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kiridarling · 3 years

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𝐁𝐎𝐓𝐓𝐎𝐌𝐒 𝐔𝐏!

shouto todoroki | f!reader, ceo heir!shouto, mirror sex, hair pulling, choking, inappropriate use of showerhead, alcohol. minors dni!

— 3k words

"You're so pretty when you make a mess, aren't you?"

Miss Y/N,

I couldn't help but notice the latest project my father assigned is extremely difficult. If I'm going to be completely honest, you'll work yourself to death at this rate, and your greys double by the day. Drinks on me at Club 777 at 7 pm. Sound like a deal?

— shouto todoroki

“A club.”

“Glad you could make it,” Shouto gives you a small smile; it’s anything but hostile. And yet, that’s all yours is as you assume the space to his right in the velvet crescent booth. “I hope it wasn’t too hard to find. Club 777 is pretty popular around he—what are you doing.”

As your fingers fly across the keyboard, you give him an indignant huff, the screen highlighting the underside of your face electric blue as you continue hacking away at your presentation. If you’re going to be forced to go out, you’re going to make the most of it—and that’s by getting the work that you would be getting done at home, at a club. And a rather loud one, at that.

"You're a workaholic," he observes with a sigh, and you flash him a fat sarcastic smile. Stupid fucking CEO heirs and their entitlement.

"Congrats, you've solved everything! Can I go home, now?"

"No," Shouto frowns before he rudely snaps your laptop shut and sets it to his right. Pushing a plate of clear-colored shots your way, your eyes bulge—there have got to be at least fifteen. "Drink up—it'll take the edge off."

You blink between your coworker and the shots. You trust Shouto and you've known each other for a while...somewhat. His father is your boss, and with Shouto as the next in line you’ve got no choice but to play nice. He’s as cocky as he is aloof, but you suppose he’s fine overall—and he's seen you break your back over this project for a solid month and a half. Positive you won't be able to keep your conscious from running laps over all the work you have to do otherwise, you snatch the first shot and chuck it down your gullet with worrying enthusiasm. Shouto lifts an eyebrow and you reach for another.

"Thirsty?" He chuckles, before grabbing a shot for himself. The second shot burns, but never as much as the first, and the back of your hand catches what doesn't make it into your mouth as you say:

"More than you could think."

"And then—and then I was like, um no sir, I think you got my change wrong by at least five bucks! He didn't believe me, like at all."

"Did he make a fuss of it?"

"Of course."

"That means he has a small dick," Shouto advises with the second to last shot in his hand, wrist-watch glinting in the club light. His face is a deeper red than his hair and you've never noticed how nice a suit fits him as if you don't see him in one every day. You giggle at that, too far gone yourself to be offended on the stranger's behalf. Shouto's jacket drapes over your shoulders like an oversized blanket even though you bickered about not being cold, with enough alcohol in your veins to warm a village.

"Probably," you rest your head against the crescent booth, dismissive at the softness from the red velvet that’s probably ruining your hair. "Either way, I pulled a Karen and called the manager on 'em.

Shouto nods, "As you should. Once I tricked my father into thinking he had a very unhappy customer by sending him a million emails from 'John Appleseed' and calling his personal secretary twice as much."

You cackle, throwing yourself across the table at the thought of your Boss’ face hot and red with anger (as it does.) Shouto's loved nothing more than to make his animosity against his father well-known—to you, at least—and to say bored Heir been getting creative the past few months is an understatement. "Oh fuck—when'd you stop calling?"

Shouto shrugs, muscles rolling underneath his white dress shirt, "Once I filled his voicemail box.”

He holds a smile, small and distant, as he watches you wheeze as if he just told the funniest story in the world. In your defense, Shouto's never really been a funny guy, but he does funny things. Like when he stares at you when he doesn’t think you notice, or when he gets so close your chests nearly touch, but doesn't notice it. Doesn't point it out, at least. You find your laugh dying along with the smile on his face, though, and when he says nothing afterward but stare.

"...Shouto?" You snap in his face to make sure he's still in there—but it's hard to tell, with his glazed eyes and scarily steady breathing. His arms find either side of you, and you're too tipsy to realize you've been caged against the booth until it's too late.

"Your eyes are quite mesmerizing, Miss Y/N," he marvels. You can smell the vodka on his breath, and positive that compliment would’ve set your face aflame if the alcohol hadn’t already, any hints of cherry obscured by the neon club lights.

"I—um, thank you," you giggle, and if you were sober, you'd shoot yourself in the foot for reacting like a school girl. But you suppose you can give yourself some leeway—this is Shouto Todoroki after all, and for some reason, he's complimenting you. "You...you aren't too bad yourself."

"You wouldn't mind if I got a little closer, would you?" Though Shouto holds a cheeky half-drunken smile on his own, knowing any closer will result in nothing but a kiss and perhaps a little more. His eyes flicker to your lips the same time yours flicker to his, and you and you catch a heat in his eyes you didn’t notice before.

"Not at all."

You blink and Shouto's lips are on yours. They’re soft, painfully so, and it's clear he knows what he's doing—with his hands dropping to your waist and tilting his head ever-so-slightly to the right. Nudging your lips open, his tongue easily finds it's way around, mapping the insides of your mouth and taking note of what makes you shiver the most.

Shouto tastes like vodka. It's a familiar taste, one that you associate with seven minutes in heaven and quick make-out sessions in high school—and yet this time it spurs your heart to beat faster, your arms wrapping around his neck to pull him in even closer, as if it's possible.

When you pull away it’s clear neither of you really want to, but unfortunately you need to oxygen to live, chest heaving in unison as your eyes catch his own. Shouto's grip tightens around your waist as he licks over his already wet lips, glossed by what you assume is your spit.

“You’re one dangerous woman,” he rasps with swollen lips. You giggle, but you know he knows his words’ effect on you because goosebumps are impossible to hide.

“Thank you,” you respond, a bit awkwardly—because what else are you supposed to say?

"I'm positive it isn't the alcohol talking when I say I want to take you right here." Shouto growls as his eyes hold you in your seat. You shiver, the request sounding impossibly inviting, and your thighs discreetly rub together to take the edge off a bit.

"Bathroom," you breathe against his lips, this night turning for the most unexpected.

"Off, off, get all of this off," Shouto pants the moment you two step into a gender-neutral singles bathroom. You don't doubt they made it gender-neutral for this exact reason, but that thought leaves as quickly as it enters when Shouto pins you against the sink starts to pepper hot kisses down your neck. He scrambles to bunch your dress to your waist over taking it off completely and growls at the sight of your lower-half in absence of your usual attire.

"Do you know how long I've wanted you? Hmm?” He's breathless as he settles between your legs with a lick of his lips, pushing the excess of your dress into your hands. You really don't know how long he’s wanted you, but you find yourself biting your lip at the prospect anyway—that you've been driving your boss's son, your future boss, just as crazy as he's been driving you.

"Shouto—"

"Shhh," he interrupts, pulling your panties to the side. "Let me take care of you. You've been working hard these past few months, no?"

You guess so.

Either way, all clarity dies when Shouto licks a fat stripe up your slit, chuckling when you slide a tentative hand into his hair. Your grip tightens when his lips wrap around your clit and suck, slipping a finger between your folds to elicit a whimper or two. He bites his lip when you tug a little.

"Keep doing that and you just might ruin me," Shouto groans, before his mouth returns and he’s adding another finger. When the digits curl just right, your hips buck in faint frustration—they're moving too slow.

"Can you, um," you blush, eyes skittering to the bathroom walls instead. The club music permeates despite the fact that they look like they're made of solid brick, vibrating the floor and sink underneath you both. "Go faster?"

Shouto's eyes snap to yours. For a second you’re afraid he's going to say no, but he tosses your leg over his shoulder and adjusts your hips until they're at a perfect level, licking his lips and growling:

"My pleasure."

You're positive whoever loiters near the bathroom door hears your yelp as his mouth descends to devour your pussy, eating you so enthusiastically that you see you're slick smeared across his pink cheeks. Shouto pulls your hips deeper into his face with a defiant growl and you have to drop your forearms on the sink to keep yourself from falling to the hard ground, your grip around the porcelain ever-tightening.

"Feel good?" He rubs a heavy thumb over your clit in place of his mouth and stuffs you with a third finger. You nod with a broken moan as he pulls his digits out all the way out before burying them knuckle-deep again, grasp on the sink slipping. He flicks your clit, "Answer me."

"Y-Yeah," you nod again, near-hyperventilating. You’re sure Shouto’s getting a kick out of it—at least, if his chuckle has anything to say about it.

"Good girl," he coos, the circles on your clit slowly quickening, "You're so pretty when you make a mess, aren't you?"

You're nodding along with him, though you're not exactly sure why—but then his mouth returns and suddenly, why doesn't matter as much.

Shouto's more vocal than you expected, groaning into your sweetness as your thighs trembles next to his head. He holds you like you're precious, like you're actually something to him, but you're much too drunk to unpack all of that right now. Instead, you tug at his hair. It pulls a much louder moan from his gut and you find yourself enjoying the vibrations, yanking harder to hear him again.

"W-Wait, Shouto," you whimper out, painfully close as you pull at his hair but this time to pull him away from you, "I wanna—wanna cum on your cock...if that's okay."

Shouto blinks once, twice, and then you're staring at yourself in the mirror listening to him frantically undoing his belt, cursing when the metal slaps him across the palm. You giggle.

"Eager, are we?"

"You don't even know," he pants, and the tip of his cock kissing your entrance has you biting your lip. His eyes meet yours in the mirror and they melt when he fits the head of his cock inside, the grip he has on the porcelain sink turning white as he pushes further.

"You are—you are painfully tight, Miss Y/N," Shouto wheezes into your neck, teeth grit as his pelvis finally brushes against your ass. You resist the urge to wheeze with him, his cock filling you to the point where your lungs struggle to find room to breathe.

"I'll take that as a compliment," you joke, eyes fluttering shut. Shouto tuts, grabbing the underside of your face as he says:

"Eyes open, Miss Y/N. I want you to watch yourself fall apart as I fuck you."

Your eyes peel open, albeit reluctantly as you whine, not understanding why you need to watch your own face when you can enjoy the sight of him instead, "But Shouto, that's embarrassing..."

"Just trust me," he grunts, and his hips are snapping into yours, sending you jolting into the sink to the point where you have to brace a hand on the mirror to keep yourself from being squished flat against the porcelain. Shouto leans over, "You trust me, don't you?"

And well. When he puts it like that...

"Look at yourself, not at me," Shouto says, catching you redhanded. You whine when the hand holding your head moves to your neck and squeezes, cutting off your oxygen supply just enough for your eyelids to drop halfway. "See? See how good you look? So wrecked for me already and we've barely started."

"S-Shut up," you moan more than you say, finding yourself mesmerized in the way your lips part and by the redness of your cheeks. Shouto dips his head into your neck and sucks, prompting your free hand to find his multicolored hair again and pull. His reaction is almost automatic, the way the smooth rock of his hips changes into a quick snap in a heartbeat. It has you keening, his cock reaching places spots you weren't aware you had, and he crushes you against the sink to rub at your clit.

"Fuck, you're so gorgeous for me," he grunts, hips finding the energy to pick up the pace. You whimper and he's sucking a hickey into your neck, hot breaths punctuating along with his sharp thrusts. "Feel so good around my cock, like you were made for me—shit—"

This time you break the rules, eyes flickering to look Shouto in the mirror as you watch him come undone. His hips stutter as he muffles a broken moan in the back of your neck, body shuddering while he fills you up. His thrusts slowly dissolve into nothing and soon it's just your heavy breathing between brick walls, until Shouto pulls out with a hiss.

"You didn't cum."

"O-Oh, um," You blink at his unimpressed gaze through the mirror as if you got caught redhanded. "I...usually can't. Without a vibe.”

Shouto hums at that but says nothing. You watch something in his brain churn, eyes surveying the room before a lightbulb appears above his head and he's snapping his fingers.

"The shower."

"...What?"

"The. Shower." Shouto says, a little cheekier this time, as he guides you towards a simple shower hidden behind a curtain. Now, why there’s a shower in a club bathroom is beyond you.

"Well. This seems awfully convenient," you click. Shouto shrugs.

"Sun (the author) says it's to clean up the drunks who vomit all over themselves." He takes the only shower seat available, back pressing against the tile.” I think she just wants you to ride a showerhead ****if I'm being completely honest."

"Maybe she tried it for the first time recently or something,” you hum absentmindedly, but that thought flies out the window as Shouto grunts:

"Either way, it's irrelevant. Strip."

"I—completely?" You exclaim, covering your body despite the fact that it's already covered by your dress again. Shouto raises an eyebrow, settling both elbows on his knees once grabbing the showerhead from its bar.

"Unless you want your outfit to get soaking wet, yes. Completely."

Touché.

You're naked fairly quickly and Shouto lays you across the tile even quicker. You watch him test the different modes on his hand, before choosing the one with the most...gusto. You spread your thighs and fight the embarrassing blush dusting your cheeks from the exposing position.

"Ready?" You roll your eyes.

"I swear Shouto, if you do—o-oh."

He presses the rushing water to your clit, and you have to take a step back, fully unprepared for how nice the pressure would feel. Shouto chuckles at that, the soles of his loafers soaking in the lukewarm water with you as he sits with his legs spread, brazenly enjoying the view.

"Feels good?"

You nod, hips subtly grinding into the hot stream. Shouto bites his lips at the view and it turns you on that much more to know you can have such an effect, before his free hand drops to his palm himself through his dress pants.

"I get the perfect view, too," Shouto growls to himself, tilting his head ever-so-slightly as you release a broken moan, bare hips stuttering against the tile. "A perfect view of that pretty little pussy. Ah ah, keep those legs for me."

Your inner thighs quiver with an impending orgasm, the edge looking much closer than it did previously. The combination of Shouto's words, his sounds, and the steady beat of the water against your clit is enough to have anyone shaking, and the only complaint you have is that you wish he wasn't so fucking far.

"S-Shouto," you whimper, hands scrambling across the slippery tile. "I'm close."

"Yeah? Do it then, make me proud," Shouto growls with a feral smile, grip tightening around his cock—you nod, chest shuddering.

“Y-Yeah just adjust the—oh fuck, Shou, right there!”

Your thighs clench as you gasp and your fingernails dig into the grout between the tile as you orgasm, your moan nearly bordering on a scream. Shouto groans, grip tight on his cock through his damp suit pants, and you nearly giggle as your high ebbs.

“Have I ever told you how dangerous you are, Y/N?” Shouto says cheekily. You grin back, cocking your head to the right.

“Only a million times.”

“Well then I owe it to you again,” he says lowly, and you get the message you two aren’t done as he joins you on the wet floor to cradle your jaw.

“You’re one dangerous woman, Y/N.”

a/n: i fully expose myself in this, and you know what? i'm fine with that.

click to return to CLUB 777

#— 𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐓𝐎 #CLUB 777 #The VIP Booths #todoroki smut #shouto smut #bnha smut #mha smut

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justkending · 4 years

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Is that seriously your password? (Birthday One-shots)

Prompt: Is that seriously your password?

Challenge: justkending Birthday drabbles and one-shots

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Word Count: 2100+

A/N: This was asked for a by anon, so thank you to whoever you may be! I thought this was cute little one-shot once it came to me! Also, coming up with the password took me a seconds, but then I heard Sebastian's voice in my head and well... Here we are;)

“Hey FRIDAY? Who all from the team is in the compound?” Y/N shouted from Tony’s lab where she was working on a new piece of equipment for her uniform.

“Everyone is out either on a mission or off the compound premises for personal business,” the AI responded. “However, Sergeant Barnes is in the living room reading.”

“He works. Can you ask him to come down here?” she continued, never breaking from her computer screen she was typing away on in front of her.

“Of course,” FRIDAY responded before going quiet for a minute and speaking back up. “He seemed rather confused by the request, but he’s on his way.”

“Always paranoid that one,” Y/N mumbled before shouting a thank you and going back to typing a storm.

A few minutes later, Bucky cautiously peaked through the glass doors to the lab and saw Y/N completely entranced in whatever she was working on in front of her. She was typing and scanning the screen quickly and then immediately turning to a notebook beside her to write whatever it was down.

“Why are you calling me down here out of all people?” he said almost concerned.

“Because everyone else is either fighting bad guys or off away from the compound doing their own thing,” she responded, finally breaking away from her computer screen upon hearing his voice.

“Oh,” he nodded before looking around and hesitantly coming in more.

He didn’t care to come down to Stark’s personal man cave much. Tony still threw sarcastic insults and passive jokes at him every once in a while even though they had made up and moved on. But it was Tony. He was kinda that way with everyone. Either way, they only really crossed paths if they absolutely needed too.

“Here, come here for a second,” she waved him over, pushing back her chair as she stood up and stretched some.

Bucky listened even though his face showed he was confused and hesitant about it all. It wasn’t Y/N either. They were actually good friends after all the missions and team dinner and movie nights of getting to know each other. They shared a lot in common. She was an old soul for a pretty young member of the crew and Bucky admired that. Because of her mannerisms and interest, they got a long rather quick. It made it easy for them to instantly click.

“What are you doing?” he asked when he saw her raise her hands and projections of pieces of her suit for missions popped up in pieces in the air with what looked like notes and statistics floating around them. The blueprints for it all lit up in front of them without a screen to stay on. He may never get used to the advancement of technology because anytime he saw something new, something crazier would pop up soon after.

“I came up with some new little tricks for my suit. It’s not not a bad outfit, but there’s always something new that can be better and improved,” she shrugged, moving the pieces around in the air with her fingers.

Oh yeah, and next to Tony and Banner, the woman could maneuver through almost any form of technology as if it was as easy as learning how to count to 10 on your fingers.

“I only have the metal on the bottom of my boots, and it’s worked for this long. But, I feel like there’s ways I can discreetly add more throughout the suit without weighing it down, making it easier to maneuver when I’m airborne.”

Another note to know, Y/N was an enhanced. She had the ability to bend and manipulate any form of metal. So the metal that Tony had built into her shoes made it to where she could lift herself off ground level and fly. However, through trial and error, they noticed that they couldn’t really add it to many other places as it weighed her down and made fighting a lot less agile. Don’t get it wrong though. She made it work. She just preferred it to be better.

“Sounds like a smart idea.” He paused in the silence as she continued to analyze the layout in front of her silently. “Did you just want company to show off that big brain of yours, or am I supposed to give you an opinion?”

He was sassy with her. She was sassy back. It was the way of their friendship for the most part.

“No, Barnes. I need you to give me your password,” she said, wrinkling her nose at him with a stink face before moving back to the computer. He chuckled at her facial expression and followed her to her setup.

“Why do you need my password? You have your own account,” he questioned, watching as she went to log into the files under SHIELD's confidentials.

“No, actually. Mine went caput last night,” she huffed. “Some weird glitch happened, don’t ask me how because you would think Stark tech is more advanced, but whatever caused it made my account go haywire. In saying that...” She clicked a few more things moving faster than Bucky could keep up with on the screen. Then she turned to him and leaned back on the counter. “Tony was supposed to make me a new one or fix it, but he bailed on me today for brunch with Pepper... In Capri.” She let out a big breath. “So until he gets back, I’m at a standstill getting the information I need to fix this.” The smile on her face showed she was done telling her story.

“So you need my password to get confidential information?” he asked, crossing his arms and putting his weight onto one leg. “What kind of confidential stuff are we talking here because I don’t need Tony going through my history and asking me questions I can’t answer,” he pointed with raised eyebrows.

“Highly doubt he cares or has the time to go through your history, Buck,” she laughed, turning back around and raising her hand with a swift motion bringing the chair to her without actually touching it.

Bucky looked down at it as it moved and noticed the metal base of it. He was always shocked anytime she used her powers. For one, she was rather graceful with her own for the most part, so the act of watching her do it, was somewhat mesmerizing. But also, he was still trying to wrap his head around people born with abilities like that. Wanda really threw him for a loop the first time he met her.

Shaking out his head and following to stand by where she was sitting, he argued with her statement.

“Yeah, I’d think about that again,” he winced. “Out of all the people Tony is going to keep an extra eye on, who do you think it is?”

Y/N paused and turned to him scrunching her nose.

“Ok, yeah you’re right,” she nodded. Bucky sent her a look in agreement. “But I promise it’s not for anything crazy. I just want to find a resource for the lightest metal we can get our hands on. I think if I can get some of that, I can place it throughout my suit to not weigh it down as much and make any hand to hand combat about 100x easier and more fluent.”

“Sounds like a solid plan. What file do you think is going to hold something like that?” he nodded, crossing his arms again and leaning his backside on the table facing her in her chair.

“The same one that talks about vibranium,” she sassed some. “I just want to run some analytics to see my options on what will be most malleable for the suite. Some metals may be lighter, but that doesn’t always mean suitable for tons of kinesthetic motions.”

“You’re too smart for your own good,” he shook his head, smiling at her.

“I know. I got the beauty and brains,” she smiled with a shrug, but she was playing around. Y/N was never one to boast about herself. She was as humble as Tony was egotistical. “Ok, enough small talk. What’s your password, Barnes?”

All that was left to do on the page she had pulled up was type in said password and she was in.

“Uh, I don’t really want to say it outloud,” he said, becoming bashful all of a sudden. His arms tightening around him self consciously.

“Why?” Y/N asked with a tilt of her head. “Scared I’ll remember it and hack your account? May just search for some things that Tony would love to tease you about.”

“Haha,” he said flatly. “And no. I know for a fact you would never do that. You’re too nice for that,” he responded. “It’s just. It’s an embarrassing password.”

“It can’t be that bad. Come on, just say it Mister so I can get my research done!” she persisted, poking his flesh arm.

“Here, let me just type it,” he said, moving to the keyboard.

“Nuh-uh,” she said moving the keyboard with a flick of her wrist out of his reach. Damn practically everything for having some form of metal in it. “I’m too intrigued now. I want to know what it is…” The mischievous gleam in her eye showed Bucky he probably wasn’t going to win this.

“What happened to your sweet innocent self?” he said slightly shocked by her antics, but not able to hold back a chuckled.

“It’s her off day today. She needed a break… And a little fun,” she smiled wider. “Come on. Just tell me. I promise I won’t make fun of you.”

“I don’t think you can keep that promise.”

“Have I ever not?”

“I mean that one time when you promised to make chocolate chip pancakes because I was having a bad day, and then ditched me for a mission,” he noted. The fake hurt was exaggerated in his eyes.

“Hey! I have no control over when something like that comes up,” she pointed at him. “You know that too on a personal level.”

“Still never got those pancakes though,” he said, letting out a disappointed sigh as he shook his head.

“Ugh, fine. How about this?” she started, leaning back in her chair. “You tell me your password, and if I laugh then I go make you those famous pancakes now. If I don’t laugh, you have to drop that whole thing and not bring it up again.”

He weighed his options watching her. The two staring into each others eyes bargaining in silence. Sure Bucky didn’t want to say his password, but worse case scenario she laughed, maybe teased him a litt, but he got pancakes. And he knew she would laugh…

“Fine. But just know, I like my pancakes with extra chocolate,” he sighed, relaxing his muscles some. “And whip cream.”

“Won’t need to. I’m tough enough to not react to whatever it is,” she smiled, bringing the keyboard back over. “Ok, so what is it?”

He stayed silent for a minute. God, he hated saying it outloud. Not that he really ever had to, but still. It was embarrassing.

“It’s… It’s WienerSoldier1917,” he mumbled.

“I’m sorry, what?” Y/N said with wider eyes. She heard him, but she was wondering if she heard him right.

“The W and S are capitalized…” he practically whispered looking down. When he didn’t hear a response but insead deafening silence, he looked over seeing her biting her lip and trying her best to suppress a laugh. Her face became slightly red and her eyes started blinking fast as she tried to pull herself together. “Yeah, I’m definitely getting those pancakes,” he sighed with a shake of his head, not being able to hold back his own soft smile.

Not even two seconds later, Y/N was in a laughing fit. Practically falling out of the chair. If Bucky hadn’t caught her when he did, she would have gone over the side and brought the chair down with her, but he casually kept the chair from tipping with one arm.

“Oh, that’s just too good,” she finally got out after a few minutes of full on, stomach aching laughing. She wiped her eyes at the few tears that had come down and shook her head. “Is that seriously your password?”

“You know Tony came up with it! And he knows I don’t know how to change it!” Bucky defended.

“Oh, Tony. What a comedian…” Y/N sighed, catching her breath. “Ok, back to business.” She typed in the password not being able to hold back yet another round of laughs as she typed it out. Bucky just rubbed his temple as she went about her research and giggled.

After pulling up a few things, she turned to him.

“Ok, I own you a batch of pancakes now,” she smiled, standing and organizing the desktop. “I’ll come back and finish up down here later.”

“You’re not even upset you laughed, are you?” Bucky said following her in step to the door.

“Oh, I knew I was going to already with how you were acting. I also knew I was hungry and up for something sweet anyway,” she shrugged. “Win, win for me.”

“You’re a punk,” Bucky faked shock, nudging her shoulder with his own before opening the door for her.

“Eh, like I said. Sweet-innocent Y/N, as you called her, has a day off,” she smiled up at him before wrapping her arm through his. “Hey, and after breakfast? I’ll show you how to change your password,” she looked up at him with a wink.

The two chuckling and talking as they walked upstairs arm and arm to the kitchen.

My Lovelies forever:

@natura1phenomenon @lauravicente @kakakatey @traceyaudette @notyourtypicalrose @laneygthememequeen @awesome-badass-cafeteria-sauce @sandlee44 @thorne93 @thefaithfulwriter @marvelfansworld @essie1876 @greyeyedsmile14 @capsiclehan @xostephanie @averyrogers83 @awesomenursingstudent @gh0stgurl @cs-please @carls1022 @jjlevin @rainbowkisses31 @carls1022 @anise-d-castle6 @deannotmoose @their-bibliophile @kitkatd7 @willowbleedsonpaper @mariaenchanted @snffbeebee @couldabeenamermaid @rebekahdawkins @alyispunk

Bucky Barnes Tags:

@chloe-skywalker @charmedbysarge @jbarness

@bellamy-barnes

Marvel Tags:

@thejourneyneverendsx @death-unbecomes-you @heyiamthatbitch @lizzymacy555 @srrymydood @xa-dia @redhairedfeistynerd @morganclaire4 @connie326 @captain-asguard @mollygetssherlockcoffee @teenagedreams-bucky @shower-me-with-roses

#bucky barnes one shot #Bucky Barnes #bucky barnes fanfiction #marvel bucky barnes #bucky fanfic #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes drabble #bucky barnes x y/n

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stickyy · 4 years

Note

if it's not too much of a hassle,you can write about hawks with a SugarBaby (reader) because he's like a SugarDaddy BUUUT Instead of being the one who dominates,¿is the reader who does it? hawks only gives her money and gifts as payment for a little of your attention,hawks pays the reader to dominate it and pay for his company,if you step on his crotch he will surely thank you (femdom and ¿mommy kink?). I was thinking a lot about this dynamic and I found it VERY interesting,¿what do you think?.

warnings: sub!hawks degradation, findom, femdom, mommy!kink, cock stepping, spit kink, an instance of face slapping, hawks is a little bitch simp with a fat wallet, reader is kind of a bad bitch ngl

wordcount: 2340

notes: anon this is IT this is what im mf talking ABOUT!!!

PERFORMANCE

Keigo all about spectacle. Chaotic destruction in the pursuit of a villain, the dramatics of combat, blinding camera flashes, cacophonies of squealing fangirls, the sheer wealth that comes with the exclusivity of the top 10- he’s no stranger to the limelight. Popular for a reason, he’s young and powerful, deceivingly coy despite it all, and it drives the public wild. He has them in the palm of his hand. A playboy poster child, spectacle is his middle name, and he wears it well.

He gives you a different performance behind closed doors.

You’re working, finishing an uneventful shift at your dreadfully mundane day job. You’ve been counting down the hours, which, ironically, causes time to slow down. Scrolling through your social media feed, you just want to pass the time. You’re skimming an article about music when your phone vibrates in your hand.

‘heyyyy :)’

A grin spreads across your face. The number is unlisted, which is exactly why you know who it is. Excitement bubbles in your chest, the monotony of the day suddenly shattered. Keigo must be in town; he knows not to contact you unless he has something to show.

You check to make sure your read receipts are enabled, before staring at the message on the screen, not bothering to type a response. It’s a waiting game; you want him to work for it, to put on a show only for you.

Two whole minutes pass before you receive another.

‘i’m back in town tonight! :D’

You make no move, not yet appeased. It takes five minutes for him to cave:

‘can i see you?’

‘i need to see you’

‘missed you so much, mommy’

‘let me take you out to dinner? please?’

The prospect of a nice dinner outshines the takeout you were planning to order. A quick google search gives you a few options, and you decide on a steakhouse. They have wagyu, which you’ve been dying to try. Of course, coming in at $120 a steak, you hadn’t gotten a chance to yet.

You send him the link, along with a short message:

‘8 pm, wear something nice.’

He instantly responds with a ‘thank you mommy :)’. You can’t help the the giggle that comes out of your mouth.

Keigo takes you back to his place after dinner. You make a point to keep your red-bottomed heels on, the click-click of your stride setting the tone for the night. He slips into his role easily, taking your coat and purse (both gifts from him; $1,790 and $2,850, respectively) to hang up. You take your place on the plush couch in his living room, legs crossed as you lean back, thoroughly satisfied from your meal. You never pay, of course- you don’t even go out of your way to acknowledge the check, but you were able to sneak a peek at the tab, which came in at a whopping $459.85. You didn’t think that two people could spend so much on a meal, but Keigo always found a way to spoil you.

He comes back into the room with a bottle of wine that you had requested last time you saw him (1990 Château Haut Brion, $875; even you had to admit that was ridiculous), handing you a wine glass and pouring your drink. He moves to fill his own, but you stop him.

“I didn’t say that you were allowed to drink tonight,” it’s a casual statement, but your pleasure ignites at the slightly dejected look on his face as he closes the bottle. It’s such a contrast to how you see him in the press. He never stops performing, you know, but this act is different. His fans see his chest puffed and wings flared, you get to see him on a leash.

“Why don’t you come sit next to Mommy?” you offer, Keigo perks up, meeting your gaze as he moves to take a seat next to you on the couch.

“The floor,” you correct before he can do otherwise. His breath hitches and he hesitates for a moment, but he kneels next to you anyways. He’s so pretty beneath you. It minimizes him, his usually proud aura squandered from your elevated point of view. It doesn’t help that he loves it- loves slipping into his role of being lesser. It excites him, and that, in turn, spurs you on. You thread your free hand through his hair and he visibly relaxes, pressing into your palm as his wings unfold slightly. The two of you stay like that for the moment as you sip on your wine, the luxury made so much sweeter by the hero in your company.

“Did you miss me?” you break the silence with your question, tilting his head up toward you to make eye contact. He nods enthusiastically, subconsciously scooting closer to you.

“Yeah,” his voice is saccharine, gaze full of adoration, “couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

“Of course, you sick freak. You’re supposed to be off saving the world, and you’re thinking about the girl who won’t even fuck you if you don’t pay up first,” you tug on his hair roughly, causing him to hiss in pain. A grin graces his features despite the abuse.

“You know I can’t help it, you drive me crazy.”

He shifts, and you can see the outline of a bulge in his pants.

“You’re fucking kidding,” you scoff, “all I’ve done is play with your hair and you’re already hard?”

He’s so easy to fluster when he’s like this, willing and pliant in your hands. He nods again, always so unashamed in his perversion.

“I didn’t touch myself at all, like you told me to, and it’s been so long,” his eyes plead with you, slightly rocking his hips for any kind of relief. He wasn’t allowed to jerk off so long as he was seeing you.

“Doesn’t change the fact that you’re easy for it, baby. All it takes is a little affection to get you to empty your wallet. Pathetic, don’t you think?”

He whines quietly, pupils visibly dilating . “Yeah, I’m pathetic, just a slut for Mommy.”

With a hum, you set your glass down and uncross your legs. “Unzip your pants.”

He obeys, getting the zipper stuck twice in his haste. Cute.

You press the flat of your heel against the tent in his boxers. The moan he lets out is sinful, grinding up against you in search of any sign of relief.

“These heels are so nice, aren’t they? Probably one of my favorite gifts,” you reminisce, admiring the way the shiny leather contrasts against his skin. You can already see a wet spot forming on his boxers. “Do you remember how much they cost you?”

He’s lost in the sensation, too preoccupied to answer your question. You step down slowly, watching his face contort into one of pain, though the grinding doesn’t cease.

“Answer me, Keigo.”

“F-fuck, what was it, like $700?” his voice cracks, his breathing labored.

“Close enough. Aren’t you embarrassed, spending all that money on shoes just so you can rut against them?” your words send a shudder through his body. The act is starting to fade as he nears his orgasm, his playful exterior melting into one of desperation.

“I’m close, fuck I’m close,” Keigo almost sounds panicked, his hips desperately bucking in pursuit of his first release in a long time. You remove your heel abruptly, pouting at him. He lets out a pitiful gasp as the loss of sensation, a sob making its way out of his throat.

“You know what you have to do if you want to cum,” you say sternly, feigning disappointment. He jumps up, stumbling across the room for his jacket and reaching for his phone in the pocket. You notice his hands are shaking as he taps his screen a few times, before your phone chimes in its place next to you. You look over, and grin at the Cash App notification.

‘birdbrains🐤 sent you $1,430 for i love you mommy <3’.

“Holy shit, Kei, you’re that desperate to cum? If I didn’t know otherwise, I’d assume you can’t get anyone else to fuck you,” You’ve always made his pay before he touches you, but he’s never broken a grand for just an orgasm.

“Please, Mommy,” is all he gives. He’s already back at your feet.

You spread your legs, unable to contain your arousal at this point; seeing the winged hero so broken always sets a fire in your stomach. “Make Mommy feel good, and I’ll let you stuff that needy cock inside of me.”

You don’t have to tell him twice. He’s immediately between your legs, pulling your lacy panties to the side (one half of a custom made designer set, $650) and shoving his face between your thighs. He always eats you like his life depends on it, obscenely slurping on your gushing entrance. He’s good at it too, expert tongue on your clit, pushing two fingers inside and prodding at your velveteen insides, causing you to bury your hands in his hair to keep him in place. You moan loudly, not bothering to hold back your noises. This is always about your pleasure, and you make sure to remind him of that first and foremost. It’s not necessary, though; you're convinced that he’d go bankrupt if it meant he could have even an hour of your time. You can do anything to him, say anything to him, and it only drives him crazier.

To prove your point, you squeeze your thighs against his head, effectively suffocating him. He doesn’t let up- if anything, he begins to lick and suckle more enthusiastically, hands gripping your thighs tightly. You keep him there for a solid minute, watching him struggle in your grip. It’s enough to push you over the edge, and you shout as you grind against his face, riding out your first orgasm of the night. You let up, spreading your legs again and he gasps for air, tears flowing freely as he catches his breath.

“Thank you Mommy, thankyouthankyouthankyou,” he huffs between gasps, face glistening with your juices. You grab his chin and lean down to give him a kiss, feeling him melt into you as he lets out a little moan. The taste of your arousal on his lips causes you to shiver in pure euphoria. You pull back but keep his chin in your hand, coaxing his mouth open before you spit, tilting his head back and watching your saliva slide down his throat.

“Good boy,” he perks at the praise, smiling despite himself.

“Go ahead and strip for me, and I’ll let you have that orgasm you want so bad,” you say as you stand, peeling yourself out of your dress. He obeys, albeit slowly as he’s more distracted watching you strip in front of him, eyes tracing your curves as you undo your bra and slide your panties down, opting to keep on the heels. You notice, but decide to let it slide this time. You gesture for him to sit and he obeys, grabbing your hips as you straddle his lap. His cock curves against his stomach, an angry red and damp with the obscene amount of pre dripping down his length.

“This looks like it hurts,” you lilt mockingly, gently running a finger up his length to gather some of his pre. You smear it on his lower lip, raw from your earlier abuse.

“It does, fuck- Mommy, please,” he’s back to begging, eyes misty, “Please let me fuck you Mommy, I promise I’ll make you cum again, I’ll make you cum as many times as you want-”

“Shh,” you stop his babbling, positioning yourself over him, “keep your hips still for me, okay?”

He nods, and you begin to sink onto his length, slowly.

He moans, eyelids fluttering as your gummy walls begin to constrict around his length. He struggles to keep himself from squeezing your hips and fucking up into you, but he manages in fear of a punishment. You take your sweet time before bottoming out, staying completely still. Keigo chokes on a sob, thighs quivering with the effort to stay put, and you watch him for just a moment longer, revelling in the sight. He’s flushed down to his chest, eyes lidded and pupils blown, skin dewy with sweat and tears and your slick, wings fluttering behind him.

If only his fans could see him now.

You take pity on him and start to move, allowing him to take your weight in his hands, bouncing you on his cock. It takes a lot of focus not to get lost in the sensation, squelching noises filling the empty air as your mind starts to blur, his cock rubbing against the spongy walls of your pussy. He’s nothing if not enthusiastic, moaning unabashedly, eyes trained on your face. He’s already close, but there’s a determination in his eyes that confuses you slightly; he has permission to cum after all. It’s when the blunt head of his cock hits something gooey inside of you that it makes sense; of course he’s making good on his promise to make you cum first. He’s a good boy, after all. It doesn’t take long, his hips jackrabbiting as he abuses that spot in you, forcing the pressure in your stomach to pull taut, and eventually snap. You cum with a squeal of his name, vision darkening as you watch him finish, stray tears flowing down his cheeks. You catch a few with your thumb and lick them up.

“What do you say?”

“Thank you, Mommy,” he’s breathless, but you can tell he’s not totally satisfied; it’s been weeks since he’s seen you, after all. He begins to roll his hips again, face scrunching in the sweet torture of overstimulation.

You land a firm slap on his cheek and he gasps, giving you a surprised look.

“You know what you have to do if you want another orgasm.”

The show goes on.

388 notes · View notes

satoruvt · 4 years

Text

for a moment i forget to worry

pairing → xu minghao x reader

word count → 3196

genre → fluff + angst, college au ↳ tags: strangers to friends to lovers </3, college kinda sux, ROOMMATE CHAN MAKES AN APPEARANCE OR TWO, dance major minghao, reader is completely lost but its ok who isnt, lots of cute couple stuff, pov ur entire relationship with minghao. thats it, a sad break up scene, a solid amount of crying

summary → there’s something about minghao. maybe it’s the way he dances, vibrant and youthful, or maybe it’s the way he loves you. based off of hunger by florence + the machine.

warnings → i hint at sex but its pretty vague, i also mention a breakdown type deal (revolving around school/life after school)

a/n → first of all this was NOT supposed to be 3k words i dont know how it happened. second of all i’m only kind of happy with this HAHA i feel like the story itself isnt bad but i wanted it to match the song more ... idk :/ i hope u guys like it regardless !!!

pieces of you masterlist

The first time you see him is by accident.

Really - all you’re doing is trying to find Chan. You’re passing by the practice rooms, looking into them in hope he’ll be there, stopping to gaze at decorations and medals and trophies lined up on the walls. It’s when you approach a room that music plays from that you think you’ve found Chan, but when you gaze in, it’s definitely not him.

You don’t know who it is, but he moves like nothing you’ve ever seen before.

It’s hypnotizing, almost makes you want to drop your things and dance with him. There’s a sense of youth that comes from him and it’s almost overwhelming - but it’s not in energy, necessarily, but rather from the precision of his movements, the technicalities that he seems to both follow and break at the same time. Something vibrant seeps out between the seams of his body, colors you can barely recognize as they splash against anything they can reach. It’s almost tangible.

You watch him long enough for him to finish his performance (an unknowing one) with the last notes of a song you forgot was even playing. His eyes meet with yours, slow as he completes an eloquent turn, and at the same time, a hand meets your shoulder.

A small wave of embarrassment washes over you, and you turn towards whoever touched you, effectively breaking eye contact. “What are you doing here?” Chan asks, hair still wet from what you assume was a shower.

“Looking for you,” you tell him, following as he starts to walk towards the exit. “I wanted lunch, and you owe me for that time I took your British literature quiz for you.”

Chan groans but agrees to pay, and you laugh, though the world seems a little paler than it did a few moments ago.

The second time you see him is by chance.

(Maybe.)

You’re waiting for a lecture to start, tapping your fingers against your laptop idly as you watch students trickle in last minute. It’s not a strict course, but it does start at nine in the morning, and most everyone shows up with a coffee.

You look down to brush a stray hair off of your table, and when you look up again, the dancer from before walks through the door, then looks right at you.

You feel a blush heat your face and it’s like he wants to make sure that you know that he knows, because he almost refuses to look away. You break eye contact first (like the last time, you remember for no reason) but still watch as his figure moves up the stairs, past the rows, and you hope he’ll just move past you too…

He doesn’t. He takes the empty seat right next to yours, and you don’t say anything, instead finding the peeling sticker on your laptop incredibly interesting. The professor comes in and decides that today he’ll take extra long to set everything up, apparently, and you want to scream.

“So,” the dancer says, voice quiet. It takes your breath away, the way he sounds. “Mind if I ask why you were watching me the other day?”

You cast a glance at him - not too long, you don’t think you could handle more than five seconds tops - and finally open your laptop so it makes you look busy. “I was waiting for a friend.”

“And?”

The smile in his voice is palpable. You’re already exasperated.

“You…” you start, finally deciding to look at him as some sort of subconscious power move. “You’re a beautiful dancer. It was hard not to watch.”

Beautiful doesn’t even cover half of it, but you figure he already thinks you’re weird for watching him, so you hold back the thoughts of youth and vibrancy and color. The dancer looks at you, almost blank for a moment, before a soft smile draws itself on his face. It makes your heart beat a little faster. He says “thank you” with a gentle tone, sincerely felt.

The class starts, and the two of you don’t speak throughout the next hour and a half. You type out notes on your laptop and you see him write down names of the paintings being shown on the projector, little thoughts and notes written afterwards.

By the end of class, your professor assigns an optional partnered project, and you’re more than prepared to head back to your apartment and start on it yourself. The dancer stops you before you leave, however, asks if you’d like to be his partner.

(And he says it like that, would you like to be my partner, polite and somehow sweet.)

You know your answer. “I don’t even know your name,” you stall, standing from your chair.

“Minghao,” he tells you. “I’m Minghao, and I’d like for you to be my partner.”

You say yes easily, put your number into his contacts even easier. The sky is blue when you leave the lecture hall, trees dotted with pink and purple flowers, and it is all so bright that you forget it wasn’t this way in the first place.

The third time you see him is for school.

Underneath the excitement of giving Minghao your number, there is the knowledge that it’s for the sake of an assignment. He texts you the day after to ask if you’re free to meet up to work and you tell him sure.

(Sure is what you send back, but he doesn’t have to know that you burst into Chan’s room immediately after, plunging face first into his bed just to scream into his pillows. Chan had sighed, turned around in his desk chair to look at you, then asked what happened. He gave you two minutes to rant and then kicked you out, back to your own room.)

You and Minghao agreed to meet at the library on a day that neither of you had any afternoon classes, and you get there early, spend some time working on other classes. You have somewhere around thirty minutes to freak out to yourself before you see Minghao come in, dressed like he knows what he’s doing to you (which is really just a hoodie and jeans, but you think it’s the cap that really pulls the whole boyfriend look together), smiling when he finds you at a table in the corner.

“How are you?” is the first thing he says when he sits down, and you pull down your laptop screen a little to see him better.

“I’m good,” you say, feeling your heart pound. “What about you?”

Minghao sends you a kind smile. “Really good. Should we get started?”

You lose count of how many times you see him after that.

Meeting up to work on the project soon becomes just meeting up, and after the project’s done and turned in, it happens even more. You hang out and get lunch, send each other texts and stupid videos, take walks around campus together. The weeks pass, summer mellows into fall, then into the early days of winter. You develop a genuine friendship with him, finding comfort in his presence, looking for him wherever you go.

(Although the crush is still there, potent and patient, stubborn in a way you’ve never experienced before. You wonder if it’s a sign of some sort.)

You’re in one of the practice rooms with him, sitting in the corner. You had a class nearby and he’d wanted to practice a little more, so you told him you’d work on your own stuff while he finished up and then the two of you could grab something to eat.

But you made a small error on your part - the dancing. You’d forgotten the way he moves (you haven’t seen him dance since that first time) and in no time at all you’re letting your screen go dark in front of you and watching him. Honestly, it’s not your fault, you really can’t help it.

But of course he notices.

Minghao meets your eyes through the mirror and raises his eyebrows at you, and all you can do is look away, desperately try to get your laptop up and running again so at least it seems like you weren’t watching him for too long.

“You’re staring,” he says, long after you’ve looked away.

“Sorry,” you tell him anyways, immediate, quick.

Then he says, “I never said anything about stopping.”

In a second, you look up from your laptop and up at him. He moves closer, crouches in front of you. His eyes are kind - they’re never not - but you think you see something a little more in them. “Sorry, I think I missed that last part,” you respond, blinking. Minghao smiles like you’re endearing.

“I said I want you to keep looking at me.”

You think you’re barely breathing when he shuts your laptop for you, slides it off of your lap and onto the floor (gently, with care, and it’s a wonder to you how he can focus on that right now). He practically crawls over you, one of his hands eventually reaching the junction of your jaw and neck and holding there. “I’m gonna kiss you now, if that’s okay,” he says, but doesn’t move. You nod as soon as his words reach your brain, eager and quick.

And the next few hours get a little wound up in your head, a little mixed in with the feeling of his body - that moves so youthfully, with so much vibrancy that it reaches everything around you - melting into yours and the sound of him asking you to tell me what you need, honey, and the still-playing slow jam music he was practicing to.

You watch him sleep next to you, hand curled around yours against his pillows, and think that nothing bad could ever touch him.

The two of you… come together, after that.

Neither you nor Minghao use any proper labels, but you both seem to know. No labels are needed, really. You have each other and that’s all there is to it. And everything is really good.

You work together and laugh together like you’ve always known each other. He tries to teach you to dance with him when you’re in the practice room with him, pulls you up by your hands and guides you through your giggles. He was the first person you called when you realized that you had no idea what you were working towards, didn’t have a clue what you actually wanted to do with your life. He gets along well with your friends and you text his because they’re basically yours, now, too.

Winter turns back into spring, slow and easy. Vibrant and youthful. You’re not able to meet Minghao’s parents, but he meets yours (and you’re sure a quick introduction to his mom over a FaceTime call has to count for something). The two of you take advantage of the newfound warmth of the season and try to get out as much as you’re able to, with picnics and city dates and anything you can think of. A drawer in his dresser is reserved for your things, you bought an extra toothbrush for him to use when he stays over.

You watch him dance. It still feels like the first time, like color and breathlessness. You tell him he’s beautiful every time, feel yourself fall a little deeper when he still gets bashful amidst his comedown. You tell him you love him for the first time after he gets done with a performance - a proper one, for a showcase of the dance club he’s in. He says it back.

You think he put all the stars in the sky just for the two of you to gaze at them together.

Things shift the beginning of your junior year.

Minghao tells you about a program he’s applying to, a proper dance academy in New York that could really kickstart his career. Training under some of the best choreographers and performers in the world.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” You ask him after he tells you, and he shrugs, leaning back in his chair. You’re studying at his apartment tonight.

“It’s just…” he frowns. “It’s so far away, you know?”

Oh. You hadn’t even thought about that, too caught up in the excitement of him being able to apply at all. A quick sigh leaves your lips, and then you reach for his hand, hold it between both of your own.

“That’s okay,” you tell him, though now that you’re thinking about it, you feel nervousness in the pit of your stomach. “We can work something out, though, when we get that far. We’ll figure it out.”

Minghao nods, a fond look in his eyes. He pulls one of your hands to his lips. “We’ll think about it if I even get accepted,” he says.

It’s bittersweet, but a promise nonetheless.

Fifteen minutes after you get a call from Minghao, there’s a knock on your door.

You wouldn’t necessarily say you’re worried, but, well. Everyone’s experienced the jump of anxiety when they get hit with the “I want to talk to you about something” line. Nonetheless, you stand from the couch to open the door, mentally preparing yourself for any and everything.

“Hey,” you greet when you see Minghao, opening the door to let him in. His face is unreadable. “Everything okay?”

He walks a few steps into your apartment, waits for you to close the door before turning back around to face you. Then he holds up a piece of paper, the creases from where it was folded still bending. You send him a confused look.

“I got in,” he says, a grin breaking on his face, and you blink, then feel your jaw practically hit the floor. Minghao only nods like he understands, and before you know what you’re doing, you launch yourself at him, holding him close.

“Oh my god, Hao, that’s amazing,” you say into his sweater, then step back to get a proper look at him. Youthful, vibrant. “I’m so proud of you.”

He seems to soften at your words, pulls you back into him again with a gentle kiss to your head. “Thank you for believing in me,” he tells you, tenderness palpable in his voice. All you can do is squeeze him tighter.

Minghao spends a lot of time away from you after that.

You’re not really hurt in any way - even though he got into the academy in New York, he still has to practice. You get it, this is important. He doesn’t text you as often, isn’t able to stop by as much, and you miss him, but you know how much this means for him. But it gets… weird, almost, after a while. Strange, even for him. It feels weird that he’s set to leave at the end of January and it’s December and he’s distant.

Both of you are laying in your bed, looking at the glow-in-the-dark stars on your ceiling, when you decide to bring it up. “You’ve been… kinda far away lately,” you start, nudging him with your shoulder gently. “Everything okay?”

His eyes stay on your ceiling, but you feel the way he sighs. “It’s about the program,” he says.

“Okay.”

“And about… you and me.”

Oh. That doesn’t… sound the best. “About, like… what we’re gonna do?”

Minghao nods.

You say, “I wouldn’t mind visiting every so often. It’d be hard, but I’m sure we could find something to work.”

Minghao shakes his head, says, “no.”

You pause, and when you look at him he’s already looking at you. What does he mean by no? Does he want you to move with him? Or does he -

He reaches for your hand and you think oh.

His eyes are a little glassy. You feel the tears come, too.

“Oh,” you say out loud. Minghao squeezes your hand. “So this is… this is it?”

Your room is suddenly cold, and you want to crawl under the covers and stay there. The person in front of you is blurred into something unrecognizable, but you can’t be bothered to blink away your tears.

“I think so, love,” he whispers back to you. “I think it has to be.”

The two of you cry like that for a while. In your bed, loosely intertwined and broken. Even the way Minghao cries carries a kind of vibrancy that’s overwhelming, makes you think of the first time you saw him so long ago, and now -

When you manage to get a better grip on yourself, you ask him if you can still see him off at the airport. He says, “I don’t know what I’d do if you didn’t.”

Then you ask if you can kiss him again. He responds by kissing you first.

And it’s sad, it tastes like salt and sorrow and you feel like the promises you never got the chance to make are broken. It feels like the most beautiful blue you’ve ever seen, and you know it’s only a branch of Minghao’s color.

He leaves soon after that, pulls on his shoes and his coat and turns around at the door to give you a tired smile. After he’s gone, you drag yourself to Chan’s bedroom, and once he sees the state you’re in, he offers up one side of his bed. Neither of you say anything, but the friendly reassurance of his hand in yours says enough.

You don’t fail to notice that everything seems to be washed out, a blandness you’re not used to.

The last time you see him is at the airport.

It’s a cold day, despite being sunny. The airport offers little warmth, but you figure it doesn’t matter. You won’t be here for long.

It doesn’t take you very long to find Minghao - you still look for him wherever you go, even if you’re not looking for him. Even then, it’s still so easy for you to find him, to pinpoint that vibrancy, that youth. He’s talking to a few others, you think you met them. Soonyoung and Jun.

Minghao meets your eyes and you freeze, but then he waves you over with a gentle smile. You follow like you think you always will.

You greet Soonyoung and Jun and the four of you talk, albeit a little awkwardly, even when Soonyoung tries his hardest to lighten the mood. Eventually he has to leave, and Jun follows with a shy goodbye. They both hug Minghao before they go.

You’re not sure what to say, but after a minute, you find words. “I don’t know what I’ll do without you,” you tell him, a little selfishly.

Minghao says, “you’ll do good. I know you will. I’m not worried about you.”

He pulls his phone out of his pocket to check the time, and you think he’ll give you a stiff and sad goodbye, but he steps a little closer to you. Looks at you the way he used to.

“Maybe…” he starts, then pauses. “Maybe we’ll meet again.”

Maybe, you think. Maybe.

“I hope so,” you tell him, then watch as he leaves.

#caratwritersclub #kdiner #kpopscape #svt x reader #seventeen x reader #svt imagine #seventeen imagine #the8 x reader #the8 imagine #svt the8 x reader #seventeen the8 x reader #svt the8 imagine #xu minghao x reader #xu minghao imagine #svt minghao x reader #seventeen minghao x reader #minghao x reader #minghao imagine #pieces of you

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thetravelerwrites · 4 years

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Henry (Part 2) Lemon

Rating: Explicit Relationship: Female Human/Male Naga Additional Tags: Exophilia, Monster Boyfriend, Naga, Amphiptere, Friends to Lovers, Best Friends to Lovers, Demisexual, Graysexual, Content Warnings: Cam Worker, Cam Model, Sex Worker Words: 4467

The reader breaks a rule and meets Henry’s family, where awkward questions make for an awkward dinner. Please reblog and leave feedback!

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After two and a half months, Henry finally had the money he needed to open up the second location even without renting out the opposite apartment, and the two of you were scouting for the new place. You’d decided that you would run one of them and he would run the other. You were sad that you wouldn’t be working together anymore, but the two of you lived together now, so at least you’d be able to spend time together at home. Henry was also talking about hiring on additional employees if the second location did well, so the two of you wouldn’t have to work so hard.

“What do you think of this place?” He asked. “It’s a little small for what I was thinking, but it’s right next door to a popular wedding venue. We could do special deals for the weddings.”

“That would generate a lot of business, even in the slow season,” You replied. “And it wouldn’t matter if it was small if we had two locations. We could just deliver what we didn’t have here from the main building. It’s only ten minutes away.”

“Right,” He agreed. “So? Is it a yes to this one?”

“Well, it’s your decision, babe,” You said. “It’s your money, your business.”

“And you’re my girlfriend,” He said, pulling you into his arms. “And my business partner. You input matters to me. We make all decisions together.”

You smiled at him fondly. “God, I love you.”

He grinned down at you. “I love you, too. So?”

You looked around one more time and said, “It’s a yes. I like this place. It’s got character.”

“Right? It’s charming. We can work with charming. I’ll pay the deposit on Monday.” He picked you up and swung you around, as well as he could with his long tail in the way. “I’m so excited! Owning my own shop was my dream, and I never expected to be able to expand!”

“I’m so happy for you, babe,” you said, kissing him. “For both of us.”

He kissed you back twice and set you back down on your feet. “So, you’re still up for this weekend? Meeting the parents and everything?”

“Of course, I’m dying to meet them,” You said. “Do… they know about your side job?”

“No, they don’t,” He said firmly. “And I’d like to keep it that way, please. I mean, you know I’m not ashamed of my job, but it’s still my parents. All parents know their kids jerk off and stuff, but they definitely don’t want to talk about it.”

“This is slightly different, don’t you think?”

He shrugged. “It’s still embarrassing to tell them that I take my clothes off for money, even if there’s no touching involved.”

“Well, they won’t hear it from me, then,” You said. “Your secret is safe.”

“Thank you,” He said, smiling. He took your hand and led you out of the vacant building and toward the bus stop. There was a bus for larger non-humans that came twice a day.

“Have you told them much about me?” You asked, sitting on the bench to wait.

“I never shut up about you,” Henry said ruefully. “I’ve been talking about you for years, even before we met. I think they knew I was in love with you before I did. My sister literally told me to shut up once, because I kept gushing about you.”

“That’s sweet,” You said.

“You don’t talk to your folks much, do you?” He asked.

“Not really,” You replied, sitting at the bus stop with him sidling up to coil next to you. “Lots of stuff went down when I left that my parents weren’t cool with, and they said a lot of things that I wasn’t cool with, so we’re just not cool with each other in general.”

“Hmm,” He said. “Well, my sister will like you.” His eyes narrowed. “That may not be a good thing. She keeps trying to steal my girlfriends.”

You laughed. “Well, she doesn’t have a chance. I’m over the moon for you.”

He grinned at you. “That’s good to hear.” He lay his head on your shoulder briefly. “I’m madly in love with you.”

“Yay,” You said softly, kissing the top of his head, careful not to stab yourself on his horns.

“Can we go home and have celebratory sex?” He asked.

“Absolutely. Then we’ll order dinner and play a round of Final Fantasy XIV.”

“It’s a date. I do have a cam session later tonight, though, so I have factor that in.”

“Oh, if that’s the case, we should wait on the sex,” You said, looking down the street and seeing the bus approach. You stood up. “You should be fresh for your clients. We can have all the boning we want afterward. Anything fancy planned?”

“Nope, just a show and share, standard stuff. But it’s a new client, so that’s typical. ”

“Have you dropped a client? You usually don’t take new ones unless one either stops buying slots or you ban someone.”

“One of my old patrons moved on, so I held an auction for his slots. The money from that auction was the final monetary push I needed for the new location,” He said, following you to the curb as the bus stopped in front of you.

“Well, thank you to that person,” You said with a laugh, getting up into the bus. Henry followed you.

After getting home, the two of you ordered some sushi and played video games. Around eight o’clock, he set the controller down.

“Time for the session?” You asked, powering down the game console.

“It will be soon. I need to get ready. Want to help out?”

“Always. That new purple bolero would look lovely, and we can put some spray glitter in your hair.”

“That shit takes forever to get out!” He whined.

“Yeah, but it looks so cute! And I’ll help you wash it out later.”

“Promise?”

“Yes, I promise,” You said. “Come on, I’ll get you all dressed up and looking pretty for your new client.”

“You’re the best, babe.”

You had gotten pretty adept at getting him ready for his shows quickly, and honestly it was a great bonding moment between the two of you. He stayed still and obedient like a puppy while you were doing in and he always looked like a total snack when he was done. Not that he didn’t normally, but the costumes were a great garnish.

When you were finished, you kissed him, said, “Have fun,” And left him to his work.

He’d moved his camming desk and rig to the bedroom so that the two of you could set up his and hers gaming stations in his old office, where the two of you spent a lot of time.

You’d just sat down to play some Among Us with friends when you realized that you’d left your phone in the bedroom. You swore at yourself for being so thoughtless. The number one rule was never interrupt a camming session, it could cost him clients if they found out he had a girlfriend. Some might even want you to participate, and that was not something you were up for.

But you also didn’t want your phone to ring while he was in a video chat. You were usually so careful, so this made you really mad at yourself. Henry couldn’t afford to lose customers right now, with opening the new location. He’d need every penny he could earn.

You knew he kept his Discord up when he was working, in case any emergencies arose and you could notify him, so you pulled it up and typed, >I forgot my phone in the bedroom. Can I come get it?

He typed back, >Sure, just try to be quiet, please.

You tip-toed to the bedroom and pushed the door open gingerly. Henry was talking to his new client playfully. He flicked his eyes over to you and gave you a quick wink before returning his attention to the screen.

Henry’s desk was circular and facing inward toward the wall, so there was be a solid background rather than showing his clients your bedroom. Your phone was on the nightstand next to the bed-nest, out of frame.

“So, tell me a little about yourself, sweetheart,” He said sultrily. “What do you like? What do you like having done to you?” Henry was wearing an earpiece through which the client responded. This prevented you from having to listen and the client from hearing you rattling around in the apartment. “Mmm, that sounds fun. You want to show me, or would you like me to show you first?”

You stealthed across the room and picked up your phone, turning it to silent. When you turned back around, Henry had removed the bolero jacket and was touching his chest suggestively and biting his lip.

“You look so pretty when you do that,” He said with a low-pitched growl in his voice.

Watching him in his element was… kinda hot. Instead of leaving, you sat down quietly on the bed-nest and watched him. He flicked his eyes over to you again for a millisecond, and you heard him typing.

>What are you doing?

>Admiring you. You responded. >You look so sexy.

>You’re breaking the rule.

>Then tell me to leave.

You could tell he was suppressing a smirk, but he didn’t tell you to leave.

>Just be as quiet as possible and you can stay, just this once, He texted you.

>Promise.

He continued the session with you reclining in the nest, watching him work. Normally in the first session with a new client, he didn’t go all the way, so to speak. It was more of a peep show and less of a full service. Usually it was a strip tease and some light touching to entice them to continue their subscription.

The way he was putting on a show for the camera, the exaggerated movements, the low, husky voice, the touching, the sly smirk on his lips, did things to your body. You squeezed your legs together and squirmed slightly, but he didn’t notice.

How much would he let you get away with, you wondered? Slowly, you let your hand slip into the sleep shorts you were wearing, spreading your legs a little.

This time he noticed. A minuscule flick of his eyes made them widen slightly, and he turned back to the keyboard while still engaging with the client.

>Stay quiet, He said. >Don’t make a sound.

He lowered his lashes and took a covert look at you, and you nodded.

He continued with his flirty introduction and laid the flattery on thick to the client, while every once in a while stealing a glance at you. You rocked your pelvis against your hand, massaging your pearl and biting your wrist to keep silent, all while watching him. You saw him pull his tail around under the desk and began stroking his slit in circles, the heads of his dual cocks just starting to peek out.

Just as you were getting to your first orgasm, Henry said, “Well, darling, our time is up. I hope I’ll see you again. I had a wonderful time with you.” He dipped his head down and looked up through his eyelashes, pouting slightly. “Come back soon. Until then, you take care, okay darling? Good night and sweet dreams.”

You came hard, gripping the sheets in one hand as you struggled to stay quiet. Henry exited out of the video chat, tore his earpiece off and threw it onto the desk, and darted toward you, pulling your hand out of your shorts and over your head.

“You…” He said with a dark, gruff tone. “You have been very… very… bad.”

This was a new side to sweet, cuddly Henry. “And what will you do?” You taunted, feeling a little thrill up your spine.

Without warning, he flipped you onto your stomach and snatched your shorts and underwear off. He pushed himself into you, not in a way that hurt, but definitely hard and unceremonious. Since you had climaxed already and were a bit sensitive, it was almost sensory overload, but it was so good, and you gave yourself over to it.

He took both of your hands and held them behind your back with only one of his while he used the other to grip your hip to pull you harder against him.

“Don’t be quiet now,” He growled at you. “Make noise. Moan for me, scream for me, let me hear your voice.”

You were happy to obey, being a little louder than you normally were. You grunted and groaned as he pounded into you roughly, a way he’d never been with you before. He was always gentle and affectionate, and you loved it, but this was on another level. It was hot and passionate and wild, and you were enthralled. You loved Sweet Henry, but Feral Henry was incredible.

Henry came violently against you, growling, and withdrew, thrusting the second cock into you and going full-throttle again. You were used to Henry’s stamina by now, so you could hang with it. Another burst of pleasure crashed into your body, and you screamed his name.

“That’s a good girl,” He snarled into your ear.

A third orgasm, and then a fourth, and by the fifth, you were getting tired. He released one last shot inside you and let you go, collapsing next to you in the nest. You lay face down and gasped.

After a moment or two, he got up on his elbow and stroked your back.

“Are you okay? Do you need some water? I didn’t hurt you, did I?” He asked softly.

Ah. Sweet Henry was back. You loved Sweet Henry. He was the best.

“No, I’m okay, babe,” You turned your head to look at him. “What was that? You’ve never been like that with me before.”

“I don’t know,” He said, looking a little shocked at himself. “I’ve never been like that with anyone before. Was it bad?”

“No, on the contrary, it was amazing,” You replied, turning on your side to face him. “I was just playing with you, I didn’t know I’d bring that out.”

“Me neither,” He said ruefully, laughing self-consciously and scratching the back of his head. “You’re sure I didn’t hurt you?”

“I’d have said so if you did, you know that,” You said, reaching up to stroke his face. “I won’t sit in on sessions again, I know it’s bad for business. But… maybe we could roleplay Feral Henry one night. That was fun.”

He grinned wickedly at you, kissing the inside of your hand. “I look forward to it.”

That Sunday, the two of you took a trip across town to see his family. Despite living in the same city, you hadn’t actually met them yet. They traveled often for work, as they owned an advertising company and worked with businesses across the country. Their daughter, Henry’s older sister, was their secretary and did most of their scheduling.

Henry didn’t want to be an executive with the company and preferred to stand on his own two feet… so to speak. Thankfully, his family was understanding and didn’t object when he decided to follow his dreams instead of staying with the family business. After all, the advertisement company had been his parents’ dream.

You and Henry took a large-race cab service out to the richer end of the city, where his parents lived. They’re house had been built with nagas specifically in mind, so it had been built all on the ground level, but it was huge. There were at least six bedrooms, as far as you could tell.

Henry’s parents, Ruth and Richard, met you at the door. Ruth’s scales were a solid bright blue from waist to tail. Her skin was a burnished bronze and her eyes were gold in color. She had a long, lovely set of wings in blues and gold. She wore a long halter top in a deep brown that matched her tumbling hair and complemented her skin tone.

Richard, on the other hand, did not have wings and as such, wore a simple button up shirt. He was grey in color, both scales and skin, with black rings along his tail and grey horns jutting up from the top of his head out of his pitch black hair.

Naga women didn’t have mammary glands, since their diet at birth was strictly meat, transitioning to other foods as they aged, so nagas often didn’t feel the need to wear clothing. Henry didn’t typically wear clothing unless he was camming or in the shop, in which he wore a basic white t-shirt specially made with a panel in the back to accommodate his wings. Sometimes an apron, if he was feeling fancy. Otherwise, he went without clothes. Today, he went super posh with a blue t-shirt, since this was a special occasion and everything.

“Henry!” Ruth said, rushing out to meet her son. “You look so handsome!” She hugged her son tightly, their wings touching lightly. “And is this your girlfriend? She’s so lovely! Come and give me a hug, sweetie!”

You walked into her muscular arms and she gave you a warm, motherly hug that felt really nice. Since you weren’t speaking to your own family, this was a type of touch you really missed.

“It’s so nice to meet you!” You said as you stepped away. “Henry has told me all about you.”

“Likewise!” She said, cupping your face. “Gosh, he’s talked about nothing else besides you for years!”

“Honey, don’t embarrass our son,” Richard said, coming out to shake your hand. “It is lovely to meet you at last.”

“You too, sir,” You replied.

“Oh, please, call me Richard. Come in, come in, dinner is almost ready,” He said, putting a hand behind your back, stopping just short of touching you, and ushered you inside.

You could smell a savory smell that made your mouth water as soon as you came inside. You followed Richard into the kitchen, where there was a large, high bar in place of a dinner table and a single barstool.

“We actually had to buy a chair!” Ruth said. “That was exciting. We did measurements and everything.”

Her excitement made you smile wide and feel a little shy. Henry grinned down at you and took your hand, leading you forward toward the barstool. You sat down and looked around the enormous, beautiful kitchen.

“Is she here yet?” A voice from the doorway said. Henry’s sister, Rea, entered unclothed, looking much like her brother but having her mother’s coloring.

“Rea, put on a shirt! We have company!” Ruth said.

“No, really, it’s okay, I’m used to Henry not wearing clothes, so it’s totally fine.” You hopped off the chair and went over to greet her and introduced yourself.

“I’m Rea, it’s great to meet you.” She looked you up and down. “You weren’t lying, Henry, she’s as hot as you described her.”

“Hey,” Henry said warningly, coming up behind you and hugging you close to his chest. “She’s taken.”

“For now,” Rea said to her brother, smiling slyly. He growled.

“Don’t fight,” Ruth said. “Come now, dinner is ready.”

Henry helped you pop back up on the stool and the naga family simply sat back on their tails. Dinner was rare steak and garden vegetables tossed in a homemade dressing and a dry white wine.

“Are you both amphiptere?” You asked Ruth and Richard.

“Yes,” Richard said. “But it’s less likely for the males to have wings than the females. Even among our own kind, Henry is rare.”

“Aww,” You said, patting his cheek. “That doesn’t surprise me one little bit. He’s special.”

“In the head, maybe,” Rea said, shoving a large piece of steak in her mouth. Henry shot her a dry look, but his mouth was too full to retort.

“Well, I’m glad he finally found someone who understands and appreciates his value,” Ruth said. “We were beginning to think he’d never get married.”

Henry choked on his wine, spitting it across the table. His parents and sister had to shield their plates.

“Mom, we’ve only been dating for a few months, it’s too early to be talking about marriage.”

“Oh, please, it’s inevitable, you’ve been in love with her for years!”

“Yes, but she wasn’t aware of that until recently!” He responded. “This is all new for her.”

“But you love her, right?”

“Mom, for the love of God,” Henry groaned, massaging his temples. “Yes, I love her, but it’s still basically the beginning of our relationship. You’re going to scare her off.”

“Well, what do you think?” Ruth asked, turning to you. “You’d marry him, wouldn’t you?”

You opened your mouth, taken aback.“I…”

“You don’t need to answer that,” Henry said. “Mom, really, don’t make her feel uncomfortable. Neither of us are thinking about marriage right now. Can we please talk about something else?”

“Mom, really, leave Henry alone,” Rea said.

“Alright, alright, I’m just saying--”

“Honey,” Richard said stiffly. “Please.”

Ruth sniffed and sighed, but fell silent. What followed was a rather awkward dinner.

As the two of you were leaving, Ruth apologized for being so pushy, having thought about her words over the strained silence. You told her it was okay, and that you were looking forward to seeing them again.

Back on the taxi heading toward town, you started thinking about it. Did he really not think about getting married one day? You were kind of hoping that eventually you would. Not soon, but eventually.

“Don’t worry about my mom,” Henry said, taking your hand. “She has that mom habit of not knowing when to stop.”

“No, it’s totally fine, she just caught me off guard, is all,” You replied.

“You sure you’re okay?” He asked, tilting his head down a bit to look at your face. “You seem bothered by something.”

“It’s just…” You tried to think of a way to phrase it that wouldn’t spook him but failed. “No, it’s nothing really.”

“No, no,” He said, bumping your shoulder with his lightly. “Come on, I know there’s something on your mind. I’m your best friend, right? You can tell me anything.”

You sighed. “Are you really not thinking about marriage at all? I don’t mean right now or anything, but like in the future? Maybe a few years from now?”

“Well…,” He began, his brow furrowing. “I mean, yeah, of course I am. I’ve been thinking about marrying you since before we ever met. But our relationship is new and I didn’t want to put that kind of pressure on you. And we’re opening a new shop! Who knows how long it’ll be before the chaos of that subsides long enough for us to even begin to plan a wedding? It could genuinely be years.”

“So… it’s a possibility, then?”

“More than a possibility, I’d say,” He said with a gentle smile. “But we need time to feel this out. Just because we love each other is no reason to rush into something we aren’t necessarily prepared for, you know? Marriage is… a lot.”

You nodded. “Yeah. And I agree with you, but I was just worried that you weren’t even considering it.”

“Well, don’t worry. It’s definitely on my mind.”

“Good.” You laid your head on his shoulder, linking your arm with his. “Do we still have ice cream at home?”

“Nope, I ate it earlier.”

“Boo, you suck.”

He chuckled. “We’ll stop at the store on the way home. Mint chocolate chip and some cookies?”

“You know me so well.” You raise your head and puckered your lips, and he bent down to kiss you.

“I do think that before we start talking seriously about marriage or anything like that, I want to stop camming.”

“Why’s that?”

“Well, when I got into it, I never intended to be a career, it was just a side job to help me pay bills. It’s fun and I like it, but I don’t want to do it forever. There is a risk to it, and I worry that you might be affected by it, and I don’t want that.”

“Risk?”

“Yeah. In fact, I think I’m going to end the camming early this year. I’m booked through the month, but I think I’ll make a post tonight saying that I’m going offline for the season. We’re going to be run ragged getting the new place set up. Some people will be upset about it, but they can deal with it.”

“People will be mad?” You asked. The taxi stopped and he took your hand, escorting you out and down the sidewalk toward the small store near your home.

“Yeah,” He said. “A lot of people get that I have a normal life outside of my side job, but some people can be obsessive. Usually, they just wait until next season opens up and book all of my openings they can afford, but some get personal. I block the ones that are too aggressive or start trying to get too close.”

“Too close?”

“Trying to find out who I am and where I live,” He replied.

“That happens?” You asked, alarmed.

“It’s only happened twice. One of them got the hint when I got angry and I didn’t hear from them again. The second one I had to call the police on. I still have a restraining order out against her.”

“Jesus,” You responded. “I didn’t realize it was so… dangerous.”

“It usually isn’t,” He said off-handedly. “That’s the beauty of anonymity and the internet. But I am a rare breed, so it’s easy for people to match my face in real life if they really dig. I mean, you did, right? I have a VPN and pretty hardcore protections on my computer that prevent hacking it remotely, but people can be persistent.”

“That’s… scary,” You said, frowning.

“Don’t worry,” He said, flexing his arms and stomach muscles. “I can handle just about anything.”

“Just about,” You echoed under your breath, and followed him into the store.

Since my work is no longer searchable, please do me a favor and reblog this story if you enjoyed it. Help me reach a wider audience! To help me continue creating, please consider buying me a Kofi, becoming a Patron, or donating directly to my PayPal!

Thanks for reading!

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#Exophilia #Monster Boyfriend #Naga #Reader Insert

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jordanstrophe · 3 years

Text

A Cinnamon Bun too Pure for this World, part 4

The Dough is Rising~ A flashback

CW: Whump, loss of parents implied, abusive family member, multiple stabbing, hand whump, heist and robbery implied, conditioned whumpee, locked in a closet and Nathen destroying all of Cin’s hope and dreams.

Masterlist

*flashback chapter with Nathen*

Cin sat gripping the chair legs with his head down, tears dripped down his face into his lap.

“I’m so sorry for your loss.” A woman said. He didn’t respond, he just watched the pool of tears in his jeans grow larger and larger with every drip.

“It says here you don’t have any surviving immediate relatives. You’re 16, so...” She trailed off. A man quickly approached, whispering to her. She immediately perked up as she clapped her hands in front of her face, making Cin flinch.

“Wonderful news! It seems you have a very distant uncle-in-law! They’ll be informed of the car crash and we’ll let them know about your circumstance.” She said.

‘I have an uncle?’ Cin thought to himself. He never had any other family aside from his parents. A glimmer of hope washed over him.

Cin nervously stood by the social worker by the doorway. She was a very nice lady, he practically glued himself to her side like a lost duckling. He almost fell asleep against her hip until he heard a car pull up. He instantly perked up, watching a tall man with messy dark hair, a black leather jacket and ragged jeans climb from his car. The man glanced over at him, eyeing him up and down. Cin’s gut told him there was something wrong, but he shooed the feelings away. This man was nice enough to take him in! He must be sooo kind! Especially since they weren’t *technically* related...

Cin gave him a small smile and a wave when he approached. His eyes darted down to him, as he smiled back! He crouched until he was level with him.

“Hi there, you must be Cin. I’m Nathen” He gave him a warm smile.

“What do you mean I’m not going to school?” Cin asked, almost panicked.

“Homeschool Cin. You’re still doing school.” He sighed.

“Then who’s going to teach me?” He cocked his head to the side.

“I am, silly.” Nathen shook his head.

Cin just assumed he knew best. He had moved to another state, he had lost his family, and now his friends. But at least he had Nathen! He just got very lonely sometimes. Nathen started working, disappearing for days, but he would always show up with food and clothes for him. He never talked about his work and when Cin asked he would get defensive, sometimes angry, so Cin just decided to be quiet. He would keep the house clean and cook whatever he brought home.

“Nathen!” Cin called excitedly. He twirled around while holding something behind his back. “What.” Nathen mumbled under his breath, eyes glued to a computer screen he always kept tilted away.

“I found something I’m interested in!” He beamed, pulling out a pamphlet behind his back and proudly showing it to him.

“That’s nice.” He mumbled.

“You’re not even looking.” He waved the pamphlet to try and mimic those noodle mascots he saw across the street.

Nathen sighed as he pushed his glasses up, squinting. “College?” He raised an eyebrow. Cin nodded his head enthusiastically. “It’s a really nice college! It’s affordable, and it has a social worker degree!”

Nathen laughed. He laughed and laughed until he was wiping tears from his eyes. “College? Social worker? Why are you thinking about that stuff?”

“Because I’m 18 now! I just thought-” “-You thought what? I could afford college for you? I’m already working hard enough to keep you fed and taken care of.”

“But I-... I can get a job! I can help!” He pleaded. Nathen opened his mouth to shut him down, but paused. His eyes darted from him, to the computer as a smirk spread across his face.

“Alright. You can get a job.” He shrugged.

“Really! Thank you thank you thank you-!” “-But! You’ll be working with me and my group. It’ll be easy, even someone like you could do it.” He smirked. Cin beamed even more with those words. He wouldn’t be lonely anymore! And he got to work with his wonderful guardian! This would be the best job ever!

“Cin, this is Charlotte and Jackson.” Nathen introduced.

“Nathen! Why didn’t you tell me he was adorable?!” Charlotte shrieked, pinching Cin’s cheeks with her long sharp black nails. The touch wasn’t comforting in the slightest, but he was enjoying the attention.

“Aren’t you just as cute as a button! Nathen, we could use him as a distraction instead! I know, I’m a fine distraction, but why don’t we let the new kid in?” She smiled, flipping her long dark hair dramatically.

“Cin needs an easy job, he’s terrible at socializing.” He scoffed. Cin blushed, It wasn’t his fault he never left the house. He used to try and get out a lot, but Nathen would give him a slap on the wrist and drag him back home every time.

“Besides, wouldn’t want him to take your spotlight.” He smirked. “What are we doing?” Cin asked. The group grew painfully silent.

“You didn’t even tell him?” James spat.

“He doesn’t need to know, he has the easy job, remember?” They fell silent again. “If the kid talks, I’m ratting you all out.” He shook his head. “He’s not going to rat us out! He’s going to do whatever I tell him.” Nathen cranked his head to face Cin, his eyes burning with a twisted expression. “Right?”

“Right!” Cin squeaked. He had no idea what was going on, but he would be useful! Just watch him. Nathen stuffed a radio and a keycard in his hands and walked him over to a backdoor of an odd looking shop.

“When you hear my voice on the radio, you’re going to swipe the card right there and open the door, mmkay?” He asked.

“Mmkay!.... Wait, is that it?”

“Yep! That’s allll you have to do. You can’t mess it up.” He smiled. The group quickly disappeared as Cin was left standing alone by the door. He held the radio in both hands staring at it waiting for the order.

Five minutes passed.

Ten minutes passed.

Thirty minutes passed.

Cin was still staring intensely at the radio. By the hour, he had slumped against the door, lightly tapping his head against it barely clutching the radio in his fingertips. Where were they? Did they forget about him?

The radio crackled as Cin jumped, losing his grip on the radio as he juggled it in the air a bit.

“OPEN THE DOOR! *Crackle* DO IT NOW!” He heard Nathen bark. Cin stared at the radio with fascination before snapping out of it, swiping the card. He dug his heels in the gravel as he heaved the door open as out bolted Nathen and James carrying two bags over their shoulder.

“Let’s go let’s go! Move it!” He shouted, grabbing Cin’s arm and dragging him along. Cin had no idea what was going on, but he happily ran behind Nathen like they were playing some fun game. James slammed the door open as they tossed the bags in, Nathen grabbed Cin’s arm and pushed him in as they hit the gas.

“Wait! Where’s Charlotte!?” James called, looking back.

“We don’t have time, hit it!”

“We can’t just leave her! What if she got caught!”

“Then she gets caught! That’s on her!”

Cin stayed silent as he sat on the floor of the van. “Did… Did I do good?” He asked with desperation in his voice. All he wanted was a hint of approval from someone. Nathen looked back as his hand ruffled his hair. “Yeah, you did good.” He smiled. Cin beamed with pure joy. He had no idea what happened, or what he even did, but it made Nathen happy, so Cin was too.

Time went on and Nathen asked him to do similar things. Open this door, press this button, call us on the radio if you see anyone, small innocent things. Each time they would return with something, bags, a box or expensive looking things. Cin never questioned anything, because it was Nathen; the person he relied on.

They person he was nothing without.

-Years passed. Cin was 21 now.

“You said if I helped out you would let me go to college! Please, I really want to go!” He begged. Nathen was twisted with rage, he had no energy nor patience to put up with him today.

“I’m so sick and tired of you filling my ears with college trash! You’re helping us, Cin. We can’t do the big jobs without you! After all I’ve done for you, this is the least you can do to pay me back!” He hissed. Cin groaned with frustration as he bolted from the room, slamming the door behind him as he ran down the street. Nathen didn’t even try to stop him, he knew he would be back. Where would he even go? He had nothing without him.

It started raining, Cin held his arms as he walked cringing down the sidewalk as the cold rain showered. He stopped when he saw a bus stop with a man in ragged clothes huddled under the overhang. They both looked at each other, both looking rather lost. The man had messy hair and a long grey beard, dressed in torn clothes with a bag at his feet filled with random things.

“Are you okay?” Cin asked, sniffling.

“Pff, I should be asking you that.” The man said. Cin realized half the liquid on his face was tears as he quickly wiped his face.

The man slid to the side of the bench, making room for him as Cin nervously sat next to him.

“What’s bothering you?” The man asked.

“I… Nathen told me I’m not allowed to talk to strangers…” Cin muttered.

“Not allowed? You look like an adult to me. Although I will say, this is some solid advice from this Nathen boy.” The man chuckled. “I’m David, there, I’m not a stranger anymore.” He smiled. “Cin.” He smiled back.

“I just… I really wanted to go to college. My guardian won’t let me go, even thought I worked for it! I don’t understand why.” He murmured. The man’s eyes fell sad as he sighed.

“I’m sorry to hear that young man. But if you worked your fair share, you have every right to get a little demanding.” He chuckled. “Hmm? Demanding?’” Cin asked. “Yeah! Put your foot down! Tell him, ‘I worked hard, and I deserve it!”

Cin gasped as he held his hands over his mouth. “I’m allowed to say that!?” He gasped. “Of course you can! You’re an adult! You get to make decisions for yourself.” He smiled. Cin’s eyes darted to the ground as if he had just made a realization. “I can… Make decisions? For myself?”

“That’s right!” He smiled.

“I never realized I could do that!” He gasped, his mind running wild. “What about you? Why are you sad?” He asked.

“Bah, don’t worry about an old man like me.” He waved.

“No! That’s not fair! It’s your turn now!” He demanded. “Alright! Alright.” He chuckled, raising his hands in defeat. “You’re getting good at this demanding thing, I’ll give you that.” He smiled. “I lost my home last year. There was a job offer today and I cleaned myself up as best as I could and shot my shot! Well, I didn’t get the job and I guess I’m a little down about it.” He sighed, slumping down on the bench.

“You’re homeless? Then how do you live? Where do you eat?” He asked. He couldn’t quite fathom his lifestyle.

“I don’t some nights.” He sighed. Cin’s face went pale. “Did you get something today?” He asked. “.. Yes.” He coughed.

“Hmmm? Are you suuure?” Cin eyed. The man laughed as he crossed his arms with guilt. “Wait here!” Cin ordered. The man froze awkwardly as he watched Cin bolting off into a nearby store. He returned a couple minutes later with a bag in hand, filled with a stash of fresh food. Nathen had given him a couple of pocket change just to satisfy him for a little bit, but he never got a chance to spend it.

“No, sweetie, you need to save that for your education.”

“No! I insist. Hearing your story made me appreciate what I have more! I’ll be fine regardless if I give this to you or not. But it’ll mean a lot to you, won’t it?” He smiled.

The man stared at him for a moment before smiling, accepting the gift. “You’re a very kind young man. Don’t ever let anyone take that away from you.”

Cin giggled before starting to run off. “Thank you for the advice! I think I’m going to take it!” He waved behind his shoulder as he sprinted home with a wave of confidence.

He burst through the door, dripping wet as he announced “I worked hard, and I deserve it!” He shouted.

“Huh?” Nathen asked, closing the laptop.

“I-... I worked hard…” He trailed off. “And I deserve it, right? The college…” His confidence was slowly killed as Nathen rose to his height. “Where did you get those words from? Inspirational quotes from a car bumper?’” He scoffed. “N-no. A nice man.” He muttered.

“A nice what?” His eyes grew wide. “Cin! I told you you’re not allowed to talk to anyone!” He shouted. “But he was nice! And he was also right. I can’t stay here forever Nathen! I appreciate everything you did for me, but It’s time I… I made a decision for myself, and this is it.” He muttered.

“Oh, so the pup grew some fangs, hmm? That’s something I never expected.” He taunted. He draped himself into a chair, crossing his arms and legs. “I’ll tell you what, Cin. You help us with one more job, and you can go.” He said.

Cin’s eyes lit up like stars as he jumped up and down “Thank you thank you thank you!” He cheered. Nathen just sat thinking to himself with a twisted smile creeping across his face.

“You wanna what now?” Charlotte gasped. “Listen here, I got arrested last time because I was the distraction. We had to lose some of that money we stole to bail me out! You’re so lucky I didn’t rat you all out.” She crossed her arms.

“Yeah yeah, you won’t be the distraction this time. Cin is.” Nathen smirked.

“What? Nathen, he’ll get caught for sure.. “-No no! He’ll be fine. I got a plan.”

Cin looked nervous, twisting his fingers as Nathen stood him next to a tree outside an expensive looking shop. “Nathen? I don’t understand, what are we even doing?” Cin murmured. “Oh come now, don’t be shy! You’re just a distraction, so be you’re cute little helpless self, mmkay?” He smiled.

“Wha-...”

Nathen pulled out a pocket knife, placing the back of Cin’s hand to the tree as he jabbed the knife all the way through, pinning him to the tree. James' eyes went wide, Charlotte gasped, Nathen smiled, as Cin screamed…

Blood fell down his arm dripping off his elbow as he was stuck frozen in shock. His breathing spiked as he couldn’t stop screaming. The pressure and sharp pain imbedded into his hand pulsing with every twitch and quiver.

He blinked his eyes open to see he was alone, the sound of pounding footsteps approaching as a man dressed in uniform ran up to him.

“Hey! Are you-” His voice cut off at the sight of the knife pinning the man to the tree. Cin was hyperventilating as he tried to control his shaking. The man called an ambulance and soon, there was a small crowd of people who worked in the store trying to help keep him calm.

“How did this happen?” Someone asked.

Cin tried to answer, but he couldn’t find the words. His mind was bewildered into terror and confusion. In the end, he never spoke a word. An ambulance came as they carefully removed the knife, giving him a towel to put pressure on the wound. Nathen miraculously appeared with a terrified expression.

“CIN! I’ve been looking everywhere for you! What happened?” Nathen gasped, grabbing his shoulders. Before he could try to choke out a word, Nathen was already speaking over him talking to the paramedics.

“Thank you so much for helping him! He’s my little baby nephew, he ran off on me and I’ve been looking everywhere worried sick!” He cried. Cin fell silent with wide blank eyes. Nathen assured he didn’t need the ambulance, he was going to drive him to the hospital himself, because he must be so scared. A doctor said to contact the police as soon as he arrived at the hospital, as Nathen assured them he would.

Instead, he drove him home. Countless bags were filling the bag seat of the car that weren't there before. Cin was then dragged home by his arm and thrown onto the floor sobbing.

‘W-why!! Why did y-you do that?” He sobbed, clutching his bleeding hand.

“Because, it was for your own good. Cin, just look at you.” He said, crouching down as he tried to crawl away. “But y-you did s-so much to me!” He shouted.

Nathen took his chin as he forced him to look up, thumbing away a tear. “For you. I did so much for you, Cin. Why can’t you see that? You were sick, sick with all these fantasies about leaving. You really think you can make it out there? All by yourself? Without me? I’m the only one who ever loved you, who took care of you. You owe me everything.” He hissed, taking his hand. “And now?” He muttered, pulling out a knife. In a second, he was on top of him pinning his hand to the floor. Nathen used one knee to pin his chest, another pinning his right hand, with his free hand holding his wrists to the floor over his head.

“And now, I can do…” He muttered, plunging the knife into his palm next to the first cut.

“Whatever”

Stab

“I like to you.”

Stab

He drove the knife into his left palm over and over again. Cin cried and begged the entire time with barely any air left in his lungs, squirming to try and elude his attacks. Blood fell into the cracks of the floorboards beneath them, eventually, Cin was lying motionlessly on the floor. Four, inch long marks were through his hand as he was dragged over to the closet and thrown in.

“There’s nothing you can do to pay me back, Cin. So you can stay right here where you belong and bleed until you become a grateful little brat.” He spat, slamming the closet door.

Cin collapsed his back against the wall clutching his hand. He was left to twitch and whimper the entire night until he learned to be grateful to who he was indebted to… Until he learned his place.

He was… The only one…. Who cared about him… After all.

“Cin?” Richard asked, sliding the closet door open. Cin was on the floor nicely tucked into the corner with his hair pressed against the wall.

“Are you okay?” He asked. Cin’s left hand was twitching with phantom pain as he silently nodded his head. “Why are you in here?” He asked.

Cin’s eyes darted around a little bit. “It’s comfortable here...” He quietly murmured.

“It’s comfortable out here too though. Don’t you want to rest on the bed?” He asked. Cin glanced up at him with a skeptical look, tilting his head to the side. “I’m... I’m fine here...” Richard stared down with a concerned expression. Cin looked at him like he was expecting praise for stuffing himself in the closet.

Richard crawled into the closet and sat next to him, brushing a strand of hair from his eyes so he could make eye contact. “Were you thinking about him?” Richard asked. Cin guiltily nodded, pressing his nose into the corner in an attempt to hide. “No no, it’s alright. He can’t hurt you anymore, okay?” Richard soothed. He didn’t understand where Cin went mentally when he was like this, stuck in his conditioned responses when he got scared or confused.

Which unfortunately, was all the time.

His left hand would twitch when he would respond with his conditioning. Hiding in the closet was apparently a response when he was scared. Richard was slowly picking up on things that were triggers as he would try to avoid them, but they were difficult to root out.

“Why don’t we get comfortable on the couch and watch a movie with popcorn?” Richard asked. He peeked an eye out at the mention of popcorn. After much reassurance and comfort, Cin eventually found himself on the couch with a big bowl of popcorn in his lap with a small smile.

@milk-carton-whump @whumpasaurus101 @sillypizzazineoperator @as-a-matter-of-whump @alien-octopus @unicornscotty @yesthisiswhump

ʕっ• ᴥ • ʔっ Thank you for reading!

#whump #whumpee #whumper #caretaker #conditioned whumpee #stabbing tw #stabbing whump #whump stories #whump writing #manipulative whumper #possessive whumper #whump flashback #controlling whumper

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captaincravatthecapricious · 3 years

Text

After the Circus- Part 3

@janekfan

cw: strained friendships, arguing, fainting, dizziness, trauma, references to Jon's getting covered in lotion, disassociation, food mention, mentions of panic attacks (none in the story), canon typical season three Tim headspace (although he's being less mean!)

After his kidnapping, Jon continues to have a rough time

The next time Jon wakes up, he is actually able to sit up. He’s alone on the cot. For a moment, he almost panics, looking for Martin in the darkened room.

It’s hard to see. The only light is from the hallway, oozing in because the door isn’t entirely closed. He doesn’t have his glasses on. He doesn’t know where those are.

Does he just have to resign himself blurry vision and the headaches? Not as if he doesn’t get enough of those. He sighs. He can’t even remember when he last had them. Did he have them when he was kidnapped? Did he have them when he got back?

He makes out Martin’s blurry form sitting slumped in front of the cot. Leaning against it and the wall. Asleep.

Guilt pools in the bottom of Jon’s empty stomach. He doesn’t know what time it is. But Martin has, presumably, been here for hours. Jon doesn’t know how many, sliping in and out of lucidity too quickly to get a firm sense on space and time. Martin should be at home, forgetting all this supernatural shit as often as he can, for as long as he can. Not worrying about Jon. Christ, certainly not worrying about Jon constantly since Prentiss.

All those times Martin dragged him to lunch, or provided tea when he still treated Martin like shit.

Jon can’t look at him.

He wishes he could get Martin onto the cot and let him get some proper rest, but even in top health, he couldn’t lift Martin, let alone do it without waking him. Best to just drape a blanket over him and let him rest.

Jon… well he needs to get up. Get to the loo, get a jumper, get some water or food if he can manage it. He isn’t sure. There’s still a good chance he’ll just end up on the floor again. Especially without his cane.

At least he doesn’t have to worry about Georgie. He was leaving her place anyhow. She wouldn’t have expected a call. Probably.

Standing isn’t great, but he manages his first two tasks. Leaning on the wall is the best he can manage, but he makes the way to the break room, drowning in an oversized hoodie. And finds Tim.

Tim is on his phone. He looks… tired. He’s still wearing that familiar scowl, but it’s softer. If Jon didn’t know better, he’d say Tim was looking worried. If Jon didn’t know better, he’d think Tim might be worried about him.

He’d think about that more, if his vision wasn’t starting to darken. He takes a rather abrupt seat on the floor, in hopes of staving off another faint.

Jon, essentially slamming into the floor makes Tim look up. There is a long moment where he is caught between sitting still and rushing over. (See if he’s still awake, if he’s hurt himself, if he’s hit his head, get him some salt and a sports drink. The routine still ingrained.) But. He doesn’t know.

He finds himself half standing, phone halfway on the table, screen still on, game chirping at him angrily as he loses.

He finds himself hesitating for a long moment, before he walks over to Jon. Slowly.

Jon’s conscious, but looks he’s contemplating if he’s going to stay that way.

Does Tim want to help?

Does Jon even want his help?

If he touches Jon, will he scream again?

If Jon screams, will Martin wake up?

He does care if Martin wakes up. Martin hasn’t gotten much sleep… in months, but especially not in the last couple days looking after Jon, and making sure Jon got enough water, and any meager amount of sustenance that he can manage.

Tim wouldn’t stay for Jon, but he is staying for Martin.

He stands there, looming over Jon. Jon shrinks away. Instead of making Tim feel vindicated, he just feels empty.

He should help Jon. So Martin doesn’t lose even more sleep making sure Tim doesn’t follow the impulse to yell and kick and argue, or simply run away. That won’t help anything. He’s been fighting the impulse to hurt Jon for a while. But… but he can’t muster that anger, not now.

Not when Jon’s wearing a jumper that Tim left at Jon’s flat back in Research.

Not when Jon looks small and tired and sick and beaten.

And, Tim knows, he’s had his place in this. Much as he wants to blame the circus…

And that’s another thing, isn’t it?

This should bind them together, right? Even more so than the years of friendship before everything went to shit. This shared trauma. Even more so than the worms? That was a one-and-done day, and yeah, there was stuff leading up to it. Yeah, it left a hell of a mark. But it didn’t really change Tim’s life the same way the Circus had. Yeah, there was pain and pt and permanent scars, but the worms didn’t take Jon for a month, they didn’t kill Sasha and Danny.

Fuck, he doesn’t know. It all sucks.

The Worm trauma should have brought the three of them together (four, if Sasha had made it out, but that wasn’t the worms, now was it? Well, if not for the worms, maybe she wouldn’t have been taken. HE DOESN’T KNOW.) The more Tim thinks about this, the more half finished, nonsense bullshit he thinks up for himself.

None of what he’s trying to tell himself makes sense, and the confusion and anger sit heavily in his gut as he just stands there, like a moron.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.

He drags his hands through his hair. Greasy and coated in days old gel. He needs some sleep. He needs a shower.

He should get Jon something to eat.

“I’m going to touch you, ‘kay?”

Jon looks too tired to argue. Good. He doesn’t think he can deal with Jon’s waffling or guilt or any of that bullshit. The ‘oh no I’m just grand why am I on the floor? no reason, let me just stalk you it’s fine.’

Not now, Tim.

Too tired for proper anger, and even if he wasn’t… Jon looks just pitiful, and the fight that he’s itching for won’t be satisfying if Jon passes out or cries on him.

Jon mumbles out, “‘kay.”

Good.

Tim scoops him up, just about effortlessly. And Tim doesn’t know if that’s the months of pt and vigorous workouts, or that Jon has dropped maybe 5 kilos that he didn’t have to spare. Or both.

Tim’s gotten his muscle mass back, maybe even more than he had to start with… all that extra rage funneled into gym time. Not particularly healthy, but better than drinking himself into a stupor every morning. Just… you know, most mornings. As you do.

The change of position is enough to knock Jon out the rest of the way. Head lolling against Tim’s chest.

Something flickers deep in Tim’s chest. His first impulse is to crush the feeling, but… he doesn’t. Jon isn’t okay. Tim isn’t okay.

He wants his friend from Research back.

Which… He doesn’t know if that’s possible. Not with broken trust and hair-trigger tempers. But, he’s just so tired.

He dumps Jon on the couch. Not too gently, but he props his feet up and goes to get him some lucozade and heat up a can of soup.

Jon’s starting to come around again by the time he gets back. The soup is… lukewarm at best. They ought to harass Elias into getting them a better microwave… In any case, it’s full of salt and it isn’t cold. So… that’s something. A little more substance than water and lucozade. So. It’s better than nothing. Try to get Jon up to eating an actual meal, but Martin had pointed out that he isn’t sure when Jon last ate solid food, since he was kidnapped by plastic bastards who apparently don’t really know how humans-or vaguely nonhuman monster bosses work and how often to water or feed them, so they should take it easy on Jon’s system for now. Which will make it easier on all of them.

Jon struggles to sit up, and Tim doesn’t know if he wants to help. Instead he holds the food and drink and …looms. Jon sits up and tucks his feet up, so the blood doesn’t pool, Tim’s memory supplies. Not particularly monstrous. …It’s painfully familiar.

“Small sips, then a little bit of soup.”

Jon nods, squinting up at him.

Probably not a good sign that Jon, apparently, couldn’t find the glasses folded on the box next to the cot with another glass of water. One Martin instructed Tim to keep constantly full. Should he be worried that Jon is still so out of it? Maybe?

But he’s heard what the Circus can do to people, and he doesn’t have any clue what they did to Jon. All he knows is, Jon is even more shy about touch than he has been. Not that Tim really noticed. But… he isn’t blind. Jon’s been waking up screaming more often than not when someone touches him. He seems okay when you go slow, or wakes up with Martin holding him, but an unexpected, or sudden, or moving at all hand, starts him into a panic attack.

How much does Jon even remember of those? How many has Martin talked him through? How many did Jon lose consciousness during? A lot of the last variety. But he doesn’t know the numbers.

Jon’s looking dizzy again by the time Martin rushes in. Tim had just helped ease Jon back down. Martin is trailing the blanket that Tim had been pretty sure Jon had been draped in last time Tim had actually been in the room and not playing on his phone. That besotted fool, Jon, must have put it over Martin before getting up.

“Where is he, Tim!”

“Martin, Martin. Stay calm, would you? Keep your voice down.” Tim is not used to being the one trying to deescalate. But Jon looks about half asleep. Barely registers the shouting. “Relax. I didn’t hurt him. Think he got up for the loo or for something, nearly fainted in here. Got him some soup and everything.”

Martin drops heavily into the nearest chair, with what Tim figures must be a hell of an adrenaline crash.

“He’s okay, Martin. Didn’t hurt him. I… I don’t think I want to hurt him. Not sure if I did in the past…I sure wasn’t helping. But I don’t think I do now.”

Martin doesn’t respond.

“He… he looks so… fragile. I… miss him. And I miss you.”

Tim looks down at Jon, and almost wants to tuck his hair back. That frizzy and tangled hair that Jon usually keeps… well not neat. But clean. It’s been scrubbed within an inch of its life. It’s dry and sad, and Tim almost …almost wants to fix it. But he isn’t ready for that.

Christ, he’s tired.

He joins Martin at the table, not quite ready to meet Martin’s eye. Not ready to see what Martin might say in return.

“I miss you too.”

#the magnus archives #tma #jonathan sims #tim stoker #timothy stoker #martin blackwood #whump #hurt/ comfort #jon has pots #cane user jon #cw strained friendships #cw arguing #cw fainting #cw suicidal ideation #cw ptsd #cw dissociation

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moonshine-dan · 4 years

Note

what would kissing your close friend, kuroo or bokuto, for the first time be like? i imagined that you've been with him since high school and you only realized your feelings for him in college gahhh please indulge this hopeless romantic >.<

I would love to! This is for all the hopeless romantics out there who love Bokuto.

@janellion ... I hear you like stuff like this?

Downtown

Is it really this fun when you're on my mind? Is it really this cool to be in your life?

Bokuto x Reader, fluff. 2.2 K

Warnings: Nothing major. Suicide mentioned as part of a drink title. A little suggestive at the end.

The automatic doors hiss open as you walk into the humid Osaka night, wincing. The AC inside the 7/11 had made it easy to forget how hot it was. The slurpee you just bought is sweet and takes the edge off, but beyond that, you couldn’t say what the flavor was exactly. You let Bokuto take both of your cups to the machine and make suicides out of every option - “So none of ’em feel left out!” - like you always did.

He was following you out, eyes gleaming in the fluorescent lights of the signs above you.

"It's good to just hang out like this again. We haven't done this in forever!" He was waving animatedly in your general direction, the drink in his flailing hand getting dangerously close to spilling on your shirt.

"Woah! My bad! Nothing got on you, right?"

You nod. He responds with a thousand watt smile that pushes his eyes closed and makes you want to grab his stupid hair spikes and drag him into a kiss.

You’ve got it so bad for your best friend that it’s almost funny, if it wasn’t also completely pathetic. It's only recently that you realized you liked him as more than a friend- but now that you’re reminiscing with him, the signs were very, very obvious. To you, at least.

The pair of you are moving from the eye-piercing light of the storefront and over to the far side of the parking lot. The plan? To loiter, just like you did in high school when volleyball practice got out. Usually, you'd have 3 or 4 of his teammates with you, eating garbage snack food and joking around on the curb until the manager would chase you away.

You can see in your mind how you would gravitate towards Bokuto on those nights, sitting next to him in the parking lot, bumping your foot or your knee into his while you talked. How you laughed at his jokes and would ask for his jacket when it got cold. His presence was magnetic, and you got pulled in deep. It wasn’t until after you both had graduated and started down separate paths that you were able to really see what you had. What you missed so deeply.

It's just the two of you tonight, Bokuto fresh out of practice and talking excitedly about his teammates' antics, just like he used to. The only things that are different now are the names of the players. He’s telling you a story about his germophobic friend, Sasuke? You think? Bokuto talks so fast sometimes he doesn’t really annunciate well - and you sigh at the familiarity of it all. Maybe this would turn out alright; maybe you had been avoiding meeting up with Bokuto for no reason?

You had thought that seeing him in person again, not just on a grainy phone screen, would be disastrous. It was hard enough to try and keep your feelings inside over video calls and text messages, but having him in front of you? You knew you’d do something to tip him off on how you felt toward him, and even though you knew he would never stop being your friend, the fear of your love being unrequited held you back.

He'd been asking for weeks to meet up, and you had been successfully blaming college on your schedules not working - until he offered you to meet him late night on Friday, just like you used to. With no excuse and an irrationally heavy heart, you agreed to meet up.

Perhaps it was just a crush? Maybe you sought him out between classes and waited for hours after school just so see him because you just…. Liked him. And you had halfway convinced yourself that's all it was, until he had smiled at you brightly and reminded you just how dull things were without him in your life.

He’s sitting now on a parking block with his back against a bollard, slapping the spot next to him invitingly. Bokuto whoops when you drop down next to him, slush flying from his cup as he whips it excitedly. "You gotta see this!"

He scoots closer to you, phone in hand. There's a paused youtube video onscreen: a highlight reel someone had made of his spikes. He hits play as soon as you lean in a little, grinning wildly and giving a play by play commentary as you watch. The outside of his thigh presses into yours warmly.

Here's hoping he can’t somehow feel the heat creeping up your neck.

He beams at you from over the phone, looking at you expectantly as the video ends. “Wasn’t I great?”

You feel like you’ve run a mile and all he did was press his leg to yours. He’s too great. “Yes, Bokuto, you were amazing.”

He’s really grinning now, eyes crinkling shut. “You’ve gotta come to one of my games and see me in action! I promise, it’s waaaay better in person! You could even,” he pauses for a moment, thinking, “bring one of the guys you’ve been seeing? Watching me win would be an awesome date.”

Oh god, your dates. You had tried going on a few recently, another attempt to distance yourself from your best friend. Nothing serious - just coffee shop conversations, but they easily lost a competition they weren't even aware they were in. None of them could even begin to make you feel the way Bokuto did. And the thought of taking one of them to see your best friend and unrequited crush in his element? There’s no way that wouldn't find a way to blow up in your face.

“That’s a great idea, man,” you lie. “I’m not seeing anyone right now though.” Bokuto’s giving you a spectacular double eyebrow raise above his cup. “Oh ho?”

You flick his arm gently. “Don’t be mean, Bo. I’ll just come to a game and hang out in the stands with your date instead.”

Why did you say that. Why did you say that. Why did you say that.

The eyebrows come down. He’s smiling, but it’s not quite reaching his eyes, which aren’t meeting your own. “Nah, you can’t do that. We broke up.”

You feel terrible for the little thrill that sends through you.

“Oh, Bokuto, I’m sorry.” You are. He’s your best friend. The cruel joy you feel does not go away.

His eyes flicker to you momentarily. “Nah, it’s fine. They weren’t the one, you know?”

Who is? You want to ask. What comes out instead is, “How did you know?”

Bokuto hums inquisitively. “Know what?”

“That they weren’t the one. How did you know?”

He’s still not looking at you when he replies, “I just know.”

Silence falls. You use the quiet moment as an excuse to turn away as well. This is really unlike him. Had he changed that much in the time since you last saw him? Nothing else about Bokuto seems different - maybe the issue was just you?

Stop it. Don’t think things like that.

The silence drags on. You pull the straw of your drink into your mouth and chew, trying to think of something not romance-related to talk about. Nothing is coming to mind - Bokuto has been all you can think about for a solid week, and being next to him is NOT helping. It’s just the two of you, alone together in silence. It’s late enough that there aren’t any pedestrians on walks to distract you, the night quiet and dark outside of the strangely illuminated parking lot. Desperate to think of anything else, you look up at the hazy summer sky.

It’s hard to see stars through the light pollution, but you can make out Vega, you think. Some stars were bright enough to see even in the middle of the city. The straw pops out of your mouth as you point it out loudly, getting Bokuto’s attention.

“Check it out Bo, you can see part of Lyra. That star’s got to be Vega. You remember?”

Bokuto jerks slightly before he turns to face you, looking startled. His gaze follows your finger up, mouth still pursed around the straw in his mouth. His smile returns as he tilts his head to peer up at the sky with you. “You told me about that one once! It’s a summer constellation, right?”

You drop your hand as Bokuto starts pointing out the faint other stars of the summer triangle. It may be hard to see stars in the city, but with Bokuto shining next to you, it’s hard to see anything else at all. The weird fluorescence of the parking lot light should have washed him out, but somehow he was aglow, soft shadows instead of harsh lines shading him lightly. He really was a star, and he burned the brightest out of any that you could see tonight.

You were staring at him again.

It’s no surprise when he catches you this time, golden eyes meeting yours and matching your gaze. The delight is still present on his face but it’s sobering, turning serious. Your heart is racing as Bokuto continues to stare you down in silence. His eyebrows draw together as he raises his hand slowly, reaching for your face.

A finger grazes your cheek. You might have stopped breathing. He opens his mouth.

“You had some slush on your face.” His finger remains there, rubbing at the stuck on sugar.

...

Okay. Something has to change. There’s only so much your heart can take.

You reach up and cup your hand over his, holding it in place. Bokuto stills at the sudden contact, bewildered. You aren’t sure what you are doing, much less how to say what you want, but you hope that somehow he understands. No sound escapes your mouth as you maintain eye contact and slot your fingers together. Bokuto stares, still uncharacteristically silent - but he’s not just looking anymore. His eyes are searching, gaze sharp and analytical. You couldn’t look away from them if you wanted to.

Bokuto blinks first, eyes flitting over to your joined hands as you press your cheek into the heat of his palm. His thumb drags lightly over to your skin, meeting your bottom lip and tracing along the curve of it. He watches, entranced, as they part slightly from the touch.

Even if this doesn’t work out. Even then. Just having this moment would be enough. Your eyes close as you huff out the breath you had been holding. The hot coil of anxiety snaking through your stomach makes you hesitant to open them again. When Bokuto’s thumb moves from your mouth to pad at your cheek, you steel yourself and open them again.

You shouldn't have worried. There’s nothing in his golden eyes but understanding when you finally dare to open them again. Bokuto’s remaining hand is impossibly gentle as he places it on your shoulder, leaning into your space. His shoulders shake minutely with barely contained excitement from the breakthrough he’s just had - you like him, just as much as he likes you. There’s no way he can’t feel the heat in your skin rising now as your pulse skyrockets.

“Kou…”, you whisper into the shrinking space between you.

Bokuto doesn’t bother with a response. His lips are a little chapped when they capture yours, but they're warm and eager and pressing in with the weight of half a decade of unconfessed feelings.

You know immediately what he meant earlier about knowing ‘the one’. No kiss from any of your dates was ever this electric. None of them made you feel like time was stopping when their lips met yours, or made your heart beat like it was about to fly from your chest. None of them made you feel like you were finally home, held in strong arms and with a familiar hand gently running along your cheek.

There really was no one like Bokuto, and you were so glad there was no one else for him but you right now.

You push forward until you chests are touching, desperate for closer contact now that you know you’re allowed to get it. The back of his head is cradled in your free hand, fingers tangling in the short spikes at the nape of his neck. Bokuto hums against your mouth, tongue slipping out to trace where his thumb had been earlier. He starts backward slightly as you meet it with the tip of yours, breaking away with a gasp.

“Woah! Not on the first date!”

“You used tongue first.” Your deadpan expression doesn't faze him. He wraps a heavy arm around your shoulders and pulls you close to his side, laughing.

Wait a minute.

“Did you say date? Is this a date?”

Bokuto freezes. He glances at you side-eyed and inquires quietly, “Do you... want it to be one?”

It’s much easier to be truthful when you’ve had his tongue in your mouth. “I’d love it to be one.”

Bokuto whoops loudly, the exclamation echoing in the empty lot.

First dates usually sucked. This one, however, was going to stick with you for a long time. You run your tongue over your lips as you bump your head to his shoulder. Who knew slurpees tasted even better on someone else's mouth?

“Y'know, If we don’t leave soon,” you tease, “the manager might chase us away again.”

He hums dismissively and bends to press a kiss to your temple.

“Let’em.”

#haikyuu x reader #Bokuto Kotaro x reader #Bokuto Kotarou x reader #Bokuto x reader #Bokuto x you #Bokuto x y/n #Bokuto kotaro x you #bokuto kotaro x y/n #Bokuto kotarou x you #bokuto kotarou x y/n #bokuto.thing

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creativeashproductions · 3 years

Text

Banjo Riff // Platonic!Reggie Peters

IN WHICH: Luke rejects Reggie’s ideas for country music one too many times leading to the friendship fracturing and putting the bands future in question. Luke, with the help of his girlfriend the reader and his friends scramble to make it up to the bassist.

Warnings: Swearing, hurt!Reggie, Luke being an ass, fighting, angst, and fluff

Words: 3.2k

A/N: This idea has been sitting in my notes for MONTHS now. Song referenced is Lay Here With Me by Maddie & Tae (featuring Dierks Bentley)

TO BE TAGGED SEND AN INBOX/ASK PLEASE!

Masterlist

If there was one thing Sunset Curve, then later Julie and the Phantoms would rely on, it was the battle between Luke and Reggie. Since the conception of a band between the friends, Reggie had always wanted to play a country song. He had learned how to play the banjo in preparation, but Luke rejected both the idea and songs as always.

"You said our sound was vintage '80s and '90s rock music Luke. The band evolved into a pop-rock sound-"

"Because our band changed from Sunset Curve to Julie and the Phantoms. I love you, man, but there's no way we're going country." Luke finally snapped with a heated glare on his face. Luke didn't mean to snap so severely, but it happened.

Luke watched as Reggie's face completely dropped into the kicked puppy expression that tore everyone apart. Instead of making light of the conversation, Reggie mutely nodded in response before turning to grab his bass for the band practice. Luke's stomach dropped at the rather odd behaviour, but Luke blamed his response on his current writers' block.

"Let's start with Flying Solo." Luke proclaimed, hoping Reggie's favourite song would cheer him up. Alex's curious gaze bounced between the two other males in the band just as Julie wandered into the garage.

Before Julie could even question the tension, Reggie had started the beat on the pad stationed on the keyboard. The young female immediately jumped into the first rehearsal song with ease. Every attempt Julie was about to question Reggie's uncharacteristic quiet, the bassist started a different song.

"What's his problem?" Julie questioned as Reggie packed up his stuff and practically sprinted out of the studio. He'd rejected the offer of a pizza movie night.

"Luke here decided to be an asshole again." Alex's tone of voice was sugary sweet in comparison to the glare he sent his guitarist.

Luke flinched at the furious expression on his bandmate's face. It wasn't a secret Julie and Reggie gravitated to each other in sibling bond. The two had been friends since infancy through their parents; Julie was there when the Peters started fighting. Reggie was there when Julie's mom passed away.

"Don't kill me!" Luke pleaded, scrambling around the piano from the intimidating Puerto Rican who had a solid punch. Julie's anger faltered at the guilt on the boy's face, "I was frustrated, and I shouldn't have taken it out on him!"

"What did Reggie do to deserve it?" Julie asked from the other side of the piano, acting as a barrier between the teenagers.

"He asked about the band doing a country song," Luke admitted with a grimace. His hazel eyes dimmed once more.

"What is your issue with country music? Your girlfriend is literally a country singer Luke!" Alex cried, stepping in between the two feuding bandmates.

Rock n' Roll Luke Patterson had been dating a well-known country singer for close to two years now. Luke had always been adamant that country wasn't all it was cracked up to be, but if you looked in the false bottom of the console in his car, you'd see a different story. Beneath the Eagles, Nirvana, AC/DC, and Gun N' Roses CDs, you'd find countless CDs of his girlfriend. He even had a playlist with a name that concealed the music in it.

Luke was a secret country fan, but he'd take that to his grave before he let anyone other than you know that.

"I don't have an issue! I don't think our band would benefit from branching into that music genre!" Luke argued with his bare arms crossing over his chest. Both Julie and Alex were about to respond when the studio gained another inhabitant.

"Would anyone like to explain why Reggie stormed into my house holding his songbook? He literally dropped it in my garage and tried to light it on fire?" You asked from the double doors with said book in your hand.

All three out of four members of Julie and the Phantoms recognized the book with a country landscape. The sight caused all their stomachs to drop at the obvious symbol of Reggie's hurt feelings.

"Funny story-"

"Luke Patterson...did you hurt his feelings about his love of country?" You asked through clenched teeth. Your response was Luke wincing at the anger blistering in your tone, "Did you ever think that country music is his comfort music? Fix this, Luke. Reggie, of all people, doesn't deserve your frustration."

You turned on your heel with Julie following in the attempt to find the forlorn bassist, most likely being hard on himself. You checked the beach house Reggie's dad had gotten in the divorce to no success. The school auditorium was empty, and so was the stable where Reggie worked part-time for the horses. You had returned back to Julie's house to sit on the porch to brainstorm.

"Isn't this the week he's with his mom?" Julie questioned with a furrowed brow. You could only shrug as Julie pulled up the calendar she shared with Flynn.

Reggie's parents had somewhat amicably divorced two years ago after attempts of reconciliation through therapy. Reggie had sat down with them to tell them how he felt with them fighting, if you recalled. They decided to do a trial separation for a few months and, in the end, had mutually agreed to divorce.

"I think Mr. Peters is taking care of his mother in a different state. She broke her hip, and now she's being moved into a retirement home." You offered the girl the encapsulated sunshine in just her smile.

"I suppose we'll try the Carter-Peters home." Julie breathed, bouncing on her feet to your car parked in front of her house. Julie's fingers tapped the screen in a chat thread she hadn't touched for months.

Your keen eyes easily read Carrie Wilson's name at the top of the thread that had been dormant since the end of their friendship. Apparently, Julie received little help in the frustrated sigh she released and the increasingly violent tapping of her screen.

"As usual, Carrie is no help," Julie announced with disgust in her voice. She squeezed the hand you placed on her knee before your hand returned to the wheel.

"One day, you'll have to tell me what happened between the two of you."

"Old news. Happened just before you moved back from Nashville." Julie once more avoided talking about the issues.

It was the same response every time you questioned the friendship that had fractured in the few years you'd been in Nashville. Before you left, Carrie and Julie had been attached at the hip, and when you came back, they were at each other's throats. Well, mostly Carrie was because Julie had too big of a heart to stand up to her former friend.

"Well, the beat-up van is still there." Julie caught the van, more of an eyesore, to be honest, sitting in the three-car driveway. The van was shared between Reggie and Flynn as a joint gift from their parents when Reggie's mom moved in with Flynn and her father.

"We both know Reggie-"

"Would walk to work through his problems. The number of times I've found in walking downtown…" Julie trailed with a shake of her half up half down hairstyle she left uncovered by a hat. Another symbol of her finding herself outside the grief that had concealed her.

"Oh, thank god." Flynn moaned from the front porch with her headphones resting on her shoulders instead of her ears, "He's been playing his old bass that makes that odd high pitch squeak noise. I couldn't take it. Get him out!"

You opened and closed your mouth with the inability to find the words, but Flynn knew already, "Doors unlocked. He's in his room."

"Thanks." You informed the fashionable teenager before brushing passed into the house. Not much had changed since Reggie had moved part-time into the house; his parents shared custody.

Flynn was right; the sound of that screech was like a bread trail to the last bedroom in the hallway to the left. The door opened a smidge to reveal Reggie sitting in the dim room with just his bedside lamp on. He was lying on his bed, staring at the ceiling.

"Hey, Reggie." You breathed from leaning against the door jam, "I'm not sure what Luke said but don't give up on writing. Your songs mean something, Reginald."

"Then why doesn't Luke even read my lyrics? He barely read the title of my last one before tossing it aside!" Reggie whined before taking on a caricature of Luke's voice, "'Home is Where my Horse Is'? Reggie, stop putting your songs in my book!"

You couldn't help the snort at his interpretation of Luke, "That's a...uh...an accurate voice?"

Reggie didn't even crack a smile.

"Okay, maybe don't push Luke's buttons but imagine turning this hurt into songs!"

"Okay. Can I be left alone?"

"Sure." You sighed, turning to leave the room again, "But first. Don't get rid of this Reg. You have good songs."

You left Reggie's songbook on the dresser by his door on your way through the Carter-Peters household. Flynn sighed in relief when Reggie didn't continue using his old bass and even waved as you and Julie pulled away from the curb.

Reggie's eyes had stayed on the songbook you left on his second-hand dresser as if it would get up and bite him. All he could see was Luke rolling his eyes when Reggie had opened the book to show him a new song he'd written. Reggie was tired of only being known for playing bass.

"I brought you some leftover pizza." Reggie wasn't aware he'd been staring at the songbook for hours by then. He was only aware of Luke when he offered a peace offering in the form of Reggie's favourite food.

"I-"

"I'll go grab a soda from the fridge." Luke retreated just as quick as he had entered the bedroom. Seeing Luke was like rubbing salt in the open wound, and once more, Reggie's emotions flared.

Reggie was already at the fire pit in the backyard when Luke had argued with Flynn overtaking one of her sodas. The soda that had dropped on the back porch as Luke saw Reggie's fingers about to drop the songbook in the crackling fire.

"Reggie!" Luke shouted, ignoring the cold spray of soda on his bare arms. The hazel-eyed guitarist shoved Reggie away from the fire.

"What the hell, dude?" Reggie groaned, rolling onto his stomach to push himself to his sit on his knees. His blue eyes seeing Luke stomping the ignited corner of the songbook that had caused them issues.

"What the hell were you doing, Reggie?" Luke demanded with the songbook held tight in his grip. The glare on the messy-haired teenager directly pinned on his best friend, "Why would you try to destroy the book?"

"What's the point of having something our band won't branch into?" Reggie shrugged, moving to sit with his knees pulled to chest, "I've tried to keep the peace but Luke. I'm starting to understand why Bobby left the band."

Luke's heart clenched at the honesty Reggie was revealing, "What do you mean?"

"Screw the blood pact." Reggie grumbled, recalling the oath Alex, Bobby, and he had done to keep the truth from Luke, "Bobby didn't leave because he got an early acceptance into Juilliard."

Luke's eyebrows furrowed together, "What?"

"Luke...you tend to get possessive over the music we make. You brushed off Bobby's opinions, and we all didn't want to hurt your feelings. You've had a shitty time with your parents, but like Bobby, I feel like you don't appreciate our talents."

"What? Dude, you're killer on the bass! Alex's insane on the drums!"

"We know that. Maybe Bobby should have told you the truth on why he was leaving. I don't think you noticed but

"Luke. The songs we perform are all written by you. It was fine, but then when Julie joined, all of a sudden, you were okay with someone else writing with you. But you've never even looked at the songs I've written."

Luke silently listened as Reggie rambled on about how he, along with Bobby, felt underappreciated by the guitarist.

"And now you've been bit by the writers' block bug, but I think the band should take a break. Get our heads back on straight. Before we destroy the band, destroy our friendships." Reggie told his best friend with tears rolling down his face, "Just a week or two."

Luke's mouth hung open as Reggie circled around him to enter the household, but the telltale sound of the lock engaging broke the teenager. But Luke wasn't one to give up, so he created a group chat with Alex, Julie, Flynn and you. A single text that had all of them meeting at the studio.

"He quit the band?" Alex demanded, taking the songbook from Luke's hand, "What the hell?"

"One second he's in his room, and the next he's about to burn that! I may not like-"

"Luke, have you even read a single song he wrote?" You asked your boyfriend with your arms resting down on your knees. The boy in question half-heartedly shrugged with his eyes on his battered shoes.

"How are we gonna fix this?" Julie asked with a frown marring her pretty face usually lit up with sunshine. Her question was left to waft in the forlorn atmosphere in her family's studio.

"Give me that." You demanded towards the band's drummer with determination lit up in your eyes. Alex hesitantly handed over the songbook to your grabby hands.

The other individuals in the room watched as you settled into a chair with a stray acoustic guitar you'd left. Your eyes focused on the notes Reggie had placed around one of the unfinished songs. The soft melody was played a few times before you noticed Alex creating a beat with his drums.

"If I just tweak the song to make this piece the verse instead of a chorus." You mumbled under your breath with a pen scratching the paper. In a different colour, you jotted down the lyrics of a song you'd been working on previously. It was a song you'd struggled with the ending.

Alex huddled around you to add his own notes for the drums, "Definitely a song with a soft backing beat."

"Perfect. I just joined what he has with a song I'd given up a while back. The two songs are the last two pieces of a puzzle." You informed the drummer. Both of you unaware as Julie, Luke, and Flynn watched your brainstorming.

Luke felt out of sorts not being included in writing a song, but he thought it was suitable to not work on it. It gave Luke insight into how Reggie felt not being included in songwriting.

"I have an idea." Luke interjected with a grin, "Reggie's always wanted to see a real ranch. Do you think your uncle would be okay with us staying at the ranch?"

Your eyes flitted up to the mischievous hazel of your boyfriend's scheming gaze, "My uncle adores having people on the ranch. He'd enjoy teaching Reggie the ways of ranch life out of a city."

"How are you gonna get Reggie out to Nashville without it being band business?" Flynn questioned from her position on the couch, "He did just ask for a break from the band."

"Uh...I could pretend to enter a music competition." You offered hesitantly as you'd never actually performed on a stage for the group. You'd kept your personal life separate from your successful career as a country musician.

So you conspired with your friends to make amends with the bassist.

One Month Later, Nashville

The beat-up van pulled into a parking spot in front of a building. The band had seen the building in pictures on your Instagram. Alex, Luke and Julie all shared a look Reggie couldn't catch with his mouth wide open at the city.

"So, where's this competition?" Reggie inquired with his steps in line with Julie. The distance between Reggie and Luke is still noticeable.

True to Reggie's word, the band had come back together after two weeks of a break, but the bassist and guitarist's friendship was still fractured. A particular cloud of awkwardness followed each attempt; Luke tried to branch it together.

"Uh, not here. Y/N invited me to tour the recording studio she uses through her label." Luke offered to the confused bassist. As usual, Reggie barely cast a glance at the guitarist.

"C'mon!" Alex called out from the open doorway with the new addition of you by his side.

Luke was quick to nearly tackle you in a hug and a lingering kiss on your lips. The band all made sounds of feigned disgust. Even Reggie joined in the usual banter within the group.

"Hey, Reggie, do you want to see how us country artists do it?" You quipped with your arm interlocking with his. The cold leather of his jacket raising goosebumps on your arm as you dragged him to the recording booth.

As soon as he was comfortable on one of the spinney chairs by the producer's side, he watched like a hawk. The band had never been in a real professional recording studio owned by a label. It was interesting to everyone, but mostly they all watched Reggie's reactions.

"I was working on this song." You spoke from inside the booth. With a nod, your producer began playing a portion of the song.

"Is...is that-" Reggie was cut off by as Luke interrupted him.

"Your song? Yeah."

Reggie stared at his best friend, "What?"

"You were right, Reggie. I didn't appreciate what you could bring to the band, and I'm so fucking sorry about that. You have excellent songs even if I'm not a fan of country music." Luke genuinely informed his best friend with his hands clasping his, "I want you. Both you and Alex to have a bigger role because we started this band together. We all share responsibility."

"So for now. Alex and I finished one of the songs you had written. I was wondering if you'd like to make it a duet? Release it as a single with a full writing credit."

Reggie absolutely beamed in response to your question. He was in the recording booth beside you in mere seconds.

For the week the band stayed on your uncle's ranch, Reggie was in the studio with you going over the song. It is a song you released as the leading single for your upcoming studio album with Reggie and cemented his career. It wasn't the last time you did a song with Reggie. In fact, he set himself up as a sought after country songwriter.

"Holy shit!" Luke shouted as soon as Reggie told him the success of one of the songs had brought interest to Julie and the Phantoms, "I could kiss you! I'll never doubt your skills!"

Reggie and Luke's fractured friendship healed with the promise of a yearly visit to the ranch in Nashville. Plus, Reggie impressed Luke and Alex with the banjo riff in a country song the band released on their third studio album featured by you. Reggie would always be thankful he had the chance to record ‘Lay Here With Me’ with you.

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#reggie peters #reggie peters imagines #julie and the phantoms imagines #luke patterson imagines #luke patterson x reader #platonic!reggie peters #platonic!reggie peters x reader #julie and the phantoms #reginald peters #musician!reader x luke patterson #alive!luke patterson #alive!reggie peters

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overwhore-s · 4 years

Text

A Freak in a Sheet (Ghost!Bakugou x Reader) part 1

part II

This is 1347 words and I wrote it all in under an hour. I am both proud of myself for writing so fast but also kinda mad ‘cause I know I made some typos ‘n shit but am too lazy to read after myself so aaah...if you find anything PLEASE let me now I will thank you very nicely <3

Anyways have some ghost Bakugo. Where I am right now, it is the day before Halloween. I’ll try to post the second (smutty) part tomorrow. if you want to, please also support this on AO3. Love you lots, please enjoy <3

warnings: some swearing. also brief mentions of depression.

Get lost, motherfucker, reads the lovely message scrawled on your bathroom mirror. Now, you’re no expert on the psychology of writing, but you’re almost certain the author is angry with you. He’s such a big personality too, with those big, bold letters. And he wrote it in…blood? Experimentally, you dip your pinky in the red substance and then put it in your mouth. You grimace.

Chili sauce.

“Listen, friend,” you start, mentally preparing yourself for the oncoming onslaught of ghastly apparitions and cupboards flying open. Ghosts are annoying like that.

“I’m not here to cause you any sort of harm, believe it or not.”

The lightbulb above your head flickers aggressively, as if in disbelief at your words.

“Woah, you doubting me buddy? I’m telling the truth, I swear!” You lay your hand over your heart as you say that, hoping the ghost will see it as a guarantee.

No such luck. The cabinet door suddenly opens, hitting you painfully in the knee. You cry out and start hopping around on your unhurt leg, all the while swearing like a sailor.

“Ow! Fuck this! I’ve just about had it with you! I’m done being nice, you stupid fucking ghost! I’m going all Ghostbusters on your ass!” You threaten, before kicking the cabinet closed and shamefully limping away.

Bakugou materializes leaning against your bathtub, a self-satisfied smirk pulling at his lips. You’ll be out before the week is out, he’s certain of it.

•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•

Despite his best efforts, a week passes and you still remain, as stubborn as ever. It’s more than a week now, actually, closer to six months, but time tends to flow funny when you’re a ghost. He’s lost count of how many lightbulbs fell victim to his explosions, how many times you tried to capture him in a ring of salt. You seem to know an awful lot about ghosts – most likely you’ve met others before at some point in your life, considering you’re not even a little scared of him.

If anything, you’re…curious. When you’re not busy shielding yourself from flying objects or relighting the candles he continues to snuff out, you ask him stuff, and it’s annoying, and he hates how he sometimes gets the urge to give an honest answer.

You never ask about traumatic shit like his death or why he chooses to remain on Earth instead of passing to the next world. You want to know about whether he was a college student as well, if so, what was his major, what music he likes, if he’s a dog person or a cat person. When you’re watching TV and something makes you laugh, you point at the screen showing some stupid game show and yell: “Do you see this? What a dumbass!” He can’t help himself but agree, because the guy is indeed a dumbass for answering an easy question like that wrong, and it is pretty fucking funny if he does say so himself.

You talk about yourself too. When you come home from school for example, you tell him about your day. The first few times it happens, he keeps rattling pots and pans to disrupt your speaking, but you barely let it affect you, continuing in a cheerful tone despite the obnoxious noise.

He soon finds he likes the sound of your voice, no matter how hard he tries to deny it. Before you came in it, his life after death was quiet, depressive and mundane. Now it’s hardly peaceful, but you brought change, and light, and laughter…he never realized what he was missing.

Until you happened.

He listens to you even when you’re at your lowest, sharing your insecurities and fears with him like he’s a most trusted friend. He hates how the sight of you, shaking with sobs when the world gets the best of you, makes his chest feel all sorts of tight and his head spin with anger at whoever caused you to be like this.

It’s mostly at times like these that he wants to reveal himself to you, gather you up in his arms and hold you close to his chest. Would you feel it? Would you get grossed out, push him away? There’s too many variables, and he’s still just coming to terms with his affection for you.

So he chickens out.

You have average days as well. When nothing amazing has happened at school or work, or you’re too tired to want to talk about it. You take a long shower, enjoy your meal in silence and head straight to bed.

Bakugou feels weird watching you sleep, so he doesn’t. He hangs around the kitchen instead, cleaning the dishes you were too beat to take care of before sleep. Sometimes he watches TV, the same shows you like, but it’s not half as entertaining when you’re not there to keep him company.

It’s so fucking strange, he thinks, so unlike me.

When exactly did he stop seeing you as an annoyance and started considering you a friend?

•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•

He doesn’t know how exactly it happened. It’s like his body – his weird, unearthly, ghost body – moved on its own. One moment you’re standing up on a chair in order to reach that bag of chips he purposefully moved out of your reach because he knows how much you like saving them for a show and it doesn’t start for another thirty minutes – the other you’re falling, and he thinks, shit, that’s all my fault, isn’t it?

And so he catches you. His solid arms encircle your waist and your back hits his chest and you’re warm and alive and it feels wonderful.

He hears you gasp, not in fear, just surprise, and he wonders if you knew he was in the kitchen with you the whole time.

“Thanks for that,” you say, knees wobbly as he lets go of you.

“You’re welcome,” he grumbles and the words are out before he can stop them. Yep. He did it. After months of playing the mute, he finally broke his silence.

“I knew you could speak,” you say, triumphantly. You’re still not turning around though, and Bakugou thinks it might be because you’re scared of what he looks like. It’s not that bad. Who’s he kidding, it’s great, actually. He never was one to deny the obvious – unless it hurt his pride too much – and so he can admit to himself that he’s an attractive guy…or at the very least, the people who knew him when he was alive considered him attractive.

“Can I look at you?” You ask suddenly, carefully. Like you’re considering his feelings or some shit. It throws him off balance. Here was he, thinking you were shallow like the rest of them, and all along you’ve just wanted his consent.

When you don’t get an answer out of him right away, you panic. “Like – you don’t have to. I know some deceased don’t like showing their faces. It was nice enough of you to show me your arms though – you have nice arms – but like…I’m going to the living room. You can dematerialize. Let’s watch some TV.”

No. He doesn’t want to do all that…dematerialized, he realizes. “You can look,” he blurts out quickly. If there was any doubt that he liked you before, now there’s none.

“Are you sure?” You ask once again, this time trying his goddamn patience.

“Fuck’s sake.” He grabs you by the arms – how heavenly it is to touch something living for a change – and forcibly turns you around.

You look at him, the first person to see him in…in too many years, and as your eyes fill with amazement and wonder, he knows it was worth it to wait for so long to show himself after all.

“What’s your name?” You ask, softly, and his throat feels tight as he responds.

“Bakugou.” He doesn’t ask for yours. He’s known it for a long time now.

You grab his hand and squeeze, warm, human, alive, perfect. “Very well then. Want to watch a reality show with me, Bakugou?”

#bakugou x reader #bakugou katsuki x reader #bakugou x you #bnha x reader

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dragonotaku-justineverything · 4 years

Note

Jaune was asked to be the photographer in Jessica's Cinder shoot, and he was more than happy to see her in a bikini at the Beacon pool. When they were done, her method of payment was laying back on a pool chair as Jaune fucked her breasts and splattered her face wit cum. The real Cinder was quite jealous.

So here’s my first attempt at a real smut/non sfw written piece with Jessica Nigri. I’m actually very nervous about posting this. I’ve been working on this for a while, constantly debating if I should even do it the entire time. I really hope this doesn’t make me look like a creep, but I also really wanted to finally try writing more raunchy stuff with Jessica Nigri.

But I put too much work into this to just NOT post it, so I guess we will all see how this first one goes and whether or not I’ll do anymore.

I’ll also be posting this to my Archive of Our Own account HERE.

So you all have been warned, what follows is a sort of one-shot (for now) smut piece of Jessica Nigri. You don’t enjoy stuff like that, you don’t have to read past this point.

*SNAP* *SNAP* *SNAP*

The gorgeous Jessica Nigri stretched her arms out over her head and let out a throaty moan. She was currently standing waist deep in the pool in the backyard of her house. Her stretch also ‘unintentionally’ pushed out her chest, making her red and gold bikini strain to keep her well endowed chest contained. She opened her eyes, revealing that her irises were gold instead of brown, and looked over at Jaune who was so kind to offer to be her cameraman after her usual photographer bailed on her just that morning.

She ran her hands through her hair, which was now raven black instead of her usual blonde, and held that pose for the next set of pictures Jaune was going to take.

*SNAP* *SNAP*

Jaune, to his credit, did a great job at focusing on just taking the pictures and doing his job. It wasn’t easy. It got hard to maintain focus when Jessica started to pose more and more provocatively. He didn’t stare, but he had to check the pictures to make sure they were okay. With seeing so many sexy pictures, he couldn’t help the hard on that formed in his white swim trunks. He did the best he could to conceal it, but it was pointless.

Jessica saw the bulge forming from the start. She wasn’t offended or disgusted. She know the effect she had on guys and even some girls. She knew Jaune wasn’t a pervert, he just genuinely thought she was very attractive. That made her smirk a little proudly. It was nice knowing he thought she was pretty not just because she had big boobs.

*SNAP*

Jessica stopped posing and relaxed her body. She sighed and moved towards the stairs of her pool. As she started getting out, she looked to Jaune. “Alright Jaune, I think that’s plenty to work with. Thanks again so much for helping me out on such short notice.”

Jaune looked up from the camera screen, a bit startled by Jessica’s sudden voice. “Y-you sure? We could get a few more if you want.”

“Nah it’s fine. You’ve already taken at least 200 already. Put down the camera and I’ll go inside to get you your money.”

Jaune lowered the camera to waist level, but quickly waved his hand to dismiss Jessica’s. “No no, you don’t need to pay me. I was happy just to help out a friend.”

Jessica dramatically rolled her eyes at his dismissal. Seriously, he could really be too nice for his own good. “Jaune, I’m serious! You took four hours out of your Saturday off from Beacon to come down to Vale and help me with my shoot. I’m paying you.”

Jaune just sighed loudly. “Jessica, you don’t need to do that.”

Jessica grabbed a towel and started drying off her lower body as she fired back, “I know I don’t have to, but I want to.”

“I’m serious Jessica.”

“So am I.”

The bickering between the two friends continued for a few more minutes with the same pattern. Jessica would insist that Jaune take money from her, and he would decline each and every offer.

Their ‘argument’ finally ended when Jaune yelled, “I’m not taking your money Jessica!”

Jessica just groaned in frustration. She was getting really annoyed now. How selfless (or stubborn) do you have to be not to accept money you did a job to earn?! She huffed, blowing a strand of her now black hair off to the side, and crossed her arms under her ample chest. When her girls got pushed up a little because of that, she looked down at them. Then she got a naughty little idea.

“Oh alright, fine Jaune. You don’t have to take my money.”

Jaune sighed in relief. He didn’t like bickering with his friends, especially over something as silly as this. He knows he did earn the money, but he just wouldn’t feel right taking money from his friends. “Thank you Jessica, I just don’t like tak-”

“You can just fuck my big tits instead~.”

Jessica had barely finished saying her newest offer when Jaune promptly froze and turned bright red. The camera slipping from his stiff fingers jogged some life back into Jaune. He fumbled with the camera a few times before getting a solid grip on it again. He rigidly turned to look at the beautiful woman who just made his heart stop. She looked very amused with Jaune’s panic. She wasn’t laughing out loud, but her golden eyes lit up while her upper body shook a little with laughter that she was holding back with tightly shut lips.

It took a minute, but Jessica finally reeled in her shaking and Jaune managed to calm down his blush a little. Now instead of it being his whole face, only his cheeks and ears were red.

Jessica spoke first, her lips in a wide and somewhat smug grin. “Wow. That was quite the-*snrk* reaction, ha ha ha.”

“W-well c-can you blame me!?” Jaune defended himself. “Y-you can’t just go making jokes like that! H-how did you expect me to react!”

“I wasn’t joking.”

…

Jaune’s head tilted to the side, the blush on his face being replaced with a look of confusion. “Huh?”

“I was serious. I’ll give you a boobjob.”

Jaune had zero idea how to respond to that.

So instead, his jaw just went slack and hung open in disbelief. Jessica did him a favor and stepped closer to him. She raised his jaw up with one slender finger on his chin to close his mouth. She slid her nail lightly along the underside of his jawline back towards his ear and then up towards his chin again, flicking her finger off when she ran out of track to follow. The small smirk still on her lips, she asked, “So how do you wanna go about it?”

Jaune sputtered while the red coloring flowed back to his entire face, before managing to speak. “Jessica! How could you say something like that?!”

“What’s the big deal?”

Jaune looked away sheepishly. “Y-you shouldn’t throw your body around like that. I-it’s not right. Your body isn’t something to use like a tool. Especially not for payment.”

Jessica’s brow scrunched up a bit in confusion, before her eyes lit up with realization.“Oooooh, Jaune you’re-” Jessica stopped herself and thought for a bit. He thought that she was offering her body just to pay him back for his help. ‘Oh for the love of-!…Jaune, why do you have to be so sweet and cute, but sooo dense! Okay, blunt it is.’ “Okay Jaune, how about this. I’m going to tell you, very clearly, what I meant by what I said.”

“O-okay?”

“I WANT you to fuck my tits.” Before Jaune could make a sound at hearing this new revelation, Jessica continued. “You weren’t the only one who couldn’t help sneaking a few glances.”

Jaune’s brow raised in confusion. “W-wha?”

Jessica grinned almost hungrily at him. She bit her glossy lower lip and moved her index finger to point down several times. “Those white trunks of yours aren’t that great at hiding anything~.”

Jaune’s eyebrows scrunched together a bit in confusion. He looked down to see what she was referring to, and promptly turned red.

Jaune had apparently gotten a bit distracted by Jessica because he had completely forgotten about the stiff problem in his trunks and stopped trying to hide it some time ago. Well that problem hadn’t gone down in the least. Jessica’s proposition hadn’t helped either. His boner had shifted and started pressing into the front of his trunks full force, making a bulge that no one could miss.

“So what do ya say~?”

Jaune’s attention shot back up to Jessica. While he was looking down at his own crotch, she had moved very close to him. So close they were almost touching. Jaune had to tilt his head a bit to look down at her. He accidently looked down a little too far though and ended up staring directly down her cleavage since her wonderful, bountiful chest was only an inch away from touching his.

As much as Jaune wanted to, he couldn’t look away.

Jessica noticed that he was staring again almost immediately. With a smirk, she quickly bounced on the balls of her feet several times, getting her tits to bounce and jiggle beautifully in her tight red bikini top. Jaune’s eyes stayed locked on them.

“You wanna see if my big girls can help out with your little friend down there~?” Jessica’s eyes had a teasing glint, not that Jaune noticed. He just nodded his head to say yes, or he was still tracking her bouncing tits. Either way, both were good enough for Jessica. She gently took his hand and led him over to the closest pool chair next to a small glass table.

Jessica turned around and sat down on the soft, yellow cushion on the chair. She had to admit it felt pretty nice against her ass cheeks since it was warmed under the sun all day. She brought hands up to undo the knotted string on Jaune’s swim trunks and gently slid them down. The white trunks dropped to Jaune’s ankles, the man’s breath hitching when they did, and it was Jessica’s turn to stare.

Jaune’s very, very hard cock sprung free, no longer being confined in those trunks that now looked way too small to Jessica. ‘How did they manage to keep this dick contained? It has to be a good seven inches at least!’ The seven inch monster in question stood directly out from Jaune’s crotch, completely rigid and with the head aimed directly at her face.

Jessica stared down the shaft of the huge cock, not blinking. She inched her face closer to it briefly, but she pulled back just before her lips touched it. As much as she might want to, that wasn’t the deal. ‘There will probably be another time for that anyways~.’ Jessica heard Jaune whimper though when she pulled away. She glanced up at him with a small smirk. “Don’t worry Jaune, you’re gonna get something else. I think it will be even better too~.”

Jessica swung her legs up onto the lawn chair and scooted back on it. She arched her back and pushed out her chest before laying down against the inclined backrest. She reached over to the glass table and picked up the bottle of sunscreen that was on it next to her scroll. She hadn’t used it for the shoot, but it was always nice to be prepared for anything. After all, she was about to get some great use out of it now.

She flicked open the lid and turned it over right above her tits. She stared directly at Jaune with complete confidence as she squeezed the bottle and felt the chilly white cream landed all over the top and into the valley of her cleavage. For a good five seconds, Jessica just kept layering up the sunscreen. Finally the long, white stream from the bottle ended with a small pouf. She closed the lid and put it back down on the side table next to the chair. She jokingly cleared her throat and looked back to Jaune.

With a smile, she grabbed her own tits, almost slamming her hands down on the soft D cup mounds, still covered by her bikini top. Jaune unconsciously let out a high pitched noise when he saw those big mounds flatten a bit under her hands. His eyes stayed locked on her big tits as her hands slowly began to roll them around. The large amount of sunscreen on top of and in between them slowly began to get spread around every inch of her flawless skin, especially in the wonderful valley between her boobs.

Her smooth, tan skin was soon covered in obvious white streaks from the sunscreen being rubbed in just a little bit. The bikini top she was wearing also shifted and Jaune could just start to see the darker skin of her areolas, and her hard nipples pressing against the fabric.

“That should be enough.” Jessica stopped playing with her own tits and ran her slightly messy hands down her slim waist. She laid back against the back of the lawn chair and pushed her chest out. “Well Jaune, feel free to start whenever you come back to your senses~.”

While Jaune was indeed very distracted by her erotic show just now, he was still very aware of what she said. He hesitantly took a small step out of his swim trunks and closer towards the chair she was laying on, his shins now touching the frame of it and completely naked. A part of him still wanted to decline, another part even wanted to say he’d just take the money now, but those were both very small in comparison to the part of him that wanted what was being offered right in front of him.

Jaune carefully raised his right leg and climbed onto the chair as well, his knees pressing down on the cushion on either side of Jessica’s thighs. He slowly scooted his knees forward and soon had his hard cock positioned above her chest. He looked down at her, then realized he was still holding the camera. With one hand, Jaune reached over and set it down on the same table that the sunscreen bottle was on.

With his hands now free, he grabbed the top of the chair’s back above Jessica’s head. He lowered his hips to position his cock at the bottom of her boobs under the middle bikini strap. He looked at Jessica to make sure it was okay. Their eyes locked and Jessica bit her lower lip as she nodded. Without any more hesitation, Jaune slid his cock head into her vast cleavage.

His cock head hit the skin in between her tits and slid up inside with ease, getting both of them to shiver a bit. Jaune pushed his cock all the way through and pulled his hips back. Within seconds, Jaune had started a steady rhythm of fucking Jessica’s tits. Jaune continued to hump into her cleavage, already loving the amazing feeling enveloping his cock from the incredibly soft pillows enveloping his shaft.

Jessica was also enjoying herself. She looked down from Jaune’s blushing face to her cleavage. She was greeted by the sight of the head of Jaune’s cock popping out, now slick with white sunscreen too. She was pretty impressed that it was big enough to do that. She could also feel just how hot and hard his shaft was. ‘Fuck, it feels like a metal rod! Let’s see how he likes this though~.’

While Jaune did already seem to be in paradise, Jessica decided to make it just a bit more… interesting for him~.

With a smirk, she moved her hands back up to her tits and pushed them together. Jaune gasped as the soft tits that were around his cock started to squeeze down, rubbing the cock between them even more. He stopped moving just to get used to the new tightness. Jessica chuckled as she heard the man above her gasp, letting her know that she made a good move.

Jaune started rolling his hips forward once again, this time needing more force to push into her slick cleavage. Pretty soon, his rolling turned into full on thrusting. Jaune was now literally just fucking her tits without a second thought, letting out small grunt and groans as he did so. His grunts almost drowned out the slick ‘plap’ing sound of his cock pumping in and out between her slippery tits as he thrusted away.

Those weren’t the only noises being made though. Alongside Jaune’s grunts, his cock’s slick ‘plap’s, and Jessica’s own moans and giggles as she watched Jaune eagerly thrust away between her sensitive tits, was a creaking sound coming from the rocking chair they were on. With Jaune’s harder thrusting, the chair had started shaking quite a bit. Jaune had also tightened his grip on the back of the chair, unknowing pulling it towards him with his thrusts. Jessica felt the rocking, but thought nothing of it.

Until Jaune pulled so far that the back of the chair slipped out of the slot keeping its back inclined.

“Aaaah!”

With a surprised yelp, Jessica fell back with the chair. She let out a small “Oouf!” as the chair flattened out. It now looked more like a skinny bed.

“Jessica?! Are you okay?”

Jessica, now laying flat on her back, looked back up to Jaune who was propped above her. He looked at her worriedly and had stopped his thrusting. She smiled and nodded. “Yup! I’m all good. Actually, this position might be better~.” Her hands squeezed and rolled her tits around Jaune’s cock, enticing him to continue. “Though, I still haven’t gotten your white stuff on my tits~. So keep going~.”

Jaune looked at her for a second, but once he saw that she really was okay, he started rocking his cock back into her cleavage again. A few seconds later and he was back to thrusting between her tits as quickly as he had been. The new position they were in was definitely making it a lot easier for him to fuck the sexy cosplayer’s tits.

Jessica didn’t stop helping her girls rub his dick either. Her hands still firmly pushing them around Jaune’s shaft, even sinking her fingers into them a little, making her moan along with Jaune. She glanced over at the table next to them, thinking about pouring some more sunscreen on to help things get really messy, when something else caught her attention.

She saw her scroll though the glass. Seeing that it was more within her reach than the sunscreen bottle, she quickly got another idea. She moved her hand off her left tit and reached over to the table, now using one arm to keep her breasts wrapped tightly around the meaty rod fucking them. She smirked as she started her naughty little plan.

Jaune didn’t see Jessica reach for the table because his eyes were closed, just enjoying his own little paradise at the moment. For a whole minute, Jaune was only focused on pumping faster and faster into her slippery cleavage, his cock still gliding effortlessly into her deep valley. It felt too fucking good to stop now, and he wanted as much pleasure as he could get.

His heavy balls were sliding along her stomach and slapping into her underboob at this point with how heavy his thrusts had gotten. Jaune scrunched his eyes shut even harder and let loose a guttural moan as he felt himself get right to the edge. He could feel his cock twitch and pulse as he finally hit his breaking point.

“Fuuuuuuck! Jessicaaa!” Before Jaune even finished shouting her name, he was already unloading ropes of cum. “Uuuughfuck!” As he continued to release ropes of cum out without care, he felt absolute bliss shoot through him. Nothing could have ruined how amazing he felt right now.

For nearly a minute, Jaune kept shooting loads of his thick cum. He felt them get smaller and smaller though, and soon came to a full stop. Jaune panted heavily, coming down slowly from his climax. The best best one he’d ever had too. He slowly opened his eyes finally and looked down, and his slowly softening cock nearly shot back to attention when he did.

Underneath him was Jessica Nigri, covered in his spunk. everything from her head down to the top of her breasts was covered in thick white ropes of his cum. The sexiest part of that though was seeing her happily lick around her lips and scoop up what cum she could into her mouth, all with a sexy smirk on her glossy lips.

Jessica took her hands off her tits and started using them to scoop up cum off her face. She brought her fingers to her mouth and slowly pushed them past her lips one by one, sensually sucking them clean from cum. She moaned in the back of her throat, knowing Jaune was watching her now.

After all her fingers were clean, Jessica parted her lips slightly and pulled her last finger out of her mouth, pulling her bottom lip down a little as it slid out. She looked straight up into Jaune’s eyes and moaned in a sultry voice. “Mmmmmm~. Delicious~.” Jaune blushed when he heard that, getting a small chuckle from Jessica.

After waiting a couple of seconds to let Jaune calm down, Jessica started to sit up, prompting Jaune to back away from her and sit down on the long side of the chair. Jessica made sure that her bikini top was still somewhat fitted on her breasts as she sat up completely, then swung her legs off the chairs side to join Jaune sitting directly next to him. She stretched her arms up above her head with her fingers interlaced, letting out a relaxed sigh. Jaune didn’t stop himself from staring at her chest as she pushed it out.

Jessica’s arms fell back down to her side and she gently started to rub Jaune’s thigh with her right hand. “Mmmmuuuh that was pretty hot Jaune, you have fun~?”

Jaune looked over at her, and eagerly nodded his blushing head. “Yeah, t-that was amazing Jessica.”

Jessica kept smirking and patted his thigh twice with her hand. “Well, maybe that can happen again sometime. Whaddya think of that Jaune~?”

“I’d like that. I’d like that a lot.”

“Well then, I guess we’re gonna have to try to get together more often huh~? But for now, I think I’m going to go take a shower and get cleaned up a bit. You did get me pretty messy~.” Jessica stood up and picked up her scroll. “If you’d like, I have a spare bathroom with another shower that you could use.” With that, she started to sashay towards her house with a sexy sway in her hips.

Jaune started after those swaying hips and committed them to memory. As Jessica slid her home’s backdoor open, Jaune stood up and picked up his swim trunks, covered his crotch with them and jogged to catch up to her. Jessica stepped aside and let him in first, admiring his fine ass as he walked by. ‘I’m gonna have to compare mine with his sometime~. Those are some firm cheeks~.”

With that thought, Jessica stepped into her home as well and closed the door behind them.

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Chime~

Cinder’s musing on her scroll was interrupted as she received a video message. She also groaned when she saw who it was from. “Uuugh. What does that bimbo want now?” Cinder was really tired of being annoyed by Jessica. Jessica had tried to be ‘friends’ with her at first, but now just seemed to just enjoy annoying Cinder whenever she could. Just the thought of her right now started to make Cinder feel frustrated.

“Whatever it is, it’s probably just a waste of my time.”Despite her better judgement, Cinder still opened the message from Jessica, though a bit begrudgingly. After a few seconds of loading, the video started to play and she was greeted by the sight of her ‘counterpart’ Jessica recording herself by holding her scroll out above her. Cinder could see her body was rocking slightly, but before she could even wonder why that was, the camera began to pan down Jessica’s body.

Revealing a large cock quickly pumping back and forth between her sunscreen covered breasts.

Cinder’s head recoiled back slightly at seeing such a thing on her screen. Because she was farther away from the screen now, Cinder finally noticed that there was a small caption in a tinted dark blue line on the bottom of the video.

[I hope you like trying to catch up Cindy~. I think I have a good step up on you~.]

Cinder scoffed after reading that caption. “What on Remnant is she talking about? What could I possibly need to catch up with…. her…. on…” Cinder’s question trailed off as the camera angle panned again, completely flipping around this time. It landed on the face of a man propped above her.

Not just any strange man either. But Jaune Arc. The Jaune Arc that she had been trying to get to fuck her for weeks, with zero results. And now here he was on her scroll screen, currently fucking this bimbo’s tits!

The video ended while Cinder was ranting in her thoughts. It started to replay on a loop, but before it played the first five seconds again, the screen went blank. Then started to show cracks as Cinder slowly crushed it in her grip. She abruptly stood up and tossed her scroll on to the bed she’d been on.

She straightened out her red dress and started to pace towards the door. “Fine. If that slut wants to try to steal what I want, I’ll happily make her realize her mistake. You wanted me to ‘catch up’ Jessica? Well, I’ll make you regret those words.”

With a determined fire blazing in her eyes, she left the room, slamming the door shut behind her. She didn’t pay any of the scared students she passed a second thought. She had to think of a plan of how her desired fucktoy to get back, and rub that bimbo’s face in it when she did.

#rwby #jaune arc #jessica nigri #jaune x jessica nigri #cinder fall #archive of our own #ask #non sfw #lemon #smut story #anonymous

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seachanqe · 4 years

Text

No right way

JonGeorgie, set during uni, pre-relationship(ish), rated G, 1130 words

For @aspecarchivesweek, with ace (kiss-averse) Jon and aro Georgie

Inspired by a prompt by the lovely @hundred-separate-lines, who asked for “kiss neutral-to-averse Jon feeling like he won’t be able to have a real relationship if he can’t make himself kiss someone, and then a non-kiss-averse partner being cool with it”. I almost always write JonMartin, and since you seemed open to other ships, I decided to try my hand at JonGeorgie. Hope that’s okay! Thank you so so much for the prompt and your kind words. :)

________

Jon was doing his best trying to keep up with Georgie. The band had just finished the last song of the night, and the large crowd of people were milling about, slowly making their way out of the venue.

Georgie, as Jon was finding out, was an expert at moving through a crowd. She twisted around people stepping in front of her and slipped past those ahead who were walking too slow, all the while tugging Jon along. It had become swelteringly hot stuck in the middle of the crowd, so he was all too happy when they broke free of the pack to reach outside. The crisp air nipped at Jon, and he watched as his sigh of relief crystalized in front of him.

Georgie turned to face him, still holding his hand. The overlapping voices of everyone around them was distracting, but Jon tried to focus on Georgie instead. She was smiling so wide her eyes crinkled, and there was a flush to her cheeks.

"Band was decent," Georgie said, a little too loud, Jon supposed from not only having to talk over the crowd, but also the muffled ringing in their ears from being a little too close to the speakers.

"I'm just not a fan of--" Jon gestured to his ears. "I forget how long it takes to wear off, but did you know that this is actually tinnitus? The loud music actually damaged the hair cells in our ears. These sorts of concerts are approximately 115 decibels, and it only takes prolonged exposure of 85 decibels or greater to cause hearing loss…"

"I was pleasantly surprised," Jon said as dryly as he could with his voice raised.

Georgie barked out a laugh, before punching him lightly on the arm. "I told you you'd like them!"

"Jonathan Sims, are you trying to scare me off from future concerts?" Georgie's face pinched in an exaggerated grumpy face. She pulled Jon a little closer to her, Jon assumed so they could hear each other better.

Jon laughed. "No, of course not. I think it would take quite a few concerts to really have any effect. It's interesting though. Apparently damage to the hair cells in our ears causes our brains to misinterpret the signal it receives, so our brains make up a sound instead! That's the ringing we're hearing right now."

"It's too bad our brains couldn't have made up a more interesting sound."

As Jon started to consider this, Georgie reached up to cup his cheek, and Jon immediately froze at her touch, eyes wide.

"You're so cute when you share this stuff," Georgie said fondly, with a soft smile, leaning up on her tiptoes, her eyes dropping to his lips, clearly about to give Jon a kiss.

A jolt of panic, his heart sped up, and he quickly pulled back. "Georgie, I--"

Georgie didn't look hurt, Jon thought, thank god. She actually looked worried, her head tilted slightly in confusion.

Jon bit his lip. Well. This was it. "Georgie, sorry, I don't-- um. I can't--"

Georgie's brow furrowed as she tried to parse what was going on. "No, no, this was my bad, I never actually called this a date anyway, I never asked if you were interested--"

"But--Georgie," Jon interjected in a panic. "I am interested in dating. Dating you. I like you, Georgie, I do. I just." Jon internally cringed. It felt like a death blow. And he hadn't even mentioned his asexuality yet. "Don't-like-kissing," Jon said in a rush. "It's uncomfortable? I actually haven't tried it, but any time I see characters on screen making out---it looks…" Jon bit his lip. "Gross? I don't want to try it, it's not for me, sorry," Jon said with finality, trying to project more confidence than he felt.

When Georgie didn't say anything for a moment, Jon decided it would be best to say his good-byes and leave her an easy out to get back home, not have to worry about mistakenly dating him anymore. He was already mourning how such a lovely evening had been wrecked so quickly. Jon ran a hand through his hair as he sighed. "I had a fun time tonight, really. I'm-- I'm sorry if it looked like I led you on or anything. And I understand if you're not interested in me anymore if--"

Georgie pulled a face. "Don't be silly, Jon."

"I-- what?"

"That's a completely valid boundary to set, Jon, I get it--" Jon started to respond but Georgie held up a hand. "Really, I do. Or I think I do. And if we're being honest with each other, before we date, if we decide to date-- I'm aro."

"Oh," Jon responded eloquently as he tried to process this. "I'm sort of like that? But. Uh. Not like that exactly. We can, uh, talk about it later?" Jon suggested, glancing around at the people loitering nearby, self-consciously rubbing the back of his neck.

Georgie laughed, not unkindly. "Of course Jon. I--honestly, I was starting to guess that." Georgie held out her hand, and Jon took it, and she squeezed reassuringly. "Listen, if you want, we can try this, whatever this turns out to be. See what happens. I don't like romantic stuff, but I like hanging out with you. Kissing can be fun, but I don't need it. You're fun, interesting. Cute. Good concert buddy. I'd like to try something out, if you still want to. What do you say?"

"You're... really okay with the no kissing?" Jon asked incredulously, his mind still solidly hung up in disbelief.

Georgie rolled her eyes with a huff. "Yes, Jon. Like I said, I'm interested in this for you. We had fun tonight, didn't we?"

"Yes, yes, Georgie. Fine." Jon let out a sigh, throwing up his hands. "We should probably head to The White Horse if we still want to grab something to eat, we can talk more there about this?"

"Perfect! I'm starving." Georgie beamed, before turning thoughtful.

"Georgie, what is it?" Jon asked suspiciously.

"Thinking about what we could do instead of kissing. Squeeze your hand? Big hug? Gotta show my affection somehow."

It was a wonderful, cozy sort of feeling, one that was almost alien to Jon, that someone would try to thoughtfully look for alternatives, instead of rejecting him for it or trying their best to ignore it. "I, uh, both would work," he stammered. "I don't mind a cheek kiss… I-- I think. We could try it out at least."

"Don't worry, I'll warn you next time," she said a little sheepishly with a slight grin, before holding out her arms. Jon let himself be folded into a hug; Georgie was warm against the cool evening air, her hands solid and steadying against his back.

#aspecarchives #the magnus archives #jongeorgie #my writing

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earthstellar · 3 years

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G1 Re-Watch: The Dweller in the Depths

So, this is an episode that actually got kind of scary, which wasn’t very typical for Transformers G1 content:

The villain of the episode is actually a bunch of nightmarish reject Quintesson-made creatures that live below Cybertron’s surface and siphon the power out of Cybertronians, causing them to essentially become aggressive energon-hungry vampire zombies.

The sub-surface dweller pictured above is vaguely reminiscent of some of the weird creatures that sometimes got featured in The Real Ghostbusters cartoon around the same time as this episode came out, which absolutely is not a complaint.

I like the swamp gator vibe of this particular nightmare creature, and not having a head makes it seem weirdly sinister when you see it moving around on screen.

But the above isn’t even getting into the really creepy stuff in this episode...

Putting this below a cut, because there are a lot of screenshots!

So I’m going to breeze through the setup here a little bit to get to the good stuff:

Perceptor sets up a self-renewing power source to help restore Cybertron and improve their energon supplies. This is good news, and everyone is feeling fairly upbeat about it.

Smash cut to the Quintessons, who are talking about failed proto-Cybertronians that they couldn’t fix, so they left them in their thrown-together and incomplete forms underneath the planet’s surface.

Another smash cut, now Cyclonus and his group of Decepticons are stalking out the lower levels of the city, and the Autobots are soon to follow suit as they hope to interrupt any shenanigans.

Both teams get down there, where they discover-- Oh shit!

This thing, and a bunch of other similar things, which attack with tentacles and electricity draining nets to siphon the life sustaining energy out of the Cybertronians.

This sequence is actually effectively threatening; The Autobot exploration team here includes Wreck-Gar and Arcee.

We see Ultra Magnus get taken out, in a good example of the Worf Effect, where the strongest character present getting beaten first sets up real anxiety about how the rest of the characters might fare here.

It’s a real struggle, and Wreck-Gar goes down.

His pop culture referential quips make this very unsettling; He’s just as upbeat as ever, while his lifeforce is ripped away.

Springer makes a run for it, to see if Wreck-Gar is okay, and....

...Wreck-Gar looks up, totally grey and with glowing red eyes, and growls out “FEED ME!” before immediately siphoning the lifeforce out of Springer. Yikes.

Arcee is slowly getting backed into a corner...

...And we see that Ultra Magnus has managed to avoid getting drained, as he and Kup are confronted by the Decepticons in a surprise attack.

They shoot overhead, collapsing some of the underground cave ceiling on top of both Kup and Ultra Magnus, while a terrified Arcee watches.

She tries to run away by switching to alt-mode, but she gets caught up in the creature’s electrical netting.

Meanwhile, the Cybertronians who were zombified slowly approach her...

Before fading to a commercial cut, all we hear is Arcee screaming “No, no! Stay back!” while it zooms in on the zombie’s faces as they growl at her.

Very bad vibes, and possibly some very dark implications, especially as it cuts to black right at this point.

After the commercial break, Arcee calls for Kup, trying to wake him out of his concussed state, and he responds-- By immediately switching to alt-mode and ramming the shit out of the creature that has her caught in the net.

We love a good Kup scene, but unfortunately, he’s a bit slow due to being injured (and older than hell), and he’s turned into an energon zombie.

Ultra Magnus grabs Arcee, and tells her that they just have to get the hell out of here so that Perceptor might be able to fix this somehow.

We smash cut to the Quintessons, continuing to be weird conniving micro-managing nerds.

We then see the Decepticons, who apparently do not have GPS, lost underground.

They run into the energon zombies, who they fire at-- And it seems as though they’re dead.

But then...

In running away from the approaching zombies, they accidentally wind up right back where the power siphoning creatures live, and Cyclonus gets got.

Meanwhile, Ultra Mags and Arcee are navigating their way through, but run into one of the Decepticons who broke off from the main group while running away.

One of the creatures appears again, and Ultra Magnus gets caught in a net after knocking the laser bazooka out of the Decepticon’s grip.

In a rare example of some sense of scale being adhered to, Arcee then grabs the bazooka and fires at the creature-- We can see how big the bazooka is compared to Arcee:

This is successful after a few rapid fire blasts, and while Ultra Magnus is weakened, he’s still capable of carrying on.

The two of them leave the Decepticon, who is probably straight up just dead.

They actually manage to get back to base, where Rodimus is discussing the energy drain with Perceptor, who has detected it on his monitors.

But unfortunately, they were followed!

Rodimus: “Wreck-Gar! Springer!”

Arcee: “They can’t hear you, Rodimus..”

It’s pretty effectively frightening to see the zombified Autobots particularly, as they’re now above ground and in the usual friendly pastel/primary coloured environment and lightning, which emphasises how grim they look.

We get a close-up shot of Kup, Springer, and Wreck-Gar -- Characters who are usually fairly light hearted or funny-- Looking at their fellow Autobots with genuine aggression and hunger.

I like that they used these characters, for that exact reason. It makes it feel way creepier and weirder, because these are typically fun characters who are now growling and shouting for fresh energon straight from the fuel lines of their friends.

Perceptor, thinking fast, says a power surge should shock their systems into levelling out again by providing an abundance of energy for them to consume in one burst.

They create an energy surge by touching a power console and holding hands with one another to create a circuit for the energy to cycle between each of them, which somehow works.

Yes, the power of holding hands is what resolves this whole episode. I love G1.

Unfortunately (or fortunately), this also snaps the Decepticons out of it, so they’re just stuck in their base surrounded by the enemy.

In one of the funniest smash cuts ever, there is literally no fight.

Instantly, Cyclonus turns around, says “Let’s get out of here!” and it doesn’t even show them leaving, it just smashes straight to the Autobot logo.

They lure the creatures into space by using their energy surge idea to make themselves into appealing bait, then ditch the creatures off Cybertron, the end.

Overall Episode Rating: Enjoyable!

Not a super genius ending or resolution, but it didn’t need to be.

This was a pretty solid episode, with some pretty cool and creepy moments, and several interesting creature designs.

It’s good to see Arcee getting a chance to shine, despite the very unsettling vibes in the scene with her where the creatures are initially encountered.

The initial encounter scene is actually very effective all around, and establishes the creatures as a real threat.

The decision to make the typically humorous or jokey characters turn into the energon zombies was extremely effective, and set up a very “oh shit” vibe from the second Wreck-Gar is the first to go down.

This is a pretty good episode, although if someone isn’t familiar with the characters or the surrounding overarching storyline set up for the show at this point in the run, it wouldn’t be as effective.

Definitely not an episode to jump in and start watching the series with, but for familiar viewers, this is absolutely a solid Halloween show.

#G1 #Transformers #Transformers G1 #G1 review #maccadam #g1 rewatch #watching g1 #wreck-gar #springer #ultra magnus #arcee #kup #halloween #perceptor

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suca-loca · 3 years

Text

it’s been a long year since we last spoke (how’s your halo?)

Read on Ao3

Words: 11.5k

Tags: Hurt No comfort, Angst, No Happy Ending, No beta we die like Wilbur

Warnings: Body horror, Blood, Death, Suicidal Implications/Thoughts, Mentions Of Torture, Beating/Fighting

Author's Note: I tentatively present you all this fic as my ticket to board the Dream SMP Fandom. I took some creative liberties with this, such as hints of Niki and Wilbur being childhood friends, as well as Niki living near Techno's cabin, and making Niki respawning to restock her hunger bar during her spiraling/villain arc one of her canon deaths. Also, despite Niki wearing a new skin she has stated that her character still wears Wilbur's coat. Just adding that in here so people don't comment that I got her outfit wrong during a certain scene. And finally, even though I feel this is obvious, this is about the characters and not the streamers themselves. With that out of the way, enjoy the fic!

Summary:

"Time down here is like stars, Niki. We're dead, dead for thousands of years, but to them," he points up, "we still shine. It'll take light years for them to realize they are staring at just a memory."

She tries to take a step back, but she's rooted where she stands. "Wilbur," she weeps. "How long have you been down here?"

He laughs.

(There was a time it made Niki's heart stop. It still does, but for different reasons now)

"Eleven years."

Niki covers her mouth to stifle a broken cry.

or; Niki tries, unwillingly may she add, the whole being dead thing. Oh, and Wilbur is there to "help"

The worst part about it is that Niki's whole life doesn't flash before her eyes. It doesn't happen in slow motion and neither is there some comforting, bright light for her to walk towards. It's simply this: one second she's at Church Prime and the next she's falling into pitch blackness.

Then again, she should have known better than to expect any of that dumb cliche stuff 'cause it's not like she died or anything. Not really. Her communicator may say she did, but she knows the truth. She was teleported.

So why does this feel like dying?

foolish girl breaking at the seams from using the same stitching of a burning flag to put yourself back together again. you think the afterlife cares how you arrive? the entry fee is the same for all

She comes in screaming and doesn't stop even when that's all she is anymore. Her body is unrecognizable to her, turned inside out, muscles stretching and bending and snapping in an attempt to mimic the shape she once was.

(She wishes her muscles luck in regressing back into a memory because oh primes, oh dear primes did she try, try again to be the girl wore a white and blue uniform with pride, but that girl only exists now in dreams and sometimes nightmares)

But they can't, for her organs and bones and flesh do not know what it means to not be confined (but they should know, they really should, because she still finds it hard to breath in small spaces ever since Schlatt caged her between iron bars and dirt and Sapnap left her in a hole in the ground over a fish) and so they shake. Convulsing and spasming until she is just sound, just an echo of shrieks that are happening in the past or the present or the future depending on how fast it travels down this tight, narrowed cave she lands in.

Wait, lands in?

She finds herself laying flat on the ground. She blinks. Then does it again for good measure to make sure she's not imaging having eyelids.

She touches her face. Feels the crook of her nose, the curve of her chin, and her soft round ears.

It's all skin. No muscle, no tissue, just her.

Still her.

(For now)

Her body is back. Not whole though - never whole - for she will always be a walking empty space within a solid object, but for now, her body is right. Her body is here. She closes her eyes in relief.

Someone is staring down at her when she opens them again.

"Hello Niki," Wilbur says. "It's been a while."

(It's Doomsday. His name shows up on your communicator and so you become a lit match. The fire eats you away just like the bark of a tree, like the walls of a bakery, two things you once loved most, and you're watching them both burn with his coat over your shoulders, which doesn't help you ignore who you must look like, who you're acting like, whose footsteps you're following in; and doesn't it hurt to know that what's before you isn't just a friend but a reflection?)

She's already scrambling back before she's even fully sat up.

She doesn't get very far, not with the way her wrists twist and bend before finally buckling under the pressure, and she can't find the strength to stand up and run. So all that's left to do is hyperventilate at the way his eyes land on her face, roaming, analyzing, absorbing, trying to read her like a book, unaware she's ripped out the pages long ago. At the way his shadow covers her and maybe once it felt like a blanket, but that time has passed, now all it is is heavy, suffocating, pinning her down. At the way he wears his Pogtopia outfit, pressed and cleaned when the last she saw of it it was covered in ash and black feathers and red, so much red.

But it never comes. In fact, her lungs don't move at all. Almost as if she doesn't need to breathe. As if she hasn't been breathing since she's been down here.

Is that why it was so easy to keep screaming?

"You're not here," she whispers. "Not really."

Wilbur tilts his head to the left.

(Does it in a way a predator would while observing its prey from afar, waiting for the right moment to strike)

"Oh? Where am I then, Niki?"

"My head," Niki responds, practically blurting it out. "Yeah - yeah, that's right. This is just my head playing tricks on me again. A horrible horrible trick, but that's all it is. I - I know it."

Wilbur hums. He sits down as if this will take a while. As if she won't blink and he'll be gone. "Well, that's a damn shame. I was hoping it'd be a beach. Mexican Dream has been talking a lot about La Jolla lately. Sounds like a nice place."

He smiles, suddenly.

(No, not smiles, more like baring his teeth. His very normal teeth that give off the impression that they should be very sharp and very large and very deep in her throat right now)

"Let's hope I don't blow it up."

(Niki is shouting for Wilbur over the chaos when her communicator pings in her pocket. It gets hard to breathe as she reads what it says, and it isn't because every inhale of smoke and pulverized concrete from the tumbling buildings poison her lungs. There's a ringing in her ears, and it isn't because of the TNT that just detonated in front of her. She feels broken, and it isn't because the force of the explosion knocks her back and she skitters across the field, hitting rocks and choking on dirt until she stops on her stomach, limbs bent at weird angles. Her communicator lands right beside her, the screen shattered and static flashing, but she can still catch glimpses of what is on the screen, as clear as day, like a taunt: WilburSoot was slain by Ph1lza)

Niki scrambles to her feet, presses herself as much as she can against the walls, and maybe, just maybe, she'll glitch and go through it and suffocate in a block.

She immediately throws herself away from it when she realizes what she just thought.

Wilbur stands with her. "I'm kidding, I'm kidding," he says. "I thought it would lighten up the mood. So, how are you?"

"How am I?" Niki echoes. "I'm imagining my dead best friend even though I thought I was getting better and I could have sworn I was, I was I swear I was, and this place, this place, I don't know where this is but it, it just feels - I don't even know why - so familiar and so - "

She pauses.

She looks around.

She was so busy panicking from Wilbur's presence that she never took in her surroundings. She stares at the smooth stone walls, the occasional hanging vines, the little aquarium in the corner right next to the entrance, and, finally, the stand. The stand with two signs on the front that read -

No. It can't be. It just can't.

She won't believe it until she's seen the whole thing.

She walks further in, each step hesitant.

And she notices the way everything around her seems so devoid of life. Almost colorless. Close to numb. She thinks it's her body shutting down, the stress finally getting to her, but no. This is worse. Something's going on. She doesn't know what it is exactly, but she knows it isn't her that's wrong here.

(This time)

Wilbur follows closely behind and, as if to prove her point, his footsteps sound muffled, distant, apart from him, like in the way you hear something underwater.

Maybe she is underwater because everything is getting blurry and her face feels wet.

(Or maybe the better comparison is like hearing something behind glass. She's been tapping against the window of a caravan for months as men in suits discuss a country she bled for just as much as them, if not more, without her. The tapping turns to banging, but it is not the glass that shatters. Not the glass that breaks)

She stills as she catches sight of the small wheat farm in the back room, dried and frail and unkempt.

(Like a flower shop)

It really is her bakery.

"No," she mumbles. Then, more stern, as if it'll blow this place away, as Wilbur should have done the first time. "No no no no this can't… this can't be true. I, I shouldn't be here I - it doesn't make any sense, how how how - "

She whirls on Wilbur, the tears coming in waves now. "What are you doing to me?"

(It's his fault she's back here. It has to be, he's the reason you wanted to burn the memories why this is all gone why this should be gone why isn't this gone gone gone gone)

foolish girl who has become like the nation she despises, you are a crater, there is a hole inside of you where a soul once was and it was caused by your own hands because the only destruction you're good at is your own. you couldn't even kill a child with a nuke, so what makes you think you can end a small room on the side of some hill?

"What do you see?" Wilbur says, and the voice in her head disappears. She can't remember what it said. She shakes her head as if the words will fall out her ears.

Suddenly she can't remember why she's shaking her head.

Her next words come out frail.

"My… my bakery. But how? This shouldn't be possible I, I destroyed it - I - "

"Limbo is different for everybody," Wilbur interjects. "For me, it's a train station."

"Limbo? What are you talking about? What is going on? I was nowhere near L'manburg I was - " Niki's mind blanks.

(Smooth quartz all around her and she feels safe there, that she remembers because there is no killing here, the one place bloodshed does not haunt her, and then crushing disappointment that turns into actual crushing as her body gets shredded, mangled, undone like a ribbon except it does not look pretty)

Wilbur gives her a slicing smile. It cuts her down. "This is the afterlife, Niki."

She blinks. She tries to take a step back, but she's rooted to the spot. "What?"

"The afterlife," he continues, eyes sparkling. "Hell. The void. Eternal darkness. Whatever you wanna call it. I call it home."

"Home?" She repeats, shakily.

foolish girl with no place, no one to call home because she's an expert at finding comfort in things that don't stay, of course he sees this place as home. Although if he really wanted to surround himself in emptiness so bad then he just needed to wait a few months for you to become just that

"I'm not dead," she mutters. She attempts to laugh, because if she laughs then this will sound like a joke. Wilbur would joke about such a thing. After all, he poked fun at exploding L'manburg just a while ago. So of course this is a joke. It has to be. It is, and she will not allow her breakdown to be the punchline.

At Wilbur's unflinching smile she says it again, with more conviction. "I'm not!"

"How else do you think you're talking to me? How your bakery is still in one piece? Sorry to be your grim reaper Niki, but you're dead. And now you're here, in the afterlife, with me!" He leans in close, close enough that she should feel his breath on her.

There is nothing. He is nothing.

(And maybe, so is she)

"Isn't that great? We're together again! You and me, just like the old days. And look," His eyes glance at what she wears. It's the coat. Specifically, Wilbur's coat, wrapped around her shoulders.

"We're even matching," he coos.

She thinks she might scream.

She throws herself away from him, almost throws the coat too, but into the furnace next to her.

('I gotta burn the memories I need to destroy it I need to destroy it I need to destroy it,' she once screamed to no one but herself. History repeats itself)

How she ever found comfort in this ratty, old coat she'll never know. And she'll never care to find out. Not when Wilbur is acting like this, like before, like a loose city wire, all dangerous and unpredictable, each word an electric spark, and Niki is trying not to get stung. She remembers how that story ended.

But her's will not end. Not yet.

"I can't be dead," she argues. "I don't remember that I would remember something like that so I - I can't be dead, and I have two lives left so, no, no I can't be I'm alive I'm alive I'm alive and I'm in bed I'm alive I'm alive I'm alive and you're not real, just a nightmare. I'm alive I'm alive I'm - "

"It's really me, Niki," Wilbur says, and the fire from the furnace roars in response as if his words fan the flames. It's the first time something in this wicked place has felt alive. "In the flesh. Or, rather, a close imitation of it. I think my corpse must have liquified by now, swelling up for months before bursting open, leaving nothing but a skeleton behind. What about you? What did you leave for them to find?"

She covers her ears. "Stop! Stop it stop it stop it!"

"Remember it. Remember your last moments."

"Wilbur, please - "

"Feel your wrist," he says. No, orders. And she does. Because she, at her core, is still his soldier.

(She says that she is loyal to him and he responds by saying he wants her to be loyal to L'manburg. She remembers being confused, for she saw them both as the same. Wilbur is L'manburg and L'manburg is Wilbur, one cannot coexist without the other. A few months later, amongst the wreckage of her nation and a father's anguished screams, she'll realize too little too late how true her statement holds)

She doesn't find her heartbeat.

For a second she thinks she made a mistake. That she has her fingers in the wrong place, but no. A soldier knows where to look for life so that they may snuff it out. She can't be making a mistake.

Still, she presses her fingers down, harder this time, nails first, that blood draws, and sobs as she's still met with nothing.

She has no heartbeat.

She is dead.

She chokes. She clutches her chest, not because it hurts to know what she lacks in her chest, but because she remembers. Remembers it so intently, remembers it happening in the snap of a finger, literally, from a smiling God (and maybe it is quite a fitting end, for she goes out the same way she lived, giving second chances to men who don't deserve it) and how the world tilted as the ground slipped away.

But what's worse is the realization that comes after.

"I didn't leave anyone anything to find," she says.

Wilbur raises an eyebrow. "What?"

"I didn't leave anyone anything to find because I didn't die," she says again, but weaker. More horrified. "I was teleported. I was on the holy lands when - "

"Teleported?' Wilbur interrupts. His features, just a second ago, eccentric and mad, turn curious. "Wait wait wait, hold on a second, are you telling me you were sent to Hell, Hell, on the fucking Holy Lands? "

Niki weakly nods.

It goes silent.

Suddenly, a snort. A snort that does not sound like it once did, back before the war for independence, before the election, before banishment, before it all, when all there was was a caravan and the worst of their worries was getting Sapnap a vegan hotdog. It's meaner, more shrill, and laced with a madness that seems to roll off his tongue so easily nowadays.

If she weren't watching how hard Wilbur's shoulders shake she'd have never guessed such a sound would come from him.

But there's something else about this snort that chills her to the core. Although she never could have imagined it coming from Wilbur doesn't mean she hasn't heard this kind of laugh before.

It's almost breathless, almost like something left on a stove, steaming, almost like the sound of -

(Dream and Wilbur worked together, both wanted L'manburg gone, both almost killed a kid, both cut off attachments, both lost trust in others, all things Niki has done too, and if Niki is like Wilbur and Wilbur is like Dream then that means - )

(No. Please, no)

"That is -," Wilbur wheezes, wiping away a tear. "That is horribly ironic."

"DreamXD!" She shouts, head tilted up. "Take me back! Take me back right now!"

Wilbur shakes his head. "Oh, no need to try that. I've been there. The whole shouting for help thing? Yeah, will do you no good. No one can hear you down here."

"DreamXD! I'm here!"

"Scream all you want, prime knows you don't need to breathe down here so nothing's stopping you from doing it for forever, but when your screams are all you hear for eternity… well, it'll drive any person mad."

"DreamXD," she shrieks. And her lungs don't shake, don't even give a small quiver, she knows it. Nothing in her does, for the gears don't need to be turning to keep this machine of a body that's been on autopilot since an explosion knocked her off her feet alive anymore. "Please!"

"You stop talking after a few years of just endless screaming for your voice becomes a reminder of your entrapment. But then the silence itself, after a few years, is unbearable. Yet you don't dare speak or make any noise, so it's just madness of a new kind."

She pushes her way past him and makes her way to the exit of her bakery. "I - I liked the magic trick, DreamXD! I really did! You - you can teleport me back now!"

"Too scared to make a noise, but too scared to keep quiet. So you stand still. Your body deteriorates, muscles numb from lack of use, and all you do is use your nails to scratch marks onto the walls to mark how many years have passed since… since absolutely nothing."

She stills. She slowly turns around.

(L'manburg is surrounded by a wall. A wall so mighty and tall she never thought she'd see the day it'd be torn down, much less by its own inhabitants. But this wall right here, the one between her and this old friend, this is a wall that will never meet the same end as its predecessor)

"Wilbur," she whispers. "What do you mean by years?"

Silence.

Wilbur has a far-away look in his eye.

(That look was born in a dirt hole on the side of a small hill and Niki doesn't learn that lesson for she builds her bakery in a similar place. Two places, so small, so cramped, started with hope, have become their worst downfalls, their unfinished symphonies. She parallels him in all the wrong ways)

She tries to take a step back, but she's rooted where she stands. "Wilbur," she weeps. "How long have you been down here?"

He laughs.

(There was a time it made Niki's heart stop. It still does, but for different reasons now)

"Eleven years."

Niki covers her mouth to stifle a broken cry. She was paralyzed before but now, with fear pumping through her veins, she runs. Fear is a more dependent motivator than strength or bravery could ever be, for fear, unlike any other heroic emotion, can't be beaten out of you. Can't be threatened out of you by a friend on your birthday as you try to stop him from pressing a button. Fear only grows, like a weed, you can try to get rid of it all you want, but it multiplies the more you struggle.

She finally gets to the exit, nearly throwing herself at it, only to find a stone wall staring back at her. It's been cemented shut.

She's trapped.

(She is in a cage, a zoo animal for Manburg citizens to point and laugh at. It is cramped, it is humiliating, and it is her home, her everything in wake of becoming nothing to people she once considered friends, Schlatt tells her. Until Quackity frees her. But there is no one to free her now. Except herself)

She pulls up her sleeves and begins mining with her bare hands.

She's been torn apart before, but at least it was quick. This, the way her flesh slowly peels off at each scratch is its own kind of torture. Not because it's painful, but the torture in knowing what you're willing to do to yourself just to see the sky again.

She keeps going.

(She does not throw up at the sight of chunks of flesh dangling where nail once was because she is a soldier and she has seen worse. Seen a child trapped in a box screaming for help and she's unfortunate enough to have a seat in the splash zone. Helped patch up Ponk's wound where his arm should be, afraid she might lose him to blood loss because whoever chopped his arm off didn't cut across the joint to avoid the bone and therefore had to hack again and again and again to get through the bone. Sewed Fundy's head back together from when Schlatt beat him over the scalp with a beer bottle before dying in the caravan; it took a couple of hours to finish because his fur made it hard to spot the bits of glass sticking out his skin. This is not the first or last time she will wash blood off her clothes, she just has to hope it will continue to be someone else's and not her own)

Wilbur comes up beside her. He doesn't even try to stop her, much less flinch at all the red on the wall. "Don't worry, you'll get used to it. Tommy did."

She snaps her head to him, her clawing ceasing. "Tommy was here?"

He nods. "Arrived a few years ago. I have to admit, when a space opened up here I thought it would be him again, not you. Not that I'm complaining. Don't get me wrong he's a good kid but, well, you know how Tommy gets."

(Everyone you've ever hated, everyone you've ever sworn to end; Schlatt, Tommy, and although you do not hate Wilbur or Jack you're relationship with them is complicated because they remind you of when you spiraled, you lot are all connected now, bound together from sharing the similar experience of death. She can never separate herself from them. Will be rever grouped in with the people she can't stand most)

"How long was Tommy here for?" She asks softly.

Wilbur clicks his tongue. "Two months I think."

She closes her eyes.

(She wanted to look deep into the crater Tubbo's nuke made and confuse Tommy's charcoal, burnt body for obsidian. She wanted to catch Tommy's choked last breaths in a bottle and get drunk on it every night. She wanted to leave spruce wood on his grave as a sort of flag marking her latest conquest. She wanted to stop thinking that if Wilbur was wrong for believing in Tommy then that means he might have been wrong for believing in her)

She doesn't want Tommy dead anymore and although they're still not friends even she wouldn't wish this on him.

"Two months," she says, and it sinks in.

Is that how long she'll have to wait until someone comes looking for her?

That is if someone even cares to look.

(Puffy doesn't respond to any of her messages after their first date. She turns Jack away when he tries to pull her back into the obsession of caving Tommy's head in. Everyone grieving L'manburg remembers her setting L'mantree aflame. Anyone in the Eggpire is too far gone to even care about themselves. She doesn't have a Tubbo. Isn't anyone's disk. She's just Niki, forgotten, ignored Niki, the first ghost of the server before Ghostbur. Why spare a glance at someone transparent? Someone, not all there?)

No one will come for her.

Wilbur cracks his fingers, and Niki winces, for her bones are still on flesh display and slowly repairing. "Well, now that we've played twenty questions let's move on to a new game. You up for some solitaire?"

She rises to her feet and numbly nods. She might as well have something to do to, to try and prevent the inevitable insanity with a card game.

Might as well accept her fate.

Wilbur reaches into his pocket and pulls out the cards. He sits down on the ground. "Sorry," he says. "I'd offer we play on a table but there are no tables in a train station and I doubt your bakery has one either." He hands her half of the deck. "Help me set it up."

But Niki doesn't take them, for she's focused on the word table because -

(There's a table, a weird table, made up of this block she's never seen before. It's sponge-like, with a hole on top decorated by a blueish-green frame, and she's about to ask where they found it when Phil suddenly apologizes for exploding her bakery. At her shocked expression, he explains he'd like to air out all possible tensions before starting their first-ever official Syndicate meeting so that no past grievances keep them from working as an effective team. Techno merely snorts, saying it's not their fault her bakery was on government land, and Phil responds by shooting him a glare fit for his title as Angel of Death. She'd have laughed, she'd have cried because such a look was once how Phil got Wil to eat his vegetables if it weren't for the fact she tells them they have nothing to apologize for. Tells them she left the oven on the day before the attack and by next sunrise, it was already burnt to the ground. Ranboo doesn't blink once from where he sits across from her as she talks. She sees in his eyes that day, how her laughs and her wails blend in with the chaos around her, as if it belongs there, as if she is one with it. And maybe she is, for the fire that consumes her bakery grows and grows and grows but Niki just gets smaller and smaller and smaller as if she has to sacrifice bits of herself to keep the fire going. Perhaps she is, for every monster requires an offering, and her bakery is that. A representative of the old her burning alive to make room for the new, merciless, unhinged her. Good. She looks down at the flint and steel in her hand and in the reflection of the metal she sees a boy with mismatched eyes standing behind her, staring. And then he takes out his book and writes. It feels like Ranboo has placed a noose around her neck. The memory fades and she holds her breath. She waits for him to say something, to call out her lie. This time, Ranboo undoes the knot. He looks away)

Because she needs to tell Ranboo she appreciated his silence that day. Needs to joke about how all this snow reminds her of an ice cream shop and watch Ranboo nervously laugh as she lightheartedly punches him on the shoulder.

Because she needs to know how that story Phil was telling her about his adventures with Techno on another server, something about an Antarctic Empire, ends. Needs to feed the crows with him to make sure he doesn't stare at their wings for too long.

Because she needs to braid Techno's hair one last time while they talk about how pink is clearly the superior hair color. Needs to thank Techno for giving her these becauses, for they wouldn't exist in the first place had he not offered her a place in the Syndicate.

Ironically enough, she always knew she'd die before she could give back all that she owed them. But only because what she owed them was too long a list, too difficult to be expressed in any way that captured what they deserved.

(Somewhere, in a snow biome, there is a family. They're different from each other, too different at times, and yet Ranboo and Techno could wear each other crowns, each fitting perfectly on their heads and no one would know of the switch, except for Phil of course. Right now they're probably looking at their comms around the dinner table, confused by the last message. 'Nihachu fell from a high place.' They aren't worried. Not yet. But in a couple of days, months for her, they'll start to pace. Phil will stand at the edge of the roof, ready to step off, only to remember he doesn't have wings, can't look for her high up in the sky like he used to when she was a kid. Ranboo will force himself through experiments, lose sleep, break himself in, trying to learn how to teleport so as to cover ground faster in the search, to do more than just let his powers go to waste when they could be what brings her home. Techno will grab her rainbow sweater and put it to Steve's snout, but the trail will go cold every time until eventually all of Niki's clothes don't smell like her anymore. They'll do this every day. Nothing will change but their hope, dwindling away each day. So will they just stare at that last message, her unintentional goodbye, looking for some sort of explanation? For some secret message? Some coordinates until they go mad? They won't think she's dead until they've found a body. Won't stop looking, won't leave a corner of the server untouched. Won't stop till they have something to bury)

She can't do that to them.

She slaps the cards out of Wilbur's hands.

"No," she growls, trying to sound tough and less like a kid throwing a tantrum. Perhaps slapping the cards away was not the best start. "I am not going to waste my time playing Solitaire when I could be spending it finding a way back home. And I will if it's the last thing I do."

Wilbur frowns. Niki has the inkling suspicion it has more to do with the cards being all scattered about than from her declaration. "There is no 'last thing I do anymore.' You dying was the last thing you'll ever do. All you have now is this. This is your forever. Our forever."

She turns away from him, just for a second. Away from the sight of his furrowed brows and the crinkles in the space between them where her index finger would go to poke as she teased him. Away from the scrunch of his nose she would joke made him and Techno finally look like twins. Because despite everything, despite all the months that have settled into their bones since the last they saw each other and the wars they've fought on land and in their minds, it's still Wilbur's face. But only in the physical sense. After that, he stops being her Wilbur.

This would be so much easier if his face had physically morphed into a stranger, to prove to her how much he's changed, what he's become over the months, is not all in her head.

Somehow, she finds a way to start.

"You know, not too long ago I'd have stayed with you here. I wouldn't have even put up a fight. I'd have just laid down, closed my eyes, and let the vines on these walls grow over my body until I was just moss. I was… I was so tired, Wilbur. A part of me always will be. I understood. I finally got why you acted the way you did. There was a time I was on half a heart and instead of eating I would - "

Her body begins to shake so hard she almost expects to look down and she cracks in the ground from an incoming earthquake. The only cracks see she's are her own.

She can't say it. Not like that. Not yet.

" - I would respawn to restock the hunger bar," Niki chokes out instead.

(She respawns with dried blood on the back of her head and bones still rattling from the fall. Along her jutting spine, in an almost perfectly straight line that could be confused for an unkempt path lost to weeds and drought, are bruises. She doesn't feel them. All she feels is the urge to do it again)

She blinks and her hand is in her hair, looking for the bump. She pulls her hand away as if it's a hot furnace. "But I can't stay. Things have changed. I've changed. This is not the first time something dark has tried to consume me, but I can't let it win this time. I can't let this place turn me numb and unhinged, or worse, content. Not when I have people to go home to. Not when - "

She looks down at her hand, the one that traced her scalp, and sees it has clenched into a fist.

(At the count of three, Niki throws rock. She groans as she notices all the other hands make paper. Ranboo and Techno exhale as if the losing sentence wasn't shoveling the front lawn, but death. Or worse, going shopping with Phil for a refrigerator to put in the Syndicate meeting room. Ranboo lost that one. Niki points at Techno's hooves and says it's cheating since they can't ever tell which shape he chooses. She demands a rematch with the same tone one uses to declare war. A few minutes later, they're shouting, going over the rules of rock, paper, scissors, and they only stop when Phil comes home and pulls out the dad voice. They begrudgingly agree to do a rematch another time, once they've cooled down. That was yesterday)

She holds her fist close to her heart. The hand was never her rock, it was always three men in a snowy cabin, handing her a mug of hot cocoa. "Not when I have a lawn to shovel."

Silence.

Then, Wilbur sighs. "You know," he says. He places his arms behind him and leans back to get a better look at her. Somehow, even on the ground, he looks to hold all the power. "Years ago your determination would have been a sight for sore eyes, but here's a reality check. I've been here for almost a dozen years. Eleven years of letting the passing train rip right through me in the hopes it would send me to another layer of hell or maybe propel, heck, even drag my body to the next station. But every time I'd wake up back in the train station as if nothing had happened. Like my body breaking under the wheels was nothing."

He is an avalanche, growing and picking up speed with each word, and Niki realizes, too little too late, she's about to be buried alive. She tries to step back, but Wilbur is up quick and approaching. "There is no escape. The limbo is our stage and we have our lines, our cues, but we do not have a curtain call. We just keep going and going, an endless loop. You can't not play your part. It won't let you."

"I have to at least try," she says.

"Why? What's the point? They'll never know you tried."

Her fear turns to disgust. "Is that why you think I'll try? For the sole reason that one day they'll know what I've done for them? That's far from the truth."

(People built statues of Tommy, for all he's done, for all the influence he had on this server. Niki knows they will not give her the same treatment. But that's fine, more than fine. All she needs is a grave in the snow, beside a little cabin)

She didn't want to look at Wilbur's face before, but now, glaring at him straight on, all she sees staring back is Phil.

The day they found out Wilbur didn't inherit Phil's immortality was the day Phil looked like he should, centuries-old instead of thirty-three, the age when angels stop physically aging. Niki will never forget how deep the lines on Phil's face ran. They might as well have been cracks. And maybe it was, for Phil was breaking as he held his dying son - not dying now, but for an immortal, every second a mortal breathes is just inevitable death - in his arms.

But what still haunts Niki the most after all these years are his eyes. They carried the weight of the world in them. She could feel it, even now, pressing down on her shoulders. All the wars, the fall of cities, the birth of them, children with big smiles and even bigger graves.

Niki was not a soldier yet. She was just a nine-year-old girl who wanted to sleep over at her best friend's house.

She threw up in their sink and they mistook it as her reaction to the news. She didn't correct them.

The only reason she slept easy that night was from the knowledge she would never see those eyes on Wilbur's face. And yet, lo and behold, here it is, like a punch to the gut.

Except now, Niki has had time to numb herself to it. It's hard to get surprised by such a dead look when it's on the face of your roommate.

(Phil's screech - no, not a screech, a caw, high pitched and grief-stricken - is like an alarm clock. Except, instead of Niki waking up to the rising sun outside her window, it's to moonlight and blinking stars. This is the fifth time this month she's met Ranboo and Techno outside Phil's cabin, armed to the teeth, ready for war. The door creaks open, loudly, but they don't wince, for they know it won't wake him. Nothing really does when he's in this state, except for one thing. Techno holds him down and it's weird, will always be weird, to see Techno use such force, such retaliation, on Phil of all people, and then Phil nearly throws Techno through the wall with just a brush of his fingers, and she remembers it's necessary. This isn't Phil they're dealing with, it's the Angel of Death. It takes a while until Techno can get all of the Angel's limbs down, but even then they know it won't last long, and that's when Niki throws a slowness potion on him. Ranboo, meanwhile, turns around all the photos of Wilbur in the room, a safe distance away. They told him it's best he handles that since he's built like a stick, putting him anywhere near a powerful avian would be an accident waiting to happen. It definitely has nothing to do with them freezing up whenever they see Wilbur's smiling face, all happy, and so very alive. Phil's movements turn sluggish as the potion kicks in and Niki holds his face, murmurs soft words, and Techno gives his own weird, but comforting, comments. Something about how Phil can't afford to lose sleeping beauty to these night terrors, what with his old age. Niki snorts. Phil's eyes open immediately. Phil sucks in a sharp breath, like he's forgotten how to breathe, his fist clenching and unclenching. The eyes are back. Based on Techno's face Niki knows then she's not the only person that has seen them. They look at each other, nod, and hold him as he cries. They don't need to ask. There's only one person that could cause such a look. They force Ranboo, who is awkwardly standing to the side, to join. Eventually, they break apart, and Techno coughs. He says he hates them for making this all emotional and bans such an awkward event from ever happening again. And yet, when Phil keeps waking up with eyes too dark around the corners, Techno is there. And so is she and Ranboo)

She will not be the reason Phil's eyes age another year.

"It's about Phil, Techno, and Ranboo deserving someone who will never stop trying to find their way back to them," she says, with conviction. "I'm sorry you're too twisted to see not all actions stem from reward or acknowledgment."

She expects a laugh, a glimpse at his forked tongue spewing words so sweet she could use them as sugar in her desserts, only to take a bite and realize it was salt all along. But what she gets is silence. The type of silence before a storm.

"Phil?" Wilbur whispers.

Niki closes her eyes.

She should have never said their names.

She also should have never opened her eyes again, because Wilbur is looking more like Phil each second. Not because of the eyes. No, worse. Because she sees a boy, a boy with his arms spread open wide and flapping about in an attempt at mimicking his father's wings, and they're both running around in circles in the backyard as he tells her how she'll never have to walk anywhere ever again. He'll carry her when she's tired, when she's not tired, whenever she wants wherever she wants. They stop running around in circles flapping their arms when too much time has passed and his wings still haven't grown in, but the acceptance that it never would did.

She blinks and the memory is gone. Slipping through her fingers like sand.

"How is he?" Wilbur says. His voice wavers a bit. He hides it quickly with a cough, but Niki catches it. Niki thought she always would.

(But then a button was pressed and she realized just how untrue that was)

Niki hesitates. She thinks about the night terrors again. She almost mentions them but falters as she remembers Ranboo telling her how it was Phil who gave him a place to stay after L'manburg was blown up for the last time. How as Technoblade hibernates there's a blanket over his shoulders that wasn't there before and a stick missing from the fireplace. How he always places Niki's plate of breakfast down before the others, as if he knows of her first canon death.

He is a kind man, but that is not why he does these things.

"He misses being a father," she settles on.

Wilbur's shoulders slump. Somewhere, in a different life, Niki's hand is there, squeezing comfortingly. "Is he… is he mad at me?"

"No." She answers quickly. "He's just tired, Wilbur. We all are."

Wilbur laughs. It sounds defeated. Mournful. "Understatement of the fucking year."

He slumps against the wall and Niki is sure it's the only thing keeping Wilbur on his feet. His head hits the smooth stone when he suddenly throws his head back and laughs. Niki doesn't know if she winces from the loud crack the impact makes or from the shrill, unhinged laugh.

"I told him to kill me," Wilbur chuckles. His eyes are blinking rapidly. "I told him to fucking kill me."

(The diamond sword has collected dust. Sometimes, everyone jokes, Phil looks like he has to. Playful teasing about how he's a walking antique that should be displayed in a museum. Phil always laughs them off. But it's moments when he stands too still, alone in his thoughts for too long, that Niki wants to put him behind glass with signs that say 'do not touch,' because all it takes is one gust of wind for an artifact to shatter. But that is no way to live and Phil is not so easily breakable. Worn down a bit, rusted from the loss throughout the eons, yes - who hasn't on this forsaken server? - but not breakable)

Niki thinks she might throw up. "I know."

Wilbur looks at her. His eyes are red, but there are no tears. "You said you understood me. You get why I had to ask him to do it."

"Wilbur - "

" - And so you also understand why you have to stay here."

"What?"

"We've changed Niki," Wilbur starts. "For the worse. Don't you feel it? How that server has destroyed every cell in our body? A slow painful death eating us from the inside out until we've just withered away into someone new, someone unrecognizable?"

(Niki feels she's in a never-ending house of mirrors. Constantly encircled by reflections that are her and not her staring back, each representing different points in her life. Some are unrecognizable, stretched, or squished beyond identification, like a fuzzy memory of a girl carrying a backpack, skipping down a path she was told by a best friend would lead to a nation with yellow and black walls. Some are too terrifying, demonizing her features, giving her slits for eyes and claws for nails holding flint and steel over TNT. All of them she wants to smash)

Wilbur either ignores the horrified expression on her face or doesn't see it. "We killed our old selves as a sacrifice, an offering, to the monster we saw lurking in the edges of our mind. And once you let the monster in there's no going back. All we know from then on is to destroy, to rip apart all we once held dear with no remorse until there's just ash and dust. We thrive, no, revel in it."

(Nemesis, she names herself. Goddess of divine retribution and revenge. Maybe that's who Niki sacrifices herself to. Why she felt such an attachment to the name. A remorseless Goddess said to have led Narcissus to a pool, knowing full well he'd be too captivated to leave his reflection for food or warmth. He died there. It's no coincidence a few weeks before she lived the story herself, leading Tommy to his death in the form of a hot blast of air at the speed of light and seeing it as justice)

"I'm not having this conversation with you," she says, voice shaking. She whirls around, nearly tripping over her feet, fully willing to ignore him as she looks for an exit.

But his next words make her go still.

"Phil didn't know what I'd become. That's why he had to be the one to do it."

She winces. "Don't."

"He didn't even pull out the sword, his arms were too busy holding me, holding me, as if the shape of me still fit against his chest even though I felt so hollow, so much thinner - "

"Wilbur - "

" - he stroked my hair too. Even though it was dirty and unkempt and a mess like everything else about me and I'm pretty sure his fingers got stuck a few times he just wouldn't stop untangling each knot with such care and precision that I remembered my last thought being - "

"Wilbur - "

" - could he have brushed away all the knots and twists in my soul like this? Cleaned me up on the inside like he's doing on the outside? I thought I went crying, Niki. Maybe I did. I'll never know because all I felt was his tears ricocheting on my face - "

"Stop - "

" - he tries to wipe them off. He's cursing at himself, apologizing profusely through hiccuping sobs and, and I don't understand why he's so sorry when it feels like, like when he'd lick his fingers and scrub the grimes of our faces after we played outside too long. Do you remember that Niki - "

"I don't wanna - "

" - because I do. We'd screech so loud, saying it was disgusting and unsanitary as we slapped his hand away and ran, but he'd always catch us a second later because of his wings. I don't wanna run away this time. I'm relishing it, craving every stroke because I'm starting to go cold - "

"Please - "

" - and I wish you weren't teleported here. I wish you had died instead - "

"Wil - "

" - so you would know, so we could relate to what it feels like for the limbo to claim you. To mark you. It's like, it's like being mutilated over and over again. A mallet to your bones, a hole in your brain, everything from your skin to your tendons unraveling before you - "

"Wil listen - "

" - spilling out and about like confetti, and you, you are confetti! You're shredded pieces, everywhere and nowhere all at once, and just as the mangling begins it stops, replaced by the limbo trying to put you, no, force you back together again. It's the same sensation, but in reverse, almost a loop, a tunnel with no light at the end, and all you can do is scream - "

"WILBUR SHUT UP AND LISTEN TO ME!"

Something shatters

Wilbur falls silent.

Niki looks down. There is a puddle, slowly growing at her feet. She looks to her left. Her hand has punched through the aquarium. Blood trickles down her hand, some get over the glass. She doesn't pull her hand away.

"You never listen," she mumbles, but it seems so loud to her ears. "No one does. No one wants to. I talk and I talk and I talk and yet no response. Not even from the wind. I am a voice box stuck on rewind, repeating myself as life moves on without me."

Niki can hear her voice ring down the bakery, bouncing around with nowhere to settle. Until it does, in Niki's chest, rattling, crackling like a fuse has been lit, and perhaps it has, for her anger feels sizzling. "You used to always say how words were powerful. How they could stop wars, how they could build nations." She lets out a laugh. It burns her throat. "But what would I know?! You and everyone else never gave me a chance to use my voice! Always talking over me whatever chance you could. Even before Pogtopia you walked all over me! Even when I was screaming at top of my lungs you'd - "

She gasps. The glass presses deeper into her skin as her hand trembles. She does not feel it. "Oh primes, oh primes Wil, didn't you hear my screams? I came here screaming, Wil. I, I do know what it feels like for the void to take you. I still feel it, even now, why, why do I still feel it - "

Wilbur staggers to his feet, so quick he promptly falls. He catches himself halfway on Niki's wrist.

His hand scratches on the glass. He doesn't even flinch. Their blood mixes.

(They are one)

He doesn't even grip too tight, and yet it hurts. Stings. "You do understand," he grins. Wide, too wide for his face, that she almost expects his nose and eyes to sink into his skin to make more room. "You do, you do oh thank primes. I'm not alone in this. I've been alone for so long but now, now you're here and you understand! Oh, Niki, I'm so happy you're here."

"You're… happy, I'm here?" She mutters. "You're happy I'm dead?"

He nods frantically. "It's more than that Niki," he says. "DreamXD, whoever that man is, he's my hero for sending you here."

(Parallels between Wilbur and Dream and her and now Wilbur and Dream and DreamXD no no no she can't be them she can't she can't she won't she won't - )

"You don't mean it," she cries. "You don't mean that Wil. Say you don't mean it."

The grin, somehow, becomes wider. She realizes then his eyes don't have to disappear. They're already gone. Replaced by a black hole, too dark in the corners and its gravitational pull making it hard to look away even though she knows staring at it too long will get her sucked into an endless void.

He leans in close like he's sharing a secret. "I only wish he had sent you here sooner."

(Wilbur's life, Niki is realizing, is like a house of mirrors too. Except Wilbur has smashed every mirror. No, actually, not true. Niki sees, if she squints, that Wilbur has abandoned the sledgehammer and is observing a still intact mirror. He didn't keep the mirror depicting a little boy sitting on the steps of a home, their home, trying to play a song and failing because the guitar is too big for his body, but he refuses to buy a smaller one because "this is my Dad's guitar Niki! So, therefore, it's by default the best guitar in the world". Or the one of a father panting heavily on a couch, cursing his human legs while Niki is doubled over laughing because there is a baby fox is running on all fours around the house at 45 miles per hour who doesn't want to be put to bed. Nor the one of a leader, handing out purpose and meaning in the form of a blue and white uniform with a soft smile. No, it's the one of a man who's just pressed a button. Who long before L'manburg's destruction, always felt like he was breathing in smoke, but now kept warm by the ash and dust of his nation flying up to the red sky, it feels - for the first time in a long time - easier to breathe. Niki can't believe he didn't destroy it. He's… preserving it. Why is he preserving this version of himself of all things?)

foolish girl with dreams for a better nation, better server, better future, too much better somethings, you've ruined reality for no one but yourself. think for once about what is and not what was or could have been. he is different. changed for the worse. he's preserving it because he doesn't care about you. can't you see how happy he is over your death? how there's light in his eyes for the first time over yours being snuffed out? how he shows no sympathy in your entrapment here, forever away from Techno, Phil, and Ranboo because it benefits him. so give in and fight fight fight fight

She sees red.

Her fist collides with Wilbur's nose.

She doesn't even wait to hear the crack before she's already reeling back her arm for the next hit.

This time she aims for the jaw. She feels something split. It could be Wilbur's lip or bone. Maybe her mind. She doesn't know and she doesn't care.

What she does know is how familiar this is, having something break under her knuckles. It's easy, familiar even, throwing punch after punch, like some sort of autopilot response. Perhaps it is, for every punch is instinctive, out of body almost. No longer is there a before in the blows, only an after.

Except, that's not true. Not entirely. Because Niki is realizing why there is no before. Because before each blow there is always a struggle from your opponent. Flailing limbs trying to make contact with something, choked wheezes, an attempt to curl into a ball, and, sometimes, begging.

Wilbur does none of that. He's silent the whole time.

It's almost like he takes it willingly.

clever girl with hands too bruised, too scarred, too violent to ever be held so gently. a finger trained to pull the trigger is not meant to bear a promise ring. who's fault do you think that is? you've held back for so long, don't stop now. so give in and get revenge revenge revenge revenge

A swing at his eye. A swift kick to the ribs. A fistful of his hair so tight she could yank his scalp off if she twisted her wrist just so.

It's all a flurry of movements really, too fast for even her own eyes to catch. Half of the time she's lost on where the hits land, totally dependent on wherever the blood leaks the most and the bruises that weren't there a second ago to tell her. Eventually, the damage starts to blur, too much of his face has swelled up to spot any new marks and too many limbs bend at weird angles to differentiate what is and isn't broken, so she stops trying to guess.

Which is why she doesn't know which strike finally gets Wilbur to fall, all she knows is that he does. He doesn't even sway. One second he's on his feet and the next he's on his back.

It's kinda pathetic really, that this was her general.

For a second he's still, too still, and then he spits out a tooth. He licks his gums with a grimace, looking for the gap before finally speaking.

"I see Technoblade's been training you. Do you feel better now?"

clever girl who's seen her fair share of men with livewire tongues, spitting rogue sparks at your skin in the form of harsh words to quiet you down. do not be silenced once more. you let him speak before and it cost you a nation. this time silence him, and I will secure you a limbo without him. so give in and maim maim maim maim

She screams. She thinks she does. It's hard to tell over the deep reverberated banging of Wilbur's head against the stone floor.

The first slam simply causes blood to trickle down his forehead.

The second one caves in the front of his scalp.

The third one he's unrecognizable.

The fourth one there's nothing left to bash.

She keeps going anyway.

"Shut up," she pants between each crack and occasional splat. "Shut up shut up shut up shut up SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP."

Wilbur tries to say something. All that comes out is a gurgle, wet and sharp and loud. So very loud. And it keeps going, stringing along and along and along longer than the large chunks of skin and brain on the pavement. It shouldn't be possible, his mouth, along with everything else, is practically gone. Nothing but a small pit inside a bigger pit.

Yet it continues, getting increasingly louder in pitch.

And then she gets it.

He's scared.

clever girl of never-ending war zones, jumping from one horror to the next. this is the last one. and I know that's been said before but you can trust me. just end it and you can finally rest. wouldn't that be nice? so give in and kill kill kill kill kill

She smiles. It hurts her face.

She picks his head up from the ground one last time. She's humming, like a lullaby. Maybe it is. She's putting the baby to sleep. She knows he can't die again, but wherever he goes after this, if the limbo keeps its promise, it can't be pretty.

"I said," she laughs. "Shut up."

She brings his head down.

She blinks.

Her empty hand meets black stone slabs.

"Niki?"

She looks up and immediately regrets it. Everything is too bright, scorching, a burning gaze on every inch of her skin, but what really hurts are her eyes. She thinks they're sizzling, like actually sizzling, because her sclera feels as if it's bubbling and her iris is definitely melting into her brain and there are so many spots dancing behind her eyelids.

And then the voice, soft and familiar, speak's again.

"Do you have your stuff?"

It takes a while, and a lot of blinking, but her eyes eventually readjust.

She gasps.

The first thing she processes isn't that George and DreamXD stand just a few feet away or that it was George speaking. No, it was how absurdly colorful, everything was.

Here there was life. Life. It was like she poked her head through a kaleidoscope, what with how the specks of a rainbow illuminated itself in the clear blue water of the fountain and the sight of shimmering white quartz glistening under the sunbeams that poured through the purple-tinted windows. No longer was everything dulled around the corners and drained at the center like anything in her dreadful, cramped space of a bakery she shared with -

Oh primes.

Her bakery.

This isn't her bakery. This is Church Prime.

"She's back," DreamXD exclaims. He turns to George, bouncing on his heels excitedly as if expecting some sort of reward, but George pays him no mind/ He's too busy looking at Niki, or, more so, through her.

"What happened?" He asks.

She opens her mouth, then slams it shut.

She's alive. Dear primes, she's alive and she's back and she should be happy, cheering, jumping up and down to feel the livelihood ache in her bones but…

She looks back down at the floor. The floor should be covered in blood. Wilbur's blood, and his bits of flesh and tissue and muscle and -

Oh primes. What has she done?

Or better yet, what didn't she do?

"George," she whimpers. "I don't know what's going on. I, I don't know what's going on here."

She hopes it was her imagination. It had to have been. Otherwise, she hosted Wilbur's head up by the splits of his hair, pushed down as hard as she could and -

She wouldn't. She couldn't, not anymore at least. She left that side of herself in a gate full of slaughtered chickens as Jack demanded they try and kill Tommy again. That side of her is as dead as those chickens.

Right?

She prays so, for this is a church after all, and that means prayers have to be answered here. They have to come true. They have to.

There's a smile in DreamXD's voice when he speaks again as if he knows how much this torments her. "I sent her to hell and then I brought her back."

No.

She sobs. She looks down at her hands. Their bear and yet they feel so heavy. As if the ghost of Wilbur's blood and gore is still there, a new thick-coated layer of skin.

She tortured him. Broke him brick by brick again and again and again even as he tried to beg. Her best friend, her general, her family, begging at her feet, and she kept going, would have kept going too, with an ear-splitting grin, like it was some sort of game.

And it had felt so good to finally get a checkmate.

Wilbur is not a demon. He's just seen too much in too little time. Too much pressure on too little shoulders. Too tired to be all there. It's not an excuse for all the pain he's caused, far from it, but it shows his actions didn't come from a place of malice, but rather a cry for help. Niki knows this, she gets it, and she'll say it time and time again. But all she could think about at that moment, before the final strike, was how happy Wilbur was about her death. He deserved a piece of her mind, but not like that. Never like that.

What is wrong with her?

No, no it wasn't her. It was that place, that voice. It was a parasite, burrowing deep within her brain and planting itself in the center, telling her what to do and what to say. Telling her to slaughter left and right. It was so loud, rattling around in her head and echoing like war drums. She couldn't just ignore it, it was too much. So, no, she is free of guilt, free of responsibility, hands all clean.

But she knows that at the end of the day the host still needs to be somewhat conscious for the parasite to thrive.

Oh primes. Is this what Techno deals with every day?

Then, she jumps to her feet.

Techno, Phil, and Ranboo.

It's coming back now, that memory of fury in her eyes, that fire in her voice as she told Wil she had people to go back to. How she was willing to claw her fingers down to bone to make an exit. But that voice, that stupid stupid voice, it told her she could rest, could get revenge, and against her better judgment she listened. It caught her at a moment of weakness, Wilbur's words of memory lane, of Phil, of everything that came before and after his death, she was at a low point. And like a moth to a flame, she was there one moment and gone the next. Back to the old her.

She thought she had left that version of herself behind when she joined the Syndicate. She was so sure she was getting better with Techno, Phil, and Ranboo around.

But all it took was one voice to ruin all her progress.

Her chest constricts and her head feels heavy.

She needs to find them. She needs to tell them what she saw. She needs to tell Phil. She needs… she needs…

She just needs them.

"What did you see?" George says, snapping her out of her thoughts.

This time, her mouth has no problem moving. "George," she starts, voice trembling. "I have seen things. I... I... I have seen things. I don't know what's going on here but I don't know if I should - "

Niki gulps. It's getting so hard to breathe. She should feel thankful that she can breathe in the first place, but every inhale stings as her lungs try to remember to do a motion so foreign to her.

How long has she been down there?

She doesn't want to know.

She just wants to go home.

She walks away, backward, from the two, eyes fixated tightly on them and barely blinking. She remembers the last time she let her guard down around DreamXD. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry George. Good luck with him but I - "

She doesn't finish, because she's already out the door. She wants to run, but she's so sure her lungs would explode at the first push forward of her heel. So she walks.

And walks.

The world walks with her, with each rotation. As if they’re friends taking a stroll. As if it hadn’t cracked open and swallowed her whole, chewed up everything good in her and spat her out when she turned bitter. Returned her back to a world that didn’t change one bit while she was gone, despite her herself changing so much.

It’s like what happened to her didn’t happen at all.

And then she realizes a horrible thing.

Everyone on this server is going to see today as a normal day.

Is it bad that a part of Niki wishes something like the Green Festival could happen right now, so that they could all feel the monstrosity of today?

She stands still. Stationary, like this Earth wants her to be. She thinks she could do it, stay like this forever. She feels numb enough.

Somewhere above, a crow caws.

She burst into tears.

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