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pinkanonwrites · 1 year

Text

I’ll Take Care Of You

“It’s rotten work.”

“Not to me. Not if it’s you.”

My Vash/Reader sickfic that I’ve been promising! I’ve been dinking around trying to get it to a place I like and I like it now, so time to post! Read on AO3 here!

Vash/Reader, 3,700+ words, GN!Reader, sickfic, sick reader, comfort, worried vash, non-sexual nudity, cuddling, sharing warmth, emeto/vomit warning

It's strange, when you're feeling unwell, how easy it is for the tiniest things to set you off.

There are plenty of day to day irritants in life, especially living on a desolate sand ball like No Man's Land. For the most part you'd learned to take many of them in stride, laughing when you could, letting the emotions roll over you like a wave when you couldn't until they receded softly back into the recesses of your mind and you could once again roll over and face the day ahead. It helped to have good company, and despite the crowded dune-crawler and the constant driving it entailed, you usually found somewhere amidst the chaos to enjoy yourself.

Not today.

You already hadn't felt well leaving the previous town, head and stomach swimming too much to risk eating more than some dry crackers and lukewarm canteen water, and even that made your innards pitch and roil dangerously. The car was constantly shifting, massive tires ping-ponging the entire chassis back and forth whenever you climbed over a particularly rocky bit of terrain and doing absolutely nothing to soothe the vertigo pooling in the bottom of your brain. It was too hot, too cramped, and worst of all?

Too. Damn. Loud.

Wedged between Wolfwood and Vash in the backseat, you had no escape from the blond's excessive snoring on your left and Nicholas leaning up over the center console to pester Meryl about her driving. Of course she was snapping back with equal levels of vitriol, voices rising slowly with each back and forth. In the passenger seat Milly was giggling along to their vicious banter, occasionally peppering in comments or fiddling with the radio dial, weather reports and religious sermons screeching through the fuzz.

The static of the radio crackled, Meryl's window-mounted fan clicked sharply with each rotation, Vash's head made a soft thunk as it connected with the glass of his window and Wolfwood kept hitting you with his elbow as he reached over the console and Milly was laughing and Meryl was yelling and Wolfwood was yelling back and-

"Hic…"

Your wet, little gasp silenced the car's occupants like a gunshot, your own hands too slow to stifle it from coming out. You could feel everyone's attention turn to you, even Vash beginning to stir to your left, and you couldn't tell if the heat flushing to your head was humiliation, sickness, heatstroke, or some miserable combination of the three. But you do know that said heat and said gazes made you curl up in the middle seat, covering your face with your long sleeves as you let out another miserable little sob.

"Are you alright back there?"

"Oh no, please don't cry! Do you feel carsick?"

"H-Hey, it's gonna be alright. Is this cause I kept hittin' ya with my elbow? Cause I said I was sorry."

You sobbed again, tears and snot and sweat running down your face and wetting your shirt sleeves as you pulled your knees up, curling as small as you could get. "'M sorry, 'm sorry, I'm fine."

"You're not fine! Did something happen?" Meryl couldn't look away from the road, but Milly had all but fully turned around in her seat to check on you.

"Do you need some water? I still have some if you're all out."

"C'mon, birdie, don't go all silent on us."

You wanted to shrivel up and dissolve into sand in the middle seat, curling in upon your own body as if it may actually make you disappear. This didn't help, it wasn't helping, it was just more noise and more worry and more hot tears running down your cheeks and you just wanted it all to stop.

"Hey, what's going on?"

Pulling your head up from your knees, you were met by Vash's hand gently brushing your forehead. His palm rested there, warm and steady, as he looked you over with a soft concern.

"You feel pretty warm. Is everything alright?" As he pulled away he brought his thumb down to swipe a stray tear from your cheek. You wanted to bawl, to clamber into his arms and let him cover you with his coat, shielding you from the heat and the noise and the (brightbrightwaytoobright) sun. But when you opened your mouth to speak, tongue dry and unsteady, you instead croaked out four, painfully small words.

"I'm gonna throw up."

"...Eh? EH?!? H-HANG ON!" You were jostled back by the force of Vash diving forward, clapping both hands over your mouth with a low groan. Your stomach pitched wildly, thick saliva pooling in the back of your throat as Vash jammed himself over the center console. "PULL OVER!"

"Wh-What? Why?" Meryl yelped when Vash exploded into her line of sight.

"JUST DO IT! PLEASE?!?"

She hardly needed to 'pull over' in the stretches of open desert, but the dune-crawler rumbled and bumped to a jerky halt that only served to make your stomach sickness worse. Not even waiting for Vash to unbuckle his seatbelt, you clambered over his lap and opened the door, collapsing to the ground just in time to empty the meager contents of your stomach into the hot sand. There was hardly anything to hack up, everything you'd eaten over the course of the day splattering out with a few shivering gags. But your body continued to retch out of your control, fresh tears dripping off your cheeks and into the puddle as you helplessly dry heaved on your hands and knees.

"Hey, hey, you're alright. Deep breaths, okay? I've got you." There was a cool hand brushing your hair back from your sticky forehead, and another rubbing the small space between your shoulder blades.

Finally, when your stomach had finished cramping and the last thick glob of saliva had drooled from your open mouth onto the sand, your body pitched forward dangerously, elbows collapsing from exhaustion. You would have face-planted straight into your own mess if Vash wasn't there to catch you, hauling you backwards so you could slump weakly against his chest as he sat with you in the sand. You could hear shuffling around you, footsteps, but your eyes were still blurry with moisture as you squinted weakly in the afternoon sun.

"Thanks, Milly. Here, drink this." You felt the rim of a canteen press to your lips, and let Vash tip your head back to take a swig of water.

"Don't drink too fast now, or you might get sick again!" One of Milly's large hands gently caressed the top of your head. "We've got plenty of time to get to the next town, so take as long as you need!"

"I'm sorry." You whimpered again, feeling twice as pathetic in the face of everyone's kindness. You could hear Meryl click her tongue somewhere off to your right.

"You don't have to apologize! Everybody gets sick sometimes, it's just a thing that happens."

"Yer lucky we're planning on a hotel tonight, way better than sleeping in the sand-OW! HEY!"

"Dingy!?"

"Quit being a jerk! They already don't feel good and you're not helping!"

"How am I not helping?" Wolfwood hissed. "I'm reminding them they don't have to sleep in the back of a dingy car all night!"

"Ooh, boy. There they go again." Vash sighed out a chuckle, hand never pausing as he carefully rubbed your upper arm. "Whenever you feel up for it, we can get going. Okay?"

As Meryl and Wolfwood continued to bicker quietly in the background, you let yourself melt fully into Vash's chest. His prosthetic arm came around your waist to keep you from slipping too far down, and you lolled your head back against his collarbone as your eyelids fluttered. "I'm sorry…" You slurred again, even though by this point you knew the apology was not necessary. "Jus' don't feel good…"

"You get a little silly when you're sick, don't you?" There was a teasing tone to Vash's voice, one that made you feel all warm and cozy in your chest. "You're being very polite right now."

"'M tired, Vash." You whined, rolling to your side a bit to nuzzle your cheek against his chest.

"I know." He said, so soft and so fond. "When we get back in the car, you can lay on me, alright? Then you can sleep the whole ride there. I promise."

"Mmh, yes please…"

You couldn't remember exactly how long you spent on the ground, just the vague feelings of Vash helping you to your feet, buckling your seatbelt for you after you clambered weakly back to your spot. As soon as he was seated he twisted his body towards you, leaning back against the car door so you could sprawl yourself out across his chest. And sprawl you did, fingers clutching absently at his coat as you tucked your face into the crook of his neck with a content little sigh. The dune-crawler rocked slightly as your other friends climbed into their respective seats, but with your cheek pressed to Vash's chest it didn't make you feel so dangerously nauseous anymore.

"Try getting some rest. We'll wake you up in the next town." His metal hand found the small of your hip and rested there, keeping you curled safely against his chest as the engine rumbled back to life. Eyelids dipping heavily, you mumbled out a few clumsy words of appreciation before blackness overtook your vision.

"Thank you… Vash…"

You didn't jostle blearily awake again until Meryl had already paid for your respective hotel rooms, letting you rest slumped against Vash in the backseat while she chatted with the man at the desk. Given the size of the town itself, it made sense that there would only be a few rooms available. Fortunately Meryl was able to book two doubles and a single, leaving you with your own space to recuperate while the rest of the group split the two double rooms between themselves.

"We'll be right across the street, okay?" Vash gave you a gentle pat on the shoulder as he pointed out the window of your hotel room to the nearby diner. "Try and get a little more rest, and I'll bring you back something for dinner!"

“Mhm… I will.” You mumbled. You'd let your travel bag thunk loudly to the floor next to your bed as you collapsed into the mattress. Some of the vertigo had subsided after your extended nap, but you hardly wanted to push your luck by trying to go out to dinner with everyone else.

"There's even a bath if you want to take one, might help you feel better." Vash gave a final, soothing rub to the space between your shoulder blades before you could hear him stepping away, boots thudding softly on the wood floor. "I'll be back before you know it. Sleep well."

"Have fuuuun." You sighed out, door clicking shut behind him and leaving you in silence. As tired as you were, there was a tacky sweatiness to your skin, sickness and desert heat making you feel distinctly gross to the touch. Maybe a bath would be a good idea after all…

Reluctantly, you slumped into a seated position before getting back to your feet. The bathroom was larger than you'd expected for the size of the inn, and your vision swam slightly as you reached over to fiddle with the knobs and start the sudden rush of water. It was even warm; how much did this place cost? Distantly you felt a little prickle of guilt, Meryl was probably spending extra just to make sure you could rest in a vague semblance of comfort. You'd have to be sure to thank her profusely, when you could actually think straight. You clumsily shed your clothes, letting them fall to the tiled floor as you slipped into the warm water and toed the knob back off again with your foot.

It felt good at first, dunking your head under the water and coming up again with a soft huff as rivulets ran from your hair. But you were far too tired to even wash yourself properly, and though the water barely bordered on warm, something about the heat made your dizziness spike all over again. You couldn't even bring yourself to stand back up to get out, slumping against the side of the tub and resting your cheek on the cool ceramic edge. All you needed was to close your eyes for a moment, and once the spiraling in your head stopped you'd be fine to climb back out again. You'd just get a little more rest in the meantime…

"Heyyy, are you feeling any better? I brought you some soup! We just need to bring the bowl back tomorrow morning."

Vash knocked twice on your door, but received no response. Man, you must be really exhausted. Your bedroom light was visible from the street, so when he saw it on he'd assumed you were still awake. He tried the handle, finding your door to still be unlocked.

"I'm coming in, okay?" He twisted the handle, hesitating just a moment before adding. "...Don't be naked!"

He shouldered the door open, one hand holding your lidded bowl of soup and the other covering his eyes. Kicking the door shut behind him, Vash hesitated a moment before peeking through his spread fingers. Your room was empty, bed still made, bag exactly where you'd dropped it just before he left. Vash's stomach sank, quickly setting the bowl on the table as he called out your name. You wouldn't have gone somewhere, would you? Did someone see him bringing you into the hotel, maybe peg you as a sidekick of The Humanoid Typhoon? There weren't any signs of a struggle, though. Maybe you were sicker than he thought, and he'd left you all alone when you were at your most vulnerable. His gaze flickered around the room, grasping for any sign of where you may have gone or what might have happened.

Finally, it landed on the bathroom door. It wasn't open when he left, and a slim trail of light was glinting from the gap between it and the doorframe. There was silence beyond it, a blistering, agonizing silence. He took two hesitant steps forwards, knocking shakily on the doorframe, before finally nudging it open and letting himself inside.

His heart twisted and stammered in his chest when his gaze finally landed on you, rabbiting up into a thundering panic when you didn't even acknowledge his entrance. You were slumped in the bathtub, one arm hanging over the edge and your cheek lolled against the rim of the basin, eyelids shut but fluttering weakly. There was a sickly pallor to your skin, and even from a distance Vash could see the goosebumps that had broken out across every stretch of it currently visible to him. You were even shivering, hard.

"H-Hey!" He didn't have time to be flustered at your state of complete undress, too busy stumbling forward to lift your limp and unmoving body from the bath. The water was cool, almost cold as he dunked his arms in, soaking the sleeves of his shirt and jacket as he hooked you under the armpits and pulled you into his arms. Letting himself sink to his knees so you could rest in his lap, he let go of you with one arm for just a moment, just long enough to grasp blindly at a towel on the counter to bundle you in. Your head thunked limply against his chest as soon as he had you wrapped in the towel and back in his arms. "Hey, can you hear me? I've got you now, it's gonna be okay."

It didn't feel like it was going to be okay, not to Vash at least. His stomach was swimming with guilt as he carried you back out to your bed, bundling you in the sheets and using the towel to dry the tips of your hair that were still damp. You were still shaking, thin blankets doing far too little to bring the warmth back to your body. Of course there wouldn't be any more stored in the hotel room either; it wasn't like anyone needed them most of the time anyway. He could dip back down the hallway and grab the blankets from his own bed, but that meant leaving you alone again, even for just another few moments. The thought made Vash feel vaguely sick himself.

Only one thing he could do then.

Vash shucked off his coat and tossed it over the back of a chair, hesitating for a moment before doing the same with his turtleneck. Waterlogged sleeves clung to his arms as he wrestled the damp thing off, dropping it unceremoniously onto the floor before moving back to your bedside. He tugged back the top blanket, leaving you swaddled in the sheet as he clambered in next to you and pulled the blanket back up to his chin. You let out a soft sigh through your nose as you curled instinctively into his warmth, tucking your face into the crook of his neck. Oh so hesitantly, like you were made of fine china, Vash draped an arm around your bundled form and splayed his hand out wide along the small of your back.

"I'm sorry…" He murmured, clutching your shuddering body like you would dissolve away between his fingertips if he relaxed, even for a moment. "I'm so sorry. I should have stayed. I won't leave again. I'm sorry."

"Mmmrh… Vash?"

He jolted, cupping your face with a hesitant call of your name as you blinked miserably awake. Head thumping and body aching, you squinted until Vash's face phased into clarity, all quivering lip and furrowed brow and stinging, glassy eyes. Weakly, you wrestled a hand free from the sheet, wiping at the corner of his eye with your thumb. He choked on a sob, melting into your palm with a relieved gasp.

"You're okay."

"Mmh… Head hurts a lot. What time is it?" You grumbled. The last thing you remembered was stooping down to run yourself a bath, then the rest of it faded into a hazy blur. Vash sniffled, pressing a kiss to your palm.

"Evening. Probably around 8? You passed out in the bath… It was really cold."

Fragmented memories began to click back into place, and you gripped the sheets close to your body with your free hand as you suddenly processed your own nudity. A spike of humiliation shot through you, as dulled as it was by your swimming senses.

"God, I'm sorry. I didn't scare you too bad, did I?"

Vash didn't respond, but the look on his face gave you all the answer you needed.

"Oh, honey." The sheets were tucked close up enough to your chest that you didn't hesitate to free your other hand to cup his face as well. His gaze trailed off to the corner of his eye, unable to keep contact with yours. "I'm so sorry, you must have been so worried."

"I-It's alright! It's not a big deal, really. I'm just glad you're okay."

You didn't relent, not yet, instead leaning in and pressing a kiss to the center of his forehead. "It is a big deal. I scared you, didn't I?"

"Not on purpose or anything."

"That doesn't mean it didn't feel real. Oh, Vash." His breath hitched when you murmured his name, another fresh tear or two slipping down his cheeks. "I'm okay. You found me and I'm gonna be alright, alright? I'm right here."

A tiny, pained whimper escaped him as he bundled you into his arms, hiding his teary face in the crook of your neck. Both flesh and metal hands fisted the fabric draped across your back as he pressed a kiss to the soft space in between your neck and your shoulder. "I shouldn't have left. I should have made sure you were okay. I shouldn't have told you to take a bath."

"Hey, hey, hold on. You didn't make me do anything, I chose to take a bath. None of this is your fault, Vash. Things happen sometimes." Your cradled the back of his head in one hand, and rubbed soothing circles across his broad back with the other. "You came to check on me, and you found me, and you got me warm. You're so good, Vash. My wonderful boy."

He sniffled against your neck again, but you could feel the faintest hint of a smile pressed against your skin. "...I brought you some soup. Are you hungry?"

You hummed, trailing your fingertips up and down the jut of his shoulder blade. "In a little bit. Can you warm me up a bit more first? You're like a living space heater."

Finally, you could feel some of the nervous tension begin to eke out of Vash's muscles as he began to melt into your arms. He tugged you forward, just enough that your fronts were pressed together from the chest all the way down to where your legs intertwined, thin fabric sheet separating your bare chests.

"Good? Not too warm?" His heartbeat was thundering loud enough for you to feel, his hands so gentle where they rested upon your exhausted body. "Let me know if you get too warm, okay?"

"I will. But this is perfect." You nuzzled your forehead against his shoulder, making him stifle a soft chuckle. "I could fall asleep again."

"Not yet! You've got to at least eat something first, okay? After you eat, then you can sleep."

"Always looking after me.~" You cooed. "I will, okay? In just a few minutes."

Your answer seemed to placate him for now as he pressed another kiss to your neck, light and chaste. He nosed along your jawbone, breath light and ticklish as he murmured. "Can I stay here tonight? I know I have my own room, and you need to rest, and I don't want to be a bother, but-"

"Yes." You replied, before he could talk himself out of it. "Yes, please stay with me. I want you to."

There was a palpable relief in the sigh he let out at your response. "Good. Cause I probably just would have camped out in the hallway if you said no. Might get in trouble with the owners for that."

"Well we can't have that happen, now can we?"

"No we cannot.~"

You chuckled, body feeling light for the first time that day as you let Vash cradle you in his steady arms.

#vash x reader #vash the stampede #trigun imagines #trigun #trigun stampede #my writing #long post

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uchihaharlot · 3 months

Note

Itachi and Shisui making out in the back seat of a car in modern au

Nonny,

I’m gonna tell you a little secret. If your older hotter cousin sears his lips to yours in a hot kiss, while going 99 in the backseat of a souped up coupe...

NSFW; extreme depictions of Shisui fucking Itachi rotten, Sasuke getting hard from it and then Shisui coercing him to let him suck Sasuke off. You’ve been warned, if you don’t like Shiita, or even Sasuke/Shisui (which I don’t ship this, I just did it out of spite) get lost. If you’re incapable of understanding that fiction is not real, get lost. If you want to bitch and moan about this, I don’t give a fuck. I like writing, I like writing smut. I like writing my favorite characters (especially the two that Kishi royally fucked, getting fucked and by one another).

Itachi didn’t turn him way. In fact, it would be rude if he didn’t reciprocate the gesture. At least, that’s what Itachi internalized it as. Aside from Shisui being his mentor and biggest supporter.

He was his lover. His Ride or die — rotten soldier. To ignore the whims of one of the strongest shinobi all of Konoha and the Uchiha ever produced, would be ignorant.

That and Shisui’s fat cock spoke for itself when it emotionally and physically incapacitated Itachi to a whimpering mess. How side splitting good it felt when he was stuffed full of it. Shisui craned Itachi by his hair and sucked on his neck.

Hurried, and desperate, Itachi reaches his lips to slant over Shisui’s. The intermingling of their breaths heated the space in between. The soft rocking of their hips, harmonious rhythm. Shisui reached down to stroke Itachi’s throbbing cock, how many times had he edged him to the brink and stopped.

Poor baby Sasuke. Subjected to his family’s salacious behavior. Drove over a few speed bumps with no breaks in hopes of knocking their shit off. Instead was met with the inconsolable moaning of his older brother.

“You two are annoying, and disgusting.” Sasuke chided, taking a hard left.

Thinking he could manipulate a pair of mass manipulators himself, Sasuke drifts onto a dirt road. How unfortunate for him the car turned into one giant vibrator on the rocky terrain, that it only fed the salacious narrative of his family.

As if he was being funny Shisui yelled, “faster Sasuke… Itachi’s close.” The perpetual image in the review mirror of his cousin plowing his older brother while saying that made him wish he was blind. A terrible day to have eyes.

Break check? More like a thrust boost. Nothing that Sasuke did really made a difference, Shisui was still balls to the wall deep inside Itachi. His brother in their cousin’s lap, Shisui’s hand ferociously stroking Itachi. The lurid hip rotation permanently gave Sasuke brain damage. Hearing his older brother mewling he was cumming did not prepare Sasuke for the stalactite of cum that ricocheted out Itachi’s throbbing cock and dripped off the hooded upholstery and into his lap.

‘You’re sick as fuck Shisui!’ Sasuke’s disgusted face did not scare his older cousin.

‘Don’t be such a prude. I have enough for both of you.’ Whatever the fuck Shsiui was referring to, Sasuke pretended to not hear or know.

It all came to a head, well Itachi’s mouth slobbering Shisui’s head. He was purposely holding it in. Enjoying the glare of Sasuke from the mirror every so few seconds as he recklessly drove through the backwoods of Konoha. Shisui’s unnecessarily loud caterwauling made worse by his hand forcing Itachi to deep throat his length.

‘Are you hard, little cousin?’ Shisui moaned, Sasuke kept his dick in check until that little number slipped out.

With vinegar, Sasuke shot back, ‘I like blondes, not incorrigible assholes.’ Yea of course, but if Sasuke was as crooked as the rest of them, he would cave.

‘I give better head than that kid you call a man.’ Shisui, still using his older brother as a cock sleeve, drawing out his own climax. ‘Pull over.’

‘No.’ Sasuke sped up, hitting a pothole at the moment Shisui spurted his creamy cum into Itachi’s willing and warm mouth. Being sucked like a straw until he could no longer take the overstimulation of it.

The pothole, well, it popped a tire. Irritating a shrieking Sasuke and making Shisui laugh as he moans, ‘I came so hard I popped the tire.’

Once Itachi and Shisui are properly fitted back into their respective slacks. The situation outside of the vehicle is assessed. Front passenger side tire was toast. Itachi immediately went to the trunk for the spare and jack. Shisui on the other hand, continued to push his deplorable agenda of ‘reasons why you should put your cock in my mouth’ to Sasuke. One of them being the most ridiculous of reasons.

‘I’m older, wiser and—’ cut off by Sasuke.

‘Will you shut the fuck up if I let you?’ Sasuke snapped, typically would never even fantasize this situation. But he was semi hard, and Naruto was not around. Nobody was around. Itachi looked up from the trunk, not involving himself in the matter. It wasn’t like men didn’t know what men wanted. It wasn’t as if there was some law that forbid you to fuck your older or younger cousin. It wasn’t as if—

Sasuke stopped internalizing the second he felt Shisui’s warmth wrapped around his cock, expertly took him deep and Sasuke begrudgingly groaned. When had he unfastened his pants even? How quickly his older cousin worked his shaft, looking up at him like some goo goo doll in a whorehouse. Took him to the back of his throat, with out complaint, over and over again. Spitting on him and using both hands to crank his aching need. Naruto would have bitched he was too much to take, not Shisui. Shisui gargled even on Sasuke’s hot pulsing cock. Sucking in air as Shisui’s lips encapsulated the tip of his cock to the roof of his mouth as it threatened to spill out.

‘Already?’ Shisui teased, licking his length from under.

‘Shut up.’ As if closing your eyes would make Sasuke forget that Shisui was the one on his knees.

He clenched his firsts at his side, that was, until Shisui guided one hand to his curls, ‘Itachi’s favorite.’

It was unholy to receive lips service only the gods would weep for. As his older brother continued to change the tire, neither Shisui nor Sasuke were distracted by the gentle rise on the other side of the car. Sasuke leaned against the driver side door, whispering profanity towards Shisui and his stupid good mouth. He was going to cum, but he didn’t want to give Shisui the pleasure of it in his mouth.

‘On your face.’ Sasuke demanded and bit back a groan.

Shisui never once listened to the advice of others, he did as he pleased but hearing and seeing Sasuke whimpering. Looking up at his now grown up baby cousin from a vulnerable standpoint, drawing his leaning cock in and out of his mouth as Sasuke gripped his hair. Shisui decided to actually entertain this idea.

‘As you wish, little Sasuke.’ Even worse was the tone he used. Oh well, Sasuke unabashedly gripped Shisui by his mop of hair and watched as Shisui pumped his thickening cock above his face. Painting his older cousin with the same genetic material each on of them had.

‘I still think you’re sick as fuck.’ When Shisui licked at his lips.

‘The pot calling the kettle black.’ Standing, leaving Sasuke with his now soft floppy dick hanging out.

On cue the car was now situated in four wheels again. Shisui took driver seat, itachi passenger and Sasuke in the back. Left to ruminate and brood on the fact he may or may not have just gotten the best head of his life. Would never admit it, Shisui would undoubtedly tease him through innuendos at the most insensitive times.

‘..fucking losers.’

#shisui uchiha #itachi uchiha #uchiha clan #shisui headcanons #uchiha headcanons #uchiha family #itachi headcanons #sasuke headcanons #sasuke smut #sasuke uchiha #Sasuke x Shisui #shisui x itachi #shiita #itachi smut #shisui smut

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g0dspeeed · 1 year

Text

Truck Problems

A horrible afternoon for Cappie De la Costa takes a turn for the better in the form of the saddest, brown eyes in all of Hope County.

Never had Cappie De la Costa thought a place so serene, so brimming with natural beauty could be also so very hated like the Whitetail Mountains of Hope County. She scorned every needled pine, every bubbling brook, every wildflower. Loathed the slopes, the cavernous crevassess, and the many aged faces of its rocky mountains. The animals, all the wildlife with their sharp horns and hisses could go fuck right off. In that moment underneath the warm, afternoon sun, Cappie despised the whole region more than any place on the planet.

In a rare moment of self-examination, Cappie thought that visiting the mountains would clear her mind, offer a fresh perspective that was long overdue. That's what therapists and shit said to do, right? Self-care and other feel good crap? So she left her house, took a drive in her truck with the windows down, and tried to reflect upon the last year, tried to appreciate the world around her.

It didn't take. All that mountain air and sunshine managed to do was remind Cappie of the past, of bittersweet memories, and just plain piss her off. She saw memories like the old road signs along the mountain side, each one hurt more than the last. Each one stoked her anger, the frustration that hummed beneath the skin.

Just when she was leaving, too, escaping her personal Hell, that's when her truck decided to groan and sputter, as if in that fleeting moment that was when the Universe felt like taking a big, steaming shit on Cappie's life. The engines stuttered to a stop in a final cough of hot smoke, the ugly plumes rolling out of her truck's engine block like a chimney as it left her stranded on the side of the road. She was stuck. Cappie was stranded in the last place she wanted to be at the base of one of the region's western mountains.

Hazel eyes glared at the distant hills and cliffs as if they mocked her, as if playing a majestic witness to her rotten predicament. Fingers twirled an unlit cigarette.

"Ugh, fuck me," Cappie grumbled from the side of the road as she fished out her cellphone from the back pocket of her jeans. Calling her brother Staci wasn't an option because he was at work, leaving her with few options. Her thumb tapped away at the screen, scrolled through her Contacts until finding the one she buried there.

Her finger hovered over the screen as it taunted her.

Could she do it?

Yeah. She could.

And he would come. Cappie was certain.

But did she want him to?

No. Absolutely not.

An aggravated groan dragged from her throat for she was torn between next moves and resented that there was even any indecision to begin with.

Just as Cappie relented, surrendered to her desperation to call the last person on earth whom she wanted help from, the sound of tires rolling down the road stole her attention.

Her anxiety spiked, pounding her heart harder in her chest.

Those Project members, or 'Peggies', as she'd grown accustomed to calling them, had become more emboldened lately. More preachy. More stubborn, even in the face of Cappie's initial indifference, staunch atheism, and hedonistic rhetoric.

Therefore it didn't help that following the loud slam of a car door did a man with the most full bodied beard she had ever seen in her whole life and the saddest brown eyes of all of Hope County approached her from around her truck.

Before the stranger could say a thing, Cappie beat him to it.

"Yes, I know about the Father," she groused while lighting her cigarette. "And no, I don't wanna go to church. And no, I don't care about burnin' in Hell forever. Been there, done that. So unless you know how to help me with an engine, you can fuck right off."

Her brain braced itself for a lesson in fire and brimstone, to be called a sinner, or just plain cussed out.

Instead, Cappie heard a "Well, nice to meet you, too, ma'am" in an easy timber.

A hot scoff left her, but when she looked at him again to give the stranger a piece of her mind, she hesitated.

The more she looked at the man the more Cappie realized that he probably wasn't a member of Eden's Gate. True, he definitely had the hair for it, the tresses dark and grown out to his shoulders, a little unkempt but softened by the warm sunlight cutting through the trees. The beard, too, was impressive and needed a trim. Dressed on his taut frame was more camouflage than the typical Peggie wore, along with a tactical belt and military jacket with some kind of antler emblem on it.

And his eyes. The sadness in them, that dull shadow swimming in the brown, lifted at her challenge, and became lit with curiosity.

They were lovely.

"Sorry," she found herself admitting, her voice sheepish. "Just, Christ, had a shit day."

The man shifted in his boots and his attention left her face to scrutinize her truck.

"Can see that," he replied. "And I'm no engine expert, but I don't know if we or anyone can fix your truck out here."

No shit.

"Probably not, no," she validated.

Cappie took a long drag from her cigarette, relaxing at the feeling of nicotine hitting her system.

The man's age seemed a mystery between the full-bodied beard and the dark circles under his eyes, which only stoked her burning interest for who the hell he was.

Like ants crawling along the skin, Cappie could feel how his eyes studied her in return.

"Got a question, sir?" she prompted, regaining his haunting stare into her soul. "Cause, you know, you look like a Peggie to me."

Her smile, a peace offering, brought back the softness to his eyes.

"Promise I'm not, ma'am–"

"Please don't 'ma'am' me," she interrupted. "I hate it. Just call me Cappie."

His lips, full beneath the coarse hairs of his mustache, quirked a smile before sliding back to neutrality. Like a shooting star, quick and rare, Cappie decided then and there that she would like to see it again, that smile, before they parted ways.

"Okay, Cappie."

A sharp heat stung at her cheeks as his easy cadence spoke her nickname, so Cappie chased it with some agitation.

"And who the hell are you?" she prodded.

The stranger cleared his throat.

"Name's Eli," he shared.

Eli.

Like Elijah?

Cappie flicked the ash from her cigarette to stifle her sudden enamoration. She felt it in her belly, that untamed desire to flirt.

"Sweet," she cooed. "So, Eli, wanna give me a ride or are ya just going to comment on my shit situation and leave me to the bears?"

Her body, all stiff muscles and aches, whined as Cappie rose from the ground.

When Cappie turned to face him, she caught the fleeting glance from her ass by her new acquaintance.

Cappie smiled to herself as she walked towards the beat up Bronco he arrived in, flattered.

Then, the wise words of Deputy Pratt echoed from the depths of her brain, and in a quick motion Cappie whipped out her phone and took a picture of the mountain man, earning a frown.

"Sorry," she teased without an ounce of remorse. "Just gotta send a pic of your handsome, not-a-Peggie mug to a few people."

"Why?" he questioned.

Cappie looked up from her phone screen after she sent the picture to her brother, boss, and boyfriend, and delivered a cheeky wink. It had its intended effect. The man quirked another small smile for a whole second.

"Oh, you know, in case I go missing in the next twenty-four hours," she breezed. "Not that you could take me. I'm kinda feisty."

Much to her disappointment, Eli didn't take the bait and flirt back. He just shook his head and followed Cappie to his own truck.

"Just take me to Fall's End, por favor," requested Cappie.

Eli nodded, and a prickly, uncomfortable awkwardness befell the cab as they took off down the mountainside. Cappie was restless, unsettled by the views out the window, the radio, and the sensation of his sideways glances from the driver's side. Having nothing much else to do, she teased him.

"Like what you see?" she asked him with a coy grin.

His somberness seemed to fall from his face as the skin around his dark eyes crinkled and his full lips lifted into another rare smile.

Eli chuckled. She loved the sound.

"You normally this ornery with people you just met?" he challenged.

Her brow furrowed at that.

Ornery? Hm. What word was that?

Cappie twisted in her seat to face him. Eli glanced to regard her, a tinge of fear lighting his eyes.

"You think, you think I'm horny?"

All the blood drained from the man's face.

"What–"

Cappie glared.

"Cause that's fuckin' creepy, dude," she told him.

"No! That is not what I said–"

"And I'll tell you what, I don't care who the fuck you think you are," she continued with a damning finger, "But I will kick your ass to next fuckin' Sunday if you try anything!"

Despite it being a damn bridge, Eli hit the brakes so hard that her body had to brace against the dashboard. They stopped in the middle of the bridge between regions and he parked the Bronco, his face brimming with worry.

"Ornery ," Eli stated, firm and loud. "I said ornery , ma'am–Shit, I mean Cappie."

Hazel eyes roved over every feature of his face searching for a lie, for the bullshit. From his full lips to the ripe fear in his deep eyes, Cappie found not a foul thing about Eli. The poison in her glare lost its sting and was replaced with uncertainty.

Cappie leaned back in her seat and stared out the window, resigned to move on and pretend not to be dreadfully embarrassed.

"Oh," she muttered. "Okay. Shit, I guess I dunno what that word means."

Mere seconds of silence followed before a laugh--His laugh-- full and hearty at her expense, filled the cab. The sincerity bloomed a hot warmth to her face. Cappie couldn't take her eyes off of Eli, for despite as stupid as she felt, the sight of his smile, pinked cheeks, and glimmering eyes was endearing.

"Shit, Cap, I promise I didn't mean anything offensive," Eli maintained Cappie with a smile. "Ya just seem tense is all. Can't say that I blame you though, especially if you've had a shit day."

Her heart skipped a beat.

Cap.

She liked that coming from his mouth.

"Okay," she settled. "Okay, fine, won't kill ya, but I meant what I said. I'm feisty."

He nodded his head, smile still in place, and shifted the Bronco back in gear to resume their drive. Gone was the heavy awkwardness, their misunderstanding loosening him up, thank God.

"I believe you," he added. "You seem like a handful."

His glance caught her wink.

"Can be," she admitted. "I'm not for the faint of heart. No one can tame me."

She didn't expect Eli to say anything back, so when he did, her cheeks flushed again.

"Well," he told her, his voice dipped low. "I hope no one ever does. You got that fire in ya, and it's, it's kinda nice. Like a breath of fresh air."

Some deep, heavy part of her that she had carried inside her chest for over a year unmoored at such genuine kindness. Cappie felt seen in that moment, appraised like a jewelry box, the treasure of her personhood valued by the mysterious stranger behind the wheel. She swallowed the sudden lump in her throat and resigned herself to stare out the window lest he see the brimming of fresh tears.

If he noticed, Eli didn't say anything, not until she sucked it up and started idle chatter about the County, his hair, and how much she hated the outdoors.

"Well, we can't be friends then," settled Eli as they approached Fall's End.

"Why not?" she mused.

"Because I love being outside. My favorite places are in the mountains. So that's that."

"Damn," she sighed. "And here I thought we had some real chemistry goin' on."

He opened his mouth up as if he wanted to add something, but alas, Eli must've thought better of it and offered a smile instead. His cheeks were a bit pinker.

"Just sayin'," she drawled upon entering the town. "Your hair is like the people in that Project church. All kumbaya and shit."

"And you look like you're dressed for a run in the City, ma'am ."

"I would have been fine–"

"Right. You and your pocket knife. A poster child for survival."

She laughed as he parked in front of the Spread Eagle.

"Thanks for the ride," Cappie sighed, a pang of disappointment flitting in her chest.

"Not a problem," he answered. "Thanks for not killing me."

The passenger side door popped open and she slid from the seat.

"If ever in town," she told him. "Let me buy you a beer. I work at the Eagle. Maybe we can sit down and you can teach me a thing or two about camping or fighting bears."

Eli shook his head with a smirk, looked again like he wanted to ask something, but glanced out the windshield.

"You're trouble," he groused. "But I might take you up on that sometime."

"The beer or trouble?"

The man gifted Cappie with another grin.

"Something tells me I'd get both. Have a good one," he told her.

Cappie winked again and closed the door.

When she saddled up to the bar top of the Spread Eagle, intent on dialing the nearest auto shop, Mary May had a suspicious smile on her lips. Cappie frowned.

"What?"

"So, that a thing?" ventured her boss.

"What a thing?"

"Eli. Eli Palmer."

Cappie scoffed and shook her head.

"Nah, he just helped me catch a ride. I was stranded up on the mountain."

Mary May's face dropped, and to Cappie's surprise the woman added, "I can make it a thing. If ya want."

"Thanks, but I'm already seein' someone–"

"But you could see someone better."

Cappie pondered her words, but shook her head again.

"I ain't his type," she decided. "He wants a nature girl, I think. Someone who likes bein' outdoorsy and shit. I'm just, shit, I dunno. A hot mess."

A cold beer was set before Cappie, but when she reached for it, Mary May scooted it out of range to level Cappie a serious look.

"That man hasn't smiled in years," she told Cappie. "And you're an idiot if you let that one go."

The bartender walked away before Cappie could say a thing, left her to stew.

A shit day indeed.

🌲

I love how they met! Just one of my snippets for my Eli Palmer and Cappie De la Costa pairing.

#oc: cappie de la costa #eli palmer #otp: cappieli #cappie de la costa x eli palmer #i just love them okay

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retlasute · 9 months

Text

॰ In The Rich Man's World ॰

Word count: 7704

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Chapter 4 - Hasta Mañana

You woke up the same way you did last morning, chewing dry air while trying to get rid of the horrible taste of vodka spitting on the ground.

Is today Thursday? You took a deep breath, unable to open your eyes in the bright light hitting your face. Then you turned to face the sun, and felt something hard and uncomfortable under your cheek.

Out of the corner of your eye you saw a strange round shape, then you stood up sharply and saw a mummified orbit roll across the grass like a golf ball. You exclaimed, dragging yourself away, but soon calmed down and grabbed the piece of the corpse you had left on the ground last night.

You sat up straight, cracked your neck in pain and looked around for the rest of the corpse, but there was nothing there. Then you looked around for Louise.

"Louise?" You raised your voice, but got no answer. "Louise, where are you?"

Your first coherent thought was: "She must be in one of the tents with the corpse. She was probably sleepy and forgot one of the eyes."

And your second thought was that this observation didn't mean anything, because there were no tents ahead.

You took another look around, holding one of the eyes in your stiff hand. There were no craters, no tents, no claw rocks, no corpses... The only thing beside you was an eye, your heels, and an empty bottle of vodka.

Again you struggled to stand upright, leaning on your outstretched hands. Yes, you were definitely awake. You had no idea how long you had been asleep, how long you had been lying there unconscious in the middle of the forest. Quite a long time, judging by your cold, crumpled clothes. One of your numb legs started to tingle, and you stood up to stimulate the circulation. Touching your thighs with your hand, you felt a pattern of depressions and bulges etched into the flesh. You looked down and saw that the sharp fragments of gravel had torn through most of your pantyhose.

"Louise!" You shouted louder, feeling your throat tighten. "Where the hell are you?"

Standing up, you started to feel a little better. The weakness in your arms and legs began to fade, along with the tired and torn feeling in your mind. You kept the eye of the corpse in your jacket pocket and carried the bottle of vodka with you as you walked around. Indeed, the tents that were there the night before had disappeared along with the rest of the corpse and your friend.

You couldn't tell if you really lost consciousness, but you definitely had no idea of yourself for a while, until you stumbled over a rock, sliding down the gentle hill you had climbed last night. You felt sick, dizzy and beaten, as if you had been tossed back and forth over crashing waves on a rocky beach. You fell into a thick bush, dragging yourself to an oak tree and leaning against one of them for balance.

"Louise!"

You kept calling out, but there was no answer. The whole forest looked different, the pattern of the trees was different, and even the road looked less polished. You staggered to the fork where your car was, adding it to the list of things that had disappeared, along with the rotten tree you had down last night.

Completely stunned, your slow mind began to grasp the reason: maybe you got confused and took a wrong turn when you fell.

But no, that was the same road and you were sure of it.

Then you shuddered at the next thought: Louise had woken up before you, picked up the corpse, and driven away in your car.

This was undoubtedly the most absurd thought that occurred to you for several reasons. First, Louise would never do something like this. Second, she took the corpse, your car, the tents, and the rotten tree? That didn't make any sense. And finally, third, she couldn't drive.

You kept walking, lost, occasionally feeling your temple, remembering the stories about the Devil's Palm. Schizophrenia, paranoia, hallucinations... which one were you having now? Your mind immediately imagined that you were hallucinating when you saw a column of smoke rising from the oak grove. The farm, you thought. Maybe Louise was at the farm. This thought urged you to run towards the smoke.

You went back into the forest, intending to make a wide circle around the clearing and come out on the road where you already were. However, this was more difficult than you expected. The forest looked young, dense with undergrowth that clung to your clothes. You had to advance carefully through the young, spindly trees, untangling your dress from the wild mulberry trees as you proceed.

However, your walk was interrupted by a firm hand that pulled on your arm. If it had been a snake, you would have stepped on it. He was standing so quietly among the trees that he looked like one of them and you didn't see him until his hand suddenly came up and grabbed your arm.

The other hand covered your mouth as you were dragged backward, away from the smoke. You were struggling fiercely in panic. Your captor, whoever he was, was much stronger than you. You smelled a faint floral perfume, like pot marigold cologne, and something spicy, mixed with the stronger smell of male sweat. However, when the man thought he was far enough away from the smoke, he let you out slowly.

You shook your head, getting rid of the restriction over your mouth.

"Who are you?!"

The hands released you, but the moment you turned to the man you sensed that something was wrong. It wasn't just the raw scent, but something more subtle. You stood still, motionless, feeling the hairs on the back of your neck start to stand on end.

He examined you with great interest. He had a lithe, slender, well-boned physique; well-defined facial contours, even blond eyebrows, and large blue eyes. He had blond, straight and soft hair, slightly tousled and falling to his shoulder. He also had tanned skin, though it was still pale, that showed the months, nay, years of exposure to the weather. A light golden color.

"Who the hell are you?" You asked again, feeling extremely confused.

The stranger raised his eyebrows at your question.

"Who am I? I say, who are you?" His eyes searched you slowly from head to toe, his eyebrows raised as he looked down at the thin, short dress you were wearing and lingered in a shuffling glance at your legs. You didn't understand the reason for that look, but it made you extremely nervous, and you backed up a step or two until you abruptly hit a tree.

He approached with a single cautious step, but that was enough for you to react by smashing the vodka bottle on the tree trunk and pointing the sharp shards in his direction. Startled, he stepped back for a brief moment.

"Can you tell me who the fuck you are?" The question this time came out as a squawk that sounded frightening even to your ears.

As if he couldn't hear you, he ignored the question, glancing leisurely behind him. When he looked back at you, he motioned for you to be quiet, and this particularly startled you.

"I'm Jonathan, Jonathan Joestar. But you can call me Johnny. Now, tell me, who are you?"

"(Y/N)." You said cautiously, leaning more forcefully against the trunk of the tree behind you. The solidity of the trunk was real, and that cheered you up again. "Why don't you stop looking back?"

His eyes narrowed, his mouth constantly open in apprehension, when he looked back once more. He was ready to answer you when you heard some distant thuds that you, half stunned, identified as gunshots.

The sound of gunfire was followed by the appearance of five or six men, running like demons through the trees, hurtling toward you. You immediately dodged their view with an agility that seemed to prove you were not physically hurt, whatever your mental state.

You took off running. Your breath rumbled in your chest as you made your way through the curtain of oaks and alders, ignoring the mulberry trees, nettles, rocks, fallen trunks, and anything that stood in your way. You heard heavy footsteps behind you, but you were too terrified to look back.

You ran blindly, tree branches scratching your face and arms, ankles twisting as you stepped over holes and tripped over rocks. There was no room in your mind for any kind of rational thought; you just wanted to get out of there.

After a few seconds of running, there were no more sounds of gunshots and you completely lost track of where you were. You felt like your lungs were about to burst, aching from the effort. However, you only stopped running when something heavy hit your feet hard and you were thrown forward, falling flat on your face with a deafening thud.

A hand as massive as a rock grabbed your arm, forcing you up. You were faced again with a pair of piercing blue eyes, the man's hands clamped like a clam on your arm. He was as breathless as you were, implying that he had also been running away from the sequence of shots.

"They're not giving up any soon. This way.'' The man said, tugging at your arm, and you, stunned by the succession of recent events, obediently followed.

Your new companion made his way quickly through a curtain of alder trees, turned sharply around a large rock, and suddenly you were on a path. Overgrown with heather and gorse, and zigzagging so that it was never visible more than two meters ahead, it was still undoubtedly a path, a steep slope leading to a small clearing where a horse was grazing.

It was only at that moment that you managed to muster up enough strength and presence of mind to ask where you were going. Receiving no answer from your companion, you repeated in a louder tone.

"Where the hell are we going?!"

To your considerable surprise, he turned to you, his face contorted, and dragged you close to the horse.

"Listen carefully, I'm the one asking the questions here." He said, sternly.

Offended, you were ready to protest, and he put his hand on your mouth and pushed you against the horse's flanks.

"I need to know that you will answer my questions." He continued, looking deep into her eyes. "Will you answer my questions?"

Startled, you widened your eyes and confirmed with a frantic nod.

"Fine..." He slowly released your mouth. "First... you said your name is (Y/N), right? You will tell me exactly what you are doing here."

"I..." You gathered some breath to speak. The man's face remained uncomfortably close to yours, close enough that you could feel his breath. He was handsome, you thought, and didn't look unfriendly. However, there were tense wrinkles between his eyebrows, and he was not a face anyone would want to contradict. "I'm looking for my friend."

"Your friend?"

"Yes. Louise. Tall, red hair, green eyes, wearing a Pink Floyd t-shirt... Have you seen her?"

"Wearing what?" His face contorted in confusion, but he quickly ignored what you said. "You're the only woman I've found here."

"And who were those men behind us?"

"I'm the one asking the questions, didn't you hear me?" He said rudely, establishing a pattern you would quickly tire of.

''I get it! Can you please back off? This horse stinks!"

He analyzed your expression carefully, slowly allowing you to move away from the large animal, but still watching for any sign of escape you might show.

"Where did you come from, lady?"

"I... Ah, shit... it's a long story."

"I'm willing to listen."

"I just want to find my friend... I... those men might have her! Do you know who they are?"

"Yes, I know very well." He said, ignoring the rule he had set for himself. "Creed's men. I've been tracking this bastard for months, and when I finally find him, some crazy woman shows up screaming and reporting my location."

"Excuse me?" Offended by his version of this morning's events, you frowned. "Who is this Creed? Why were you tracking him?"

"Joshua Creed, gang leader wanted for robbery and murder." He said stiltedly, and you felt a sudden shortness of breath.

"Are you... Is this a joke?" You held back from laughing but smiled skewed. "You're kidding, right?"

"Why would I be kidding? You still haven't answered my question, miss."

"I..." You gasped, completely shocked. "I came from Washington. Washington D.C."

His eyebrows rose in surprise.

"And what did you come here to do, before you got lost?"

"That... is very difficult to explain. Please, sir, I need to find my friend and my car. Can you help me find the way?"

"Find your friend and what?" His head tilted forward, you were making him as confused as you were.

"My car." Stuck in rationality, you refused to believe that this man didn't know what a car was. "A gray Cadillac, I parked it near a fork last night. My friend and I had a few drinks and ended up sleeping near some tents. When I woke up, she was no longer there. I know it sounds crazy, but everything was gone... her, my car, the tents, the..." You stopped talking the moment you noticed that you were about to talk about the corpse.

"I didn't understand a single word you said. Are you sure you're okay? Did you hit your head?"

"No!" You exclaimed impatiently. "No, I didn't hit my head! I'm not crazy! You're not going to drive me crazy with this gang story and this horse and this cowboy accent!"

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"How do you not know what a fucking car is?!"

Your voice sounded uncomfortably loud enough for you to realize you were going crazy, then you shut up, looking at the man. He had a calm expression on his face but was extremely apprehensive about your behavior.

At this point, the sweat was pouring from your face after the arduous marathon you had run, and you were not willing to run away again. But at the same time, you were also unwilling to deal with this man. You could only believe that he was joking, but the serious expression on his face unbelievably scared you. You felt a sudden tightness in your throat, an urge to cry with anguish and mental exhaustion. You somehow knew that this was only the beginning.

"I don't think I can help you find your friend now." He continued calmly. "But I would never leave a lady alone here, with Creed's gang in the vicinity. They do abominable things to women."

The man's words frightened you deeply, but at the same time you felt a certain relief.

"I know a place where you will be safe. I can't take you back to your home, but I can give you shelter and food until you find your friend. But you'll have to trust me."

"Why would you help me?"

"You've got me curious, (Y/N)." He added a different intonation when he said your name. "If you trust me, I can take you to a safe place."

He nodded, indicating that if you trusted him, you would have to get on the horse. This was unbelievable, and you hesitated quickly. But what choice did you have? Looking around, there was only a dense and unrecognizable forest. You would be dead there before you could find any sign of Louise. You tried to hide your confusion and dread in the task of agreeing to let the man help you onto the horse.

Your dress was tight and strictly unsuitable for riding a horse, but luckily your coat was long enough to serve as a protective cover for your thighs. Undeniably embarrassed, you made room in the saddle for the man behind you, holding tightly to the reins. Despite the general awkwardness of the situation, you felt grateful for his willingness to help you. Without more than a faint clatter of spurs, the horse started to move, and, startled, you held onto the saddle to keep from falling off the animal.

Your new partner didn't seem to be having much difficulty, despite the limited space in the saddle. You could feel his thighs behind yours, sometimes moving and pressing to guide the horse. You clung to the edge of the small saddle and remained seated; you had ridden before, but it had been a long time and you were far from being the rider this Johnny was.

"Are you cold? You're shivering a lot." He broke the silence for a moment.

You didn't realize that you were shivering. Your confused mind was preoccupied with other things.

"No... it's just... it's nothing." You replied, trying to draw his attention away. "What's your name again? I don't remember."

"It's Jonathan, but everyone calls me Johnny or Jojo." He said quietly.

"I... may I ask you a strange question, Johnny?" You tried to keep your voice as firm as possible.

"What do you want to know?"

"How old are you?"

"Twenty-two. Why?"

"You don't know what a car is?"

"I don't think so." He answered calmly, looking at the road.

"What year were you born, Johnny?" You hesitated a little when you asked, but you had to make sure you weren't crazy.

"1870." He said, but this time he looked at you suspiciously. "May I ask why you're asking me that?"

The answer paralyzed you. You were silent for a long second, not even blinking, not even breathing.

"I want to make sure I'm not crazy..." You finally managed to unlock your throat, although your chest still ached. "You... What day is it today?"

"I'm not sure, but I think it's October 2nd." He tilted his head to look at your face. "Why would you be crazy?"

"October 2nd of what year?" You continued ignoring his questions.

"1892" Johnny didn't seem to bother answering your questions, although he was suspicious of their nature. At this point, he gave up questioning your delirium.

You were in the year of grace 1892. Obviously you didn't believe him, he was certainly playing tricks on you, but you were ready to let him down. Everything you had seen since waking up pointed to the entirely irrational conclusion that you were in the past, but that was physically impossible.

However, you remembered a paper you had done in high school on the invention of automobiles, and the date 1886 hammered into your head like a piece of information your brain refused to discard. If this was a real man from the past, then he should at least recognize the description of a car, since they already existed and were an absurdly popular invention.

"You really don't know what a car is, Johnny?" With your tongue ready and sharp enough, you prepared to contradict him.

"No, I have no clue. Can you tell me what a car is?"

"Don't you really know? A four-wheeled machine that moves by itself and..."

"Oh..." He interrupted you, his face seemed to brighten into a kind of sudden relief and understanding that gave you chills. "Are you talking about that German invention, the automobile? Are you telling me that you have one? Can women use that kind of machine?"

Okay, you were taken by surprise and had no other cards up your sleeve. But that didn't mean anything, did it? He might just be a great actor, but there was no historical authenticity in his costume. His blue printed clothes made that evident. By the way, what kind of cowboy doesn't own a holster and a revolver?

However, you couldn't question him and be any more rude than you already were, so you cautiously thought of a response that he could show understanding for.

"Yeah... it's my father's car."

"Does your father own a car?" He questioned, puzzled, but didn't seem to think you were lying. "I already knew you weren't a peasant, but then, how did your father afford a car? Is he some kind of nobleman?"

You thought about an answer for a few seconds and then you noticed that your father's profession was a relatively safe and acceptable choice for any time. A lawyer could be recognized in the 20th century as well as in the 19th.

"No. He is a lawyer." You answered, but that didn't make him any less intrigued.

"And what is a lawyer's daughter doing alone in the forest, wearing those clothes?"

"I already answered that question."

"That didn't seem like a complete answer to me. Why would you come here in an automobile with your friend?"

"You said I have to trust you, right? Then, please make it mutual. Trust me too, mister Joestar."

At first, you thought you were dreaming too vividly, but Johnny's hand grabbing your arm, rudely strong and immediately physical, dispelled that impression. You couldn't imagine dreaming you were on a horse, feeling your aching inner thighs rubbing against the saddle, which was nothing fantastical. And the sweat; yes, you were familiar enough with sweat, but you never dreamed of the smell of sweat, which you could still smell on the man behind you.

He clicked his tongue to increase the horse's speed. It seemed inconceivable, but all the evidence indicated that you were in a place where the customs, accent, and politics of wanted criminals and gangs of the late 19th century were still in force. You would have imagined it to be some kind of fantasy show, but the sound of the shots was disturbingly real.

It could be some isolated enclave from the rest of the world, perhaps, where there were still gangs and cowboys. But in New Jersey? You've never heard of this kind of thing before, have you? Scoffed the uncomfortably rational part of your mind.

Jonathan Joestar, if that is indeed his name, is a fine actor, you thought bitterly. You felt ridiculously on the verge of tears, so you stopped thinking before you started to cry.

The rest of the trip went without many incidents and the occasional questions, if you don't consider it an incident to ride 15 miles through a rough region in the morning, generally without the benefit of roads, sharing a horse with a strange man. At least you were not ambushed by road robbers, which Johnny claimed to be very common in that region. By the standards you are used to, it was a pretty dull trip.

Your destination loomed ahead, a huge two-story building made of dark wood outlined against the gray light of early afternoon. The place was no longer quiet and deserted and no longer surrounded by trees. It was similar to the gas stations where you and Louise stopped at dawn. Johnny moved to the side of the narrow road and helped you off the horse. The flow of people was entirely women, some of whom seemed to be the same age as you, and this made you a little relieved, although everyone looked in astonishment at your clothes, which they obviously considered strange.

The building itself was rough, all made of aged wood and with the same saloon feel you are used to seeing in Western movies. Two chimneys spewed smoke above the flat roof, adding to the overall gray impression.

"Where are we?" Accepting Johnny's help, you got off his horse and asked in a voice hoarse from lack of use.

"In Bastille Tavern." He answered laconically.

Bastille Tavern. Well, at least now you knew where you were. You were sure that such tranquility and rusticity didn't exist anywhere else in New Jersey in 1976. You were beginning to accept the absurd idea that you were probably somewhere in the 19th century.

"Oh, Jojo!" Shouted a young woman, comfortable in ignoring your presence. "You're early! We didn't expect to see you today."

"Yeah, well, I got lucky." He tied his horse to a post and looked at you. "Both good and bad. Could you call Madam O'Shea to prepare the food earlier? We'll need an extra meal and an extra bed.''

The woman promptly obeyed and you stood in the damp yard watching Johnny brush his horse until Madam O'Shea, whoever she was, agreed to show up. A handful of curious young women looked at you, speculating about your possible origin and function. When a sturdy, decisive woman, dressed in rustic dark brown linen, woven on a hand-loom, appeared with great fanfare and put the young women back to their respective jobs.

"Jonathan, darling!" The woman exclaimed, giving a warm welcome kiss on his cheek in a way that almost knocked him over, as a mother would. "You must be starving!"

That's when she turned to you, leaping up as if she had been bitten by a snake. She looked at you in amazement, then turned to Johnny for an explanation of your appearance.

"(Y/N)." He said, with a slight tilt of his head in your direction. "That's madam O'Shea." He added, with a tilt to the other side. "I found her near Creed's gang camp, she was lost. I couldn't leave her there."

Madam O'Shea looked you up and down with an air of wise appraisal. She concluded that you seemed quite harmless, regardless of your strange and scandalous appearance, because she smiled warmly and took you by the arm.

"Well, (Y/N), welcome. Come with me and we'll find you some clothes more... you know. More." She examined your short dress and the inadequate shoes in your hand shaking her head.

You allowed Madam O'Shea to lead you to your quarters as if you were a lost child. Your gaze wandered around the interior of the place, past the smoke-blackened fireplace, the narrow windows, and the massive oak furniture. No electrical fixtures, nothing to indicate running water or even a rug. There were only women outside and you wondered what this place was all about and what kind of relationship Johnny had with Madam O'Shea, since she seemed to treat him like a son.

The place really did look like a 19th-century tavern. But what about Louise? If you were, in fact, in the 19th century, where would she be? Would she have stayed in your time or had she traveled through the fabrics of space-time with you? By the way, what would your co-workers do when you two stopped showing up at the Speedwagon Foundation? What would they do when they miss the corpse? And again, what about Louise? Would you ever see her again? Thinking about your friend was the last straw. From the moment you woke up outside the Devil's Palm your ordinary life ceased to exist. You tried to control yourself, but your lips trembled and your eyes filled with tears.

Though rustic, the place was very pretty, and Madam O'Shea closed the door behind you as you entered what looked like the lavatory, judging by the heavy copper tub in front of you.

"Where am I?" You asked, stunned.

The woman's wrinkled cheeks rose to your face, analyzing you from head to toe.

"The real question is, where have you been in these clothes?" She replied briskly. Her voice was deep and friendly and frightening, like the bark of a sheepdog. "Come on, young lady, you need a bath. When you're clean, you can eat."

You felt like a survivor of some big air raid, as she took a pile of clothes from a closet and placed them on a small table. Accepting no protests and with a great deal of commotion, the woman made you remove your inadequate clothing, but your eyes widened when without warning she poured a cascade of cold water from the tub onto your back, making you exclaim as if you had been lashed.

"What's the matter?" In an almost reproachful tone, Madam O'Shea asked, still splashing the water on you.

"The water... is cold." You stammered.

"And how else should it be? There are no rivers of boiling water, you know."

Astonished and too embarrassed to resist, you let the woman remove all the surface layer of dirt on your body, then dried it with a clean linen towel. The woman turned, ignoring your shaky state and your lack of clothing, to rummage through what appeared to be a complete collection of toiletries available to a disheveled stranger. A few delicate bowls of French rouge porcelain, with a lid embossed with a row of golden swans.

Then Madam O'Shea bring a silk camisole and bodice, with stockings of fine, delicate fabric, unlike the torn stockings you were wearing. You were tempted to insist that you continue wearing your own clothes, just to spite yourself, but the memory of the reaction of the other women and even Johnny to your dress was enough to make you restrain yourself. At least the quality of the clothes seemed mediocre, which made them lighter and more comfortable than the blankets Madam O'Shea herself wore.

"Oh, you have very nice skin, (Y/N). How old are you, anyway?"

"Thank you, I think... I'm twenty-four."

"Twenty-four?!" Stupefied, she stopped arranging your clothes and raised her eyes to your face. "Are you sure?"

If you really were in the 19th century, this reaction would make sense. After all, many women of that time were approaching middle age by the age of twenty-four. And you, blessed with good nutrition, hygiene, and dental care, not worn down by multiple pregnancies or hours of hard manual labor, looked a lot younger than you were. Or at least healthier. You took a deep breath, pushed your hair back, and looked toward a small dressing table in front of you. There was a mirror that allowed a hazy reflection, where your face looked worryingly bloodless and your eyes wide.

"You're a fine thing, young lady." Madam O'Shea continued to chatter until the last button was fastened on your dress. "If Jojo brought you here, then there's something special about you, besides beauty. Where did you come from?"

You were too confused to answer her, but still, the woman continued to chatter, tidying up here and there, pinning up a lock of hair or fixing a bow. Finally, you were dressed to her liking and finally released from the restroom.

There was no appetite for the cakes and porridge Madam O'Shea served you and Johnny. On closer inspection, the place looked more like some sort of inn than an actual tavern, judging by the lack of customers. Although you weren't hungry, you crumbled a piece of cake and pretended to eat, to gain some time to think.

When you sat down comfortably at a small oak table, your attention was immediately drawn to a huge metal cage, cleverly constructed to fit the curve of the wall, filled with dozens of small songbirds. The birds' merry clatter was accentuated by the fluttering of wings and rustling of leaves as the inhabitants fluttered and hopped around in their surroundings.

"Jumpy little creatures, huh?" A soft, pleasant voice sounded behind you, and you turned around with a smile that froze on your face.

Now, more calmly, you were able to better analyze the face of Jonathan Joestar, who until then seemed to be the only man in the place. He had a slightly furrowed brow, giving him an air of intimidation that soon softened into something more affable, but no less vigorous.

He kept his eyes fixed on the birds, discreetly providing you with a much-needed moment to regain control of your facial features.

"Welcome, (Y/N)." He said, with a small nod, looking down at your clothes. ''Madam O'Shea was very quick to give you a few clothes."

"Yeah." You said. "She was. I've never taken a shower so fast and so cold in my life."

He raised one of his eyebrows, pulling out a chair to sit before you at the table, where his plate was already set. But a large, mature figure, perhaps even a little more wrinkled than Madam O'Shea herself entered the room.

"Jonathan." The old woman said, in a husky voice that almost convinced you to stop smoking cigarettes. "What are you doing here? I thought you weren't coming back this week."

The man looked calmly at the woman, greeting her respectfully.

"It was an... unforeseen." He answered, looking at you. "This girl's name is (Y/N), I found her near Creed's camp. She was in... ah, a difficult situation."

Johnny seemed to be suppressing a smile and you wondered at what point he had described your supposed state of nakedness to the other people in that tavern.

"I don't care who she is." The old woman said in an unfriendly way, refraining from looking at you, dismissively. "You should be in the port city, with or without Joshua Creed."

"I know that, don't worry. I still have plenty of time and I couldn't leave her alone."

"You're getting sloppy, Jonathan. Any naked whore can distract you from your work now." She closed, leaving quietly and haughtily before you could react.

She went outside and closed the door without caring about the unstable structure of the place. You, obviously offended, frowned angrily and looked at Johnny, who looked especially embarrassed. He motioned for you to calm down and, feeling confused and belligerent, you realized that keeping calm was the only thing you could do.

"She's an old hag who killed her husband with her bitterness." Johnny said although he didn't seem truly disgusted by that woman. "You'll get used to it."

"Get used to it? No, no. I appreciate the attention, but I have to find my friend and go home." You quickly replied.

"We can discuss this after lunch." Johnny interrupted you, taking a slice of cake and dipping it into the porridge. "Aren't you hungry?"

You remembered again: keeping calm was the only thing you could do.

"No." You replied. "You said this was a tavern, right? I don't mean to sound rude... but I think I'm the only customer"

"You're a guest, so there are no customers" He answered calmly. "I have always found it too isolated here for a tavern, it functions more as an inn for travelers. But Madam Hildegarde preferred to keep the tavern image."

"Madam Hildegarde?"

"The nice lady who just left."

"Oh... I see." You said. "And you? Do you work here?"

"No, we're just old friends. I earn my living by hunting bounties, and the money left over is used for the tavern's expenses."

"Do you... hunt bounties? What do you mean?"

Somewhat confused by your unfamiliarity, he looked at you with a frown, but remained polite, imagining that you had hit your head.

"Yes. That's why we were attacked by Creed's gang. I've been playing this cat-and-mouse game for months. But don't worry, you'll be safe here."

You remained silent, wide-eyed, with no idea what to say. To avoid any trace of rudeness, you pretended to be distracted by your surroundings.

The place was closed and stuffy with smoke from the brazier. The largest window was covered with a heavy tapestry depicting the execution of Saint Sebastian. You looked up at the saint's face, his chest riddled with arrows, wondering what would make a person choose that particular decoration for a tavern.

Despite the nonchalant way it had been placed there, the heavy wool and silk upholstery blocked out most of the draft. If Bastille Tavern was a quiet place, as Johnny had said, it was also busy. The whole place seemed to spin and hum like a complex clockwork mechanism. Then, one by one, the cogs and wheels that made the establishment work would disperse at lunchtime, only to magically reappear again, each in its place.

"Why are there only women here?" You asked. "Are they all lost travelers too?"

"No." He answered dryly. "They all work for Madams Hildegarde and O'Shea in exchange for room and board. Some are... well, some are soiled doves, but only when there are customers."

"Soiled doves?"

"You know... Prostitutes."

Your eyes widened at him and any remnants of appetite that were in your stomach disappeared.

"Prostitutes? Did you bring me to a whorehouse? You say I need housing for two old pimps?!" Your voice unconsciously rose as you quickly got up from your chair and faced him again. "That's why she said I was a fine thing! How dare you?!"

"Wait! It's not what you're thinking!"

"For God's sake!" You exclaimed. "I'm an archaeologist, I'm not going to prostitute myself! I don't have time for this, I have to find Louise!"

Without even giving Johnny a chance to explain himself, you looked around frantically and took off running. You didn't run, but walked as fast as you could to the front door, opening it with all your might and bumping into the old witch named Hildegarde, who gave you a brutal look. An island of contempt in a sea of astonished and curious faces.

Your hasty escape was interrupted, however, by a shrill scream coming straight from the tavern. Startled, Hildegarde pushed you way over to check what was happening the moment she recognized Madam O'Shea's voice. The women outside remained in their proper positions, quiet, not daring to follow Hildegarde. You glanced at them, one by one, noticing that they all had the faces of soiled doves; tired and worn, yet too young.

You stood there hyperventilating for a few more seconds when you heard the bathroom door open with a thud. Instinctively, you stepped back and looked to see what was happening. With conscious effort, only one of your feet did not hesitate to step into the tavern again. Johnny ran towards the screams, but stopped halfway when he saw Madame O'Shea wobbling and staggering down the short hallway, your clothes in her hands.

Your frown creased and you followed Hildegarde. You weren't sure why you were following her, but you felt a strong compulsion to do so. You weren't afraid of her; of course, there was no reason to be. At the same time, your irrational body still felt the disturbing turbulence of that day, shaking your flesh and bones, and you wanted to run away.

"Jojo!" Madam O'Shea shouted, looking more frightened than furious. "You need to see this!"

A shiver ran down your spine as the woman raised your coat to him, pulling a delicate spherical structure from one of the pockets. Probably intrigued by the stitching and style of the jacket, her curiosity made her find one of the eyes you had been keeping.

"That's..." Johnny stammered, extremely hesitant, as he picked up the eye and analyzed it, almost as intrigued as you were.

"Who the hell is this woman, Johnny? Did she kill someone? Is this some kind of sorcery?!" O'Shea remained chattering, while Hildegarde watched the scene impassively, but without blinking for a long time.

For heaven's sake, you thought, with mild disgust at the wave of ignorance you would be forced to deal with because of your carelessness. If you really were in the 19th century, then nothing you said would make sense to them. What you did was difficult to explain even to an ordinary person of your time; now, imagine it to two old ladies and a weird cowboy.

You stood there stunned, not knowing exactly whether to run or to face the situation. As if he knew you were still paralyzed there, Johnny looked straight at you, without a single sign of understanding on his face. You couldn't tell if he was shocked, scared, angry or all three. He walked briskly towards you, holding the eye in a clenched fist.

Like a stray cat, the moment he approached you your first reflex was to run. To simply run away without even bothering to breathe, but Johnny's hand on your shoulder was supernaturally faster than any of your movements, pulling you violently into the room.

"Who the hell are you?!" His voice sounded terribly furious, and his hand painfully squeezed your shoulder. The question sounded in a sufficiently interrogatory tone.

You shuddered, shocked and silent, your eyes fixed on Johnny.

"If you want to get out of here, you'll have to answer my questions!" This time, his voice sounded loud enough to rattle your nerves.

It took your desperate mind only a few seconds to get an idea of what you might say to someone who clearly didn't seem to be joking about the whole gang and brothel thing.

"I didn't kill anyone, I swear!" That was the first thing you said.

But he didn't seem satisfied with your answer, shaking you and pulling you violently closer.

"Where did you get this eye? Do you know where the other one is?"

You hesitated, letting your shoulders drop, putting aside your half-formed plans for escape. You were exhausted, but alert enough to see the resignation in the man's blue eyes. And yet it took you a few seconds to check that you heard the question correctly.

Noticing your sudden shock, Johnny glanced at Hildegarde and O'Shea, who watched in amazement, and asked them to leave. A shiver ran through your body when you found yourself alone with that man, and naturally you tried to pull away, but he grabbed you tighter.

"You know what I'm talking about, don't you? That's why you're silent." Johnny said more calmly, though with a fury of distrust. "You'd better tell me who you work for, or I'll have to make you talk."

"What? I don't work for anyone!"

"Then what the hell are you doing with that eye?"

You felt sudden tears come to your eyes and closed them tightly, to stem the flow.

"You... Do you know what this eye is?" You asked, your voice trembling.

His eyes were fixed on you. Don't be ridiculous, you thought. It's obvious he doesn't know. Your mind is playing tricks on you, (Y/N).

"Yes, I know. And I don't think you know."

The shock of the possibility being confirmed roused nerves that had been dormant for a long time, and while you might appear outwardly calm, inside your emotions were boiling with despair.

"I know. I know everything. I know all about it." You stammered, shaking your head. "I... I can't stay here. Please let me go..."

"I'm afraid that won't be possible." He said, satisfied with your answer, and forced you to sit down on a nearby chair to keep up the interrogation. "Where did you get this?"

"I... I can't say."

"Why? Are you being forced? Are you working for someone?"

"No!" You immediately retorted, wanting to eliminate all possibilities that you might end up dying today. "I just can't tell!"

"Why?!"

"Because..." You took a deep breath, rethinking your alternatives. "Because I don't remember."

The answer seemed to surprise him, but it didn't convince him. He still seemed determined to keep you captive as long as necessary.

"You don't remember?" Although calm, his voice indicated total disbelief. One of his eyebrows was raised contemptuously.

"That's what I said." You confirmed, unable to look him in the eye. "I had too much to drink with my friend last night, and then she disappeared."

"And your... 'car' too, isn't it?"

You hesitated, swallowing dryly.

"Yeah..."

"Well... if that's it, then I guess you're really oblivious to it all. A poor, lonely, drunk woman. You said you were an archeologist?" He continued questioning. "Well... I don't believe in a single word of yours."

Remember, keeping calm is the only thing you can do.

"Yes... I'm an archeologist. I study... study fossils."

"Fascinating. I knew an archeologist a long time ago." He said with a glint in his eyes that particularly terrified you. "Tell me, miss, so do you also study ancient creatures? Like dinosaurs?"

You snorted, somehow relieved and deeply enraged by a single word. Dinosaurs? How would a simple bounty hunter from the 19th century know this term? Your brain somehow lit up with blinding certainty. It was very easy for an actor to say they don't know what cars are, but to know what dinosaurs are? It was extremely unlikely for someone who lives so isolated. Your eyes lifted to his face and you let out an inevitable mocking laugh.

"Dinosaurs?" You questioned. "You know what a dinosaur is, but you don't know what a car is?"

He didn't answer, confused, but this silence only served to give you more reason.

"You're kidding me, right? You son of a bitch!" You exulted, rising to your feet in a jolt. "I must confess, you're very convincing!"

"Hey, sit in the damn chair!" He shouted, but you laughed and ignored it.

"Oh, and what are you going to do? You can stop pretending now, I know this is all a fucking joke! You can't drive me crazy now!"

The man's face was cautious, but he didn't seem to be hiding anything. You were watching him closely and he could see the indecision floating momentarily on your face as you chose your next step. He made a movement towards you, his hands reaching around your shoulders, grabbing you too quickly to try to dodge.

"Stop trying to run away!" He said. "You work for Dio, don't you?! Answer me!"

"Let me go, you bastard!" You struggled. "You won't fool me! I'm going to..."

You were desperately writhing to get free when you heard something behind you and suddenly became immobile. Voices came and went, accompanied by the sound of heavy footsteps. It was undoubtedly the women outside and the two madams. You struggled again, trying to knee Johnny and only had time to register the fact that he wasn't actually trying to hurt, just to control you, before something hit the back of your head and everything went dark.

#gyro x reader #jojos bizzare adventure #ao3fic #johnny joestar #diego brando #johnny x reader #diego brando x reader #gyro zeppeli #jjba part 7 #steel ball run #time travel

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mushroomiegay · 2 years

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in a quest for answers, i found home

i. observing. we live on the plane of confusion, where the divulging vectors of identity and conformity crash like seismic plates about to go seven on the richter, and we follow the shadows into the mossy path behind the skyscrapers and metal monsters, to where they are afraid to go. queer colors are painted by invisible hands onto the grey skies - we gaze in wonderment, and observe.

ii. questioning. question everything, they teach you when you're five years old and waiting desperately for respite from the blistering sun of the assembly hall. now, we take their advice. we become grass-touchers , weed-smokers, coffee-drinkers and thinkers. we ask questions to which we find no satisfactory answers. in my satchel i find rusty shovels, and we dig - into the rocky clumps of soil and down below - in our search for the quench. whom am i?

iii. desolation. at the bottom of the pit we created, we find nothing but dissatisfaction. tired, exhausted, hopeless, we give up. sitting there in muddy sod, your fingers clutch my dirty hands like a rosary - you murmur soft prayers in a godless land that no one answers. desolation becomes my second name.

iv. flashbacks and resolution. we banish our doubts to the back of our minds, and curse the dreadful hour when we took that back road down to this hell. ironic, i think to myself, that we bent their rules simply to end up where they said we would. i recall being six and puzzled at the wrath of a grandma in the grocery line - 'girls should be girls and boys boys,' she'd yelled. yet here we are, blurring the lines, smudged kajal in both our eyes, as you brush my brusquely short once-curls. here we lie, not entirely sure of ourselves, but sure that we do not lie within their dictums' confines.

v. gratitude. soft drizzle pours forth from the motley skies. you thank invisible deities, and i thank you. for respite, support, and comfort, i thank you, fellow cross-bearer. i braid damp crimson flowers into your long, dark locks and you smile shyly. you thank me silently, with a piercing gaze and bone-crunching grip on my hand. i nod - gratitude is exchanged.

vi. lovers and names. you find the slightly crushed leaves of a henna plant. in a web of intricate designs, you etch your name in my palm and mine in yours. our journey is the destination, and answers are found along the road, in the low-lying, half-rotten peaches, and in my lover's burning kisses. can i call you that now? can i call you by my name? will you call me by yours?

vii. home. the queer colors we once gawked at in the sky are the fabric of our existence, we realize. here, in this no man's land, in your arms, i have found home. i admire it's bliss - a fuzzy quilt on a monsoon day- and into it i sink.

#poetry #sapphic poem #desi bisexual #desi sapphic #queer poetry

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theninjamouse · 2 years

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Some very late night thoughts and musings about nightmares, scroll past if you don't like talk about horror and things

I slept most of the day and it's nearly 3:30 in the morning now and I keep thinking about this place I see in my dreams. My dreams are usually not nice, to say the least. Death is common, pain nearly always present, either in the form of torture or mauling or violence. Honestly, I think that's one reason why I push myself to exhaustion so much. If I'm exhausted, I rarely remember my dreams.

There is a specific Place that I've returned to a lot in my dreams over the last, oh I'd say 10 plus years. The way to it is different, sometimes. The first time was a mine shaft. Old, decayed, rotten. The path was narrow, the walls so close that all one had to do was reach out to touch the sides. I had to go down and the deeper down I went, the darker the mine became until the Dark itself was an Entity. And this Dark was not simply dangerous, or scary. I didn't know what it wanted, what it was, I simply knew that it was Evil in a way that is hard to put into words.

The second place is a tunnel. Massive, far bigger than any place I've seen while awake. Entire skyscrapers could fit inside and still not touch the walls or the ceiling. This tunnel too went down at an incline. Slow, but steady. Deeper and deeper and it led to a place with a pillar that glowed a sickly blue. And beneath this pillar was another hole and inside this hole was The Dark. I remember scrambling, breaking my nails on the harsh rock that I clung to as I was told to go further down until the Dark swallowed me.

I've visited both the tunnel and the mine shaft more than once. And each time, the dread I feel and the terror that grips me is more stark for the remembrance that comes with it. I've gotten to the point where the mere sight of these places is enough for my mind to yank itself out of sleep, though it leaves my body paralyzed and I have to thrash in bed to fully escape it.

But it's been a while. I'd forgotten. Then last night, I found a new way down. A natural hole in a place it shouldn't have been. Just a road somewhere. It looked like part of the concrete had caved in. The inside of the hole was rocky, jagged. Maybe a singular person could fit down there before the broken mess would hide them from sight as they squished and crawled further down.

I stepped into it, I felt a tickle of dread and backed away. I left. But then I realized my youngest brother had gone down into the hole. I ran back, saw the top of his head as he descended and I grabbed him, yanked him back up and away. And he looked at me and his eyes were gone. There was just The Dark oozing from where they should have been and he opened his mouth and I knew if I heard him speak there would not be words there but the scream of the thing that has tried to pull me down into the Dark for years.

I forced myself awake. I was frozen in my bed but I had escaped.

I don't want to fall back asleep.

#tw: horror #i don't have nice dreams very often #during the time i've spent at home these last few months i slept in my sibling's room #they've told me i whimper and cry out in my sleep a lot #i wonder if the underground lake i used to dream about as a kid is connected #it's my earliest nightmare #watching my mom walk into a sickly yellow and golden lake #she came back out a corpse #anyway now it's almost 4 and i'm tired but now i've spooked myself #i don't want to dream of that place anymore

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patrickcharlton-oshea-author · 9 months

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Waging War. An Age of Steam and Sorcery Novel. Chapter 10

“So what you’re saying is that we’re headed back into the same dungeon where you two became best friends?” Peter asked, flipping through a rack of leather armours on hangars.

“Well, I wouldn’t say BESTIES”, Pham said. He was sitting on the counter swinging his legs and watching everyone else shop. “I mean, we got off to a rocky start. Woz came into my starter town all “hurr durr, chop chop” with this sabre or something. I was set up at the local smithy grinding my skillz, cos I wasn’t 31337 back then. It was, like day one? Two?”

“Day one,” Warren’s voice sounded echoey and tinny, as he was trying on a new helm. “And it was a katana. I’ve still got it somewhere. Besides, you weren’t IN the smithy, you had tools spread halfway across the road. I nearly broke my neck tripping over one. Pfha, do they even wash these out before they put them on the shelf? This one still smells of sweat and dragon ass.”

“Should I ask how you know what dragon ass smells like?” Dani’s voice floated over the racks and shelves in the store.

“No.” Warren and Pham said in unison.

“It was an Ant-Man versus Thanos plan, wasn’t it?” Peter grinned.

“Shut up, don’t want to talk about it.” Warren lobbed the helmet at Peter. “Worry more about what we’re getting into. You’re going to need armour with more elemental resistances, the traps in that place are nasty and not even Pham can disable them all.”

“Speaking of armour, I remember you lost your entire wardrobe that day we first met. Walking into town buck nekkid, wang swinging in the breeze all pixelated like a cheap hentai. The “one point oh my god” version was the Wild West.” Dani chuckled, a hint of pink in his dead white cheeks. “It took the pearl clutchers less than twelve hours to “someone think of the children” a patch out.”

Warren sighed and stomped out the door. “It wasn’t all my clothes, it was just the seat of my pants. There was no wang,” he called over his shoulder. “Come on, this is low tier vendor trash. I know a place, but it’ll cost me a favour.”

Peter and the other two followed Warren deeper into the gloom as the road led away from the water and under the overhang of the upper level. Here the gas lamps never went out and condensation dripped from the roof to form rivulets in the gutter. The buildings were grimier, soot from the fireplaces adhered to everything damp, which was everything. Light shone through smoky windows streaked where the drips had carved tiny tracks in the grime. Even the people looked grittier. There was no way to tell NPC from Traveller, all were equally worn down and coated in black.

Hard up against the back wall was a building even blacker than the rest. Iron walled and imposing, with red rust patches like a rash over the frontage. No windows on the front, just three stairs up to an iron door inset with a sliding hatch at eye height. There wasn’t even a handle on the outside. If you weren’t let in, you weren’t getting in.

Warren ascended the stairs and rapped his knuckles on the door in a rhythm that Peter found familiar but couldn’t put his finger on. Da ta-da da da.

The hatch slid open and a pair of beady eyes examined Warren. “How much?”

“Two bits.”

The hatch slammed shut and they were left standing in the street, listening to the sigh of gently escaping steam from a nearby valve. The nearby lamp flickered and went out, and a horrible rotten egg smell wafted over them before it reignited with a whumph. Peter was just opening his mouth to suggest this trip had been in vain when the door clanked as the locks inside were released and it opened with a screech.

The owner of the beady eyes stood in the gap and beckoned them in. “Yer mates better be on their best behaviour MacGregor. You’re on thin ice with the boss as it is.”

“He’ll get what I promised on time,” Warren rumbled, reminiscent of when Peter had first met him. “I still have several days and for now I have bigger issues.”

The beady-eyed bloke huffed noncommittally and led them deeper into the building. The iron theme continued inside, with metal bound glass light fittings illuminating the halls with riveted iron walls, though these were at least painted to prevent rusting. It was an even institutional grey that reminded Peter of pictures of warships from the late 1900s that he had seen in History class. It was not a colour choice that inspired hope, joy or faith in humanity. In fact, after the fourth or fifth bland hallway separated by a bulkhead style door he was beginning to feel like they’d stepped into the domain of a happiness sucking demon.

The waiting room they were eventually deposited in did nothing to relieve that feeling. The seats were bare metal benches the same colour as the walls and attached by a hinge at the base and a chain at the edge. There were no windows at all and the only entrances and exits were the same metal doors with a wheel in the centre. Without the lights and paint, Peter could have mistaken this room for the labyrinth under Averton.

“Wait ‘ere”, Mr Beady-eye grunted and left by the same door they’d entered. The locks clanked when the door closed.

“Woz, what have you gotten us into?” Pham asked, flopping down onto one of the benches and lacing his fingers behind his head. “Peter might not care about respawns, but you know my stance on them.”

Dani had her ear against the door they’d come through and was trying to see if she could insert some sort of probe in the gap between the door and the jamb. “Yeah, mate. This is kinda unpickable. I’m guessing there’s two ways out of this, Peter’s and that door over there.”

“I’m standing right here, you know?” Peter felt a bit put upon. “I don’t ALWAYS die. Besides, I’m sure Woz has a plan. You DO have a plan, don’t you?”

“Wheest yersel. I dun need a plan. This is just a weekly quest. I just… hannae done it in a while and my rep has dropped with tha faction ye ken?” He leaned against the wall and crossed his arms. “They’re going to make us wait for a mite, just to flex that they have all the power. Which, in this town the kinda do.”

“Izzat all?” Pham responded. “What kind of faction are we talking though? Cos there’s a big difference between a reputation drop from the Mechanists Guild and a reputation drop with the mob. One means you lose access to the good materials and one gets you concrete shoes.”

“Uh,” Warren looked uncomfortable. “What’s your shoe size again?”

All eyes snapped to him.

“Kidding. Mostly,” he held up his hands in surrender. “I’m still liked, but if I don’t get them the stuff they’ve asked for by Friday I drop back to neutral and have to start again. It’s just posturing, we’ll be fine. We’ve been busy and I haven’t had time to turn in my dailies, weeklies or monthlies cos, you know, taking on a Geas was a big deal.”

“I knew it!” Part of the wall detached itself and became a formless humanoid shape, as though a puddle had delusions of grandeur. “I knew you’d have something to do with the Geas. You can’t help yourself, can you Mister MacGregor?” As the humanoid spoke it rapidly assumed the form of a green skinned, scaly creature in an admiral’s uniform and hat. “Always chasing the bigger fish.”

“Goober, you wee scunner. I KNEW you’d be listening. I’m just surprised you hadn’t shown one of your faces already,” Warren loomed over the diminutive naval officer. “This is a new low, though, even for you.” He picked up the creature by the neck and slammed it into the wall. “The real Captain would have you keelhauled for stealing his image like this.”

“Hey, he’s just a lil’ guy,” Dani protested. “Is that really necessary?”

“Yes, it is,” Warren growled over his shoulder. “Goober, show the nice people your real body.”

“It’s Gruber, and you know it,” Gruber hissed. Seeing no support from the others in the room his form melted again and reformed into a child sized being in a robe and hat. The hat had the word “wizzzard” stitched into the band, multiple z’s stretching the word to wrap entirely around it.

“Bloody wizards,” Pham spat.

Peter held up a finger. “Um, how does this help us?”

Warren shook Gruber like a dog shakes a toy. “Goober here is a Traveller like us. He makes bank by eavesdropping and selling secrets to the highest bidder. I’m betting he slipped Benny Blue-Eyes out the front a handful of silver to let him loiter in here until we’d dropped something juicy. Isn’t that right, Goober?”

“Damnit Warren, put me down. That bloody hurts.” Gruber’s real form as a gnomish spellcaster was even smaller than the kobold body he’d worn as a disguise. “How did you know it was me?”

“Captain Krunch hates spellslingers more than Pham does,” Warren harrumphed, dropping Gruber to the floor. “You’d know that if you’d done your homework instead of just bribing the doorman. Now get out of here before I send you for a respawn.”

Gruber gathered himself up to his full unimpressive height. “You haven’t heard the last of this,” he insisted in his high-pitched voice.

“Peter, do your eye thing please.”

Peter let the cold of the Paragon state flood his body. He was getting more proficient with it every day, even though it scared him in equal measure. He still didn’t know what they meant about his eyes, they always looked normal to him when he checked the mirror, but the way Gruber wet himself when he looked at Peter’s face told him he was doing something right.

“Ok, you’ve heard the last of this,” Gruber pressed himself against the cold metal as he hurriedly rapped out a code on the door.

Benny cracked the door, looking entirely unrepentant as the tiny Gruber pushed past him. “The Captain will see you now.” He pressed a something on his side of the wall and a buzzer sounded. The door on the other side of the room opened and swung wide. “Best not keep him waiting.”

On the far side of the final door a completely different room awaited them. A massive bay window stretching from wall to wall allowed a view out over the waters unimpeded by the town. How that was possible, Peter was unsure. The trip through the winding halls had left him disoriented but he felt sure they should have been able to see at least the lower tiers’ tallest buildings. A problem for another time, he thought, suppressing the memory of the walk in. There was no sign of the soul-sucking grey walls here though. The whole room was wood panelled, with shining brass fittings and artfully lit by primitive electric lamps. No gas appliances were visible at all, nor were any suggestions of magic. It was the most technologically advanced scene he had experienced in the game.

Dominating the room was an ornately carved mahogany desk. Spread across the glossy surface were maps of the world and its various regions. Exquisite cartography tools littered the desktop, finely made pens, protractors and compasses scattered seemingly willy-nilly at first but a closer inspection there was a sense of a greater organisation in the chaos. There were also, for some reason, footprints.

Behind the desk, in a red velvet lined swivelling chair that dwarfed its occupant, or maybe koballed it, was a doppelganger of the first form Gruber had taken. Small, green, scaly and in possession of a marvellous admiral’s hat, Captain Krunch lounged in the opulence of his domain. “Well, Mister MacGregor, we meet again.” Where Gruber’s voice had been reedy and hesitant, the Captain’s was deep, confident and resonant. Not at all what one would expect from a diminutive, dragon-runt like creature – no matter how impressive his headgear. “I am a busy man, Mr MacGregor. State your case and be quick about it.”

“We do indeed, Captain,” Warren knelt before the desk, waving to the others to do the same. “I come bearing gifts, in the hope of obtaining a meeting with… the armourer.”

The Captain waved a clawed hand disinterestedly. Warren stood and placed a small chest on the desk, facing the captain, and opened the lid. Peter couldn’t see what was in it, but from the way that the kobolds’ eyes widened he must have been very impressed. The reaction was only fleeting, however, and the captain schooled his features back into an impassive poker face. “This will do for now, but I trust you are aware of your obligations?”

“Captain, I assure you that you will have your tribute, as agreed, by the end of the week.” Warren’s voice was the most subdued Peter had ever heard it as he returned to where he had been kneeling.

The Captain stood on his chair and stepped up onto the desk, picking his footfalls carefully so as to not disturb . He closed the chest and picked it up gently, almost reverentially while maintaining an impressive air of impassiveness. “Then I will send word that you are on your way. I expect you still know where to go.”

“Aye, I do.”

“Then see yourself out. And send Benjamin in as you go. I feel I need a word with my doorkeeper.”

Warren waved them all to follow him and exited the room as quickly as manners would allow. In the antechamber he leaned in close to Benjamin in passing and whispered a few words that Peter couldn’t make out. Benjamin paled, looking decidedly less smug as the Travellers left the room.

When the crew were what Peter deemed a safe distance away from the imposing iron building, he burst into laughter. “Do you think he knows? About the cereal?”

Warren harrumphed. “Aye, he knows. NPCs regard our world as a sort of mirror dimension to theirs, in case you hadn’t noticed.” He waited for acknowledgment from Peter before continuing. “So the captain regards it as a point of honour they’ve named a food after him. He says it puts him on the same standing as Lord Wellington and the Earl of Sandwich.”

“For cereals?” Peter punned. He couldn’t help it. Everyone groaned and Dani punched him in the arm. “Ow! I know, I deserve it, but ow!”

“So, what’s with this armourer dude?” Pham asked. “I’ve never heard you mention them before.”

“Well, we don’t come here often,” Warren explained. “He’s a secret shopkeep you get to meet at the end of the local guild questline. You never did the quests, you never got to meet him. Besides, he specialises in heavy armour and you wear,” he waved generally in Pham’s direction, “that.”

“It’s called fashion, sweetie. Look it up!” Pham twirled on the spot, showing off his blood, oil and soot stained overalls. “I don’t need armour if I don’t get hit.”

“But, you DO get hit,” Dani pointed out helpfully.

“Yeah, that’s where the plan falls apart.”

“Come on,” Warren urged. “It’s not far and at least two of us need better protection if we’re going back into… well. There. You,” he looked pointedly at Pham, “we’re just going to cover you in bubble wrap and hope for the best.”

#writing #writblr #Age Of Steam and Sorcery

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crystal-in-nagasaki · 2 years

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unzen: hell or paradise?

In mid-May I took a weekend trip back southeast to the Unzen peninsula to visit friends and go sightseeing. I had been to the very south of the peninsula at Minami Shimabara for the intaglio art workshop, but now I finally had more of a chance to explore some other areas.

We stayed at a friend’s place in Chijiwa, Unzen for the weekend. Nearby we visited Tachibana shrine, one of the biggest shrines in Unzen. It was a really lovely shrine and had some cool goshuin as well.

From there, we drove up through the mountains in the center of the peninsula to eat nagashi somen and do a waterfall hike. Nagashi somen, meaning “flowing noodles,” involves the sliding of cold noodles down a sort of bamboo water slide, catching them with chopsticks, and dipping the noodles in a cold broth before eating them. It’s a refreshing and fun meal usually eaten in the summer. Here’s what it traditionally might look like:

This restaurant we went to didn’t use bamboo slides, but instead had special tables in the center of which the noodles could flow in a circle and be plucked out by those sitting at the table. It was my first time eating nagashi somen, and it was very delicious and a unique experience.

After our meal, we headed to (after getting lost in the small mountain roads a few times) a hiking trail leading down to Tonosumino Falls. The entrance was quite far from any main roads and we only saw one family on our way back up, so I’m not sure if it’s very well known.

The walk was straight downwards for about twenty minutes down overgrown stone steps and through thick greenery. We passed some small shrines and Jizo statues overgrown with moss as we hiked down, which made the place feel even more serene. At the bottom it got a little slick with spray as we came around the corner to the waterfall.

The waterfall was very big and beautiful, filling a deep basin and running off into a rocky stream. We had fun for a bit climbing around on the slippery rocks of the riverbed and some of my friends swam in the basin below the falls. Sunlight came through the foliage in one big spotlight over the falls and it gave the clearing a heavenly look.

After climbing around some more, flinging water at each other, and slipping on a rock and scraping my elbow, we decided to head back up to the cars. The hike back up was much more strenuous since it was entirely uphill. In order to distract us, I tried to sing some call and response songs. You know, like soldiers would. But all I could think of was the girl scout campfire songs my mom taught me as a kid about bears and peanuts. It did help a little though. Thanks mom!

After hiking back up, we hopped in our cars and continued south to the beach at Minami Shimabara. It was a bit cold yet to swim, though a couple of my friends did. I opted to sit on the beach and enjoy the sun and eat snacks. There were some nice cliffs overlooking the water and the scenery of them was quite beautiful, so I admired it for a while while shoving snacks and ice cream in my face.

The next day we headed back up the mountain to Unzen to visit the Unzen Hells, which is the name of the natural hot springs at the top of the mountain caused by volcanic gas bubbling up from beneath the sea. You can walk through the large area of white washed stones on wooden walkways, passing bubbling fumaroles and rising steam. The whole place has a really strong sulfur smell, like rotten eggs.

And speaking of eggs, they boil eggs over the natural geothermal heat and you can buy them to eat as a snack when you visit the springs.

There were some benches along the path with wooden platforms in front where you could place your bare feet in order to feel the heat from the ground. There were even signs around in several languages warning against heat stroke and burns, so it’s safe to say the platforms could get a bit hot.

Although Nagasaki is now a place with many churches, Christians were once persecuted all throughout Japan during the outlawing of Christianity in the early 1600s. Since Nagasaki was once a common place for trade with other countries, there was (and still is) a larger number of Christians than other prefectures. When Christianity was outlawed, many of the Christians in Nagasaki were tortured and even killed. During this time period, the Unzen Hells were sometimes used as a site to torture Christians in order to get them to renounce their faith, and you can find a monument on the hill overlooking the Hells as a tribute to those that were martyred there.

After finishing our walk, we checked out the small town beside the Hells. There were a couple of shrines there, so we got goshuin from both. The first shrine, Unzen Onsen Shrine, had a special tree connected by a rope with many wooden plaques hanging from it. The tree was advertised as a “husband and wife power spot,” so many couples come to pray and hang plaques wishing for a long and healthy marriage.

“Husband and wife power spot. Your wishes will come true.”

Next we went across the street to the Manmyoji temple. At some lesser known temples, you cannot receive a goshuin from a shop window, but must request one from the shrine keeper’s house. Therefore, we had to ring the doorbell of the house beside the shrine and a woman came to collect our books to stamp them. She was really kind and we left our books to her while we explored the temple. The temple used to be the main focus of the town before it became a hot springs destination, and boasts a daibutsu (large Buddha statue) in its hall. We prayed at the daibutsu then continued up the hill to a view overlooking the small town and the Hells. On a small path behind the temple, you can find statues of monks of the temple as well as one of Gyoki, the monk who built the temple. He is credited for also helping to build the Todaiji Temple in Nara (my favorite temple which also has a daibutsu) and his gravestone is on site at Manmyoji.

On our way back down the steps to the temple, the shrine lady met us on the steps to give us our goshuin books. She had been looking for us since we wandered off waiting for our goshuin and we were touched that she went out of her way to seek us out. We thanked her for the goshuin and she thanked us for visiting the temple.

We walked back into town and took an ice cream break, then said goodbye to the Hells and continued our drive into the mountains.

Some friends had invited us to a concert put on by their Japanese friend. The concert was a small community event deep in the mountains in a very small former schoolhouse. Community members set up stalls selling food and handmade crafts, and in the main room chairs were lined up to watch various musicians perform. We arrived late and caught the last act- a man singing and playing the piano. He sang many different genres including ballads, the blues, and a quirky upbeat song about the feeling of almost peeing yourself. It was really fun to watch.

After he finished performing, everyone called for an encore and every performer from the day returned to the stage and did a few more songs together. It was very merry and everyone in the audience joined in clapping and singing along.

This was my second trip to the Unzen peninsula, and the same as before it was an absolute pleasure. The drive along the sea and through the mountains is always so beautiful and peaceful and helps me forget about my work and life stresses. Luckily I’ve met some really nice people who live there so I hope I can continue to visit often and share more of my experiences there!

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lindahelp51 · 2 years

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#外燴

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yellow-py · 5 years

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Could you draw rotten rocky road? (my absolute favorite cuphead OCs and ship) :)

THEY!!!

#Cuphead oc #anna thesia #andy miller #rocky rodriguez #rotten rocky road #marengomango

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p0ply · 5 years

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misc triple r stuff

anna and andy belong to @marreeps-art and @yellow-pyromaniac!

#rotten rocky road #my art #cuphead #cuphead fc #rocky rodriguez #andy miller #anna thesia #uhh also posting oc meme stuff soon #dabs

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rotten-rocky-road · 5 years

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cotton eye joe nightcore

#cuphead #cuphead fc #anna thesia #andy miller #rocky rodriguez #rotten rocky road #poppy #ask #cookierun-ultimate #lil cameo there owo

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btsydtrash · 3 years

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Euphoric Endeavours [2]

vampire bts, poly ot7 x uni student yn

Through a series of curious happenstances, the Boys of Bangtan - your campus' most popular and most handsome group of individuals - set their sights on you, a regular student with a stubborn streak and a wayward mouth.

Strangely enough, the mere sight of them sets your instincts off, red-lights flashing in your brain - danger, danger, danger, danger.

It's too bad that they can't seem to leave you alone, though. They like you too much.

Masterlist / i dont have a tag list / find me on twitter / word count: 3.2k

tw: menstruation mention, compulsion

Chapter 2 - ‘Anticipated’

You start your period the next day, and so begins the cycle once more.

“Young-mi, please, less mint ice-cream, more rocky-road,” you plead when you hear the front door open and close. You’ve been sat vegetating on your couch for the last three hours, having called in sick from work at the café, promising to do the early shift next Wednesday before your afternoon creative writing class – which you already regret taking.

“I already got you, baby,” she sing-songs, holding up a plastic bag with the blessed cream sugariness. “I got you some of that coconut shit that you like.”

“Coconut milk?” You laugh. “Thank you for thinking me and my butthole when you were shopping.”

“Gluten-free ice-cream and dairy-free milk,” she says, disgust written across her face. “Nothing is sacred anymore.”

“How was class?”

Young-mi studies contemporary dance and is one of the most professional and beautiful performers you’ve ever seen. You’d been fortunate enough to go to her freshman year showcase, and an end-of-year performance where she was able to dance on stage with some of the then-sophomore and junior dance students.

“Fine. Exhausting. Normal stuff,” she replies, stretching her hands over her head. She’s wearing a co-ord sportswear outfit that you wouldn’t be able to squeeze yourself into, even if you tried. “I got to see him dance today, so it made the pain so worth it.”

“Are you still on that guy?” You ask, mouth filled with sugary ice-cream. “He’s such a tool.”

She slaps your shoulder, cheeks pinking. “Don’t talk about Jimin like that. He’s a lovely person.”

“He's besties with Hoseok. By association, he must be at least one-eighth jerk,” you inform her, shrugging. “I don’t make the rules.”

“You’re such a negative Nancy,” she says, dropping on the floor in front of you, spreading into an uncomfortable looking split. She does this sometimes, to keep her muscles stretched out and flexible. “He’s a hottie with a heart of pure gold.”

“He stares at nothing all the time,” you tell her. “And when I do catch his eye, he always looks angry to me.”

“That’s because you catch him at the worst angles, at the worst times. You haven’t seen him on stage, YN. He’s like a literal angel,” she reveres, eyes getting a weird sheen to them, as if recalling a distant yet blissful dream. “When you get to see how he embodies his dance, how he expresses motion and emotion, then tell me he’s nothing but a rotten jerk.”

“Until then, can I maintain the notion that he is nothing but a rotten, no-good jerk?” You ask, batting your eyelashes. She shoves at you.

“Your hair is a little greasy, want me to braid it for you?” She offers, kindly.

“Please, I can’t be bothered to reach it otherwise,” you tell her.

Letting your hair down, she pulls the tendrils back in two neat braids, your curls finally being tamed in something that wasn’t a rough-looking ponytail, and once she’s finished, you feel, rather than look, better.

“Thanks, bestie,” you say, falling into her embrace. She holds you close, warm and tight, and presses a kiss to your forehead.

“Aish, our baby YN, so strong and so untouchable, until her time of the month,” she teases, playing with the ends of your hair. “Then, it’s clingy baby time.”

“I missed you, asshole,” you curse, but refuse to move, too content with the comfort you’re receiving. She isn’t wrong – you usually prefer not to engage in skinship with anyone, too uncomfortable in your own skin to let anyone touch you for long, but when you’re around your period, it becomes like a drug to you. You think, maybe, supressing your desire for human contact for so long sends your body into a kind of hunger, and when you have a reason – a justification – you yearn for the closeness of another body.

When her tummy rumbles, signalling the end of your embrace, she goes about making the two of you some quick food, consisting of low-fat rice and veggie sides. She’s prepping for a mid-semester show-case and has drastically changed her die.

To make it easier, the house decided to avoid bringing meats and fatty foods home (save for this one discretion, due to your period) and so, it’s okra and seasoned kimchi for dinner. Again.

Young-mi leaves for her room to get ready for the last shift at the diner, leaving you to your thoughts once more.

Mei Li comes home from her study session at the university library, looking weary but accomplished. She drops onto the couch, as if her strings have been cut and says, eyes closing, “I finished most of my gender and sexuality assignment due next week. Thank God. Who gives out a thousand word, unweighted but obligatory assignment the third week into a semester? Satan, that’s who!”

“I told you that he had a terrible reputation for being a hard-ass, but you didn’t listen,” you tell her, sympathetically. You had taken his gender and sexuality class last year and decided then and there that if you saw his name associated with any of your other modules, you would rather die than take them. He was ruthless. “But, well done, Mei. You did well.”

She smiles, tiredly, at you, before cracking open one eye to assess you. “YN, I haven’t thanked you for defending me the other night.”

“There’s no need to thank me,” you answer.

She says, softly, eyes lining with tears, “I shouldn’t have reacted the way I did. Thinking about it, he really didn’t promise me anything. I- In my head, I guess I made connections where there wasn’t any.”

You sit up and stare at her as she speaks. “It’s an easy mistake to make. Getting caught up in your feelings.”

“But- I feel bad. For how it went down. So, I think I’m going to be a big girl and apologise,” she declares, sniffing and wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. After a second, she shifts on the sofa, tossing you a cautious glance. “But- Would you be able to come with me?Not that you need to apologise at all! I just don’t- I don’t know if I can do it by myself.”

Feeling a bump at your pride, you set your jaw at her words. “I don’t know…”

The light flickers behind her eyes and, unhappily, she stares down at her hands. “I understand, YN.”

“No, no, wait,” you tell her, letting out a gentle sigh. “Fine, fine. I’ll come. But if I talk to him, I’ll probably curse him out again.”

“Why?”

“His stupid face is associated with rage in my head,” you explain. “Seeing him brings it out again.”

“That doesn’t sound healthy,” she remarks, with a watery grin. “How about tomorrow? He has a dance class that finishes at one.”

With a raised brow, you enquire, “You know his schedule?”

She blinks at you, blankly. “Is that weird?”

“A little strange,” you tell her.

She blushes lightly, ducking her head. “I just really liked him, and I didn’t know where to draw the line.”

You suppose you understand the feeling, having had your fair share of intense crushes during your teen years. After having come to university, you quickly realised that men aren’t worth the tears, nor the effort that you put into the so-called relationship.

You let out another huff of air through your nose, before throwing your arm over her shoulder, comfortingly. “I’ll be with you when you do it, so you don’t have to feel so nervous.”

--------

The next day, you find yourself in the hallway of the university dance studios, waiting for Hoseok’s class to let out, with a trembling Mei Li by your side.

You are dressed as you usually would be – sneakers, a hoodie and some leggings, with your backpack strewn over your shoulder, laden with books and papers from your classes – but Mei has put some effort into her attire, you notice. Subtle makeup, a pale dress, bare legs, a pretty purse on her hip. She looks cute, adorable – lovely. Subconsciously, she’s trying to curry favour with him, and it makes sense.

As much as she says she’s getting over it, she still wants him to be attracted to her.

The doors to the studios swing open, and you spot Hoseok’s mop of chestnut brown hair, held back with a thin headband, pushed away from his face, exposing his forehead. Mei’s legs tremble, forcing her to lean into you to keep herself upright. You can’t imagine having that kind of visceral response to someone.

Yes, he’s handsome. Very handsome, painfully so. But, to almost collapse? You can’t imagine it.

“He looks so good,” she mumbles, delicately, and you toss her a sympathetic glance. She doesn’t seem to be able to open her mouth and call his name, and the window was rapidly closing, as he, and his group of chattering, excited friends glide on past.

When you realise she’s not going to say a thing, you let out a sigh. “Hoseok!”

Her grip on your wrist tightens to the point of pain, nails biting into your wrist as you do so.

He pauses, hearing your voice, tossing a glance over his shoulder. His brow furrows before recognition blossoms across his features. Once he realises who you are, his jaw ticks in annoyance, and he pauses. “What?”

You let out a sigh at his combative nature, knowing it wasn’t going to be easy to get him to agree. “I need to talk to you.”

“If it’s not to apologise, I don’t want to hear it,” he replies, crossing his arms over his firm chest. “And you don’t strike me as the apologetic type.”

“I’m usually not,” you reply. “Especially when I did nothing wrong.”

“Nothing wr- Are you kidding me?” He approaches you, and his group of friends watch, in fascination, as the usually upbeat and animated dancer looks so dangerously irritated. “You practically cursed me out in front of my house!”

You feel the eyes on you, and your cheeks pink at the implication of his words, but you push ahead. You suggest, tightly, “How about we go outside to discuss what happened?”

“YN, let’s leave it,” Mei says, softly pulling at your wrist. “He doesn’t- He doesn’t want to talk.”

“I don’t care,” you reply, jutting your chin out in defiance. “Outside, now.”

He stares down at you, and you notice, belatedly, that he’s significantly taller than you, and that fact ought to scare you, but there’s something that tells you he won’t hurt you, although that same tingling in the back of your mind tells you that he’s someone to be wary of. Your gut instinct, you suppose.

“Lead the way,” he concedes, gesturing with a sweep of his hand. “I’d love to hear the excuse you have for how you acted.”

You feel your jaw thrum in annoyance, but you say nothing, stomping ahead, leading a tentative Mei and an irked Hoseok out into the courtyard.

The rain from the last week has dwindled, leaving the grass and flora damp with dew, but you like the chill on the wind, taking in deep breath after deep breath to calm your nerves.

“So, what do you have to say?” Hoseok asks, sidling up to where you are, adopting a defensive stance – arms across his chest, jaw set tightly, leaning his weight on one foot.

“Not me. Her,” you say, with a roll of your eyes, hopping onto a table and tucking your hands into your pockets.

His eyes scan your body, barely restraining the urge to roll them into the back his head, before he turns his gaze onto the other girl, finally acknowledging her presence. Mei shifts from foot to foot, nervousness written clearly across her face. “I- I’m sorry, for how I behaved the other night. I- I was being sensitive about things, and we ended up- you know, doing what we did. And it was wrong. So, I’m sorry.”

He stares at her, blankly, before he does the unimaginable. He cracks a charming smile, silky and entrancing, and you see the moment she falls straight under his spell once more.

“You did nothing wrong, Mei,” he tells her, reaching for her wrist, to stroke at the skin there. He takes another half-step towards her, holding her eyes, and you feel the urge to gag well up in you. “But… As much as I’d like to say it’s okay, what happened outside my apartment wasn’t okay.”

She closes her eyes and it’s then that you notice the tears.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers, brokenly.

“I believe you,” he says, softly. But, then, his eyes turn to you, and they fill with barely restrained frustration. “But I feel like someone else needs to apologise too.”

Mei looks over at you, eyes shiny with tears, and you can see the pleading in her expression.

He turns to you, rearing back, approaching you until he’s directly in front of you, practically between your legs.

“What do you say, YN? Are you going to apologise for what you did?” He’s staring at you. It almost feels as if he’s staring through you. His rich dark brown orbs practically enchant you into silence. You almost can’t even hear his words clearly, as the world feels as if it’s been dunked underwater. He reaches for your wrist, thumb rubbing along your pulse point, enticingly, and he says, lips quirking slightly. “All you have to do is say sorry, just one little word.”

Your mouth goes bone-dry at his silky tone of voice. “I-”

“That’s it, pretty girl,” he soothes. “Just one word, and I’ll forgive you.”

Yes, of course you should apologise. Why not? He just wants you to say it, one little word.

Your mouth parts, but your tongue doesn’t move, too heavy in your mouth.

“Ah, ah, ah. Pretty girl, you’re letting me down,” he sing-songs, lips pulling up in a smile. His canines glint under the afternoon light. “You don’t want to let me down, right?”

You shook your head, not moving your eyes from his intense eye contact. “Good girl,” he murmurs. His fingers trail up your forearm, never traversing past your elbow, but the feeling of his skin on yours – it’s tantalising, addicting.

“Hyung! Aren’t you coming to lunch?” Someone’s loud, cheery voice catches your attention, jarring you out of his enchanting hold, and you jerk away, as if you’d been burned.

Bouncing, long brown hair, held back by a white headband, GUCCI emblazoned across the front of his forehead in small crystalline gems, catches your eye. He’s wearing a plain white shirt under a deep red jacquard jacket and some fitted jeans with expensive sneakers on his feet. He looks every bit of the model you’ve heard he is. By his side is a muscular looking, brown-haired freshman, wide-eyes taking in the scene, lips partially parted. His body is nice, more than nice, honestly, and he’s tall, but the air of youth and adorableness that surrounds him contrasts with his well-built, firm appearance.

“Taehyung. Jungkook.” Hoseok greets with a tick in his jaw and a warning look in his eye. “Shouldn’t you both be in class?”

“Skipped,” he replies, lips spreading in a cheerful, open grin, showing all his straight teeth.

“I don’t need to go to technical illustration. I did the readings before, and the professor records the lectures anyway. I’ll watch it at home, I promise.”

“You better,” he warns. “And you, Kookie?”

The muscle-boy shrugs, running a hand through his dark hair, cheeks pinking over being chastised. “I couldn’t let Taehyung go around by himself. Who knows what trouble he might find himself in.”

Taehyung rolls his eyes and shoves at the other boy’s shoulder, causing a small, amused smile to break across Hoseok’s face. The dancer’s eyes swivel back to your body, and notices you’ve put space between the two of your bodies, much to his dismay. He’d found your responses to his Compulsion quite intriguing. Taehyung sidles next to his hyung, scanning your form quickly, interest piquing.

Hoseok asks, quirking a knowing brow in your direction, “Don’t you have something to say to me, YN?”

“How do you even know my name?” You reply, brow puckering in confusion.

“I figured I was at a disadvantage. You knew all this stuff about me,” he tosses a side-long glance at a trembling Mei before he continues, “But I knew nothing of you. So, I just asked around. You’re surprisingly hard to get information on.”

“That’s sort of how I like it,” you answer, edgily. “Look, if you’ve heard what she’s had to say, then we can get out of here.”

You move to try and shuffle around Hoseok and Taehyung’s solid forms, but he puts out a hand to stop you.

“Ah, ah, ah, not quite yet,” he says, stepping in front of you. “Not just yet. I still want that apology.”

“You won’t get it,” you tell him, squaring your shoulders. “I have nothing to apologise for.”

“Like hell you don’t,” he remarks, frowning. “You went out of your way to come to my home, embarrassed me in front of my neighbours, over something that you had zero knowledge about. I deserve an apology.”

Mei latches onto your sleeve, and whispers, pleadingly, “YN, just say sorry. He’s said he’ll forgive me if you do.”

“You did nothing that needs forgiving, Mei,” you deny, angrily. Quieter, you mumble, “And neither did I.” Then, directed at him, you spit, venomously, “You’ll get your apology over my dead body.”

Sniffing, you spin on your heel and drag Mei along with you, tugging at the taller girl until she’s stumbling behind you, throwing nervous looks back at the pair of handsome boys.

When you disappear from their line of sight, Taehyung rests his chin on Hoseok’s shoulder, glancing down and his brows raise in surprise. “You shouldn’t look so smug, Hyung. Your face might stick that way.”

“Enough cheek from you,” Hoseok replies, shoving at Taehyung’s handsome face, playfully.

The taller of the two simply beams brightly, and across the quad, two random freshman swoon into each other, practically dissolving. The boys don’t notice – they rarely ever do, so accustomed to the attention.

Jungkook, on the other hand, doesn’t stop staring at you. His eyes don’t leave your back as you walk away, a strange desire to follow you welling up in his chest. He pays it no mind, but still, he’s aware of a niggling somewhere in his being. He’s used to being intrigued by unique things – his camera is full of photos of strange, of the inimitable, of the menacing, of the perverse. His entire art style revolves around capturing special sights and immortalising them in film. But, this sensation, the niggling in his chest, is new.

Shrugging it off as best he can, he follows behind his two hyungs to the cafeteria, where they indulge in shitty food and more jokes that have them in floods of tears. Taehyung shoves two carrots in his nose and Hoseok practically chokes on his green smoothie.

Still, when he sees hair that even so much as reminds him of your unique texture, he can’t help but let his eyes linger.

- end -

(1), (2), (3), (4), (5), (6), (7), (8), (9), (10), (11), (12), (13), (14), (15), (16), (17)

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