor? If we helped you?”

That’s not an idea he enjoys entertaining. Having to get up off the couch, bundle up in a coat, ride the train… it sounds so exhausting. He’s already tired. But… if Choromatsu is even bringing it up, he must think it’s a better idea than Karamatsu continuing to try and recover on the couch.

He manages a nod. “Sure… sure, if you help me.”

“Great.” Choromatsu straightens up and heads for the door. “I’ll go call the office and see if they can get you an appointment today. If they can, I’ll go with you, and…” He surveys the rest of the room. “… I’d prefer at least onemore person go with us, just in case.”

“Yeah, I’ll go, no problem.” The eldest’s voice is one Karamatsu didn’t expect to hear, though maybe he should have. Osomatsu is still lingering on the floor next to him, taking the spot where Totty was, and, now that Karamatsu thinks about it, he can feel his older brother gently rubbing his shoulder. “… Do you think maybe we should try to force him to drink something, too? You can’t survive without water, right?”

Choromatsu sighs; not necessarily because it’s one more thing to add to the list, but it sounds like he’s just worried. He probably doesn’t want to force one of his brothers to do anything ― especially one of his big brothers, and especially when said big brother is already so sick. “I mean… yeah, it’s not good that he hasn’t had anything to drink today, and not much in the last few days. Throwing up so much is probably making him dehydrated… which, stupidly enough, can make him throw up more.”

Osomatsu hums in thought and gives Karamatsu’s shoulder a small squeeze to get his attention. “Hey, Karamatsu. Do you think you could handle some tea?”

“Really weak tea,” Choromatsu hurries to clarify. “You’re not supposed to drink anything too intense after throwing up.”

Karamatsu shuts his eyes in a desperate bid to avoid the worried, pleading faces of his brothers looking back at him. Just thinking about anything going into his body and sliding down his throat right now makes his stomach swirl viciously.

He feels Jyushimatsu hug him a little tighter, which doesn’t help matters. “Aww, please, Karamatsu-nii-san! You can drink some tea for your little brother, right? Riiiiight?”

A groan is what he gets in response, though the giggling suggests he isn’t too broken up about it.

His hair is brushed back, and stroked through a few times. “Well,” Osomatsu says softly, “how about for your big brother, then?”

After a moment of thought, Karamatsu lets out a whimper, leaning his head closer that way in an obvious attempt for more affection. “I… suppose I do only have one older brother, after all…”

He hears Choromatsu chuckle by the door. “Good, good. I’ll make some, then. We’ll try not to make you drink too much… and… I’ll call the doctor while I boil water for it. Hopefully they can fit you in. In the meantime, just, um… try to rest, alright?”

At the very least, he doesn’t have to tell Karamatsu twice. The second eldest relaxes, keeping his eyes shut. He hears Osomatsu quietly urge Jyushimatsu to switch positions, and he scoots himself up onto the couch. Somehow he manages to pull Karamatsu into his lap, letting his younger brother curl up against his stomach.

“Hey, there. It’s okay. Big brother’s gotcha, Kara.” A careful touch runs up and down Karamatsu’s back, bringing the slightest sense of relief. “Get some sleep.”

Then Osomatsu pauses, and with a laugh he adds, “Just… warn me if you’re gonna puke again, okay?”

#Osomatsu san #whump #Karamatsu #vomiting #fever #Osomatsu #Choromatsu #Ichimatsu #Jyushimatsu #Totty #aaaaaaaa tHEY'RE ALL TRYING sort of #one single effort was collectively made XD

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slepyicarus · 2 years

Text

Separated

Tags: Feeling of Isolation, sad nostalgia for Mc (Icarus), depression symptoms, unhealthy coping mechanism (overworking), could be counted as angst and like always bad english/gramma

Story+bonus painting under the cut

On nights like this were always the hardest for Icarus since arriving in the Devildom. He was having a long, lonely shift at the astrology tower. All of his co-workers which made the tower a lively and happy place had already gone home leaving only his table near the window still lonely lit by candles for his work. The brothers, normally texting him from time to time to tell him what he is missing while he works and to remember his breaks, only send him apologetic texts. Saying that they won’t make it to walk him home, come to dinner that night as well as telling him not to wait up for them as they would likely arrive when its time for him to get up again. They didn’t know what day it was for their beloved exchange student. Not that he would tell them. He knew they would flock around him to make sure he doesn’t dwell on his negative emotions and the thoughts that follow them like a shadow. Rather he did the same thing he always frowned about with the eldest brother to drown out his negative emotions like the hypocrite he was: he was avoiding his thoughts and feelings by concentrating on his work. It helped him distracted himself from thinking of his best friend Luna, the one human he truly missed and thought of as his twin baby sister. He gave her the Nickname ‘Luna’ as a way to show her that she was his light, his moon, in the darkness that his life had been.

Usually at this time Icarus would sit with her on the couch of her living room with some movie in the background for noise while chatting and eating all the snacks in the house the two of them could get their hands on. He would swat her hand away from her neatly wrapped present with the big bow she always smiled about and playfully scold her that it was not yet midnight. She would pout and say something along the lines of “Just a peak!” or “Come one! It’s nearly my birthday!” which would only result in them laughing and waking the hunting dogs her family owned in the process.

The timer he used when working alone to alert him that his 1 hour of work is over went off on his lavender DDD, reminding him to stretch and take a short 10 minute break before continuing to work.

Sighing softly he turned the chiming device off, capped his pen, a gift for his birthday, which past just barely over two months ago, in the Devildom by Lucifer in its holder. Slowly getting up to stretch the aching away he hadn’t noticed began setting into his back, wings and right wrist he looked around the usually busy and never silent room. Every table used by one of the other demons he worked with had been personalized to be their space, contrasting the deep purple walls and dark wooden flooring. Most had pictures and trinkets from their loved ones sitting on them, some of those he had grown close with even had a gift from himself on them. It was small things he gave his co-workers like a new holder for their pen or a mug he made. Most larger ones would be giving to one of the 7 demon lords he lived with for a bit over a year now. Some others had gone to one of the angels, the sorcercer or even the prince and his butler. It helped lift his mood a bit seeing how those few he bounded with had been careful not to damage his little gifts but it reminded him soon off all the sleepless nights and busy days he prepared countless of gifts for his Luna, his kith for more then ten years.

It had gotten to a point where the two of them joked about his habit of constantly crafting gifts exclusively for her. “I’m tell you! If I continue making stuff for you only all the time, everything you own will be made by my hand in two years!”, he joked earning one of the laughs she reserved for his antics. “Well I will honor them at least! So its best they all land in my care, Ruri!”, Luna responds making them both laugh.

Before the exchange program it was one of his favorite memories, but now when he felt lonely thanks to it in the quiet of the Devildom night. It also made the young half-demon many questions. Did she miss him like he did her? Was she worried when he disappeared without a trace, knowing that it was something he never do? Did she think he was kidnapped and murdered to be buried somewhere in nowhere? Had she mourned for him? Did she move on and forget about him?' How was her health nowadays? Is she eating like she is supposed to? Would she resent or hate him for never contacting her even tho he found a way to connect to the human internet..?

Without a way to distracted himself he could only think about everything and nothing resulting in him beginning to spiral in his emotions until the next timer chimed. The chime was a piece that he had recorded while the Avatar of Pride played for him a few months prior. A happy memory that always triggered in his mind when he heard that chime now, a saving grace. 'I have to thank Lucifer again for it I get the chance..maybe getting him a rare cursed vinyl with Barbatos help would be appropriate..'

Quickly taking his by now empty tea pot Icarus moved across the room to the pantry the tower had installed after he prince agreed to letting the exchange student work there so he wouldn't start to think too much again. Starting the electric kettle to heat the water rather then using his magic, like every other normal demon would, Icarus started preparing his tea the way his, by demon adoption how he called it, older brother Barbatos showed him.

He waited for his water to reach about 80°C and poured the water in his teapot carefully. After placing the kettle back on it’s place he would take his tea container from his shelf to add his favorite kind of green tea leaves into the teapot. Putting his DDD's timer to three minutes and starting it, the sloth demon carefully carried the teapot as well as his lavender devilbee honey and hellberries back to his work table to only put the teapot on the cat themed teapot warmer Satan had gifted Icarus. Soon the timer chimed again making the young half-demon fish out the steeped leaves for later re-use and added his honey along the hellberries.

He sighed again. Tea was another thing making him remember his old life. Most of his human relatives preferred tea over beverages like coffee or hot chocolate, him and Luna included. Now it was a good way for him to bond with Barbatos, another tea lover as well as an expert, but also a hint of who he were before the summoning. Thankfully for the young half-demon Barbatos replaced a lot of his old tea related memories with new ones the two demons made. Along with pouring himself a cup of tea Icarus put the cardigan of his demon over his chair's back. He picked up the purple cup and walked over to the window next to his table looking to watch the stars a bit. The cool glass feeling pleasant against his arching wing base and the pact marks around them.

It was a clear night with no cloud to over shadow the beauty of his carefully crafted night. No wind disturbed the plants near the base of the tower making it silent other then the occasional sound a beast of his new home made. From the Tower window Icarus could see the countless lights in the homes of denizens all around the Devildom turn off while the demon castle stayed illuminated in soft purple light.

“Sleeping such a beautiful night away..”, he muttered to while sipping on his tea. Two stars representing his kith and himself, in a familiar way the Twin Stars represent Beelzebub and Belphegor, shining brightly down on him as he felt the melancholy set back in. Icarus made the night to be like breath taking on this day so he could see her star shine down on him, his own star shining in harmony with hers. The young half-demon made it so at the very least in the night sky which he ever so careful crafted in the Devildom they were still close. Like in the time he though demons and angels were just creatures in books and the fairy tales his mother told him.

Continuing to sipping on his tea he let two stars fall like the tears he couldn’t shed anymore on the chime his clock told him it was midnight and time to continue his work as the for his fellow denizens and prince. Quietly he whispered into the lonely night before returning to his desk

“Happy 20th Birthday, my Moon. I hope it is a happy one even if I’m not able to be there with you to celebrate it with you..”

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

aaaaaah its done. this took me so long to finish. Have this painting i made for this

obligatory tag as @obeythedemons said he wanted to see the finished piece! Excuse the toaster quality, the og file was 159MB to big sooooo screenshot it is F you tumblr let me upload bigger files, 179mb is not that big for a picture!

#this story has refrences of how my personal depression is sometimes #remember folks #depression is diffrent for each patient #obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me mc #mc!icarus #icarus #slepy wrote something #also tumblr let me post ffs #i really have to post on my phone and edit on my c #*pc

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brezchez · 3 years

Text

~~~

Feelings

Logicality, High School AU 💙🖤

~~~

TW: None

Pairing(s): Logicality, background Prinxiety

Word Count: 2,016

Logan stared at Patton as he worked away with his math homework. He was biting the tip of his pencil, staring down at his book focused and concentrated. A few strands of his soft, caramel curls fell down in front of his slipping glasses and as he pushed them back up, Logan refrained from brushing them out of the way himself. He felt his face getting warmer and warmer the longer he stared at the boy opposite him and his heart skipped a beat when Patton tilted his head. Perhaps Virgil and Roman were right; was he able to feel emotions after all?

Finally realizing how long he had been staring for, Logan quickly snapped himself out his trance, readjusted his tie and glasses and resumed with the task at hand.....only to be distracted once again a few moments later. Patton's hand was outstretched on the table, just within in reaching distance for Logan to place his on it. It was dusted with freckles, just like his face and Logan so desperately wanted to hold it, but no. They were both meant to be doing work, and that was what he should have been focusing on. So, he would focus on that for now.

***

"Thanks for the study session again today Logan! And thank you so much for helping me with that last question, I really couldn't get my head around it!" Patton laughed as he packed his bag, getting ready to leave.

"You're most welcome Patton. Although I do have to inquire how you would be able to 'wrap your head around something'. Your head is not flexible enough to be able to move-" he was cut off by a delicate touch to his lips.

"Remember, Lo; it's just a figure of speech," Patton giggled. He found it adorable how literally Logan took things and although most found it aggravating, he didn't mind and personally found it hilarious.

"Oh, yeah. Right," Logan replied, unconsciously blushing furiously. Patton quickly lowered his finger from the two soft lines they were once planted on. Logan expected him to move, but he didn't and he instead stayed rooted to the spot, as he stared curiously into the mocha brown eyes walled by a pair Warby Parker glasses. He felt Patton's cornflower blue eyes glide along his face where they eventually rested on his lips. His gaze flickered between Logan's eyes and his lips and he began to lean in ever...so...slightly...

"Y-You should get going now. It's getting dark." Patton's eyes widened and his eyes followed Logan's finger which pointed to the window. As he turned away for a small moment, Logan scrunched up his face, annoyed at himself for interrupting what could have been the highlight of his evening, of his life.

"Yeah. I guess I should," he said, an underlying tone of sadness was masked behind his bubbly response, "See ya tomorrow Lo-Lo!"

"S-see you."

***

"God, what was I thinking?" Logan thought out loud, getting Roman and Virgil's attention. They were sitting next to each other in front of Logan and turned around when they heard his exasperated complain. He told them what happened the night before and of course their reactions were exactly what he predicted them to be.

'You idiot!' 'Why would you stop it?!' 'Are you crazy?' 'But you were so close!' were only some of the responses.

"I dunno Lo? What were you thinking? You had a golden opportunity right there. You could have started off something amazing, but no. You just had to ruin it, didn't ya bud?"

"Now, now, now Virge. That's only gonna make him feel worse. Can't you see he's already upset with himself enough as he is?" Roman slung his arm around his boyfriend's shoulders and gestured to Logan. He was staring sadly at Patton, who was sitting a few desks away, doodling in his notebook. Virgil looked at his friend sympathetically and immediately regret what he had said.

"You're right. Sorry Logan."

Logan turned his head, nodded then smiled at Virgil, indicating that he accepted his apology before averting his gaze down to the desk.

"I want to be with him, I really do. But I just do not believe that I am able to provide him with everything he wants or needs. For starters, we're complete opposites. He's very emotional, and joyful and happy and jubilant, whereas I, on the other hand, feel nothing. Alexithymia is a figurative curse. And Patton deserves someone who is a better match to him. He deserves someone who can give him the world. That someone is clearly not me," he said, his voice stained with sorrow and sadness. Roman and Virgil looked at each other, their eyes full of pity for their closest friend. They all quickly glanced over to the boy Logan pined for, who didn't seem to notice them, and that's when Roman had had enough.

"Okay Logan. That's it," he said in a voice that was stern and loud, but quiet enough for only just the three of them to hear, "You say that you can't feel emotions, right?"

Logan was caught slightly off-guard by Roman's sudden outburst.

"W-well yes. I have told you this time and time aga-"

"Well, how do you feel when you're around Patton?"

"What?"

"How do you feel when you're around Patton?" Roman repeated. Logan stared at him for a moment, turned to Patton, and then back round to his friends.

"I....I don't know....I've never really...."

"Do you feel happy when you're around him?" Roman asked as he winked at Virgil, whose eyebrows were raised in confusion.

"Yes" Logan replied, slowly.

"Do you feel sad when you see him crying or down?"

"Yes"

"Do you feel scared when he is in danger or trouble?"

"Yes"

"Disgusted when other girls are hitting on him? Angry when people make him upset?"

"Well, y-yes I don't know what you're implying Roman."

Virgil, who had now caught onto what his boyfriend was doing, rolled his eyes and they both said in unison,

"You have feelings for him."

"What do you-" Logan's eyes widened in realisation. Virgil and Roman smiled at each other.

Roman cocked his eyebrow, "So? What you gonna do about it?"

***

Logan and Patton were studying with each other again but now Logan was unusually more nervous than he had ever been with Patton before. He twiddled his fingers and struggled not to stare at the boy opposite him.

"Hey Logan?" Patton asked, his eyes still directed at his paper, "Can you help me with this question please?"

Logan shuffled his chair over to Patton and took a look at the problem. It was a question about algebra - Patton's weakest point in math. Pointing to the paper with his pen, he explained the question and what techniques he could've used to solve it. He became so engrossed in his own conversation that he didn't notice Patton fixated on his face, paying no attention at all to what he was saying; he just listened to the velvety texture of his voice. As he finished the question, Logan raised his face, only to be met with Patton so ridiculously close to his. He felt his face heating up and leaned back quickly to stop any and all attempts he had to seize Patton's face and cover it with kisses.

"I-I'm sorry I should stop getting so up close to you. I really don't mean to. I can see that you're getting uncomfortable," Patton looked away and laughed awkwardly. Logan caught sight of this, and his heart ached at the thought that he made Patton uncomfortable, when it was in actual fact vice versa, but for good reason. He closed his books and picked up his bag.

"Thank you again for the study session Logan. I can see that I've been making you uneasy for the past few days when we do homework together. I really don't know what's come over me," he said in a quiet voice. Logan looked at him with sad eyes, fearing what he would say next.

"I........I understand if you...don't want to carry on with these anymore," Patton stood up from the table, "But I just want you to know that I loved doing this with you and that you are the best teacher I've ever had." He forced a smile then turned to walk away from the door.

Logan opened his mouth to say something, but no noise came out. He watched silently as Patton moved further away from him, seeing his last chance of happiness slipping through his fingers once again.

'So? What are you gonna do about it?'

The voice in his head yanked him forwards and he grabbed Patton's wrist, just as he was about to open the door. Patton reacted quickly to the contact, turning around, his eyes widened.

"I um..." Patton's eyebrows were raised in anticipation as Logan struggled to get his words out. He shook like a leaf and moved his grip from Patton's wrist to his hands, still staring at the ground in fear that if he looked into those blue marbles again, he'd get lost in its endless maze, and never find a way out.

It was now or never.

"Patton," Logan cleared his throat and his pulse started to quicken, "It has come to my attention, with the ever reluctant help of Roman and Virgil, that I um.....I have feelings...for.....you. Well, it was only implied by them. Frankly I don't know what these feelings are, and I never knew that I had any. Emotions are a.....complicated concept." He slowly lifted his gaze from off of the floor and raised his head. As soon as he met his gaze, their eyes were instantly locked and Logan softly gripped Patton's hand.

"But.....whenever we're apart I always have this unknown urge to be near you again. I constantly want to be by your side, and......even when we are together I don't feel like we are close enough."

Patton opened his mouth to say something but was quickly cut off by Logan; he hadn't finished and wanted to get everything out first before it all went down the figurative drain.

"And about what you said earlier: you could never make me uncomfortable and I apologize if I made you feel uneasy in any way. My responses to you, my stuttering, my nervousness, was all due to the fact that I, allegedly, had feelings for you. These moments with you, I cherish, because.....I love being with you. You make me feel.......emotions," Logan looked down and furrowed his eyebrows as he realized that what Roman and Virgil had said was in fact all true and he was.....

In love with Patton.

He looked back up and saw Patton, beaming at him. A few tears stained his cheeks, which made Logan worry.

"Patton? Are you okay? Why are you crying? Was it something I said?" He lifted his hand to his cheek to wipe away the tears. Patton held it as Logan stroked it softly.

"Yes. Yes it was something you said," he replied and Logan's expression became even more troubled. He widened his eyes as Patton rolled his, "But not in that way."

Patton swiftly placed one of his hands on Logan's cheek and the other on his tie and pulled them both simultaneously. Their lips connected and Logan's eyes widened in surprise, but soon closed as he sunk into the kiss, his hands finding their way to Patton's neck and waist. He felt him tug harder on his tie, pulling him deeper into the kiss, both his hands now around Patton's waist, and Patton's fingers tangled themselves in his chocolate locks. Patton eventually pulled away first and Logan couldn't help but feel a small sense of anger, sadness and lust as he reluctantly pulled away too. Patton released a relieved laugh, their foreheads touching and Logan smiled.

"Is this..." he began and Patton looked up at him, "Is this......love?" Logan stared innocently, like a puppy, into Patton's kind eyes.

Patton replied, "Yes, yes it is," and he eagerly pulled Logan back in for one more tender kiss.

#aaagggghh im making myself mushy at my own fanfic :3 #sanders sides #fanfic #logicality #prinxiety #fluff #high school au #one shot

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the-cheese-writes · 3 years

Text

Feelings ~ Logicality

(With background Prinxiety)

TW: None

Word Count: 2032

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

Logan stared at Patton as he worked away with his math homework. He was biting the tip of his pencil and staring down at his book focused and concentrated. A few strands of his soft, caramel curls fell down in front of his slipping glasses and as he pushed them back up, Logan refrained from brushing them out of the way himself. He felt his face getting warmer and warmer the longer he stared at the boy opposite him and his heart skipped a beat when Patton tilted his head. Perhaps Virgil and Roman were right; was he able to feel emotions after all?

"Remember, Lo; it's just a figure of speech," Patton giggled. He found it adorable how literally Logan took things and though most found it aggravating, he didn't mind and personally found it hilarious.

"Oh, yeah. Right," Logan replied, unconsciously blushing furiously. Patton quickly lowered his finger from the two soft lines they were once planted on. Logan expected the boy in front of him to move, but he didn't and he instead stayed rooted to the spot, as he stared curiously into the mocha brown eyes walled by a pair Warby Parker glasses. He felt Patton's cornflower blue eyes glide along his face where they eventually rested on his lips. Patton's gaze flickered between Logan's eyes and his lips and he began to lean in ever...so...slightly...

"Y-You should get going now. It's getting dark."

Patton's eyes widened and his gaze followed Logan's finger which pointed to the window. As he turned away for a small moment, Logan scrunched up his face, annoyed at himself for interrupting what could have been the highlight of his evening, of his life.

"Yeah. I guess I should," he said, an underlying tone of sadness was masked behind his bubbly response, "See ya tomorrow Lo-Lo!"

"S-see you."

***

'You idiot!' 'Why would you stop it?!' 'Are you crazy?' 'But you were so close!' were only some of the responses.

"I dunno Lo? What were you thinking? You had a golden opportunity right there. You could have started off something amazing, but no. You just had to ruin it, didn't ya bud?"

"Now, now, now Virge. That's only gonna make him feel worse. Can't you see he's already upset with himself enough as he is?" Roman slung his arm around his boyfriend's shoulders and gestured to Logan, staring sadly at Patton, who was sitting a few desks away, doodling in his notebook. Virgil looked at his friend sympathetically and immediately regret what he had said.

"You're right. Sorry Logan."

Logan turned his head, nodded then smiled at Virgil, indicating that he accepted his apology before averting his gaze down to the desk.

"Okay Logan. That's it," he said in a voice that was stern and loud, but quiet enough for only just the three of them to hear, "You say that you can't feel emotions, right?"

Logan was caught slightly off-guard by Roman's sudden outburst.

"W-well yes. I have told you this time and time aga-"

"Well, how do you feel when you're around Patton?"

"What?"

"How do you feel when you're around Patton?" Roman repeated. Logan stared at him for a moment, turned to Patton, and then back round to his friends.

"I....I don't know....I've never really...."

"Do you feel happy when you're around him?" Roman asked as he winked at Virgil, whose eyebrows were raised in confusion.

"Yes," Logan replied, slowly.

"Do you feel sad when you see him crying or down?"

"Yes."

"Do you feel scared when he is in danger or trouble?"

"Yes."

"Disgusted when other girls are hitting on him? Angry when people make him upset?"

"Well, y-yes I don't know what you're implying Roman."

Virgil, who had now caught onto what his boyfriend was doing, rolled his eyes and they both said in unison, "You have feelings for him."

"What do you-" Logan's eyes widened in realisation. Virgil and Roman smiled at each other.

Roman cocked his eyebrow, "So? What're you gonna do about it?"

***

"Hey Logan?" Patton asked, his eyes still directed at his paper, "Can you help me with this question please?"

Logan shuffled his chair over to Patton and took a look at the problem. It was a question about algebra - Patton's weakest point in maths. Pointing to the paper with his pen, he explained the question and what techniques he could've used to solve it. He became so engrossed in his own conversation that he didn't notice Patton fixated on his face, paying no attention at all to what he was saying; he just listened to the velvety texture of his voice. As he finished the question, Logan looked up, only to be met with Patton so ridiculously close to his. He felt his face heating up and leaned back quickly to stop any and all attempts he had to seize Patton's face and cover it with kisses.

"I-I'm sorry. I should stop getting so up close to you. I can see that you're getting uncomfortable. I really don't know what's come over me," Patton looked away and laughed awkwardly. Logan caught sight of this, and his heart ached at the thought that he made Patton uncomfortable, when it was in actual fact vice versa, but for good reason. He closed his books and picking up his bag.

"Thank you again for the study session Logan. I can see that I've been making you uneasy for the past few days when we do homework together," he said in a quiet voice. Logan looked at him with sad eyes, fearing what he would say next.

"I.....I understand if you...don't want to carry on with these anymore," Patton stood up from the table, "But I just want you to know that I loved doing this with you and that you are the best teacher I've ever had." He forced a smile then turned to walk away from the door.

Logan opened his mouth to say something, but no noise came out. He watched silently as Patton moved further away from him, seeing his last chance of happiness slipping through his fingers once again.

'So? What're you gonna do about it?'

The voice in his head yanked him forwards and he grabbed Patton's wrist, just as he was about to open the door. Patton reacted quickly to the contact, turning around with his eyes widened.

It was now or never.

"But.....whenever we're apart I always have this unknown urge to be near you again. I constantly want to be by your side, and......even when we are together I don't feel like we are close enough."

Patton opened his mouth to say something but was quickly cut off by Logan; he hadn't finished and wanted to get everything out first before it all went down the metaphorical drain.

Logan looked down and furrowed his eyebrows as he realized that what Roman and Virgil had said was in fact all true and he was.....

In love with Patton.

He looked back up and saw Patton, beaming at him. A few tears stained his cheeks, which made Logan worry.

"Patton? Are you okay? Why are you crying? Was it something I said?" He lifted his hand to his cheek to wipe away the tears. Patton held it as Logan stroked it softly.

"Yes. Yes it was something you said," he replied and Logan's expression became even more troubled. He widened his eyes as Patton rolled his.

"But not in that way."

In one swift, smooth motion, Patton placed one of his hands on Logan's cheek and the other on his tie and pulled them both simultaneously. Their lips connected and Logan's eyes widened in surprise, but soon closed as he sunk into the kiss, his hands finding their way to Patton's neck and waist. He felt him tug harder on his tie, pulling him deeper into the kiss, both his hands now around Patton's waist, and Patton's fingers tangled themselves in his chocolate locks. Patton eventually pulled away first and Logan couldn't help but feel a small sense of anger, sadness and lust as he reluctantly pulled away too.

Patton released a relieved laugh, their foreheads touching and Logan smiled.

"Is this..." he began and Patton looked up at him, "Is this......love?" Logan stared innocently, like a puppy, into Patton's kind eyes.

Patton replied, "Yes, yes it is," and he eagerly pulled Logan back in for one more tender kiss.

●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●

Awwww I'm getting mushy at my own fanfic :3

I didn't think it was fair to have so much angst in my previous one shot, especially with the situation regarding Patton and Logan in that AU, so here's a fluffier story. I hope you enjoyed!

~ Bre

#sanders sides #sanders sides fanfic #fanfic #logicality #logan sanders #patton sanders #fluff #gay #brewrites

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keeroo92 · 3 years

Text

Be My Nightmare Ch18

The Hunt

Word count - 5,487

Quick shout out to @just-another-art-dump for all her help with brainstorming and beta reading the last section. You are a goddess!

Warnings for violence, murder and some yummy spice. Enjoy!

~~~~Previous Chapter~~~~

--------

V blinked to clear away the sleepiness lingering in his mind. A thick haze of confusion gave him pause; did he have another episode? Where was he? He blinked again, forcing his eyes to focus on his surroundings.

The room was one he recognized instantly. Dark blue walls, posters of rock bands and action films tacked up in places. Splashes of light peeked past the old curtains hanging over a two-paned window. The familiar bookshelf, still messily stuffed with comics and tattoo books, right beside a small desk littered with needles, tubes and other accoutrements.

Nero’s bedroom, untouched since his death. His heart sank. Of all the places to find himself…

The artist took a shaky breath and tried to clear the cobwebs clinging to the rafters of his mind. Last he recalled, he was evading capture and bearing a fresh gunshot wound. Foggy, half-formed images danced in his memory of walking, lovely red on his hands and the hem of his pants, his own blood oozing lazily from his thigh.

As if thinking of it made it manifest, pain rocketed up his leg, fiery and unrelenting. He gasped and brought his hands to press the ache away. Was he still bleeding? How long had he been out? Panic teased at him for a beat before his palms registered the bandage and his missing pants.

What in the world…?

The pain slid into background noise as he carefully shifted his weight and sat up, panning his gaze until he found the culprit of his treatment.

Hot damn, how the hell did she find us?!

“Excellent question,” he croaked.

You weren’t awake yet, and faint streaks of scarlet coated your arms as if you tried to wash his blood off but gave up halfway. Hair a mess, clothing wrinkled and a hint of drool hanging from your lips, he’d never seen you so unkempt.

Good, she’s sleeping. Make a break for it, Van Gogh!

Blue feathers swept past his vision but vanished a heartbeat later. He licked his lips. “I doubt walking is wise for now, let alone ‘making a break for it.’”

Fine, but at least strangle her. She’ll only get in the way.

He rolled his eyes. “You do realize she probably saved my life, right?”

Well… I guess. Fine, don’t kill her but don’t let your guard down.

The artist hummed and Griffon made no further comment. Good enough.

He gritted his teeth and forced his aching body to move closer to you. Shadows hung beneath your eyes and he spotted the remains of yesterday’s makeup, nearly invisible with your hair draped over your cheek. He gently brushed it aside.

Your eyes shot open, instantly alert and aware. “You’re awake… How do you feel?”

“I’ve been better,” he replied with a wry grin. “I’ve also been worse.”

The bed rustled as you sat up and tucked your unruly hair behind your ears, a slight frown turning your lips. “Let me get you something for the pain, one sec.”

Once again summoned by his awareness, he winced as a bolt of agony pulsed up to his hip. By the time it faded, your palm held out two white tablets and a glass of water.

“Drink slowly,” you said. He obeyed.

An oddly heavy silence hung between you as he lowered the glass. Unspoken words, questions and answers alike searching for the right way to surface. None broke free from their cages of closed lips as you checked his pulse, your touch more medical than personal.

He hated it.

“How did you find me?” the artist blurted.

“You don’t remember? Follow with your eyes, not your head,” you replied, one finger drifting this way and that in his sight. He restrained the urge to bat it away. “You sent me a message.”

You goddamned idiot.

There was no arguing against the truth. He didn’t remember considering sending a message, let alone addressing it to you. It was a miracle it didn’t end up in the inbox of a stranger.

Still. You could’ve turned him in. After the way he fled your apartment, it would’ve made sense. He took another small sip of water.

“You came even after what happened. Why?”

The finger lowered. Lips pursed, you gave him an indecipherable look. He watched the wheels behind your hazel irises turn; toward what result, he couldn’t say. Regardless, he reveled in watching your intelligence at work.

“Do you remember what you said to my dad? That you loved me?”

His lips twitched. This didn’t bode well. “Yes.”

There, he spotted a twinge of uncertainty in your brow. Worry in the set of your mouth, vulnerability in the wideness of your eyes. “Did you mean it?”

I TOLD you that was a foolish idea.

Vergil’s words barely registered; V’s mind was already spinning, struggling to find an answer. At the time, he thought it was the best way to get your father to behave. By staking a claim to you, he established his willingness to defend you. He hadn’t considered whether the words held weight. The answer you wanted now was obvious, and to voice it would all but guarantee your allegiance. It was simple.

And yet so complicated.

Do I love her? What does love even mean?

Throughout history, love held innumerable definitions. The word was constantly evolving, shifting to encompass more variations than before. The greatest and most enduring tales ever told centered on it, and not a soul on earth could deny its influence. Monuments and cathedrals stood testament to its strength, and endless words written across the centuries praised or cursed its existence.

Love defined humanity.

Yet how could he know if this was it? What did romantic love feel like? How did one classify such an intangible concept? So many tried, and many more to come. Perhaps the nature of love was variable; why else would everyone have a different idea of what it meant?

Love, like art, must be subjective.

So what is it to me?

“I…” the artist murmured.

His path led the same way with or without you, but he preferred the former. When he knew you’d see the product of his work, its quality improved. You saturated his thoughts, scrawled your name across the walls of his mind with a messiness only doctors managed.

Your presence eased his nerves, and no other came close to matching your intellect. A worthy opponent for mind games and machinations, you never failed to amaze him with your ability to force his hand. You protected him and gave him shelter when he needed it most, and not once did you demand he change his methods. You respected his views. In time, you might even share them.

You challenged him, irritated him, turned him on and gave him hope that he may yet escape the cold embrace of loneliness.

And most of all, there was the inexplicable desire to answer your question with truth instead of manipulation. He didn’t want to tell you he meant what he said just to coerce you into being his. Surely that indicated something?

This isn’t a question I can answer in a single word.

V sighed and met your lovely eyes at last, his response as well-reasoned as he could manage. “I’m not sure. It’s… it’s difficult for me to care for someone, it’s been many years since I tried.”

He paused to lick his lips and assemble another sentence. The answer you wanted remained out of his reach, and he refused to give you the one that would serve his plans best. All he offered was the truth.

Even so, it stung to see the half-hidden disappointment on your face.

“But there’s something there I can’t explain. I just don’t understand the feeling, so I can’t name it,” he concluded. A chorus of pained groans echoed in his mind.

All you had to say was yes! What the hell is WRONG with you, do you want her to stick around or not?!

You sighed and shifted your weight. He didn’t dare to comment further.

“I think I understand. It… it scares me sometimes, but I can’t deny that I care about you anymore. I can’t keep hiding.”

V released a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. His heart was pounding, a giddy desire to laugh tickling his throat. Impulse took the reins, and he watched in wonder as his hand moved to take yours.

“You never have to hide again,” he whispered.

~~~~Waras~~~~

Something in his eyes hammered home his words. An earnest, unguardedness that you’d never seen before. Genuine gratitude and honesty, perhaps. You couldn’t look away.

You discarded thought and leaned in. Lips parted and heart hammering against your ribs, frenetic excitement stilling your breath as V did his best to match your movement.

The kiss was gentle, completely different from what you’d shared at the museum or in your apartment. The world melted away. It was just you and him, everything else was just color and noise, polluting the fragile bond you’d formed. Despite the lies and manipulation, past the tricks and mind games.

Somehow, like a miraculous seed sprouting in a rocky cliff face, love bloomed in a heart that had never known it.

When at last you pulled away, a lopsided smile curved V’s lips. The emerald pools of his eyes sparkled with genuine affection, and his palm refused to leave your cheek. You didn’t mind.

In fact, you wanted more.

You kissed him again, harder this time. Lips communicating without words your need, not just for contact but for understanding. Hunger and reckless desire danced across your mouth, your fingers grasping at his chest. You’d never know which of you moaned first; just that the sound sent you careening past the point of no return.

By the time you came up for air, you were helpless.

“Hold still,” you whispered. The artist licked his lips and nodded.

You wiggled off your jeans, panties tucked within. A soft gasp stroked your ego as you pulled off your top and carefully straddled him, his length hardening against your tingling folds. Gods, how you wanted to feel him deep within, feel his body arcing to meet yours as his voice gave out in a whirlwind of pleasure.

But that would have to wait. This time, he needed to let you do all the work.

“If you lift your hips, I’m getting off. Got it?”

His palms traced fire over your hips, blazing over your body as he smirked at you. Damn him, the smug bastard. “Doctor’s orders?”

You almost moaned at the husky tone he used. “Just say yes, damnit.”

His smirk vanished. Lithe fingers took hold of your ass and gently pulled, guiding you to envelop him one inch at a time. His brows met and his lips fell open, his face an expression of sheer perfection your imagination could never capture.

“Yes…” he murmured.

He fit perfectly, stretching you just enough without being painful. The ridge of his head pushed past your inner muscles and sent a shockwave of pleasure throughout your limbs. Your slick walls shuddered at the welcome fullness, embracing his heat like a long lost friend. Like he belonged there.

Like he was coming home.

For a moment, you didn’t move, wanting to memorize the feeling of being with him for the first time. A choice made many weeks past set your life on course to this exact moment, your every decision only bringing you closer. Two stars orbiting each other, closer and faster with each second as two became one in a fiery explosion that shook the heavens.

You smiled, hands snaking around his neck as you rolled your hips. Nerves sang as you moved, crying out in exultant joy. It was torture to move so slowly, such exquisite agony when all you wanted was to slam against his hips and feel his need splitting you in half.

Slick fluid coated him in seconds as you moved. Each movement pulled him deeper, deeper, deeper. Hot breath spilled from his lips, soft moans from yours. His hands gripped your hip bones, urging you to keep going, his muscles flexing to help you rise and fall, guiding you to impale yourself over and over.

Beads of sweat broke out across your back, but you paid them no mind. It was worth it to hear the man curse and gasp, his eyes hooded and skin flushed from your attention. The time would come for him to show you how he liked it, but for now you reveled in the power you held. It took all your strength to keep from bouncing recklessly.

But the artist was no passenger, and his grip shifted to tangle in your hair and drag your mouth to his for a searing kiss. His tongue danced a tango with yours, flicking and darting back and forth to torture you with his intoxicating taste. Whimpers flowed from your throat only for him to swallow.

Why the fuck didn’t we do this sooner?

The artist grinned against your needy lips, his lithe fingers lowering to tease at your core. Your body quivered as he lazily painted bliss over your aching bundle, as if you were his latest canvas. He spewed filth as he hunted for that perfect spot, his touch taunting you with ecstasy long before he struck gold.

“That’s it, right there, come on!” you gasped out, arcing back at the brink of ecstasy..

The artist obeyed, tugging you down again to suckle at your pulse. His lips were heaven on your throat, and his teeth nirvana when he blessed you with a nibble. It was too much and somehow not enough, never enough, never-

FUCK!

The world flashed blindingly white, searing your retinas as you crested. The cosmos raced by, the colors and shapes too beautiful to understand. Brilliance and beauty, a kaleidoscope of life. A silken voice moaned praise somewhere nearby, a wet tongue dancing over your chest between words. Losing control never felt so good.

Beneath your spasming body, V’s hips twitched. He sucked in a breath but the pulsing of his cock against your soaked core didn’t ease, his moans changing to a tone you weren’t familiar with. Lower and louder, more breathy in the grip of his orgasm, resonant and musical. You flexed around him, tightening as much as you could manage to feel every throb.

When at last he fell still, it took all your willpower to dismount and check his bandage for fresh blood. You’d rather have curled up at his side and revelled in the afterglow, but that would have to wait. This wasn’t a feel-good made for TV movie where the realities were tossed aside in the wake of a long-awaited union; life didn’t stop just because two people wanted it to.

If only it were that easy.

Thankfully, you didn’t find any cause for concern. A slight dribble, but already clotting. You made sure the wrapping was still tight and laid back, content for now as his slim arms wrapped around you.

His fingers stroked your hair, lazily pulling apart any tangles he found in the process. It was so peaceful, so normal to just lie there and forget the world, but you didn’t let yourself enjoy it for long. Reality wasn’t going anywhere.

“So, now what?” you asked. “We can’t stay in one place too long.”

V sighed, his fingers stilling. “Especially here; they’ll connect it to me far too easily.”

You rose on one arm, giving him a quizzical look. “Why?”

The artist closed his eyes. His jaw flexed and for a moment you feared you’d gone too far, pried too deeply without thinking, but you didn’t dare try to backpedal.

“This… this is Nero’s room,” he responded at last.

Oh. Oh, no…

There were no words to ease the tension his words brought. You knew full well the efforts he took in order to conceal his past, and here you were, invading it.

Minutes passed in utter silence. An apology lingered on your lips, but without knowing the full story it felt insincere. Not long ago, you would have spoken the words without thought, but now… Now you wanted to only say things you meant.

At last, V broke the stillness.

“We need to move. I’ll…” he paused, as if the words pained him. “I’ll need your help.”

“You have it,” you replied. No hesitation, no weighing of the pros and cons. If he needed you, you would be there.

“There’s only one way to guarantee we won’t be disturbed.”

You sighed, heart heavy but unwavering. “I know.”

“Are you sure you’re ready?” he said, raising an eyebrow. “There’s no going back after this.”

You almost laughed. “There’s already no going back.”

He hummed, satisfied. Yes, you knew exactly what he meant. The only way to make sure you found an unoccupied home…

Was to slay the homeowner.

~~~Nico~~~

Nico gritted her teeth as the flash of a camera blinded her yet again. She hated reporters. They just wanted sensationalist headlines, not actual facts and definitely not to calm the public.

If folks stayed calm, they wouldn’t sell papers.

Damned vultures.

“As I said, this is an ongoing investigation so there’s only so much I can say,” she repeated for what felt like the hundredth time. “Next question.”

The clamoring turkeys all started shouting, arms lifted almost as an afterthought. She wanted to scream at them. “Yeah, you, in the front.”

A brown haired man smiled at her, his comrades falling still for a merciful moment. “Jim Kovelli, Red Grave Daily. How can citizens stay safe until you make an arrest?”

Finally, something she could actually answer. “Thanks, Jim. We strongly recommend people travel in groups of at least two, preferably three as we have reason to believe the killer has an accomplice. All the victims so far were alone when they were… uh…”

Shit! I’m not supposed to mention the victims, or the methods he’s used. We don’t want a copycat.

She struggled to find words. If she tried to start over, the frenzy would only worsen. The vultures knew blood was in the water and they didn’t know the meaning of mercy. Her heart pounded, desperation seeping through her mind. Saying the wrong thing here might get somebody killed. Why the fuck did the chief want her to talk to the press?

I’m nobody! It shoulda been someone more experienced up here.

A heavy tread approached, Tony coming to her rescue yet again. Damnit, this was her first press conference, and she botched it. Even though she knew she wasn’t the best person for the job, she’d wanted to do it well, earn a little respect. How was she gonna look her partner in the eye after this?

“Folks, this isn’t rocket science. Stay in groups, don’t go off with people you don’t know, and report any strange behavior immediately. If you see something, do not intervene but call the hotline. The killer and his accomplice are likely armed and considered extremely dangerous. Don’t be a hero. Next question, please.”

Nico hung her head and stepped back, letting Tony take her place at the podium. Her heart sank, and she sighed. This case was just… it was tearing her apart. She barely ate, and she couldn’t remember the last time she slept through the night. Even showering seemed like a distraction.

“Magda Dunham, Buzzfeed News. What can you tell us about the accomplice?”

Nico glared at the crowd of reporters. Didn’t they realize their incessant questions took time away from the real police work? It’s not like she could review Waras’ file during this charade.

Yet Tony gave a kind, calming smile, seemingly unfazed. How the hell did he do that, keep his face from showing how fucked the situation was? A law-abiding citizen, with no goddamn criminal record and a pristine reputation, now believed to be aiding a psycho killer. It was insane.

“While we can’t release any names yet, we have reason to believe a female is assisting the killer. She is intelligent and well versed in psychology, and may try manipulation tactics or coercion to get someone alone. Again, do not travel alone and be wary of strangers. Last question, guys,” her mentor replied.

A swarm of voices answered him, and he pointed to a face in the back. “Penny Slope, The Weekly. Is the psychiatric hospital going to close, or are you content to let killers stay in the city?”

Tony barely twitched. If she’d gotten that question, Nico knew she would have snapped. The hospital wasn’t the issue here; the killer was!

“We are never content to allow killers to roam our streets, and we won’t rest until our city is safe. All I can say about the psychiatric hospital specifically is that they’re implementing additional security measures and we’re working closely with their staff to make sure our friends and neighbors are protected. I’m afraid that’s all the time we have, though. Thank you all for coming out.”

The horde shouted more questions even as Nico and Tony stepped away. Flashes left her blinking, blinded and ready to smack someone if they got too close, but her partner had her back. His warm hand guided her inside the station and back to the conference room.

“You okay, kid?”

Her vision flared red. She was not a kid. Inexperienced, yes. But a kid?

“No. You know what, hell no! Those piss ants are just lookin’ for a headline, they don’t give a shit that people are dying! There’s a damned murderer out there and all they want is someone to blame! It pisses me off. Not to mention we know who the killer is, but for some reason we still can’t say his name or identify the doctor! It’s fucking bullshit! People need to know who to look for, right now all they’re gonna do is panic anytime someone sticks out!”

She slammed her fist against the table and growled, “And I ain’t no kid.”

Tony tossed his hat on the table and ruffled his hair. His face finally showed something other than a mask of composure, falling into exhaustion as he sat down and sighed.

“I know. You’re right.”

Nico’s jaw dropped. “Wh- what?”

Tired blue eyes met confused brown. “I said, you’re right. It is bullshit. I don’t know why the chief is pussy footing around on this. All I can say is that if you wanna stay on the case, you gotta do as you're told. Especially in the public eye.”

Nico’s rage evaporated at the defeated tone of her mentor’s voice. She pulled out a chair and sat beside him. “But how do you keep it together? How do you stay so calm when they’re asking you such dumbass questions?”

Tony shrugged. “We protect everyone. Even the idiots.”

The young brunette took her glasses off and stared into the lenses. All she wanted was to catch this guy, why couldn’t it just be that straightforward? The press, the people, office politics, it was all just a waste of time.

Hell, maybe if people stopped distracting her she’d have caught the fucker by now.

A warm weight settled on her shoulder. She glanced up at Tony, disheartened and desperate for any answers he could offer. “Hang in there, Nico. You’re a great cop. You just need to get the hang of the crappy part of the job.”

She sighed. “Yeah, I guess.”

Eventually, Tony wandered off and left her to her thoughts. His words helped, but she still wanted to punch somebody. Preferably, the god damned doctor.

I don’t just wanna catch V now. I gotta get her, too.

She picked up her glasses and stood, mind focused once again. She couldn’t give up, no way. A little more work and they’d be hers to arrest, her need for justice satiated at last. Giving up wasn’t an option.

~~~~Waras~~~~

Blood rushed in your ears. Sweat prickled the back of your neck, hidden under the dark hood of your sweatshirt. Cheerful music played on the grocery store’s speakers. It jangled against your nerves as you surveyed the shoppers, searching for a target that fit the parameters you and V agreed to.

Someone alone, preferably small. Not buying enough food for more than themselves. The less attention they pay to their surroundings, the better.

It was all happening so fast, you’d barely had a chance to wrap your head around it. For so long, you’d tried to blend in, tried to hide your deficiencies. The walls you built to protect yourself weren’t meant to crumble, but to last an age. You’d gotten so used to it, you almost forgot normalcy was an act.

But V broke through, first with a whisper and now with a shout. His voice grew louder each day, beckoning you out of your disguise. He was pollen and you were a bee. Madness was no cage to him - it was freedom. Regret held no sway, doubt and hesitation banished from his mind.

The prison you built for yourself was yours to shatter, and choosing a target was just one step closer.

There weren’t many people who suited your needs. An older woman browsing cat food, an awkward teenage boy peeking at condoms, or a person with no obvious gender looking at cereal.

You bit your lip and tried to slow your racing heart. With V’s injury, making the choice fell to you, as did leading the target to an isolated area. The artist hadn’t asked you to make the killing blow, but the end result was the same.

I’m taking part in murder.

The thought held a curious excitement. No fear or disgust, as you knew it should, but a desire to know more. You wanted to understand what it meant to kill, go through every stage of the process and analyze it, piece by piece.

There’s so much I want to know.

You grabbed a box of macaroni and added it to your cart. Not only were you tailing potential victims, you were also getting a few essentials. It helped you blend in, and who knew what you’d find in your victims home? You had to make sure V ate, to get his strength back and heal.

A jar of pasta sauce joined the macaroni. There wasn’t anything else in the aisle you needed, so you left and followed the cat lady toward checkout. Her cart was barren, save for dozens of tins and a bag of kibble. Did she eat cat food, too?

She was the obvious choice. The teenager browsing condoms probably had a girlfriend who’d miss him, and he was too young to be a homeowner. The non-conforming third option left too much to chance. You didn’t have enough information to know if they fit your needs. The cat lady held the least risk.

Step one complete. On to step two.

How do I get her to follow me behind the store to where V’s waiting?

You didn’t have long to decide. She was about to pay, her car keys already in her palm.

Lips pursed, you handed a twenty to the cashier ringing you up and quickly took your bags. Your target was mere seconds ahead of you. No more time to think; it was now or never. You took a deep breath.

“Excuse me, miss?” you began. She was a bit old to be called miss, but most women took it as a compliment. It might help break the ice.

She turned to face you, peering through her bifocals. “Yes?”

Your stomach churned. If you messed this up, you’d have to start over somewhere else, forcing V to travel when every step brought agony. He claimed it wasn’t bad, but you knew better.

“Sorry to bother you, but um… do you think you could help me? My friend lives in the apartments back there,” you paused to point at the cluster of buildings behind the shop. “And he says his cat just went into labor. He’s scared to move her, but he thinks she needs a vet and neither of us have a car! Can you maybe drive us, please?”

You bit your lip and tried to look desperate even as endorphins flooded your circulatory system.

“Of course! I couldn’t let the poor thing suffer,” she paused, glancing to the side. “But… well, with everything that’s been going on, I’m not comfortable going inside. Will you two be able to bring her down?”

You allowed your expression to collapse into relief. “Yes, thank you! Let me show you where to bring the car, it’ll be faster this way.”

“What’s your name, dear? I’m Margaret.”

“Emily. It’s nice to meet you, Margaret,” you replied, pausing just long enough to shake her withered hand. One foot already in the grave.

The woman nodded and followed without protest as you led her behind the shop. The area wasn’t well lit and shadows painted a sinister backdrop over the cold cement. V’s hiding place was just ahead.

“It’s dark back here… maybe we should stay on the main roads, just to be safe?” the woman said. Damn, she was more vigilant than you first thought. You didn’t slow.

“It’s just around the corner, I promise!”

She frowned, but took another few steps to keep up. People instinctively keep moving if the person in front of them does. One more step, and she’d be in V’s range. Your breathing froze, head spinning as you turned around to see him in action at last, to watch the killer in his element.

He didn’t let you down.

Green eyes saw nothing but their target, utterly focused on the task at hand. Despite his injury, he moved with singular purpose. His mouth a thin line, the artist didn’t make a sound as he swung a scavenged length of pipe at the back of Margaret’s head. A sickly, wet crackle and a wheezing gasp barely preceded her collapse onto the pavement.

Whoa… Did he just kill her in one blow?

You stepped closer and pressed two fingers to her neck, checking for a pulse. It was weak and thready, but she was still alive. You said as much to V and rose.

The artist smirked and adjusted his beanie. “Care to do the honors?”

A tattooed hand held out the bloody pipe, as if he were offering nothing more than a turn in a batting cage. Your legs turned to jelly and a flash mob of butterflies careened though your digestive tract. Goosebumps erupted across your spine and you struggled to swallow the golf ball in your throat. You hadn’t expected this, not yet.

“Hm, maybe not,” he said. “That’s fine, I’m happy to demonstrate. Watch closely.”

He limped to Margaret’s helpless body, humming as he crouched down to turn her head towards you. A thin line of blood trickled from her open lips. The briefest pang of guilt teased at you. She’d seemed like a nice person.

“It’s better when they’re awake, but this will do,” the artist murmured. He raised the pipe high.

I’m about to watch this woman die.

Time slowed to a crawl as V struck. His face contorted into a vicious snarl, rage and fury engraved in his features. He was raw and exposed, possibly the purest version of himself you’d yet seen. Animalistic and predatory, thrilled by his supremacy.

And yet…

In the moment the pipe crushed Margaret’s skull and sprayed hot blood across the pavement, there was something else. A sadness almost like grief. A brokenness hidden behind his wrath, as if he were killing a part of himself instead of an unlucky stranger.

And then it was over, the pipe clanging as the artist dropped it. The expression vanished, masked behind a smirk. You wondered if he was even aware of the change, if he felt the anger and the loss.

What the hell did I just see?

But this wasn’t the time to figure it out, as V’s pained gasp reminded you. He’d been upright for far too long, and after a swing like that his wound must be excruciating. You shoved aside your confusion and curiosity, forcing your mind to prioritize your current predicament. Philosophical explorations could wait.

V limped back to lean on a wall as you rifled through Margaret’s purse. Her wallet and keys were all you needed, and the second you had them, you went to the artist.

“The address on her license isn’t far. Come on.”

It wouldn’t be safe for long. As soon as the body was found, you’d have to move again. The best you could hope for was a couple of days, two or three if you were lucky. Enough time for the artist’s wound to start knitting back together and for you to process the last twenty-four hours.

It’s been a long day.

You hoped Margaret had a comfortable bed.

~~~Next Chapter~~~

#Be My Nightmare #my writing #fanfic #v x reader #v x oc #dmc #dmc v #vitale #tw: violence #tw: murder #spicy

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rainbows-fanfics · 3 years

Text

Our Nightmare (Chapter 9)

Summary: Sally moves in with the man of her screams. But there is still so much she has to learn of Halloween Town, and what it’s like living with The Pumpkin King.

A sequel to Two Dearest Friends, where the Christmas incident never happens. But there are still many ends that haven’t been met, and much for these two dreamers to learn as they start to spend their deaths together.

Pairings: Jack Skellington/Sally, Dr Finklestein/Jewel

–

Note: This is a SEQUEL to my other story, TWO DEAREST FRIENDS. To read the original story, go here.

–

The week that passes by is both infuriating and nerve-wracking for Sally.

Really, she only has herself to blame for not asking Jack already. The night she returned from the abandoned sewing shop would've been the perfect opportunity to ask about becoming the town's new seamstress - secluded in the private walls of her home with her lover, in a comforting embrace where nothing bad would transpire...but her shy nature forced her to fall silent. She was sure she'd feel more confident the next day - to march straight to her skeleton man and ask for something she dearly wanted - only to get that nervous swelling in her leaves again the moment she would even think of asking him.

She figured it was because of her not-so-successful past with asking for things from the Doctor. She was either ridiculed or scolded by him for asking for anything more than she already had. Because of that, she grew the habit of taking things instead of asking for them, or not saying anything at all - neither of which she wanted to do with Jack. She can't do this on her own, and she doesn’t want to keep her feelings a secret from him anymore. She is in a more honest relationship now - and the last thing she wants is to keep anything from him.

The ragdoll twists her fingers around as she contemplates these thoughts. 'This feels strange, and scary. Why do I feel so...nervous, and intimidated when he's around?'

Her thoughts continue like this for hours. She spends a few nights of restless tossing and turning before coming to a conclusion - she’ll have to wait until the right time. Whenever she feels...confident enough to ask this from him. Where she can swallow down her shyness and allow herself to actually want something for once. She hopes this time will come soon. It is terrible having to struggle with something like this while Jack’s around, and to not say a single thing about it to his face makes her feel...cold, and lonesome.

She spends more of her time outside than usual. Since she’s been nervous every time she is around her beloved lately, she decides to make more trips outside to try and clear her mind, as well as her nerves. Her walks help soothe her, and sometimes she’ll speak with her friends. It feels easy to talk with them and goes much smoother than her conversations have been with Jack as of late. The band especially does wonders with helping calm her down.

Today, she’d spent some time on a small walk near the Outskirts and stopped to admire a few gardens. When she starts on her way home, she encounters a familiar creature again. The black alley cat greets her with a purr as it steps down from a wall to meet with her below. She smiles and leans down to offer her arm right away. The cat nestles its head under her hand, leading it along its slender body. It rubs against her legs as it walks around her. She giggles, feeling instantly better in its presence.

“Hello there…” She coos to the animal.

It lifts its head to acknowledge her, blinking slowly.

She goes through the effort of putting her things down as she rests on a nearby bench - the same one she first sat in when this cat found her not long ago. It follows her and jumps on as well, joining her side and even sitting in her lap. She pets it as her eyes look at her surroundings in thought. The sound of purring becomes a background noise the longer time passes. She doesn’t realize how much of it she spends sitting in thoughtful silence.

"I wonder when I can ask him..." She muses to herself. The cat's ears perk up at her words. "I feel so afraid....It should be easy for me to ask anything of him, but I constantly feel like he's going to say 'no'..."

The animal flicks its tail and yawns. She gently scratches its head. "When I first met Jack, he told me he thought I'd make a good seamstress. He was the first one to ever tell me that. So, why do I think he won't let me do this?"

She doesn't expect an answer. But the cat still meows quietly. She looks at it and marvels at its beautiful, yellow eyes - with long, black slits for its pupils. It paws at her hand and she resumes petting it, much to the cat's pleasure. She almost forgets what she had been talking to herself about and sighs in content.

"I haven't asked much from him, have I? He's constantly given me things that I need...a new home and room, and everything we've been through together...I must not be good at asking for things I want..."

"Meow."

"He’ll probably tell me that I can always ask for anything from him. That I shouldn't be scared of something like this, and no matter what, he'd be there for me...but he's given me so much as it is. Will I ever be able to return all of that? Should I, before I ask for anything more..?"

It stretches on her lap and sets its body down on her more comfortably. She smiles at this and continues petting it. She can't believe how much stress she's working through right now. And with this animal at her side...she feels relaxed, and comforted by its presence. Even the feeling of its fur under her hand is enough to calm her down. It reminds her of the time she used to spend with Zero - how he would make her feel better by keeping her company at the Graveyard before Jack came around.

"You're right...I should be confident in the things I want. He would want me to feel that way. I think he'd be happy if I just asked him. Even if it's not possible...I would still feel better having him know that I want this."

Her stare prolongs on this alley cat Thoughts suddenly resurface in her mind. Would it...be possible to have a pet like Zero? She feels so curious. She's seen how much the ghostly dog has done for Jack, aiding him at his side when he needed it the most. Would this cat be there for Sally when she needs it? Just like times like these - where she needs the assurance of another breathing being that can bring her comfort and assurance..?

Her lips twitch in thought. Maybe....maybe this can be her first step to asking for something from Jack. It's not as big of a proposal as a sewing shop would be, and it is something that involves living with him...Sally smiles as she comes to terms with this thought. Yes, she'll ask Jack if she can keep this cat around their home, and if she can have an animal companion of her own. This should appease any of her insecurities she has left, she thinks.

"Would you like to be my pet?" She asks the creature, almost as if it can answer her.

It stares at her for a long time, as if thoughtfully considering the question. The cat soon comes forward and licks her hand, closing its eyes in contentment afterwards. She takes this as a ‘yes’ and is thrilled with the response. She starts petting it excitedly - thinking of how this next conversation will go. She's almost...looking forward to asking for this from Jack! Compared to how nervous she feels with all their other conversations…

She carefully reaches for the cat to gently set it down and off of her lap. It would sometimes sleep in her basket if she left it outside, so she decides to offer it to the feline again. It observes it thoroughly for a minute or two. She’s surprised when it takes the invitation and jumps right in. She drapes a small blanket over its body to conceal its figure and keep it warm on their small trip.

She begins her trip home, fingers excitedly drumming the handle of her basket as she walks along.

The Pumpkin King is home early today.

He’s spent most of his time in his study - organizing and such for the work he inevitably has to do on his own. His desk is a mess at this point, with papers scattered around while numerous amounts of books lay open. He’s working passionately this time around, feeling inspired with every part of his work. He hums along while he writes and smiles every time he dips his feathered pen.

His session is eventually interrupted by the sound of footsteps climbing up the spiral staircase from the middle of the room. He naturally sets down his pen before the person reveals themselves, and turns around expectantly in his chair. He’s delighted when he sees Sally peering up at him from below.

“Good afternoon, my dear!” He greets her joyfully. “I hope those stairs didn’t trouble you?”

Although he does his best to appear happy, he momentarily worries for her reaction. She’s been quiet as of late. Not to imply she is the most talkative person he knew - but she was almost always willing to speak with him, and sometimes their conversations would last a good hour or so. He’s been noticing how little time she spends in the mansion now, always leaving for walks and visits into Town. Not that anything was wrong with it - but it would usually be when he was trying to speak with her, or they were in the middle of a conversation.

His bones ache as he observes her figure, looking unsure as her eyes travel everywhere but him.

"I'm getting used to them," She eventually replies and walks towards him, peeking over his shoulder. "What are you doing?"

"Sketching some designs of devices the citizens have suggested." He motions to the papers sprawled out on his desk. When he sees her nervously look at his work, he abruptly adds, "-You're not interrupting me. You never are, Sally."

She smiles. He relaxes his shoulders. It pleases him to see her feeling relaxed. He never wants her to feel like she doesn’t belong in the same room as him while he’s working. It’s very much the opposite - her presence never fails to make things better for him, and she is the most inspirational person he’s had in years with what he’s responsible for doing.

She still seems to be a little nervous, judging by the way she’s playing with her hands. She lowers her head as her gaze shifts. In a small voice, she asks, “Jack...how do you feel about cats?”

“Cats?” He repeats, finding the question peculiar. He doesn’t want to discourage her, however, and answers as best as he can. “They’re wonderful creatures! Especially the ones that bring bad luck.”

“And how...how would you feel about, having one...around?”

This is when he pauses in his movements. He’s so surprised at the suggestion that he lets the expression linger on his skull. This clearly affects her. She starts to say something, but he manages to reply in time. “-Around...here? As in, the Manor?”

“I was just thinking that, well, you have Zero around to keep you company. And I love him! Having a dog seems nice, and..there’s this cat I used to see when I lived with the Doctor. It was usually outside of the tower and in the alleys; it would greet me every time it was outside, and I think it likes me.”

Jack can’t help but smile during her explanation. She seems to be having a hard time keeping her tone steady. Almost as if she’s...nervous, about what she’s asking? He finds it almost cute, knowing what the subject is now.. He sits back in his seat and holds his hands together in thought, recalling something from the past.

"A cat in the alleys...you know, there was one that kept riling up Zero during the night. He would stick his nose out the window and bark all night if I didn't catch him! I wonder if yours is the same one?"

She appears worried. "Would Zero get along with it? I don't want to bring one in here if it'll cause trouble-"

"--I think having a pet of your own is a great idea, Sally! Now, even though I’m more of a dog person myself, I don’t mind cats - I rather like them! I think Zero will get used to having one around...he seems to understand what we tell him, at least."

Her features light up at his answer. She looks so excited...this is when he feels something rattling in his ribcage. He doesn’t have any time to wonder what this is. Without any warning, she lunges forward and hugs him tightly. He's surprised with the reaction at first, but eventually returns the embrace and holds her closely. He’s missed this contact after she’s been a little distant for the past week…

“Oh, thank you! I don’t know how….this means a lot to me, Jack! Re-really..!”

“Of course, my darling...The company should be wonderful for you. I hope you’re never afraid to ask for these things?”

She shakes her head as she pulls away. Somehow, he’s not convinced. It doesn’t matter in the end, because simply seeing her feel better is all he can ever ask for. He can only hope that situations like these won’t have to happen in the future - that she feels comfortable enough to ask for anything from him. This is probably what made her so distant as of late. That she wanted something so badly like this, and somehow convinced herself that he would say ‘no’…

As he opens his mouth to tell her this - that she can be entirely honest and open with him without any fear of repercussions, he is caught off guard when her lips press against his. The hug alone was enough to make him content, but a passionate kiss like this brings icing on the cake! Jack tries not to show how excited he is when he kisses her back, but this must not have been on the ragdoll’s mind. Without any warning, she brings herself forward and sits herself in his lap, grabbing at his suit to deepen their kiss.

‘Oh, my…’ Were the only words on the skeleton’s mind.

The two of them understandably get distracted in their moment together. It’s only after they pull away when reality sets in. Her blue cloth skin turns a bright pink as she realizes their position - and abruptly goes to remove herself. Jack feels disappointed, and is almost tempted to stop her, but respects her space in the end. He offers her a smile and moves his leg so she can get off. He grabs for her hand afterwards so she doesn’t stray any farther.

“I’m sorry.” She holds a hand over her mouth, feeling embarrassed. “I got excited-”

“Sally…” Her name slips off his tongue dreamily. He has to snap himself out of it. “Please...don’t ever be afraid of this. For asking for things from me.”

She looks away. “-What makes you think that?”

“You’ve been terribly distant as of late. You’re always so happy to speak with me, but not so much lately. You seem...quiet. I was starting to grow terribly lonely with how often you were leaving.”

Her eyes grow moist before she can control it. “I was so nervous, wanting to ask for anything more from you when you’ve already done so much for me...”

He leans forward to wipe the tear falling down her cheek. “There’s nothing wrong with wanting more. You never had much as it is. I want to be the one giving you what I can - no matter the amount.” He sits back and chuckles. “All you asked was to keep your own pet here. That’s not something much, in my eyes.”

She feels better at his words, like she always does. She giggles along. “Well, when you say it out loud...it certainly doesn’t sound like a lot…”

He stands from his chair and starts heading towards the staircase. “So, where exactly is this feline of yours?”

“Oh! Well, I brought it over here, actually...I didn’t know what you’d say, so I kept it in my basket just in case…”

They climb down the stairs together and approach the front door. Her basket remains where she last put it. Except the blanket is now pulled back, revealing its empty contents inside. Sally momentarily panics as she drops to her knees. She desperately starts searching for the cat. She can’t find anything except the witch hazel she’d picked earlier.

“Is something wrong?” His voice asks from behind her. She turns around and starts chewing her lip anxiously.

“Yes! The cat, it’s-”

“RUFF! RUFF!”

They’re interrupted by the loud barking of Zero, which sounds from the kitchen. They waste no time rushing into the room, only to find the ghost dog glaring at a small figure on the counter. Sally recognizes the alley cat. It attempts to scamper away through the pots and pans laying about. This causes a ruckus - as they noisily fall to the floor while Zero chases after, barking furiously. It attempts to swipe its claws at him - only for its paw to go right through his transparent blanket. The dog is about to give his counterattack before his master’s voice stops him.

“ZERO!” Jack shouts. He pauses entirely in his movements as he ducks his small head, looking to the skeleton with mournful sockets. “-Come here this instant!”

Just like that, the dog retreats to his owner and whines when he’s at his side. The cat takes this chance to run to the only one it knows at that moment - and that’s into Sally’s arms. She holds it close and attempts to soothe it through some comforting pats. It turns its head and hisses in Zero’s direction, who growls angrily back.

“-Zero.” Jack warns again. The dog gives in and turns away. The skeleton makes his displeasure apparent, placing his hand on his hip. Sally worriedly looks around the room before glancing back at the two.

“I’m so sorry...I didn’t think they would start fighting-”

“-Don’t worry about it. I have a feeling I know who started this.” He turns to give Zero a scornful look, who droops his ears. “Well, I think I have my answer. This cat you have is the same one that Zero’s been after for who-knows-how-long!”

She gasps, looking at the creature in her hands. “Is that true?” It folds its ears back and looks away. “I had no idea…”

“One thing’s for certain: I’m not pleased with this behavior.” The skeleton begins to lecture his pet. “Sally brings a new visitor into our home and you go and chase it! Where are your manners?” Zero’s nose starts to dim as he frowns. “--You two are just going to have to get along if they’re going to stay here.”

The dog is alarmed at this news, his ears pointing straight in surprise. He looks between the two several times, but doesn’t receive an answer. Jack comes to Sally’s side and looks at the cat curiously, attempting to see under its tail. After a moment, he hums in surprise. “-Who, to my knowledge, is a girl…”

“She’s a girl..? I never knew…I-I don’t even have a name for her, yet…”

As she glides her fingers down its back, the cat appears to have calmed down and purrs in delight. Jack goes ahead and pets her for himself, only to find the cat nestling its head in his palm. Zero visibly scoffs in the background, choosing to look away from the three. The skeleton rolls his eye sockets before removing his hand and standing up straight.

“Well, I reckon the two of you will have plenty of time to figure that out. In the meantime--” He looks over and snaps his fingers, beckoning Zero to come, who begrudgingly flies over. “-Let’s have them meet properly.”

Sally kneels down and gently sets the cat on the floor, keeping her hands at its sides. Jack gives his dog permission to come forward and greet the fellow animal. They are both hesitant at first - neither of them willing to greet the other. After impatient ‘ahem’s from their masters, they meet in the middle and stare at each other for a straight minute.Their noses accidentally touch, causing them both to jump in surprise.

The ragdoll coos. “Aww, they bumped noses…”

They’re both visibly curious, now. Zero goes forward to sniff its head while the cat ducks away from him. She paws at him and watches her arm continue to go straight through. When she manages to touch his sheet, he moves away and she starts following after, meowing at him. Their bystanders start chuckling as they start chasing each other - this time, without ill intent.

“It might take awhile, but I’m positive they’ll get along.” Jack tells her. “See? You had nothing to worry about.”

“You’re right…” Her eyes watch the two animals curiously. “It was silly of me to think you’d say ‘no’.”

“From the way you reacted, I don’t think I’ll ever say anything but ‘yes’.” He replies flirtatiously. Her eyes go wide and she hides her face in embarrassment. He chuckles before pulling her closer and leaving another peck on the top of her hair.

The Pumpkin King and the Mayor of Halloween Town stand together on the Residential Hill, watching the Behemoth push a wheelbarrow full of debris and empty it into a pile. The zombie continues this process mindlessly - shoveling rotten wood and dirt into the container and emptying it soon afterwards. The Mayor grins in delight as he crosses something off of the list he’s holding. The skeleton’s skull turns towards the others at work - who are gathering pieces of wood and stone and setting them aside for the work that inevitably will come.

“We’re lucky the storm didn’t completely destroy everything,” The shorter man mentions happily. “We’ve scavenged quite a bit from what was left!”

“Any sewing supplies?” He asks. The Mayor nods his head.

“A few machines were destroyed from the roof caving in, but there are a couple that still work. Really, anything that wasn’t crushed was saved - they’re being transported into the Town Hall as we speak.”

“Fantastic.” The grin spreads on his stitched lips. He’s elated at this news. Why shouldn’t he be? That’s more supplies for Sally to have once the place is finished. “-We’re just fortunate no one was hurt by the fall. I’m not surprised - that place was going to come down eventually.”

“And it saves us plenty of time, too! We should begin construction in a couple of days. The blueprints you gave me work perfectly! If we’re diligent about this, it should be done in only a month.”

Everything about this has Jack Skellington feeling optimistic. Sally’s shop can be finished even sooner than he thought..! He made those blueprints the moment he could - as he felt so inspired, he wanted it down on paper immediately. He wanted her shop to be somewhere she can be comfortable expressing herself, and do what she loved. He can only hope she’ll be satisfied with it once it’s done. He was crossing his bony fingers until then.

“Does Sally know about this yet?” The Mayor asks, breaking him from his thoughts. He soon shakes his skull.

“I don’t think she does. She’s been quite distracted lately - we’ve brought in a new pet, you see. A cat that’s grown a liking to her.”

“-A cat? How awful! I never thought you’d have another pet besides Zero. Congratulations to you both!”

“It’s doing me a favor, really. I’ve been able to work on the plans since she’s been so busy. I can’t tell you how afraid I was that she’d stumble right on my work! This should all be a surprise to her when the time comes.”

He feels overjoyed to see his King feeling so spirited. Everything has been going smoothly with the Halloween plans this year ever since Sally moved in with him. And now they are finally getting something done with the Town - something that’s been needed for so long now! To hear him this excited about it simply because it involved her made the Mayor thankful for her presence. He’d have to stop by someday and thank her personally once this is all done.

“Absolutely terrible!” He soon agrees.

She’s dedicated a lot of time with her new pet lately.

The first day was rocky, learning that her new companion didn’t get along with Jack’s. But she still had hope - and after seeing them curious with each other, she was praying for it work out. The cat herself is a quiet, yet eager creature. She spends the first few days looking around the Manor and sniffing various things. She seems to like Sally’s room the most, as that is where she often finds her napping. She has also taken a liking to Jack, sneaking into his observatory and watching him scribble away on various things. Sally once caught her climbing onto the skeleton’s shoulders while he was in the middle of his work. He had to pause in his movements to set her carefully down.

She giggled then, as she found it endearing, and a little humorous.

Her relationship with Zero is another matter. The two still seem to not like each other very much, but as the days pass on, they tolerate the other’s presence more. The dog listens to Sally whenever she asks him to behave, and she finds that he won’t initiate any fights. Her cat seems to be another matter - choosing to act however she pleases with him. She at least admires Zero’s compliance with the situation.

Most of her time is spent attempting to train the cat. There is a small issue with her trying to scratch up Jack’s furniture - which hastily ends after Sally catches her. She scolds her new companion and insists on getting some supplies the day after. She’d been in luck, as the Witches in town happened to own some scratching posts and other cat-related things. A few other Residents were happy to lend her what they could, and even offered her advice with this new feline.

The cat has her own bed, scratching post, and litter box, now. She seems to be more content having these things around. While sewing in her spare time, the ragdoll finds that the cat will jump into her lap and rest there, offering her comfort as she pets it while she works. With her new toys, she also dedicates some time playing with her. After awhile, she is eventually willing to play with Zero.

The relief in Sally’s eyes while she watches them is indescribable.

Nearly a month passes when a name suddenly occurs to her. She'd been looking for more space in her closet when it came to mind. All this time, she’s been referring to her pet as ‘kitty’ while struggling to give her a proper name. She rushes over to Jack when this happens, who’d been retreating to his bedroom. She catches him just before he comes inside, visibly eager with her new idea. She even shuffles her feet a few times as she stands there.

“I know what to name her!” She announces giddily. "The cat, I mean."

The skeleton stops and looks at her with a crooked skull. “Do you, now? Well, what is it?”

“I want to name her...Ophelia.” She drops her gaze. “I’m not sure why, but...the name just came to me. Maybe I read it in a book once-”

“-Hamlet, right?” Jack interrupts with a smile. “I once gave you books from Shakespeare...I remember that being one of the few I had you read.”

“Oh, right..! I can’t believe I’d forgotten. That feels so long ago, now that I remember…”

“-Ophelia. It’s a lovely name. Congratulations, Sally.”

She smiles and flutters her eyes. She comes forward to hug him, finding that she’s missed his presence once again. He returns it and holds her close in this moment. This cat...or, rather, ‘Ophelia’ has been quite an experience for the both of them. While he’s thankful for its distraction to Sally, as it helped with his plans, there is also the fact that it’d gotten into a few of his belongings before and even scratched up an old pair of gloves somewhere...Not like it was a big deal to him - but he recalls Sally being very afraid and flustered over the ordeal.

He was patient, and helped her when he could. But now things seem to be easing down...he’s even caught Zero napping with her a couple of times. He’s grateful and appreciative for what it’s done for his girlfriend - she certainly seems happier as of late with it around. How lovely she’s looked when he passes by her room...watching as she pets the animal mindlessly while sewing - how content the two of them looked together…his bones swell in delight just remembering the image.

She lets go and nervously looks away. “Now that I have a pet of my own, I’ve, um, been curious about a few things..”

“-And what is that, my dear?” He asks, politely passing by her to enter his room. He allows her to follow him in, and she looks around with uncertainty. She still hasn't spent much time in here, with how long she's been around...

“How long have you had Zero..? And how did you even get him?”

He likes her curiosity with this, and finds that it makes sense with how she's obtained hers recently.

“He was a ghost who I’d found in the Pumpkin Patch, many, many years ago.” He explains as he searches through his closet. “He was rather skittish when I first found him - but after spending a lot of time with me in the patches, he grew quite fond of me. I can say the same for him!”

“Zero was...afraid of you?” She asks curiously.

“A lot of deceased animals tend to come to Halloween Town in their afterlives - whether they wander or wake up here...I assume Zero was one of them, and woke up in that pumpkin patch. Those animals are rather afraid when sort of thing happens - as something usually tragic happened for them to die.” He frowns for a moment. “I’m not sure how he’d gotten there - but I’m very thankful for Zero, regardless.”

“I see...he’s such a good boy, really. And I’m thankful he’s gotten along with Ophelia, now.”

“I think this company is good for him, too. He’s been with me for as long as I can remember. And while I’m good company, I’m sure, it doesn’t hurt to have another animal around." He chuckles. "I think they can understand each other more than we can with him.”

She sighs in relief. “Oh, good; I’m glad.”

As he resumes what he's been doing, Sally takes this time to think. She clasps her hands together and stares at the floor. This has been a wonderful experience. Finally taking a pet in, and...asking for something of Jack. He’d been supportive through this entire thing - and she was ever so grateful. But now that all is said and done with her new feline companion, there is the...other matter she’d been neglecting for so long. After how well this entire thing went, how much can it hurt to simply ask?

“Jack...do you have enough time for us to...talk?”

“-As I always do, my love.” He stops everything he’d been doing to properly face her. “What is it you need?”

“Well, um, I’d rather sit down for this…”

He takes the cue and leads her over to his bed. She is surprised at this suggestion, but sits herself down on its surface, anyway. He joins her side and sits to her left, looking attentively at her. She appreciates his willingness to listen, as he always does, and takes a breath to start her words. She finds herself fiddling with her hands - her usual habit whenever she does something this nerve-wracking…

“I’m really happy that my sewing is better. Ever since I’ve gotten those supplies, it’s been easier on me. But I’m starting to run out of space, and I’m just wondering what to do about it. I-I think I have an idea, now.”

The skeleton holds his tongue as she dwells on the matter, looking at him with curious eyes.

“I…...I think I want a sewing shop.”

#The Nightmare Before Christmas #Jack Skellington #Jack and Sally #Jack X Sally #Nightmare Before Christmas #Tim Burton #Disney #long post #long #Our Nightmare #TNBC

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bang-to-the-tan · 4 years

Text

Moth to Flame

Chapter 12

Reader x OT7

► Vampire!AU

Smut/Porn With Some Plot

Warnings: Reference to Sexual Scenes, Slight Stockholm Syndrome?, Vampires (Biting, Blood-Sucking, Reference to Death), Language

↳ Summary: Robbed of your memories and intended as a birthday present for a deadly creature of the night, you unwittingly become the center of a territorial dispute between two covens of vampires. Tensions are rising and the brothers are getting hungry…

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You find it impossible to mark the passage of time.

Namjoon is gracious enough to allow you a shower before bed (the first time you can recall bathing alone), and by the time you return, staggering and stumbling for the beating you’ve taken, the sheets are clean and the vampire is gone. When you wake up, tangled in blankets that smell too much like him and still wearing the towel, you have no idea whether its daytime, nighttime, early or late. Not that it really matters. Namjoon’s bathrobe swallows you whole in deep navy fluff when you tug it over your naked body, snatching it off a nearby hat rack. Even so, it’s more than nothing, and you are in no way going to put on that jizz-crusted hoodie ever again. You simply pull the ties extra-tight around your waist, pushing the sleeves up as much as you can, wandering out to the main living room. There’s coffee on the bar and the house is seemingly empty, traffic outside occasionally lending itself to a faint, ambient roar.

In a daze, wincing every time you move your legs a certain way, you reach for a nearby mug and pour yourself a cup of what tastes like jet fuel, doing your best to massage the encroaching headache out of your temples. A slip of paper on the counter, written in a lanky, heavy script, tells you that Yoongi is still technically, probably, home—but busy, so try not to ‘bother him’ unless you ‘need him’—in the spare room. Hoseok is at his yoga class. You scowl even at just the sight of his name. You hope he trips over a mat and chokes on his own tongue. Dick.

Namjoon is ‘out’, whatever that means, as shady as that sounds. But he’ll be back by 12, says the note. You glance up to squint at the gritty, green analog clock built into the tiny stove, and it reads 11:37. Great. You slept through most of the potential alone time you could have had…although, do you really want alone time?

You aren’t sure what you want. Could try to run for it. With no idea where you are, clad in an oversized robe, by all accounts smelling like the bloodsucker equivalent of a watering hole in a desert, fighting a monster of a headache. Right.

The couch sags invitingly when you throw yourself at it, and the tv crackles a little when you flick it on with the remote sitting on the end table. Huh. The vampires have Netflix. Who would have guessed. You take another sip of the nastiest, strongest, almost-cold cup of joe you’re pretty sure you’ve ever tasted, sifting through channels and shows before finally settling on some cop drama. Nothing cerebral, just a time killer. The beginnings of that headache has, over just the time you’ve spent meandering, multiplied into something searing, pounding through your eye sockets and straight for the back of your skull. It would make sense for you to be hungry, and you almost consider it, but at this point, you’re hurting so badly that the thought of food has your stomach doing backflips. You end up sprawled on the sofa, pressing a pillow to your face, ignoring the light scent of Hoseok’s body wash and wishing ill on anyone who’s ever so much as looked at you.

“Migraine?”

You stiffen, clutching the pillow closer. It’s difficult to resist the urge to clamp your aching legs shut, but you resist anyway, filled with violent promises at the thought of the owner of that gravelly tone even so much as hinting at doing anything funny.

You can hear Yoongi shuffling about towards the kitchen, the clank of glass as he fishes through a cupboard for a clean mug, the tsk when he can’t find one and the rush of the water when he finally decides to simply rinse one out. It takes a full beat before what he said even registers.

“Migraine.” You repeat, sour and muffled. “Yeah.”

“Sucks.”

“It does.”

The pour of what could probably be classed as chemical warfare, a sniff before you can hear him take a criminally deep swig. He smacks obnoxiously at the taste and you are more appalled at his apparent enjoyment than his manners. He’s making an awful lot of fucking noise as he drags his feet back towards the hallway and you aren’t sure whether you appreciate it or not.

“Ice pack in freezer.” He croaks. “Put it back when it’s warm.”

You follow the sound of his feet—slippers? It sounds like slippers—down towards the spare room, and then the click of the door as he trudges through it and pulls it shut behind him.

You wait.

But there’s no indication that it’s a trap. A game. Just the quiet resuming; the occasional scream of a car going too fast, honking in the distance. The pillow slides off your face slowly so you can properly glare in the direction of the front door, still not fully convinced. Eventually, motivated by the pain rattling your bones, you drag yourself off the sofa and towards the half-sized freezer. True enough, there’s a pack situated next to the ice, filled with some kind of bean and delightfully cold. It’s shaped like a turtle, complete with googly eyes, vaguely t-shirt material dyed green and faded from use. Vampires get migraines…? Very little in the universe matters when you press it to your eyes curiously and immediately feel a rush of relief. You turn the volume on the tv way down and resume your position, but now with your new best friend laid across your brow and cheeks. God, if only vampires also had medication. Maybe Yoongi knows if there’s aspirin in this house. Hmm…on second thought, asking him sounds like a bad idea. Who knows what kind of mood he’s actually in. And god knows you are in no shape to deal with the ramifications if he can’t control himself. Or yourself. You grimace, and then wince when even just the pulling of your facial muscles lends itself to pain.

The world spins above you, but somehow you drift off, despite feeling your heartbeat in your teeth. You slip into something between dream and reality, your sense of self dissolving into nothing. There’s only one thing that remains constant between half-dreams and thoughts that slip through your fingers like sand: Jin. His voice, dragging on into forever. He’s talking constantly, but not to you. There’s no affection in his voice, but it still sounds important. You can’t be bothered to understand any of it. Something about clocks? Protests?

The only way you can tell that you’ve fallen asleep is that suddenly you’re awake, and aware of a warm palm slipping beneath the turtle to feel at your forehead. You don’t bother panicking. It’s Namjoon. You can smell him. You hate that you can fucking smell him, and you hate the comfort that curls in your stomach the second you recognize his scent. Bastard. You aren’t glad he’s home. You aren’t. You will the universe to stop revolving around the feeling of the pads of his hand brushing your hairline, and fail.

“It’ll be cold, dumbass,” you seethe, unable to move your mouth too much, eyes still closed. “On account of the cold pack.”

“Feeling if you’re clammy, dumbass,” Namjoon returns smoothly. “You look sweaty.”

“Fuck you.”

He chuckles above you, his wide hand retreating from your skin, allowing cool bean heaven back onto your eyeballs where it belongs. “You look sick, are you feeling okay?”

That warrants you moving the turtle just enough to glare at him through your lashes, the light smearing his outline like a rushed painting.

“Do I look like I’m feeling okay?”

“No, you look sick,” he reiterates, eyes defensive. He hesitates with a huff, mouth quirking. You slide the ice pack back over just so you won’t have to admire his plump lips anymore. “Did…did you feel sick at Jin’s? Maybe it’s…I mean…”

“It probably is your fault,” you grumble.

“You think so? I don’t know. We’ve never…”

“Pretty fuckin’ likely.”

“I looked it up, and sometimes women get migraines after their periods.” God, he’s still talking. You groan, turning, curling further into the couch, pressing your forearm to the cold pack to convince it even closer. If you could get it under your skin, you would without hesitation. “So maybe it’s the blood loss?”

“Apology accepted.”

“I haven’t—“

“Joon, seriously, please.”

He’s quiet for a blissful second.

“Was it last night?”

“Namjoon.”

“Sorry.”

You feel a nudge at your hand. On reflex, you relax your fingers, feeling something press into your palm. You roll it discerningly with your fingertips, uninterested in moving to look at it. A pill?

“There’s water on the stand.” His voice returns, this time hushed. “Yoongi said you had a migraine so I got you some medicine on my way home.”

A decent man, a good man. God bless Yoongi. You take it without hesitation, feeling upwards for the promised drink and finding it easily. It’s a task to press it to your lips without moving the turtle, but you manage, and by the time you’ve set it back on the side and sunk back into the cushions, you feel as though you’ve done enough moving for the year.

“Can I sit here?”

You aren’t thrilled by his continued insistence on saying things, but he’s brought drugs and lowered his volume enough that you offer him a begrudging grunt. The sofa creaks when he settles into it by your feet, his thigh pressing into the pads of your feet comfortably. He’s warm where denim meets your skin and you immediately pull away, twitching. There’s no point, there’s nowhere to go, and eventually you have to allow it.

In the quiet, you realize that the low noise in the background is actually Jin, still talking. He’s holding a conversation with a woman whose voice you don’t recognize. They’re discussing something political—you don’t have any context but it sounds like an ongoing issue of grave importance. Confused, you peek up at the tv and sure enough, there he is, seated in an uncomfortable-looking chair, set against a mock-up of a city skyline. He makes that suit look good, smart and casual, hair styled perfectly. You forget how perfect his skin is, the softness of his pink lips, the way his eyes glitter underneath dark brows. But there’s something vacant about him that you don’t like. When he looks to his cohost, it lacks the tenderness you remember. Your heart twinges, and you could swear the emotion that you feel is longing. Disgusting.

It suddenly occurs to you that just as long as you’ve been watching Jin speak, so has Namjoon. You hazard a glance at him from under the ice pack.

He’s leaning back into the couch, one arm slung over in your direction, the other settled against his thigh. The light of the tv plays over the planes of his face, glints off his hair with unnatural blues and reds. There’s something odd in his expression. His eyes are proud, soft, gentle. But his lips are taut, annoyed, and he’s obviously deep in thought. His jaw ticks when the camera pans back over to Jin, brow creasing.

“What happened?” you mumble. You know he can hear you but he pretends like he can’t. You nudge his thigh with your foot, frowning. “Come on, Namjoon, you owe me. For last night.”

“I apologized for that.” His voice is quiet. He doesn’t look at you.

“Then for everything else. Just until the meds kick in. Tell me a story.”

“I wanted to take you out today,” he diverts. “But if you still aren’t feeling alright in like a half hour, we’ll go tomorrow—“

“I want to know what happened between you and Jin.”

He falls silent. You aren’t sure whether you should push it, but surely there has to be some sway to the way he’s been treating you. You’re considering the best ways to coerce it out of him when he speaks up again.

“I don’t remember who gave it to me. Being like this.”

You squash the excitement, the victory, that rises in your chest in favor of a curious noise. “No?”

“No. It was a long time ago. But I tried…” he clears his throat and shifts. “I tried to keep going to school for a while after. College; just community, but something.”

“And Jin?”

“I found him by accident. There was a bus I used to take to campus. He rode on it every day. Never saw him get off. He had this stare…” He shrugs. You watch him raise his hand to rub at his lips, eyes distant. “One day I just…didn’t get off at the school. Just followed him. I dunno what I was thinking, but I swear I could sense it in him. We got to talking, and…”

Namjoon’s chuckle reverberates through the sofa, warms your bones. “I mean, fuck, what do you do when you feel like the only person on the planet and suddenly you’re meeting someone just like you? Of course we teamed up. Tried to figure it all out. Realized we could haze people. Moved in together. Shared everything.”

You scoot more comfortably into the couch, allowing your eyes to dip closed.

“Met Yoongi and Hobi after that. Jin had…a thing for being in control of a situation. I was always the ‘leader’ once we realized there was such a thing as covens. Groups of people like us with territories and shit. I’d meet with them sometimes, talk about those things in alleyways and bowling alleys, diners—diplomatic. But he was always keeping things tied down at home. He was always trying to make sure we were all okay. I guess it comes with being the oldest.”

He pauses.

“I have no idea when he was changed, actually. He never talked about it and I never pushed. I know he’s older, though. I always looked to him for answers. But after Jimin and Taehyung—it got complicated. Tae was a decision we made together, and Jimin…Jimin was my fault. I went behind Jin’s back for Jimin. He wasn’t happy. Finding victims who the haze worked on, avoiding police—it was rough back then and we couldn’t afford another mouth to feed. Could barely keep a handle on Taehyung, once he woke up. I shouldn’t have done it.”

His hand alights on your knee, rubbing absently. There’s nothing sexual in it; you aren’t even sure whether he’s aware he’s doing it. It feels nice. It feels really nice. You choke back whatever emotion that’s trying to bring forth in you.

“I don’t regret it,” he adds hastily. “I don’t regret it. We were a family. But it only got worse. Jin was upset that I didn’t ask him and I upset that I apparently had to. Who said he was my keeper anyway? We were supposed to be partners...A lot of stuff came out. Differences in opinion. We argued constantly. There were rumors of cops getting too close, and we were so scared of being found out. In the end, Yoongi and Hobi and I decided to leave. Jin decided to stay.” He snorts. “And we all know how that ended up.”

“How did that ended up?” you murmur.

“Jungkook.” He says his name like it’s the punchline to a joke. “It ended up with Jungkook. After all that shit about scarcity and keeping a low profile.”

You mull over what he’s saying.

“Jungkook said you hate him.”

“I don’t hate him.” Namjoon replies quickly, pulling a sigh through his nose, like he’s had this conversation countless times already. “I don’t like what he represents. That Jin can just do whatever he wants to do. That he doesn’t have to listen to anyone else. That earth and heaven can and should orbit around Jin, and everyone else just falls in line. Jin, the martyr.”

“He works hard.”

“He does. We all do.”

“He misses you.”

“That’s a step.”

You try again. “Jimin misses you.”

His chuckle catches even him by surprise, becoming a snort. “Now that I believe.” There’s a beat of quiet. His voice goes soft. “Jimin always was happiest when we were all together.”

“What about you?”

Another moment of silence passes. His hand on your knee tightens, thumb rubbing gently, as if afraid to let go.

“I don’t know. I’m happy sometimes.”

“When?”

“How are you feeling, by the way?” Your leg feels cold when he moves his hand to brush his palm beneath the turtle again. You peer at him through the cracks in your eyelashes, and for a moment you could almost believe you can see how long he’s been alive. It’s written in the slope of his eyes, his brow, the tight line of his lips pursed in what nearly passes for a smile. He looks tired. Unbelievably tired. “Good enough to go shopping?”

“Shopping?”

“For clothes. You can’t wear my bathrobe forever.”

“Who’s bathrobe? This one’s mine.”

He snorts again, turning away to pat your ankle. “Good enough to sass me back means good enough to go. I’ll ask Yoongi if you can borrow his sweats.”

The couch squeaks in protest when he gets up, and you turn away into the cushion. It’s a lot to think on. You aren’t sure a sad story mostly made of being needlessly catty to each other makes up for kidnapping and…well, probably murder (you’re not gonna think on that one too heavily) but it’s definitely a rough situation. You almost feel bad. You almost feel…sympathetic. What’s the word? Stockholm. It takes a lot of self-control not to roll your eyes at yourself.

The turtle begins to levitate off your eyes independent of your will and you whine, clutching at it, casting a glance upwards. It’s Namjoon leaning over the couch at you, tugging at the turtle with a pinch of fabric.

“Yoongi said he’d trade sweatpants for the turtle.”

You frown up at him, hands falling to your sides, relinquishing the item in question. “Would he rather I didn’t wash the sweatpants either when I return them?” you ask dryly.

“He didn’t say as much, but probably.” He’s straightening, already on his way to make the trade, tossing the pack up and catching it deftly with long fingers as he goes.

Hold on a second.

“You didn’t give him back the dirty vibrator, did you, Namjoon?” you ask, suddenly horrified.

No reply. The door to the spare room clicks open and you sit up just in time to watch him disappear behind it.

“You didn’t, right, Namjoon??” You raise your voice, but flinch back, fingers flying to rub at your temples again. The headache’s better, but it isn’t gone. You’re no longer on the brink of dying, at least, but you’ll be tender for a while yet, you suspect. Long enough to get clothes.

What even is the point?

You throw another look at the far door.

Who would bother buying clothes for you if you weren’t going to be around for much longer? There’s the thought that turns your blood icy.

Are you going to be around for much longer? How does this all end? Fuck, you miss being hazed, you miss not thinking about these things, you miss not having to care. Your head pounds.

For a moment, in the stillness, the tiny apartment with the tv on quietly and the traffic outside, you are the only human being on the planet.

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#bts smut #bts vampire au #bts fanfic #bts x reader #moth to flame #reader x namjoon #i KNOW I KNOW #bad spex putting exposition in dialogue #listen having joon even vague about the past made me realize how much i put in there #and oops #i made more #SIGH

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sherlollydramoine · 4 years

Text

If You Only Knew

This is a request by @breadnbutternips thank you for recommending about six million songs before this one stuck and the ideas started flowing. You are my favorite music lady… and I seriously can’t thank you enough for the recommendations.

This is a song fic based on Shinedown’s “If You Only Knew”.. fic title taken from the song! :)

This immediately follows the song fic I wrote called Eyes Closed so I’d recommend you read that one first if you haven’t already. Just like in the other piece the text messages are in bold and the song lyrics are in italics.

Thank you to @xmxisxforxmaybe for your suggestions and edits. :) Love you! You have really been an incredible cheerleader for this piece and I don’t know if I have enough words to truly thank you!!

Warnings: ANGST ANGST ANGST ANGST ANGST, sad Rami, alcohol consumption, cigarette smoking, depression, insomnia, and language.

Word Count: 3,445

If you only knew I’m hanging by a thread, the web I spin for you. If you only knew I’d sacrifice my beating heart before I’d lose you. I still hold onto the letters you returned. I swear I lived and learned.

It’s 4:03 and I can’t sleep. Without you next to me I toss and turn like the sea. If I drown tonight, bring me back to life. Breathe your breath in me. The only thing I still believe in is you, if you only knew.

Laying in bed staring at the ceiling again. It’s another one of those nights, the kind where sleep remains elusive and the brain can’t slow down. I can’t help it really but I wish she was here right now because I’m still not understanding why she walked away four months ago and never returned. It wasn’t like we’d never fought before because we had, or did, and often. No matter what had ever happened though she’d never just disappeared after an argument because we’d never had a problem working through everything together. Sure things were never perfect with us but we’d always managed to navigate our way through all of the hurts.

I find it increasingly difficult to manage my feelings about this entire situation. She’d not only left us behind, but also everything she owned, which left me trapped in a living breathing memory. Some days or nights depending on my work schedule I awake barely able to breathe and even now, on the worst nights, I still find myself reaching out for her. I hate the fact that I’m still so irrevocably in love with her and I’m barely hanging on. I miss her so badly the ache in my chest is always unbearable.

I’ve barely been able to sleep since she left, all I can do is toss and turn in a way that reminds me of the sea during a storm. Oddly, that’s exactly what I feel like emotionally, physically, and mentally. Some days I feel like with just the slightest provocation I lash out at those closest to me with the anger and rage bubbling just beneath the surface. Other times I am constantly on the verge of tears, ready to break down and let all the hurt leave my body through my eyes.

People in my life keep trying to tell me to move on, to let her and us go but I can’t. I often tell them that I’d rather carve out my own heart than allow myself to give up on her. I’m drowning without her. Absolutely drowning, and she isn’t here to save me. With a deep sigh I decide to get out of bed since there is no point trying to sleep when my mind is like this.

I stand up and stretch my aching muscles as it had been a long and physically demanding day at work, before I drop to my knees beside the bed and reach under it to pull out the box that I keep hidden there. It mostly just contains all the letters that I’ve written her over the last four months that all ended up being returned to me. I know she is still here in New York somewhere but her friends won’t tell me how to find her. I only wish she’d have kept these letters, the written words that were partially angry, partially sad, and mostly just pleading for her to come home. I want her to know that I’ve learned from my mistakes and how deeply I miss her.

Taking the box with me I find myself in the kitchen where I locate a random bottle of liquor. At this point I don’t care what it is so long as I can feel the burn as it makes its way down my esophagus and into my stomach.

If you only knew how many times I counted all the words that went wrong. If you only knew how I refuse to let you go, even when you’re gone. I don’t regret any days I spent, nights we shared or letters that I sent.

After a while I realize that I’ve probably consumed way too much of whatever the clear liquid was, because the tears start forming at the corners of my eyes. Lifting the bottle of the counter I take a long pull directly from the bottle because I couldn’t be fucked with finding a glass. Taking the lid off the box that contained all the letters I’d written her that had all come back to me. Return to sender in big bold letters, stamped on the front of it.

I don’t think she knows how often I replay the events of that night in my head. It’s like a bad song stuck on repeat-I’ll never forget it.

I can’t bring myself to let go of her and the memories of our years together. Why would I? But then again, why can’t I let go? Who wants to live in a cycle of never ending pain?

I pull the first letter out of the box. Even if the date wasn’t stamped on the front of it, I’d still know the exact order of each letter I sent. Resisting the urge to tear it open and read it because I don’t want to relive those words. I know what each letter says. Every word. The first letter contains exactly five hundred words. The second letter has exactly six hundred and eighty-seven, the third letter has four hundred and eleven, and the fourth letter contains nine hundred and forty-five words, but the fifth and final letter only one has nine. I only know this because I counted every word I wrote. I’m not sure why I felt compelled to do it, but how does one say they are sorry? How many words does it take? In my case, two thousand five hundred and fifty-two words.

Two thousand five hundred and fifty-two words she’ll never read, she’ll never know about, and words that I so badly want her to hear.

Finding myself desperately trying to hold back the tears that I know are coming and I pick up my now almost empty bottle of liquor swallowing down the last bit of it. Releasing another sigh into the quietness of the apartment before I toss the shiny glass bottle into the sink. It lands with a loud clinking noise but thankfully doesn’t shatter. I doubt I would have cared if it did, it would have looked just how I imagine my heart does.

If you only knew I still hold onto the letters you returned. You help me live and learn.

It’s 4:03 and I can’t sleep without you next to me. I toss and turn like the sea. If i drown tonight, bring me back to life, breathe your breath in me. The only thing that I still believe in is you. I still believe in you. Oh, if you only knew.

Glancing at the clock on the stove, I realize that it’s just after four am and I really should try and get to sleep but I’m drowning - in pain,anger, love; I don’t even know anymore. It kills me that she’ll never know how I feel but drunken anger begins bubbling to the surface and I pick up the first letter that I ever sent her. This one was part love letter, part apology, and part angry ranting. Moving slowly to the kitchen sink and picking up my lighter that was sitting next to my cigarettes on the counter I bitterly smile as the crinkled edge of the paper catches the flame.

I stand there mesmerized as I watch the flames dance up one side of the paper before it quickly spread to the rest of the envelope. My words now nothing but ash, falling away into the sink as if they never existed. Continuing to watch bitterly I suddenly find myself filled with panic and I drop the flaming mess into the wet sink. No! I can’t give up on her just yet. Not yet.

Suddenly my phone pings with a notification and the screen lights up and I feel like I did four months ago; hopeful. There was no fighting the urge to check my phone and I was unable to resist picking it up. Looking down at the screen my breath catches in my throat and I have to fight back a sob. It was her!

The text that I’d been waiting for, for too long was now staring at me.

“I’m sorry. I miss you.”

Five words. That’s all it took to completely wreck my already fragile and unstable emotional state. The alcohol takes over my body and with trembling hands I quickly type out a reply.

“Me too. I love you YN. Can we talk?”

Nine words. Simple right? Effective? Can those nine words really convey everything that I’m feeling?

I don’t wait for her to respond because I find myself listening to a dial tone, holding my phone to my ear with shaking hands and my head still reeling. I’m not even sure I’m fully comprehending exactly what is happening at this moment.

“Hello,” I hear her say. Her voice sounds quiet but there is a slight hopefulness to it.

“Hey,” I manage to say. I bury my face in my hands and try to stifle a groan. Real fucking smooth Rami, real smooth.

“Soooo, how are you?” She asks this time, and now she sounds nervous. It was hard to hear what she was saying because there was some kind of commotion in the background.

I wanted to tell her, but I found myself unable to find the words, mumbling, “Not that great, Y/N.”

“Why?”she asks, sounding distracted and distant, and I couldn’t help but to scoff.

“Are you fucking serious?” I ask.

“Yeah. But I-” she stops herself. The speaker of my phone makes a loud and strange crackling noise followed by what sounds like a car door slamming shut. Hushed voices are muttering something unintelligible in the background as I stand in the middle of my kitchen feeling crazy. What is she doing? Who is she talking to?

Did she completely forget she was on the phone with me?

“YN-I- “ I try to speak, but again am unable to form anything comprehensible at the point.

“Rami, I’m sorry. I- look. How was your day?” she inquires, though her voice sounds strained.

“It was the same shit, different day like always. Today was a tough one physically, mentally and emotionally,” I mutter. I’m not sure she’s even listening and this conversation feels so weird to me. I thought that when we finally spoke again, it would be easy like it had almost always been.

“I’m sorry your day was so rough, mine wasn’t all that great either. They usually never are,” she says with a tone that is tinged with a sort of resigned sadness.

“If there is one thing I understand YN, it’s how it feels to have some not great days. Do you want to talk about it?” I bravely offer, even though I’m not so sure I really want to hear it at this point.

“Not really Rami, not really,” she says again.

“It’s alright. You know you can talk to me about whatever is bothering you.

She softly giggles for a few seconds before she speaks up and this time her voice belies the fact that she’d just been giggling, “I know Rami.”

Her small little chuckle is music to my ears and I could swear I just died and went to heaven.

“Rami, why have you not been great?” she asks again, this time her tone is one of curiosity and all I can think to myself is “Is she really fucking serious right now?”

“YN. I-I-I just.” I try to say but trip and stumble over my own words. I’m floundering and I’ve barely been able to speak to her. Do I tell her the truth?

I take a deep breath before allowing myself to start saying what I’ve wanted to say since she asked me this question only a few moments ago.

“I’ve been fucking drowning, forcing myself to live in a fucking memory because I can’t escape you and–” I couldn’t help but to look down at the floor and I could feel my cheeks heating with embarrassment.

“And?” her tense voice cuts in.

“And I don’t want to. All I ever wanted was you. I can’t sleep for shit and I can barely focus, even at work. Baby, I’m barely living. Nothing-nothing that happened that night made any fucking sense and I haven’t been able to bring myself to move anything or change anything here since you walked away.”

My eyes scan the dark living room and take in the blanket still draped over the back of the couch as she’d left it. A pile of outdated women’s fashion magazines on the side table, along with her well worn copy of Pride & Prejudice with her favorite tattered green book mark wedged between the well worn pages.

I can hear her sharp intake of breath and I know I’ve hit a sore spot.I try to keep myself from crying because I know those words have stunned her into silence. Hating the fact that I’m drunk right now, and hell she might be too, but hating even more that I am no longer in control and cannot stop the word vomit caused by all of these overwhelming feelings.

All I hear is white noise. The kind of buzz that comes from being in a car while it’s driving, or walking on the street while the traffic rushes by. This is New York City where the noise is never ending especially on a Friday or Saturday night.

“Are you still there?” I ask, afraid I’ve said too much but angry she isn’t saying more at this moment. I know I’m the one that called her, but she texted me first, so that has to mean something right?

“I’m here,” she says, a little out of breath. “Rami, I-” she starts but gives up, and all I can hear is a sad sigh on the other end, and for some reason it causes the burning anger to resurface. I know I should quit while I’m ahead, but I can’t do that, I’ve never been able to do that with her.

“If you’ve got nothing to say baby, that’s alright. I’ve got a lot to say,” I deadpan. I can only hear her breathing now and it nearly sounds as if she’s crying. My heart breaks a little more but I continue.

"My world crashed and burned when you left and I’m so angry. YN, so angry with you! ”

“I-I-understand. I guess it’s what I deserve. I up and left you. I just- fuck,” she stammers, and she sounds hesitant. Like she wants to say something more but she doesn’t know what.

“I am mad and hurt Y/N, but all I want is you. And I don’t care if that’s selfish-all I want is you here with me. Just for one Goddamn night so that I can find some peace again,” I say as I rub my face with my free hand. My hands feel fidgety and I hate the uneasy feeling in the pit of my stomach when the anxiety begins to claim its hold on me.

In my irritation, I swipe at the box on the counter that contains the letters and watch as the papers flutters to the floor and the box lands with a soft thud on the hardwood. The act was childish and didn’t serve any real purpose in the relief of my emotional crisis, but I took a small delight in it. My next move is as definitely more adult as I reach across the counter for my cigarettes, plucking one from the carton and lighting it up.

Still nothing but silence on her end and now I’m worried I’ve really gone and fucked this up. I take a deep pull from the cigarette before exhaling the grey smoke into the darkness of the kitchen. If she isn’t going to speak, I’ve got more to say.

“YN, baby, I just want to hear your laughter again, see your smile. You-you haunt me. My dreams are filled with you and us, our memories. Sometimes my dreams of you are just fantasies or a hope for-” I cut myself off again.

I feel so foolish right now as I’m spilling my guts, leaving myself open and bare for her to do with as she pleases and she hasn’t given me much. I’m stupidly clinging to a hope that was so easily triggered by five little words and a phone call that I initiated.

“Rami I-. I’m sad too but I love you,” she says so quietly I can barely hear her. I don’t even know that I was supposed to.

There is so much more that I want to say but suddenly I find that I can’t. My chest aches at her quiet confession and my head swirls with thoughts of what ifs, maybes, and whys.

The quiet between us is tense, and if not for all the background noise blaring through the tiny phone speaker, I would have thought that she had hung up on me.

Exhaling more smoke into the air,I lean towards the sink as I rid my cigarette of the excess ash. I want to say something to her but I hesitate with my hand halfway to my mouth. I stare at my hand for a moment before I put the cigarette to my lips and I take another deep pull then exhale; repeat.

I can hear her take a breath and it sounds as if she is trying to breathe through sobs as she begins to speak.

“Rami I’m so sorry. Baby I’m so fucking sorry. I-I-I love. I’m so fucking sorry.”

Leaning against the counter in the kitchen, glowing cigarette in my hand, I glance up at the clock on the stove again, the glowing numbers read 4:25 am. She probably just accidentally drunk texted me after being out with friends tonight and the last thing she was expecting was to have this conversation.

Finishing my cigarette I toss it in the sink and turn on the water for a few seconds before I let out another sigh and pinch the bridge of my nose in frustration. Why is she unable to say anything? I feel like I’ve bared my soul and she has still given me very little in return though she has uttered the word love.

Honestly, opening my mouth is the last thing I should have done at this moment but apparently I have no impulse control tonight. I start to feel an overwhelming sadness due to feeling as if this conversation was futile and I’ve got my brain telling me I’ve likely ruined any chance of a reconciliation.

My voice almost breaks as I find the words I was searching for. I’m near tearfully scolding her now but I’m also ripping myself to pieces. I’m not an innocent party in all of this; I’m just trying to place blame because I’ve had a difficult time accepting my new reality.

Loneliness.

“You should be, but I-I’m to blame for this mess as well baby. I wasn’t listening to you and all you were trying to do was communicate how you were feeling. God baby, how could we have fucked this up so badly? How? Fucking five years together and it all came tumbling down over one stupid fucking moment. All because-”

My speech is interrupted by a loud knocking on the door. My head snaps up and my mouth snaps shut as I glare at my door, the rhythmic sound unrelenting and only furthering my agitation.

“Who the fuck would-” I complain as I make my way to the front door. Turning the lock and swinging the door open, I’m ready to give whoever it is a piece of my mind, but instead, my jaw goes slack and my phone clatters to the floor.

There she is in all her glory, at nearly 4:30 am, wearing one of my old hoodies; the one she’d been wearing the night she left me.

Tag List: @txmel @free-rami @warmommy @mrhoemazzello @itsme690 @ramimedley @safinsscar @ladyr0b0t @youthtea @ramisgirl512 @hissom1933 @spacedustmazzello @sassystrawberryk @ramimalekpan @doing-all-write @itslula1991 @imnottiredofgettingoveryou @alottanothing @mezzomercury @theultraviolencefan @the-real-ramimalekpeen @hazeleyedbeth @w0lfglrl17 @adoremalek @rawmemalek @lunasasylum @lablanchett @diasimar @zodiyack @sasha–1996 @rami-malek-trash @seven-seas-of-ham-on-rhye

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dented-nado · 4 years

Note

You asked for fluff so maybe 39 with Bruce and Harv(ey) uwu

[[BLESS!! I hope you’ll like some fluff with a sprinkling of hurt/comfort in a post redemption!Harv(ey) AU !]]39: “I love your smile”

Both of them always thought, deep down, the day they were reunited, it would finally be easy. They wouldn’t have to keep fighting so damn hard. But after years of fighting on the streets, fighting each other, fighting Batman who had been the one person he would have done anything and everything for this whole damn time…

Relaxing, ‘finding himself… themselves…’, being around Bruce again, being ‘taken care of’… they didn’t know how to handle it.

Harv wanted to live it up, felt he deserved about 10 years of partying and drinking after going though the effort of trying not to lash out and gain power over a world that at its core had done absolutely nothing for him and only hurt him.

Harvey just wanted to feel normal again, blend into the background, reconcile with all the guilt that Harv didn’t want to think about because it was too much, and ‘haven’t you let me get hurt enough?’.

“It’s not my fault, stop telling me what you did was my fault!” Harvey would snap back.

Well… they may be released from Arkham, but that didn’t mean they didn’t still have work to do.

But being around Bruce, knowing he was Batman, discovering a whole other side to his best friend that both made sense and made him feel like he didn’t really know Bruce as well as he thought at the same time.

There were some things that were real.

Bruce still had a sweet tooth, would still get excited in his own way over Gotham’s history (and history in general). He didn’t like to drink… Harvey had always known that and found it hilarious when Bruce would pretend to be drunk at a gala and ham it up, he had always felt special for being the only one who knew Brucie Wayne didn’t down a champagne bottle before every event.

Bruce would still go quiet sometimes. He remembered, back when they were kids, in kindergarten even - where Harvey would do most of the talking, deciding he liked Bruce quite a lot, and Bruce would always hang around and listen.

But even if Bruce didn’t always say a lot, he had always been there. He’d been there when he was sick, beaten up, happy, sad, up, down, everywhere and everything in between

That being said… well…

Now neither Harvey or Harv knew what to say at least half the time, or they couldn’t come to a conclusion on what to say or how to say or how to begin to say it. That was something around the topic of Bruce they could agree on. They didn’t know how to begin to talk to him anymore. So when they had previously been the one talking the most…

It was awkward.

Not to mention, partially because of his scarring and partially because he had been… you know… a criminal - even attempting to blend in with people and live a completely, “normal” life again was going to be impossible. That time spent in law school was looking more and more pointless by the day.

Sure, he had been told plastic surgery was an option, but being under the knife was too much for *both* of them to handle. The loss of control? What if they woke up in the middle of it? What if it just botched everything up even more?

At most he considered maybe he’d get just barely enough done so that he could close his eye again, maybe not have to worry about half of his mouth and teeth exposed to the elements all the time, make it a little easier to talk… to be able to even try to fully smile again.

But they weren’t there yet, the idea of trusting anyone to knock him out and fuck with his face was just too much. Not to mention he hated when the option was brought up as some sort of a magical solution that would just make everything better. There was an underlying attitude of “if you just looked better, people will just forget what you’ve done, any mental illness? Poof! Gone!”. Harvey hated it, and Harv resented all the times he had been treated like a disease that had to be wiped away because he happened to have all the anger, the sadness, pain, all dumped on him so Harvey could go on pretending he was perfect, that everything was fine. That was why he lost it and lashed out in the first place. All the repressed rage flowing out in the most explosive and destructive way possible.

Except now they realized they had both been in pain, and split from dealing with it in vastly different ways.

So both of them fronted more often. Occasionally getting along and occasionally trying to shove each other aside.

… They still had no idea how to reconnect with their former best friend, who clearly, had not dealt with his own pain as well as they thought.

“Harv, I have your eye-drops.” Bruce’s voice came from behind them, and they slowly turned to look at him. “I don’t think you’ve used them in a while.”

“Oh… right, almost forgot.” Harv grumbled.

“Thank you, Bruce.” Harvey replied as he took the bottle from Bruce’s hand, going a bit out of his way not to accidentally graze Bruce’s hand.

“I was getting to thanking him…”

“Then thank him too! What do you want from me??”

They bickered before Harv finally cleared his throat. “Thanks.”

Bruce cocked his head to the side, it reminded Harvey of the old stray cat he used to feed when he was just a boy.

“Your welcome, Harvey… Harv… I appreciate you trying to be polite. I’m sure Alfred would be proud.”

Harv snorted as he tilted their head back to moisturize their exposed eye. It was a pain in the ass even after having to do it and having doctors do it to him constantly.

“I’m trying to be good… whatever that means.”

Bruce put a reassuring hand on their shoulder. “You are doing good. And for what its worth I’ve gotten called out a fair number of times for not saying please and thank you.”

“Sure, but you're a rich pretty boy and Batman, two people I’d probably least expect to say please and thank you.” Harv teased.

“Your kind of one of a kind when it comes to billionaires actually trying to be polite… or have a soul.” Harvey added on.

“Well, I’m trying to be good.” Bruce replied with a wink.

He started to walk away and leave Harv and Harvey to keep disagreeing on what to watch while they curled up on the couch, but stopped mid-stride. He paused and bounced on his heels for a second as if contemplating whether or not he should speak his mind.

“Harv?”

“Yeah, Pretty Boy?” He replied only half paying attention, and half refocused on the screen in front of him.

“That’s just it, why do you still call me that?” Bruce asked with furrowed brows.

“What do you mean still… ?” Harv paused, mind buzzing with a slight panic. “Does… Does it bother you?��

“No… Not really. I just… we’re not enemies anymore, right?” Bruce said, unconsciously cracking his knuckles as he stood with his legs locked together stiffly.

“Yeah? Duh, of course not. What kind of question is that? What does it have to do with me calling you a pretty boy? That’s what you are.”

Bruce’s eyes suddenly widened as he got an uncharacteristically dumbfounded look on his face.

“You mean… it's not an insult? Or a taunt?” Bruce asked quietly.

“You…”

“Bruce, you're a dumbass.” Harvey interjected.

“You thought… I was insulting you?”

Bruce shuffled his feet and picked at his nails. “Why else would you…?”

Harv(ey) put their head in their hands for a moment and made a frustrated wheezing noise somewhere between a sigh and a quiet scream.

They got up off the couch and walked over to meet Bruce in the middle of the room.

“I know I can’t really wink, or… smile at you but…” Harv looked down at his scared hand, chest aching. “How did you not realize I was flirting with you?!”

Bruce looked positively taken aback. “You were flirting with me? All that time?? Every time we’d happen to meet, when I was me and not Batman...and you’d call me that? You were... trying to..?”

Harv hung his head in defeat. “Of course I was you dense bat-hole.”

“I see…” Bruce replied with an awkward gulp as he gripped at his own arm. For being such a well-built man that was good at making even those taller than him feel miles below him, he was also good at making himself look a lot smaller than he really was as he clenched all his limbs together tightly.

Harv took a deep breath, and with one trembling hand reached out towards Bruce’s cheek to… what? Comfort him? He wasn’t really sure, but he hesitated… looking at his hand and then Bruce staring back at him.

He didn’t really want to touch Bruce with what he thought was a disgusting hand that no one would want near them.So he retracted his hand.

“I just thought… you were rubbing in the fact that me and Harvey had… you know, broken up.” Bruce admitted quietly.

Harv looked taken aback for a second, and tried to ignore the heaviness and old mourning from Harvey, before pressing forward with newfound confidence… or maybe it was just cockiness.

“Unlike Harvey, I’m not stupid enough to give up on the best thing in my life.”

He swelled with pride when Bruce looked away with a sharp inhale through his nose that was turning a bit pink along with his cheeks.

“Excuse you.” Harvey thought.

Bruce almost chuckled at the immediate glare at nowhere in particular he knew was coming from Harvey resenting that comment.

“It was a different time, you know that Harv. We both chickened out on being in a relationship at the time.”

“Still… if it had been up to me…” Harv trailed off, he knew at this point berating Harvey for their life choices did neither of them any good.

Bruce seemed to notice their momentary distracted gaze, and took the initiative with a hum and lightly touched both sides of their face to turn them back towards his eyes as he looked over their features.

“You know Harv. You actually can smile more than you think you can.” Bruce corrected very calmly.

It was Harv’s turn to look dumbfounded. “Even so, it can’t be a very good looking smile.”

Bruce furrowed his brows critically. “I love your smile.”

“You’re nuts.” Harv grumbled. “Come on, this face is disgusting.”

Bruce rolled his eyes. “I’ve seen lots of disgusting things as Batman. You’re not one of them. Trust me.”

He let go of their face and put his hands in his pockets. “You’re still “handsome harv” to me.” He said with a small little smile at referencing the nickname Harvey had gotten back in high-school and been continually referred to when he made his first run as a DA.

Harv kicked at the ground and crossed his arms. “Alright. Now you're just trying to stroke my ego.”

“If you keep being nasty to yourself and calling yourself disgusting, I’ll have no choice but to keep stroking it.”

Harv got a sudden wickedly fiendish look on his face. “That’s not the only thing you could str-”

“Hey! How about we finally pick a movie, huh?” Harvey declared suddenly.

Bruce raised his eyebrows almost cartoonishly high in amusement. “Oh, if you want a movie, I have one in mind that Superman and Flash have been badgering me to watch.”

He crossed over to curl up on the couch and patted the seat beside him to encourage Harv(ey) to join him. Now Bruce was the one with the slightly impish look on his face.

“YOU INTERRUPTED!” Harv hissed to Harvey inside their mind.

They sat down on the couch next to Bruce. “Now you’ve got me curious as to what kind of movie a speed demon and a burly alien would recommend.” Harvey chirped in response acting as if nothing happened.

“You were about to embarrass us!” Harvey thought in response trying to look perfectly fine and like they weren’t arguing.

“APOLOGIZE.”

“No.”

“And I’m supposed to be the one who’s the bad guy??”

Then, as the movie began, they both stiffened as Bruce was suddenly calmly leaning on their shoulder. They looked down at Bruce only to get another raised eyebrow in response. This time a raised eyebrow that they both decided to take as “you just going to stare or are you going to relax and put an arm around me?”.

So now here they were leaning back, an arm around Bruce, who had his head calmly on his shoulder. Bruce himself looked incredibly pleased with himself.

Both sat together happy to have each other back in their lives.

Maybe… just maybe… it didn’t have to be so hard anymore after all.

#causeimamerican #twobats #bruharvey #harvey dent #bruce wayne #two face #harv dent #post redemption AU #prompt fill #twobats for the price of one #dkajsklfjsalkfj #thank you again for the ask!! <3 <3

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lallemanting · 4 years

Text

for want of gold

When your soulmate touches you, it leaves behind an imprint, color staining your skin. Red for romantic soulmates. Blue for platonic. That’s the universe Lucas knows, the one he’s supposed to take part in. He wishes he didn’t have to.

Or an enemies to friends to lovers/soulmate au where Lucas is jaded, Eliott is hopeful, and it should be simple, but, of course, it isn’t.

chapter 3

“But you’ll make dust from gold.”

– From Gold (Novo Amor)

Lucas taps his finger against the side of his mug in a restless pattern – one, two, three, one, two, three. There’s something swirling deep in his chest, making it a little harder to breathe, pangs that come to life every time he looks at his phone.

Because sitting there waiting for him are texts unanswered. One, specifically, from Imane that has had Lucas feigning sleep in favor of responding.

Imane (09:23) What did you do?

Lucas huffs as stares down at the message again, flinching as he recalls the night before: Eliott’s hurt eyes and the ragged edge to his voice, its sharp tone a hidden plea to be left alone without having to say the words.

Lucas groans, shifting on his chair where he’s sitting at the table nursing his coffee. Yann glances over his shoulder at the noise from where he’s standing at the stove making them eggs.

“You okay bro?” Yann asks.

Lucas runs a hand through his hair. “Yeah, just something with Imane.”

Yann lifts an eyebrow and turns back to the pan. He’s quiet for a moment, testing, but Lucas can tell there’s more he wants to say. “Are you sure something with Imane isn’t code for something with Eliott?”

Lucas rolls his eyes to hide the thread of panic creeping in at Yann reading him so clearly. “We’ll see,” he says, typing out a response on his phone.

Lucas (12:07) what do you mean?

He doesn’t have to wait long.

Imane (12:08) With Eliott. He told me he doesn’t think he can help anymore. Says he doesn’t think it’s a good idea.

And well fuck. So maybe it had all been worse than Lucas had thought. Maybe he’d taken it too far. He’d tried to push it down all night, tried to ignore it as Imane had taken the game from him, looking him over and asking him, Where’s Eliott?

He had to leave, Lucas had responded, but Imane had kept looking at him like she knew he was holding back the full story, like she knew he’d done something to mess it up. And here was her confirmation.

Lucas leans back in his chair, resting his phone screen-down on the table as he breathes in deep, trying to settle whatever is churning in his stomach, flipping over like he’s been out at sea. The panic digs in deeper because he knows when Imane finds out, she’ll be angry with him (and Lucas has never been good with people being angry with him).

He hates that his friends are going to be angry with him. He hates the way anticipating their anger makes him feel. And he hates that no matter how much he wants to hate Eliott right now for telling Imane, he can’t. He hates that this time, he knows this is his fault, as much as he doesn’t want to admit it.

“I may have messed up,” Lucas says to Yann’s back, cringing as Yann takes the pan off the heat, putting the eggs on plates for the two of them.

“How so?” Yann asks, bringing the food over to the table and sitting down across from Lucas.

Lucas looks down at his food, pushing the eggs around the plate with his fork. “I lost my temper with Eliott and now he doesn’t want to help Imane anymore.” He looks up to find Yann looking back at him.

“And it’s your fault?”

Lucas nods a little hesitantly and then tells Yann what exactly had gone on the night before, letting the words bleed out of him in the way they’re always aching to. When he finishes, Yann nods and takes a big bite of his eggs, chewing slowly. “Well you know what you have to do, right?”

Lucas shakes his head, but he does know, he just wants to hear Yann say it.

“You have to apologize.”

And Lucas knows, he really does, it’s just that he’s never been particularly good at apologies and he hates that he now owes Eliott Demaury one. But he also knows it’s necessary if he wants Imane to not be angry with him. And it’s necessary if Lucas doesn’t want to carry around this weight.

It had surprised Lucas how quickly the guilt had already settled into the familiar space in his chest, making it harder to breathe, a throbbing ache that doesn’t often go away. He hates that this feeling is so familiar – that guilt, like fear, has become so much a part of his daily routine that he hardly notices when it comes back again. Perhaps it’s because it rarely leaves.

And though the feeling is familiar, this time the culprit isn’t. Which leaves this pressure tinged slightly with something foreign, something new, because it had been so easy to hate Eliott Demaury from afar, to constantly dwell on the way he strode through life with ease – a golden boy in his own right who could never seem to do wrong. And Lucas had become convinced he couldn’t possibly be actually nice too. It all had to be a part of the elaborate facade he’d created.

And yet, Eliott’s words come back to Lucas again, replaying in his mind as they had on the verge of sleep the night before. No one deserves to feel bad for the choices they make for themselves. It was an out of character moment for the Eliott Lucas had constructed in his head. It had set something off in Lucas, like a swift punch to the gut, knocking the air out of him, because yes, that’s what Lucas has been trying to say.

But there’s still something in Eliott that Lucas can’t trust. It’s just the way Eliott looks at him, the way he speaks to him with something akin to pity or judgement that tends to set Lucas off. He knows he’s never been good at people treating him differently. He’s always wished he could be perfectly normal – so normal, in fact, that he could disappear into the background without people noticing. It’d be nice, sometimes, to blend in, to not have to deal with the looks and the whispers.

It’s probably why he’d reacted so fiercely to Eliott’s help. He’d always had trouble accepting help, always hated the way it made him feel singled out and incapable, a testament to all the ways he’d failed at doing it on his own.

And it’s also that Lucas isn’t used to people trying to make things easier for him. In his experience, people tend to make things harder, figuring out how to push him, break him, take everything that made it hurt and pull it out piece by piece to be examined in the light of day.

But this time it was Lucas who’d pushed too far, who’d taken something out on Eliott that wasn’t his fault, who pulled the rift apart from where it had only been a tear and made it into something of a chasm.

And no one deserves that – not even Eliott. Lucas doesn’t have to be his friend, hell he doesn’t even have to like him, but he’d never want anyone to treat him the way he treated Eliott last night. And that’s on him, no matter what shit he has going on.

“You’re right,” Lucas sighs, looking at Yann. “I do need to apologize.”

He picks up his phone again, typing out a reply to Imane.

Lucas (12:26) I’ll fix it.

***

The problem is, Lucas isn’t quite sure how to fix it. He doesn’t have Eliott’s number, and even though it could definitely get it from Imane, it feels a little insincere.

It’s new territory for Lucas, being so fully in the wrong that it’s up to him to make it right. He’s so used to only interacting with the people who know him, or giving strangers such a wide berth there would never be any opportunity for this kind of miscommunication.

It’s a foreign virus wreaking havoc on his body, twisting his gut painfully every time he thinks about what he has to do.

Lucas hates being wrong. And he hates it’s Eliott he’s wronged.

But there’s determination brewing now, a constantly beating reminder of what he’s set out to do, if only he can find the right moment. His mind weaves stories of how he hopes he’ll face Eliott again if only to make the experience a little smoother, a little softer.

But as with most things, it never goes as planned.

When Lucas finally sees Eliott again, it’s almost four days after he’d exploded at him at the bus stop, the bitter taste of the words he’d spat almost faded.

Lucas sees Eliott from across the open expanse of grass in the middle of campus. Normally, there’d be students gathered all across it, likely blocking Lucas’ view, but autumn has descended rather quickly and with the clouds blocking out the mid-afternoon sun, campus has become too cold to spend a lot of time outdoors.

So Lucas sees him. He’s surprised really, at how quickly he notices Eliott, but the bright, wild hair and the camel jacket give him away much too easily and his guilt has been acting like a radar for Eliott anyway.

And maybe it’s that this moment, the thought of talking to Eliott about what happened has been building up in Lucas’ mind to the point it’s nearly the only thing he can think about that propels him across the grass towards Eliott before his mind can catch up and register what he’s doing.

Because suddenly Lucas is standing there behind Eliott, who is putting something in his backpack and zipping it back up again, a bundle of nerves and hesitant remorse, and he’s willing himself to speak, to find the words he’d spent so long practicing and let them out.

“Hey.” It’s louder than he meant for it to be and Eliott jumps, twisting behind him to see who is talking to him.

When he sees Lucas, Eliott ‘s face hardens and he abruptly stands, throwing his bag over one shoulder.

It’s like Eliott is just looking right through him. His eyes land on Lucas’ face but they pass right over, like there’s nothing there to see. Lucas has been ignored before, sure, but nothing like this – nothing like the blatant way Eliott is avoiding even having to acknowledge him at all.

“Eliott, wait–” Lucas calls out, reaching for the sleeve of Eliott’s jacket without even thinking about it, bare fingers brushing the rough fabric as Eliott spins slightly to look at him. “Can we talk?” Lucas pauses, searching Eliott’s face. He finds nothing there but a clenched jaw and the ghost of something in his eyes. “Please?”

Eliott huffs and for a moment Lucas thinks that maybe he’ll hear him out. Instead Eliott rolls his eyes before turning on his heel and striding out of the building, saying nothing to Lucas at all.

***

That night, as Lucas tosses restlessly from side to side, all he can see is the tension in Eliott’s shoulders and the way he’d brushed Lucas off like he couldn’t care less what he had to say. A remnant, perhaps, of Eliott’s promise the last time they spoke.

Lucas doesn’t understand why it bothers him so much.

Lucas knows he can be harsh, that’s just part of who he is, but he’s never felt so badly about it before, never carried it with this much guilt. It’s necessary – the wall. It keeps him safe and keeps people away. It’s easier, it’s always been easier.

But tonight, even when he tries to use his mother’s trick, swirling silver in his limbs, Eliott’s face won’t leave his head. He flops to his other side – again – and reaches for his phone, hoping some mindless scrolling might distract him enough to let his fatigue take over.

But the minute he picks up the phone, the minute he sees the screen, he realizes what a bad idea that actually was, because now he knows he’s not sleeping tonight. Again.

He reads the message once, twice, and then the familiar wave of anger washes over him, coupled with the tears pricking at the corners of his tired eyes, and god he could really use one day without crying.

He grabs one of his pillows, pulling it over his face as he fights the urge to scream. But in the blackness, the texts shine bright in his mind, like they were seared there by an iron brand.

Dad (00:13) Did you get my message? Please call me Lucas. We need to talk about this.

***

In the morning, with reddened eyes and a sleep-deprived brain, Lucas pulls himself from bed with a renewed sense of determination to fix the one thing he feels like he might have control over.

He stumbles out of bed to the bathroom, splashing water on his face like it might make up for the few hours he managed to sleep the night before. Slipping on a pair of jeans that he’d found crumpled in a pile at the end of his bed and grabbing his favorite black hoodie, pulling the sleeves low and pulling up the hood, Lucas gathers his things to head to campus.

Yann had left earlier that morning for his shift at the coffee shop, which meant that Lucas would swing by there first to try and imbibe some caffeine to hopefully help his brain stay connected to his mouth, and then he’d go and look for Eliott.

Enough was enough. He would apologize and make sure Eliott knew he meant it. It was for Eliott to decide if he’d accept it.

But, as with all best laid plans, the universe, who’d never really been a friend to Lucas as it was, couldn’t even let him have this. Because when Lucas enters the coffee shop, the first thing he notices is the longer-than-usual line. The second, is Eliott.

He’s sitting in the corner, the spot Lucas usually takes if he’s studying in the shop, his head bent low over his laptop as he types furiously. And just like that all the determination that Lucas had gotten out of bed with seeps out of him with surprising efficiency. Lucas turns his body away as he stands in line, hoping that Eliott won’t notice him until he’s had a chance to will back his courage.

Luckily for him, Eliott seems relatively engrossed in whatever he’s working on and doesn’t pick up his head once as Lucas moves up in line. When Lucas finally gets to the front, Yann gives him a big smile, despite the early hour and busy morning rush.

“Lucas, hey!”

“Shh,” Lucas whispers, nodding his head in Eliott’s direction. Yann looks over his shoulder, noticing Eliott and his eyes widen, but he nods.

“What can I get you?” he asks. “Wait, let me guess, black coffee?”

“Oh, Yann, you know me so well.��

It’s Yann’s turn to subtly nod, back towards the staff entrance and Lucas catches sight of a man he only knows as the manager from hell, which Lucas knows means he’ll have to pay for his coffee this morning. He shrugs and Yann smiles apologetically.

“That all?” Yann asks.

Lucas is about to say yes when he glances over at Eliott’s table again and has an idea. “Do you happen to know what Eliott’s drinking?”

Yann smirks at him but nods and then Lucas is paying for the drinks and grabbing them – the coffee for him and a tea for Eliott. Which, the more Lucas thinks about it, makes perfect sense.

Hot drinks in hand, warming his fingers even through the fabric of his hoodie, Lucas takes a deep breath and before he lets himself think about it anymore, strides over to Eliott’s table. He clears his throat when he reaches the table, standing awkwardly as Eliott jumps and looks up from his laptop, his slightly dazed expression of being engrossed in his work giving way to irritation.

But Lucas isn’t having any of that – not today. So he sets the tea in front of Eliott, next to Eliott’s other, empty, mug, and then pulls out the seat across from him, as if daring Eliott to speak. He does.

“What’s this?” Eliott’s voice is quiet, testing.

“A refill.”

Eliott rolls his eyes. “I can see that. What do you want, Lucas? I’m trying to study.”

“I’m sorry,” Lucas blurts out, unable to contain it anymore. He runs his hand through his hair, heat rising in his cheeks as flustered words fight their way out. “So it’s an apology, the tea. Or no, that’d be a pretty lame apology, but, uh, it’s the start of an apology.” Lucas shakes his head and almost feels like laughing at how terribly he’s forming thoughts, stringing words together, but he pushes on.

“Uh, I’m really sorry about how I acted on Friday. I was way out of line.” Lucas pauses, taking another long steadying breath. “I shouldn’t have yelled at you, or said all that stuff to you. I had a bad day and it’s not an excuse, but I shouldn’t have taken it out on you.” As he finishes speaking, he chances a glance up at Eliott, who is staring at him with wide eyes.

Eliott shakes his head, a slightly bewildered smile turning up the corners of his mouth. “Uh thanks, Lucas.” He reaches out for the tea, grasping it between his hands.

Lucas grimaces, but he needs to get it out. “Also, you were right, what you said.”

“What?” Eliott looks at him with brows furrowed, his green-gray eyes searching Lucas’ face.

“About people not feeling bad about the choices they make?” Lucas’ voice sounds small. “You were right. I’m sorry if I made you feel bad about wanting a soulmate. It’s cool. I don’t know why it bothered me so much.”

Eliott’s face softens and he smiles, for real this time. “Thanks for saying that.”

Lucas shrugs and releases the stranglehold he’d had on his coffee cup – one he hadn’t noticed until just then, and feels the weight already lifting off his chest, the fear vanishing slowly. (And at Eliott’s smile, something perhaps moving in to take its place.)

“And Lucas?”

“Yeah?”

“I want you to know I’d never judge you for not wanting a soulmate either,” Eliott says, and Lucas can see in the way he holds himself, the way he’s hunched over the table, the way he’s wrapped his fingers around his mug, that this has been something eating at him too.

Lucas smiles. “I know, Eliott.” And then – “Thank you.”

Eliott nods and lifts the mug to take a sip of his tea. “So, truce? I’d really like to be able to help Imane again.”

Lucas feels the warmth bubble up in his chest as Eliott forgives him and forgets for a moment that this is all this is – a truce, an apology owed and delivered. This is not Lucas suddenly liking Eliott.

“Yes,” he replies. “A truce.”

Eliott nods and glances at his computer, before looking back at Lucas, a glint in his eye. “Don’t worry, I won’t make you shake on it.” Lucas’ mouth drops open and for a moment Eliott looks like he’s afraid he’s just pushed a little too far. “Too soon?” he asks.

But then Lucas is laughing and he’s bewildered to find that for a moment, he’s smiling at Eliott and Eliott is smiling back. “No, it’s okay,” he says, rubbing a hand over his face. “I deserved that.”

And if Eliott offers for Lucas to sit with him until he finishes his coffee, and Lucas accepts, no one needs to know.

***

It’s better from there. It turns out Eliott is a generally forgiving person, and Lucas is a lot easier to be around when he’s not stuck thinking the worst of someone.

They’re not friends exactly and there’s some distance between them that Lucas can’t quite name, but things are better. There’s no obvious tension, no pressure building up that striking a match could set aflame.

Lucas likes it better here, not having to worry about running into Eliott anymore. Now they exchange pleasant greetings, smile, and get on with their lives. It’s much easier.

But it also means, of course, that their friends start to notice. Every time Imane sees them together she meets Lucas’ eyes with a mix of confusion and relief on her face – teasing slightly, but kind.

Yann too pokes at him once or twice saying now was that so hard? but then lets it go and Lucas is grateful because he’d made such a show of hating Eliott, he doesn’t exactly want to explain himself now.

But then one day on campus Eliott passes by Lucas while he’s sitting at a table with the boys eating lunch and they smile and nod at each other in greeting and Arthur and Basile share a shocked expression between them from where they sit across from Lucas at the table.

“So you and Eliott seem to be getting along better,” Arthur says, his voice light and a little confused.

Lucas shrugs. “Yeah, we sorted it out.”

Arthur and Basile share another glance as Yann chuckles next to him. “So you like him now?” Basile asks incredulously.

Lucas shakes his head. “No, of course not,” he says, but that’s not really entirely true. “Or...I don’t like him, but I don’t hate him either. He just is.”

“Whatever you say Lucas.” Arthur smirks.

Lucas rolls his eyes, but there deep in his chest is the feeling that he needs to explain himself, needs them to know where he and Eliott actually stand before they get any ideas. “I mean obviously I still don’t get why he’s all eager to find his soulmate, but I’m working on not letting it bother me. It’s his choice.”

That seems to shock the other boys into silence. But only for a moment.

“When did you decide to grow up?” Arthur asks, laughing. “Where’s the petty Lucas I know?”

“Oh fuck off.”

But from there, it just becomes a thing. Their friends stop walking on eggshells around them. They start inviting both of them to more things, stop trying to run interference on every one of their interactions. And Lucas is starting to realize just how much he was missing in the few months he spent playing sworn enemies with Eliott. The more time they spend outside of that, the stupider it all seems.

Even when they’re forced to interact now, echoes of previous words said in anger or frustration running parallel with their newfound lightness, it all tends to go well.

There’s a moment, at one of the parties Lucas has been dragged to, where he almost falls back into his old patterns. He’s standing in a corner, like usual, tucked neatly into his several layers, and he sees Eliott from across the room. He’s surrounded by several people Lucas doesn’t know, who all seem to be captivated by whatever Eliott is saying and then Eliott is reaching out and touching them in some way – his fingers brushing against some girl’s shoulders, a hand shaking another, cheeks brushing as he leans in to say hello.

Something dormant in Lucas’ chest roars to life as he watches.

But then Eliott spots him from across the room and smiles slightly before extracting himself from the group and making his way over to where Lucas stands in the corner, his hands shoved in his pockets in the all too familiar slightly timid way he tends to approach Lucas.

(Maybe it’s the unconscious way he’d braced himself for the fight Lucas always gave him. Or maybe it’s something else entirely. The only thing Lucas knows is it’s generally reserved for him.)

But then suddenly Eliott is there, leaning against the wall across from him and Lucas smiles back at him in greeting.

“Hey Lucas.”

“Hey.”

“Enjoying the party?” Eliott asks, turning as if to evaluate it himself.

Lucas shrugs, something in his stomach twisting, still his habit to brace himself for ridicule. “Too many people.”

Eliott laughs. It’s familiar – bright and loud – but Lucas has never heard it as a result of something he’s said. “Yeah, that checks out.”

“You?”

“Not enough people,” Eliott says, smirking slightly. This time Lucas laughs.

They stand there in silence for a moment, but the longer they stand there, the faster Lucas’ heart is beating, unfamiliar with being at the receiving end of attention from someone he knows only a little for so long and then he finds himself searching for a way out, something that could calm the racing in his heart, give him back his breath.

He finishes off his beer and then gestures at Eliott with the empty bottle. “I’m going to go get another,” he says, trying to keep his voice even. “You want one?”

Eliott shakes his head. “No, I’m good. But thanks Lucas.”

“Okay,” Lucas replies and then he’s turning to go make his way to the kitchen, adjusting his sleeves as he goes. He makes it three steps before Eliott is calling out to him.

“And Lucas?” Eliott says, his voice slightly louder to carry above the music.

“Yeah?”

“I like your hoodie.” Eliott grins at him, smile stretched wide across his face and then he turns and disappears into the crowd.

This time Lucas doesn’t doubt that he means it.

***

It goes like this then, for the next few weeks. Lucas runs into Eliott every once in a while on campus with the boys, once or twice helping Imane gather things for her surprise, and most weekends at parties on campus. They’re civil, friendly even, in a way that Lucas could have barely imagined just a month before.

But it’s nice honestly, to put his anger and resentment towards Eliott away and instead just exist with him. Lucas has stopped fixating on him so much, and he’s sleeping better without being plagued by guilt at acting like an asshole.

He wishes, sometimes, that he was able to let go of his anger that easily all the time. But really, it hadn’t been hard because Eliott hadn’t really done anything to him. It wasn’t like Lucas particularly liked him, or would ever understand his obsession with soulmates, but there wasn’t really fuel for his antagonism towards Eliott. That fire had burned hot and bright but had burned out just as quickly once Lucas had spent a little more time with him.

But not all fires can be put out. Not all fires run out of fuel. And Lucas is still learning to live with the blaze.

It’s a Friday night, and Lucas finds himself at a party once again, though this time, it’s slightly calmer and mostly with people he knows, or at least met in class, so he’s less stressed about accidentally touching people, or people trying to touch him. He’s developed a bit of a reputation around campus, but it honestly makes everything easier, not having to explain himself all the time.

He’s just made his way into the kitchen to grab another beer when his phone dings. He digs it out of his pocket and immediately his chest constricts in only the way his father’s text can prompt.

Dad (22:53) I understand if you don’t want to talk to me… But we need to talk about your mother again.

And Lucas hates when his father pulls shit like this. When he tries to play the guilt card, like he’s unaware that Lucas lives with that shit every day. Like his father doesn’t know it’s his fault. It’s too much.

And then everything is becoming a bit too much. It’s loud in the room, and there’s too many people dancing and talking and moving about and that familiar panic, the one Lucas has been doing so well with staving off is making an appearance again and he hates that his father can make him feel like that with just one text, but he can’t help it. And then he can’t breathe.

Lucas weaves through the crowd, pulling the sleeves of his navy sweatshirt down over his hands, pulling at the ties of his hood so the fabric cinches tighter around his face, his phone like a heavy weight in his pocket.

His finds the door to the balcony and pulls it open just enough for his body to squeeze through, the air hitting him straight in the face, sobering him up just a little. He hadn’t even had that much to drink tonight. Maybe if he’d had, it’d be a little easier.

Early fall has fallen away to the sharp cold of November, frosty windows and sharp biting nights making a more regular appearance. Lucas wraps his arms around his body, trying to fight off the cold as he looks out across the rooftops of the city.

He startles when he notices someone sitting in the corner of the balcony, smoking. He panics at first but relaxes when he notices the mop of messy hair and the caramel colored jacket because he recognizes it. Eliott.

Eliott looks up then, and noticing Lucas standing there staring at him, smiles. It’s kind and gentle and much friendlier than Lucas probably deserves.

“Hey,” Lucas says, wiping at his eyes and hoping that Eliott hadn’t noticed the tears he’d almost spilled.

Eliott looks at him a moment before scooting over on the table he’s sitting on patting the wood next to him. “Join me,” he says.

And normally Lucas wouldn’t accept, would find a way to extract himself from getting that close to anyone. But there’s enough space so that he won’t touch Eliott and honestly, he really doesn’t want to be in the party right now. So he goes over and sits down.

As he settles, Eliott looks him up and down once, staying for a moment on his face. Lucas curses how he’s always failed at hiding his emotions. He knows they’re painted there for Eliott to see and so he breathes in deep, waiting for the inevitable. For Eliott to ask him if he’s okay, only for Lucas to not know how to respond, leaving him frustrated and fanning the flames of his anger.

He braces himself, but it never comes.

Instead, Eliott takes a long drag from the joint and then moves it in his fingers as he exhales, holding it delicately closer to the burning end, leaving most of it untouched.

“Want some?” Eliott asks, holding it out to Lucas. And Lucas realizes Eliott’s moved his fingers to give him the best chance of grabbing it without touching him. “Only if you want, of course.”

Lucas nods, pulling down the sleeve of his sweatshirt to expose his hand as he reaches out, taking the joint from the far end, managing to easily avoid Eliott’s skin. “Thanks.”

Lucas takes a hit and Eliott smirks with him.

“A little close for you, isn’t it?” Eliott teases, and somehow it actually feels like teasing to Lucas. “Playing with fire I see.”

Lucas shrugs, his phone still heavy in his pocket. “I’ve been burned before.”

Eliott inhales, but says nothing else and for a while they sit in silence as they pass the joint back and forth until it’s too small to be safely handed over to Lucas without him touching Eliott. Lucas leans back on his elbows then, enjoying the way his mind feels a little lighter, the stress a little less daunting.

He turns his head and looks at Eliott as he finishes the joint and takes him in as he inhales – the sharp angles of his cheekbones, the gray-green storm in his eyes, the way the moonlight shines across his face, bathing his golden skin in eerily silver light.

“Do you know why I don’t touch anyone?” Lucas asks, his words loud in the quiet night, surprising even himself. Eliott’s head whips towards him, meeting his eyes for a moment with a kind of curious disbelief before moving his gaze to the rooftops in front of them.

“No,” Eliott says quietly.

“Do you want to know?”

“If you want to tell me.”

And that is perhaps exactly what Lucas needed to hear. And maybe that’s why he keeps talking.

“My mom’s soulmark faded,” Lucas begins and he can hear as Eliott breathes in sharply, knows that he understands just what that means. But he stays quiet.

“My father fell out of love with her, I guess,” Lucas continues. “I had to watch as his mark went from red to pink to nothing. It sucked. But it was worse for her. And the thing is, sometimes it happens, I get that. Sometimes you fall out of love, but with them, I never really felt like they actually wanted to be with each other. I heard my dad say once that the mark is like a prison sentence because you get it without realizing what you’re signing up for. He never would have signed up for my mom if he had a choice. And as soon as he could he left.” He pauses, his heart threatening to beat out of his chest. “And you know the worst part?”

“What?”

“It’s nothing my mother did. She was just who she was. And he poisoned me against her. Made me feel like I should be mad at her for not giving me a normal childhood when he could have helped, he could have made it better. It wasn’t her fault, it’s never been her fault. But it was like he was just waiting for the mark to fade, just waiting for an excuse to leave. And as soon as it happened, that’s exactly what he did.”

Eliott isn’t looking at him, but there’s tension in the way he’s sitting rigidly next to Lucas. His voice is soft when he speaks. “Is your mom okay?”

Lucas nods, his fingers picking at the wood of the table next to him. “She’s fine, she just…” he pauses. “Well, she’s schizophrenic and she needs help.”

“That must be hard,” Eliott says tightly.

“It was,” Lucas says. “It still is sometimes. But she’s my mom and when she’s doing well, she does really well and she loves me. But it’s stuck with me. I see how she’s hurting. And I’d never want someone to stay with me only because the mark told them to. I don’t ever want to hurt like she’s had to.”

Eliott just looks at him.

“But that’s not even why I’m upset now,” Lucas goes on, his words flowing quickly before he can stop himself. “I’m upset because my father moved her to another facility much farther away from me without even consulting me. He left us and acts like he still gets to make all the decisions because he used to be her soulmate! I mean, how fucked up is that? And they let him! Everyone lets him do whatever he wants and they never ask me what I want. I never get a say–”

He interrupts himself with a sob and he hadn’t even realized he’d started crying but he can’t stop them from falling. And that’s the last thing he needs right now is to cry, especially in front of Eliott. Especially after he bared his soul to him in a frighteningly embarrassing way and he’s confused how Eliott made him feel comfortable enough to let that happen.

Except – Eliott is looking at Lucas, like really looking at him, with a piercing gaze that Lucas can’t hide from, and there’s no trace of malice there, no trace of annoyance or disgust. It’s something else entirely. Something that’s been lingering at the edge of Eliott’s glances for a while now, something Lucas can’t quite place.

And suddenly Eliott is standing and pulling off his jacket but it’s Lucas who feels exposed, so exposed. And then Eliott is moving to stand in front of him, thrusting his jacket at Lucas.

“Put it on,” Eliott says, almost tense. But the words are gentle too.

“What?” Lucas just stares at Eliott’s outstretched arms, but then finds himself reaching out anyway, powerless to Eliott’s words. “I don’t understand.”

“You need a hug, but we can’t touch,” Eliott says, like it’s simple, like there’s always been this solution. “This way I won’t touch you on accident. More than one layer”

And there’s something roaring there in Lucas’ chest, something that’s been living there for longer than Lucas will probably admit but it comes to life at Eliott’s words. And then he’s imagining being wrapped in Eliott’s strong arms, just being held there while his heart races, while his tears fall, and thinks about how his arms could take some of the pain away, even for a moment.

He realizes he’s just been sitting there, staring at Eliott, open-mouthed for longer than he should have and Eliott’s confidence is starting to wane, because hey, they hated each other only a few weeks ago. But Lucas can’t find the words to say that his silence is because no one has ever done something so subtly kind for him in his entire life.

Instead, he just wordlessly stands and pulls on the jacket, adjusting the sleeves around his hands and pulling up his hood, snug against the sides of his face. Lucas watches as the tension leaves Eliott’s shoulders and the ghost of a smile plays at his lips and then Eliott is walking up to him and Lucas feels his body tense as he starts to feel Eliott’s warmth.

And then Eliott’s arms are coming around Lucas, pressing tightly against his back and Lucas finds his own arms coming up around Eliott’s neck, the sleeves of Eliott’s jacket brushing against each other. Eliott pulls him closer, his face tucked neatly into the space between Lucas’ neck and his shoulder, the fabric of Lucas’ hood preventing their skin from touching.

Eliott’s warmth is encompassing Lucas, making it a little easier to breathe. And then Lucas feels Eliott grasp him a little tighter and something in his chest releases. It’s safe and it’s comforting, being wrapped up in Eliott’s arms.

The tears fall harder now. But Eliott doesn’t say a word, doesn’t make a move to leave, doesn’t flinch when Lucas’ rasping breath makes his whole body shake. He just lets Lucas cry and cry until the tears stop coming. And then he holds him for a little longer still.

They stand there, Eliott wrapped around Lucas until his mind clears enough for his thoughts to start flowing, for the panic to set in. Eliott doesn’t make a move to leave, doesn’t say a word. But he doesn’t protest either when Lucas starts to feel it’s all too much and pushes Eliott’s arms roughly away, leaving the balcony and Eliott standing there alone in silence. For once, Eliott just lets Lucas be.

And as he runs out onto the street, Lucas finds himself wishing maybe this time, he wouldn’t.

#skam france #elu #elu fic #skamfr #somehow this became 6.5k words but okay #also has one of my favorite scenes i think #hope you enjoy!!#fwog #my writing

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buckydeservedthoseplums · 4 years

Text

Teach Me To Love Myself

Steve Rogers/Bucky Barnes

Word Count: 997

Warnings: PTSD, allusions to self harm

Ao3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23608216

Bucky stares ahead quietly. He’s tired and his body aches but he is otherwise perfectly fine. The sun is finally starting to cast it’s light on the city below it, though Bucky had risen long before it had even begun to rise itself. He’s curled up on the couch, and can faintly hear Steve snoring in the other room. At least he had gotten some sleep, Bucky had been unable to even let his eyes close, the threat of a nightmare constantly playing at the edge of his mind. If Steve found out Bucky had been up all night he’d have a fit, but for now, Bucky could just enjoy the quiet morning, watching the sunrise, and the soft sounds of the tv background noise to Bucky’s thoughts.

Bucky doesn’t notice when his eyes start to slip closed, but he does notice when he jolts awake, sweat beading at his temples and heavy breaths escaping him. His eyes dart around frantically, searching for a ghost of his past that had wormed its way into his dream. When he finds nothing, he falls back against the couch, letting out the breath he didn’t know he was holding and closes his eyes. Bucky pushes the heels of his hands into his eyes, trying his best to forget the pictures his mind had decided to show him this time. After a minute of staying like that, he lets his hands fall back to his sides, ignoring the glint of the sun on his metal arm. He no longer hears Steve’s soft snores, meaning Steve must have gone on his morning run because he couldn’t hear Steve anywhere else. Bucky stands slowly, the ache in his body still lingering, but he ignores it. It’ll be fine soon. He finds the kitchen after a moment of standing and just staring into nothing for a moment. He goes through the process of making coffee, giving his hands something to do that wasn’t clenching them at his sides. The smell of coffee drifts upwards and he inhales slowly as his mind finally starts calming back down, no longer screaming at him to do things he didn’t want to do. He has to wait for the coffee to finish, and he yet again finds his hands have nothing to do, so he decides instead to find one of Steve’s empty sketchbooks and a pencil and he begins to draw. He doesn’t know what, but he just needs something to keep his hands busy, to keep his mind busy and off of things that he doesn’t want to think about. He gets so caught up in what he’s doing he doesn’t notice the beep that the coffee maker gives, echoing in the empty kitchen, and he doesn’t hear when the elevator doors open with Steve stepping through them. “Buck? You okay?” Bucky ignores him, continuing the lines he’s making on the paper. He doesn’t know what he’s drawing, he just knows that it feels nice to get the feelings in his head out. He does notice, however, when Steve sets a gentle hand on his shoulder, and brushes the other one through his hair. He leans into the hand in his hair, the gentle scraping of the pencil stopping as Bucky closes his eyes and practically purrs like a cat. “Is it one of those days?” Bucky’s eyes stay closed, but he nods. It is one of those days. One of those days where Bucky doesn’t want to talk, doesn’t want to move, just wants to sit and stare at the wall while he tries to keep his mind from splitting in half while the two different parts of him scream and shout at each other. Sam told him that wasn’t good though, and that he should try and do things to help him get his mind off of the things his mind does on days like these. The drawing helps. It helps more than some of the other things he has tried. He’ll have to ask Steve about what he does when he draws. Maybe he does it for the same reason that Bucky does. “Okay Buck, but why don’t we go sit somewhere more comfortable than the barstool?” Bucky sighs and nods again, yes, he could move somewhere more comfortable, he could now feel the way his back ached from the way he was hunching over the sketchbook. He stands slowly, closing the sketchbook to take with him and he leans against Steve. He points to the couch, because on days like these, talking feels like it will leave his throat raw and bleeding. He was learning sign language from Clint, so that even on days like these he could talk. Steve was learning too, but he was busier than Bucky, so he was behind on lessons. It’s okay though, because Steve could still understand Bucky, even without talking or sign language, he had learned the way Bucky talked when he wasn’t actually talking. Steve smiled at Bucky and placed a hand on Bucky’s back, and started to lead him towards the couch, pausing for a moment to let Bucky snatch up the soft blanket from the armchair that stood next to the couch. Bucky liked soft things, and he’d collected many of these blankets. Steve bought them a lot. Bucky also asked the ceiling voice for them when he found them on the laptop that Steve let him use. The ceiling voice always made sure that they were there as soon as possible and Bucky always marveled at the way they made the voices in Bucky’s head quiet down, especially when Steve was tucked under the blanket with him. They both sat down on the couch, and Steve let Bucky fluff the blanket up, making sure that they were both covered by it. Bucky leaned back against Steve, closing his eyes once again. Gentle hands made their way into his hair again and Bucky melted. Steve almost always made days like this bearable.

#bucky barnes #steve rogers #stucky #fanfic #oneshot #ptsd #marvel #mcu #captain america #the winter soldier #sam wilson #clint barton #jarvis #he has a guest appearance as ceiling voice

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roseamongroses · 4 years

Text

W.A.L: “Black Hole Sun”(20)

s u m m a r y:

Eden was the lowest of the low, a monster, hardly human, and was set to be executed. Roman was on trial, perpetually stuck in time until it was time to atone for his families sins.

Neither cared much for staying trapped.

So when a Stranger offered freedom, offered peace, offered power, it was hard to say no.

Even if it put them on the wrong side of history.

v i b e s :

time is irrelevent, homophobia who?, magic and beasts, demigods

w a r n i n g s

Imprisonment, Mentions of execution, Blood/ injuries, Mentions of past Death, minor character death/suicide, repression, cursing,

c h a r a c t e r s

Deceit(Eden) Sanders, Remy Sanders, Logan Sanders, Virgil Sanders, Patton Sanders, Roman Sanders, Emile Picani

Ship: Roceit

1) (2) (3) (4) (5)

(6) (7) (8) (9) (10) (11)

(12) (13) (14) (15) (16) (17)

---

Her presence alone commanded attention, even in the blank expanse of The Chambers. You hear the clicking of her heels first, the gracefulness of her step unassuming, but the weight of the thick heels a clear warning for anyone with eyes.

Then you see her-- all six feet of her. Her crown of horns a sterile grey, arching high and easily adding another three inches to her stature. Her strawberry blonde hair trailed behind her, curled and inviting, with her low swooping, scaled tail.

She only holds one key. She only needs one key.

She unlocks a door, not sparing a glance at the materialized Guard, instead clearing her throat and prompting them to shut up and knock on the door.

Dot sat crossed legged on the ground. Her wings were neat behind her as she tilted her head in acknowledgement, “Ms. Annalise Drak’on?”

Drak’on gave a jagged smile, “So you’ve heard of me,”

---

Roman woke with a start.

His skin burning and head pounding as he stumbled to the bathroom just as he started heaving. He shuddered, wiping his mouth as he braced himself on the ground, just barely registering Eden’s presence behind him.

“Go away, ‘m gross, ” Roman groaned, feeling that burning sensation wrap around his throat bringing the threat of tears.

Eden didn’t say anything and Roman wasn’t sure whether to feel grateful for the silence or panicked at the thought that maybe this was too much and he’d finally just leave--

Roman numbly let Eden guide him up to the chair by the bathtub’s edge, swallowing his embarrassment. Eden crouched in front of him, wringing a wet towel before cradling Roman’s face gently and wiping away the remaining bile.

Eden’s face was impassive as he tugged the edge of Roman’s now sullied dress in silent question. Roman nodded, letting Deceit pull it off him and toss it to the side.

Roman shut his eyes, grasping his arms, feeling the cooler air hit him. He felt wrong, the burning sensation crawling underneath his skin too hot, yet not hot enough. Before Roman could properly spiral, Eden guided his arms up, a heavy fabric slipping over his head, stopping short of Roman’s thighs.

Roman opened his eyes bleary, “Wha…” he pinched the familiar dark fabric, unable to stop the satisfaction curling in his chest. After returning from Dr. Picani’s The Stranger had gotten Eden new clothes, but Eden had repurposed his dress into a shirt, “You didn’t need to,” he murmured, voice hoarse.

“I didn’t,” Eden agreed, standing up, “I’ll get you something proper to wear later today,” he said, tousling his hair, and wiping away his face and scales, “Apparently we’re going ‘shopping’ but I don’t know if I should be concerned since Kai was frothing at the mouth and Lauren was panicking all last night about packing a field medical kit,”

Roman managed a laugh, playing with the red shawl, tying back his hair, “When are we leaving?” he asked, taking internal stock of his body. His limbs were fine, albeit a bit unsteady, there was only the low simmer of nausea threatening to rear its head, but usually that was relatively predictable.

“You’re not going,” Eden said, pressing a hand to Roman’s forehead with a small frown, “Do you want me to bring anything back?”

“Why can’t I go?” Roman said, with a pointed look, “You can’t be alone with them.”

“You’ve already been pushing yourself,” Eden said, “When we get back you can help me go over anything strange the brats let slip out, you won’t be breaking your promise,”

Roman couldn’t wipe the sour look from his face, “I can be stronger than this,” he said, looking at down at his lap, “I should be stronger.”

“You are strong.”

“But--”

Eden held up a hand, quieting Roman, “I won’t let you kill yourself trying to prove something that I already know,” he said like it was the simple, easy truth, “You are strong, but you need rest. Both can exist.”

Roman couldn’t protest.

He wanted that.

He wanted that freedom so much and Eden made it sound inevitable.

“Make sure you come back,” Roman said, fiddling the edges of the shirt.

“I will.”

---

The Stranger didn’t bother telling them where they were. The looming architecture of the Sanders Manor was unmistakable, yet different seeing as they were knee-deep in a swamp, Deceit assumed it was one of their “other” homes.

The Stranger sat atop the barely held together gate, unbothered by the sweltering heat. He munched on some overtly powdered pastry, “Y’all know the drill,” he said, checking his phone with indifference, “Fastest one in gets to choose dinner.”

The effect was instantaneous.

Kai was already rushing towards the gate before The Stranger had even disappeared with Lauren quick on his heels. The two fought on the whole way up, dropping unceremoniously to the ground in a pile of bony limbs and curses. Lauren was up first, laughing, and she must have said something because Kai was red faced and frozen on the ground for a few seconds before he stalked after her.

Deceit blinked, long and slow, ‘Aren’t you going to join them?’ he asked Elliot who was lingering by the gate.

‘Uh, I usually wait outside,’ Elliot gripped their shirt like a lifeline, ‘Lauren gives me anything she doesn’t want so I’m good,’

‘Any reason why?’

Elliot somehow managed to look even more frantic, ‘I don’t get into the habit of getting eaten,’ they said, ‘Without any upkeep, those Manors are death traps,'

Deceit snorted at that, giving the gate a once-over, ‘We're in a swamp, kid,’ he said, shaking a particularly weak pole in the gate and snapping it.

‘So?’

‘So,’Deceit echoed, partially shifting and slipping through the hole and reappearing on the other side with a too wide grin, ‘Lots of things big and small that can hurt you out here. I think you’d fare a lot better where I can see you.’

Elliot's eyes flickered between the swamp and the house, before they nodded quickly, shrinking down and fluttering past Deceit.

Deceit sighed watching them go, pushing away his vague nostalgia and instead setting out to find Kai. He sidestepped some statues, his skin crawling as he forced himself to keep going, but it was hard not to flinch every time. There were so many and according to Roman, a lot of them weren’t even familial Sanders.

The Council apparently was never clear on how far the charges extended, seemingly clumping the prestigious family ‘Sanders’ with the magic folk of the same name-- with little care of how they were distinct from each other. That wasn’t even addressing the fact that the Sanders family commonly hired non-folk from local areas as servants and staff and they apparently had to pay for the alleged crimes for association alone. While the folk had a chance of having a life if the charges were ever dropped, the curse would inevitably kill the humans from the shock of exposure to magic alone.

Deceit tried to understand the Council’s exact purpose, but every time Roman explained it never made sense. It wasn’t supposed to make sense to non-members, apparently, but Deceit wasn’t sure if they were supposed to make sense to anyone.

He rounded the corner, ducking under the hanging spanish moss right in time to see Kai crouched in front of a side-door that was probably for kitchen staff.

Kai must have noticed Deceit staring, “What?” he scowled, not looking up as he used some long tools to mess with the doors lock.

Deceit leaned against the wall, ignoring the sounds of footsteps on the roof, “Where’d you learn to lockpick?’

“What hole did Remy find you in?” Kai retorted.

“Prison.”

“For what?” Kai asked, something comparable to curiosity edging into their voice.

That truth was a bit harder, “Alledged murder,”

Kai whistled low, “Does the alleged part mean you didn’t do it?”

“It means I never got a trial,” Deceit shrugged, “I was an immigrant and the family housing me didn’t want to vouch for me.”

Kai didn’t respond to that. He worked silently until something clicked, then he tucked away his tools, stood, and pushed opened the door.

“My Nonna was a thief,” was all Kai offered, before stepping inside.

---

Sleep was elusive for Roman.

It was a sensation that he constantly ached for but never quite managed to satisfy, everything was usually too loud. Every speck of earth trembled at his slight movement, every droplet of water rushed to listen to him, the air buzzed in anticipation waiting for him to speak and his body ached to do so, but he needed rest.

He knew it. Every doctor, nurse, or nanny he’s ever had knew it, but Roman had never quite managed to release his need for constant awareness. It didn’t feel right under the scrutiny of so many elements at once and it made his skin crawl when they all clambored for his attention.

When he was younger it was easier because he was never far from his Nanny. When he got a bit older Remus, Lauren, and the triplets normally took turns invading his space and sharing his bed as if understanding that his ever building anxiety got a little bit quieter if he could hear someone else's heartbeat, hear Remus’s sleep babble, or Lauren making up lullabies.

His father used to indulge him too, but his first wife….she never liked it. Said it made him weaker. More codependent, which was fair. But let it be known he never managed to sleep more than a few hours and the less sleep he got the more his body seemed to strain with the weight of magic festering under his skin.

Which made him weaker.

It was a cycle Roman had come to loathe.

Roman groaned sleep rushing away from him, but his body grew nauseous at the thought of moving, so he let himself sink into the covers as the world’s whispers grow around him and--

The phone rang, well, Lauren’s phone to be exact, and Roman groaned at the noise. He fucking hated those things, but answered the call regardless, putting it on speaker.

“You answered,” Eden said.

“You called,” Roman said, closing his eyes. He heard the shouts and crashes in the background. Something that vaguely sounded like ‘Told you, pay up!’ (Lauren) and ‘Fuck you,’ (Kai) He winced through a laugh, “Having fun?”

“The most fun--” Another crash and Eden cursed saying something under his breath. The room suddenly got deadly quiet.

“What did you tell them?”

“I gave them incentive to leave,” Eden said, shuffling something, “We’re at your swamp house, you got anything you want me to get?”

“You’re... in my room?” Roman asked slowly.

“One of them, yes,” Eden said, sounding annoyed, “What?” he said and Roman heard some shuffling, “Got something to hide?”

“Not...from you," Roman admitted, mentally trying to remember the room’s layout , “Don’t let Lauren look through my books,” he added on quickly.

“Should I even ask?” Eden sighed.

“You can look if you want,” Roman bit his lip at the thought, “But I doubt it’s your thing,“

“I’ll take your word for it,” Eden said dry, “So any requests?”

“Mmm,” Roman managed to sit up, “Surprise me, make it cute,”

“Cute,” Eden echoed, with a snort.

“Yes cute, adorable, enchanting, if you will,” Roman sniffed, dead serious, “If I have to feel gross I at least need to look good, Dee,”

“You’re already cute,”

Roman’s breath hitched,“I--” He laughed it off, “Sleep deprived and covered in puke?”

“No one looks good covered in puke,” Eden reasoned, “But you pull off my clothes pretty well, ”

‘“Are…” Roman covered his face, “--you doing this on purpose?” he whined, feeling thin vines crawl up his knuckles, his face burning at the praise.

He could hear the frown in Eden’s voice, “Doing what on purpose?”

“You’re fli-” Roman stopped, going still, “Did The Stranger come back early?” he asked in a low whisper.

“No...he’s busy in Australia, ” Eden said, “Is someone else there?”

“I can’t tell…” Roman said, feeling the nausea again, “I guess the council found out about Logan’s masking trick, but The Stranger’s council bond is weaker so it might… but...”

Roman could hear the clicking of heels first.

She seemed unphased by his magic, barrelling through it with little grace and no remorse. Roman knew he couldn’t stop her, he could hardly stand.

Seeing her at his door with her grey eyes raking over him wiped away what little strength he had felt.

He felt like a little kid again.

“What are you doing here,” Roman managed, but his words were faint.

“Roman? Roman what’s going on?” Eden’s voice grew increasingly frantic, but seemed to grow more and more distant. Everything was distant.

She didn’t smile,“Is that any way of talking to your mother?”

#ts sides #roceit #ts roman #ts deceit #sanders sides #sanders sides fanfiction #fanfiction #writing #Winners Among the Losing

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jihoonluvclub · 5 years

Text

Addend (M)

Request: Can I request a Daddy!Jeonghan and Sir!Joshua threesome where you’re Jeonghans GF? 🔥💕 Pairing: Jeonghan x reader x Joshua Genre: Smut Warning: Explicit content, threesome, double penetration, spanking, daddy kink/sir kink. Word Count: 2.1K

This was bad. Filthy, pornographic, just horribly dirty. You were knelt down on the floor in the center of Jeonghan and Joshua’s shared room, your body bare to the chill of the dorm as they removed their clothing. The only thing that was left on your body was a thin black collar, handed to you by your boyfriend himself. In the back of your mind all you could think about was how this was your own idea.

The memory of Jeonghan agreeing to adding Joshua into the bedroom played in your mind as their clothing was shed from their bodies. You replayed the night Jeonghan had his hand wrapped around your throat as he fucked you, telling you how much he wanted to see him and his best friend fucking you at the same time.

After that you had agreed to the idea, wanting to see your boyfriend’s fantasy come true, a selfish want of having both of them surfacing. So there you were, on the ground, forced to look up at both of them as the stripped in front of you.

You fought the urge to move your thighs together, the view of their bare bodies were enough to start turning you on. The thought of what was to come later was even worse. Touching yourself was not an option, Jeonghan made it clear that you were to be under complete control by them.

Everything you did was to be ordered by them; when you came, when you could touch them, if you could make noise. And if you did not listen there would be punishment. All of these things were told to you as Jeonghan snapped your collar on, moments before Joshua joined you two in the bedroom.

You felt chills run across your exposed skin as Jeonghan looked at you. The collar was on tight enough to constantly feel its pressure against your neck, just loose enough to not choke you. When you heard Joshua enter the apartment you felt your stomach twist in a knot.

“You look perfect, baby girl.” Jeonghan told you as he turned you to look at yourself in the dresser mirror.

One hand was on your hip as the other ran across the expanse of your curves. “You remember the safeword?” You nodded, ”And the rules? Joshua will expect no less from you than I do.” You nodded at him again.

Joshua gave a quick rap of his knuckles to the door before entering. You felt your mouth run dry as he looked at you. He seemed completely unfazed, this must have been something the two of them had talked about without you. It wasn’t as if Joshua had never heard you calling Jeonghan daddy as he fucked you, you had just never expected him to be into the same kind of thing.

And there you were, waiting for the two of them to give your the next direction. Jeonghan started to stroke himself to full hardness, taking pleasure in watching you wait. “Do you like what you see, baby girl?”

“Please,” You begged while nodded your head, unsure of what you were begging for exactly, as Jeonghan went to sit down on the bed. The way his hard cock pressed against his stomach made you groan inwardly.

Jeonghan beckoned you over, “Come sit on my lap, baby girl.”

You had never moved with such quickness as you walked over to the two men and sat on Jeonghan’s lap, your legs hanging off the sides of his thighs. His cock was hard against your backside as you were spread out.

Joshua knelt in front of you, his warm breath against your thighs had you twitching in anticipation. With a trail of nips along the inside of your legs Joshua finally made it to you core. His tongue darted out, teasingly tracing up your folds.

“You can only come when I say you can. And I want you to call me Sir.” Joshua said as his tongue gave small kitten licks to your clit.

“Yes, Sir!” You struggled to say as Joshua pleasured you.

Jeonghan’s hands stroked your body, fingers switching between massaging your breasts and pinching the hardening buds of your nipples. Joshua ran his tongue down your slit, dipping the thick muscle into your core before returning his attention to your bundle of nerves.

You whimpered at the feeling of his mouth on you. Jeonghan leaned in to your ear, “Let us know how it feels, baby girl.” He pulled on your nipple harder, drawing a whine from your throat.

“It feels so good, daddy. Thank you, sir.” You felt your chest begin to heave faster, an orgasm building up faster than you had anticipated.

Joshua wrapped his plush lips around your clit, sucking at the sensitive nub and pulling a scream from you. Jeonghan hooked his finger around the back of your collar, squeezing your neck as he did so. The scream died in the back of your throat.

You clenched your fists, nails dug into your palm as Joshua’s tongue drove you closer to the edge. You were shaking on Jeonghan’s lap, using everything in your power to hold back the orgasm building up in your core.

Joshua pulled away from your sex, “Are you close, kitten?”

“Yes, sir.” You said breathlessly as Jeonghan released his hold on your collar.

Joshua smirked at you before returning to your sex. You had thought that the momentary break from his contact with your clit would have helped with delaying your orgasm. Oh how you were wrong.

As soon as his tongue flicked against your folds you threw your head back in pleasure, the feeling more intense than before. Jeonghan took advantage of the situation, attacking your neck with his teeth and tongue, sucking on all the areas that made your whimper.

With your jaw clenched tightly you felt your walls clench down around nothing, your body was pushed closer and closer to the edge. With another tug of your nipples from Jeonghan’s hands you came. You tried to stifle your cry, desperately biting down on your lip as your thighs shook.

Joshua didn’t miss your orgasm for a second, neither did your boyfriend, allowing you to ride out your high before your punishment. As you regained your breath you noticed Joshua sat down on the edge of the bed next to Jeonghan and you.

Just as you thought the relentless assault on your body was over, Jeonghan had you bent over his knees. “You were supposed to listen to our guest, baby girl. You know what has to happen.”

You took in a deep breath, steading yourself for one of them to swat your backside. Joshua was the first one to spank you, his hand was sharp and fast, striking right through you. By the fifth hit Joshua had moved to stand in front of you, his hard cock pointed towards your lips.

Jeonghans took his place, spanking your backside as Joshua fisted your hair in his hand. “Be a good girl and suck his cock while I spank you, okay baby girl?” He said as if you had a say in the matter.

You opened your mouth, taking him as far as you could while Jeonghan turned his attention to your pink cheeks. Jeonghan’s hand connected with your ass, each spank shifting you forward onto Joshua’s length.

Jeonghan played with your sex, fingers dipping into your core to see how wet you were. “You must really like getting punished, baby girl.” His hand landed on your backside, the motion causing tears to well in the corner of your eyes as Joshua fucked your throat.

Jeonghan took the opportunity to grab the lube next to the bed, lathering his fingers in the slick liquid before returning his attention to you. With a final slap to your sore backside he spread your legs apart. He teased your ass with a single finger, pushing the wet digit past your tight entrance.

You tensed around the digit, the reality of both men taking you at once was setting in. ”It’s just a few fingers. Be a good girl and take them for daddy.”

You moaned around Joshua as Jeonghan pushed all the way inside, gently thrusting his digit inside of you before adding a second one. The feeling was foreign, but with how high strung your arousal was from both men spanking you, the feeling was soon pure pleasure.

“She looks beautiful with those lips around your cock, doesn’t she?” Jeonghan’s words had you aching. You moan around Joshua as Jeonghan pumped his hand, preparing you to take both of them.

Joshua pulled his length from your mouth, wanting to come inside of you rather than in your mouth. Jeonghan helped you off of his lap, your legs felt they had no support as your feet touched the ground. Jeonghan pulled you close to him, both of your laying on your side face to face.

Jeonghan hooked your thigh on his forearm as Joshua moved behind you. “Kitten, are you ready for me to fuck this tight ass?”

You couldn’t help the way you whimpered at Joshua’s words. You nodded while biting your lip, “Yes, Sir, I am.”

Joshua was the first one to enter you. His cock was coated in the same lubricant Jeonghan used, sliding into you without much resistance. Joshua slowly rubbed circles on your clit, getting your body more comfortable with the feeling of him inside of you.

Jeonghan hoisted your leg up higher as his length prodded at your wet entrance, slick from your orgasm still gathered between your folds. You rested your head on Joshua’s shoulder behind you as Jeonghan entered you.

Jeonghan groaned as his cock was squeezed tightly, your walls pressing against his length tighter than usual with Joshua deep inside of you. Once Jeonghan fully sank inside of you both men began to thrust their hips.

You were panting and crying out within seconds, the feeling of both cock rubbing against spaces you never felt before was too much. Joshua’s breathy moans and Jeonghan’s quiet grunts melted into the background as their skin hit your own. Each thrust had your head spinning, pleasure building up faster than you could keep up with.

The whole scene was lewd. Hands were grabbing at any piece of flesh they landed on. Your moans were drowned out by the sound of their hips meeting yours. When one person pulled out, the other would thrust forward, never leaving you without a cock buried deep inside of you.

Jeonghan and Joshua switched between toying with your breasts and circling your clit. You clenched down on their lengths as your climax pulled tight within your abdomen. White heat spread from limb to limb as they fucked you faster.

“Daddy! I’m so close. May I please come? Please, daddy. Please, sir!”

“Come for us, baby girl.” Jeonghan had your clit pinched between two fingers as you grew closer to your orgasm.

Joshua bit down on your shoulder as you clenched around both men. You cried out as your body burned with your orgasm, eyes clenched shut as they fucked you through wave after wave of pleasure.

Joshua was the next to come, spilling inside of you in thick ropes of release. Jeonghan clung tightly to your body as he came shortly after, the sensation of having Joshua’s length slid along side his was too much to take. He filled you will release, both of their hot come spilled down to your thighs.

You could hardly keep your eyes open after they pulled out of you, your orgasm taking most of the energy out of your tired body. Joshua was the first out of bed, the sound the the shower running was faintly heard in the distance. Joshua came back to the room shortly after, picking you up in his arms and carrying you off to the bathroom.

Jeonghan watched as Joshua propped you against himself in the shower, making room for your boyfriend to join in. The warm water soothed your sore body, though you did not expect that to last long with the way both men looked at your glistening form.

#seventeen smut #seventeen imagines #seventeen scenarios #jeonghan smut #Joshua smut #jeonghan #yoon jeonghan #jeonghan imagines #joshua hong #joshua #writing tag

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