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total-dxmure · 9 months

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✦ INVISIBLE STRING THEORY →【ELLIE WILLIAMS】→ CHAPTER ONE

pairings: modern!marine ellie x reader

summary: the marines didn’t ruin ellie. ellie ruined ellie. after being medically discharged she feels lost. being sent to live with joel is more of a last ditch effort to save her and less of a fun reunion for the father-daughter duo. jackson is worlds different than chicago, but the fresh air and sprawling countrysides are a welcome reprieve. ellie finds herself finding comfort in more than just the change in scenery though. after losing your girlfriend due to an accident you feel as though you’ll never find love again- but that was before meeting ellie williams. the two of you figure out that you have more in common than just the fact that she and your girlfriend were both marines though. tethered by some invisible string, the two of you meeting has to be fate. who would have known that you were the golden ticket to ellie’s recovery?

warnings: eventual smut! lots of tension building and mutual pining. ellie falls first and hard. small town girl meets a frightening, strong ex marine. TW: talk of panic attacks, ptsd episodes and death. come for the ellie smut and stay for the plot and fluff.

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“The fact that she’s military is the only thing saving her ass right now.”

Ellie kept her head bowed down low, her hands clasped in between her legs as she hunched over in the seat, making herself as small as possible. Her knuckles were bruised and scrapped to hell, the blood already dried and crusted. Most of the blood wasn’t hers, and if she thought about that fact for too long she’d probably have an episode. Either that or she’d throw up all over the sheriff’s office.

“Boss, I really appreciate you calling me instead of booking her. You have to understand that she’s in therapy and is on a shit ton of medications. Is the guy gonna press charges. . . ?” Hearing her best friend kiss up to his boss on her behalf had the vein in her forehead twitching.

“Technically the boy was shoplifting, so I doubt he’s gonna go forward with any sort’a legal action. I know she was trying to help, but she used excessive force. Beat the poor kid black and blue. . . I mean-” The officer lowered his voice, and Ellie could hear Jesse’s chair creak as he leaned forward. “His damn tooth was knocked out.” The sheriff whispered.

She closed her eyes tight, running a shaky hand over her face. She should own up to all of this and apologize. This was her fault, so why. . . why was she just sitting there? It was like she was glued to the chair, unable to move her head up. She couldn’t look Jesse in the eye. She was ashamed of herself.

Because she smelled like greasy, unwashed hair and cigarettes, was wearing the same pair of jeans she’d worn yesterday when he invited her over to his and Dina’s for dinner, and now he was having to pick her up at the police station for starting a fight.

A pack of beer. That’s what she’d pummeled the boy over.

He couldn’t have even been her age. He looked freshly legal, and something in her fucked up mind told her that it was okay to hurt him like that. The second that the nice elderly woman behind the counter had started screaming about a man stealing from her, some sort of switch had been flipped in her brain. Loud noises always made her feel anxious, but screaming like that? She couldn’t have stopped the meltdown even if she’d wanted to. So she dropped what she was holding and ran after him. What happened afterwards was. . . well, it was a blur. She squeezed her eyes shut tight and rubbed her temples, trying hard to remember.

Her therapist called them “PTSD episodes”. Random things triggered a breakdown: loud noises, gunshots, screams, flashes of light. . . they were unavoidable. She’d lose total track of time when it happened. One second the door to Ellie’s walk-in closet was closing behind her, plummeting her in darkness, and the next she’d be laying on her back in the middle of her room, balling her eyes out. Living like this was hell, but no matter how many mind-numbing pills she was prescribed, she still found it nearly impossible to function.

She didn’t want to scare her loved ones. When Joel called she just. . . lied. It made her feel dirty. It was wrong and she knew that, but it was better than the alternative. Being a liar was better than being a broken failure.

“Yeah, I’m doing great. My therapist is on to something, I think.”

“Come on, rambo. Let’s get you to bed.” Jesse placed a gentle hand on her shoulder, knowing better than to pat her on the back like he used to.

Ellie knew it hurt him to see her flinch under his touch. She swallowed back bile and stood up, practically having to drag herself out of the officers office. She couldn’t look at him. She couldn’t thank him or- or anything.

But then he did that thing. . . he thanked Ellie.

Ellie didn’t give a shit about the military discounts or the cheaper car insurance- she got a nice cushy check from the military every month just for breathing. She didn’t want pity or thanks simply because she didn’t deserve it.

“Thank you for your service, Williams.” The sheriff’s voice reminded her of Joel’s. For some reason that made it hurt even worse.

Still, her muscles tightened, and she worked hard to straighten her posture.

“It was my privilege.” It was a well rehearsed response. It didn’t even sound like her voice when she had said it though, and it scared her.

As she followed Jesse out to his truck, she tried to ascertain whether she was just beginning to disassociate or whether or not this was all just another strange side effect from her meds.

She blinked and suddenly she was already situated in the car, Jesse on the main road to get the both of them back home. He had the radio turned down to just a hum, his sleepy eyes glued to the road in front of him. The clock on his dashboard told her that it wasn’t just “late” anymore, but “morning” now. Ellie sat up suddenly, her heart pounding as she tried to map out exactly how many minutes she had just lost.

“Fuck.” She breathed, pressing her palms against her eyes.

She needed to call her therapist sometime today. She needed. . . She needed a lower dose of medication. There’s no way any of this was normal.

“Have you eaten?” Jesse asked, turning his head to finally look at her.

Ellie wished that he felt inconvenienced by her. Anger would be better than pity, but the look in his eyes was anything but annoyance. Jesse looked like he was close to tears. He pulled his bottom lip between his teeth, and Ellie felt called to reach her hand out and place it on his shoulder. She wasn’t a very touchy person these days (and it’s not like she was to begin with), but he needed it.

“Not in a couple of hours.” Ellie answered him, letting her fingers dig into the soft fabric of his shirt.

He nodded and cleared his throat, sitting up a little straighter. When Ellie dropped her hand and turned to look out the passenger side window, she could have sworn he lifted his arm to hurriedly wipe at his eyes. She couldn’t be sure though. . . seeing as she was now legally blind in her left eye. The wonky eye and the thin scar that started in the middle of her forehead and ended on her brow bone were the only physical reminders that she had of the explosion.

It seemed so miniscule compared to all of the shit that was going on in her head. She’d much rather have a destroyed body than a brain that didn’t work right anymore.

“How about you sleep in the guest bedroom? Dina’s probably worried sick about the both of us. Let’s. . . let’s spend the day together. Yeah?” It sounded like he was pleading with her.

There was a brief moment of heavy silence. No matter how much of a burden she saw herself as, the thought of going home right now frightened her. Ellie was terrified that she was going to end up all alone in this world, but she couldn’t stop pushing everyone away. It’s almost as if. . . she knew that she was bound to self-destruct at some point. She didn’t want anyone to see her like that.

“She’s going to kill me.” Ellie groaned out, dramatically banging her head against the headrest.

Jesse’s lips twitched up into a smile, but he was quick to try and mask it. “Nah. Dina? Mad at you for getting arrested at one thirty in the morning? No way.” His tone was sarcastic, and Ellie appreciated the fact that Jesse could still joke under circumstances like this. It made things feel almost normal. Almost.

Ellie winced, dragging a battered and bruised hand over her face. She had no idea why she’d been at the gas station picking up a bag of pretzels and a pack of ding-dongs that late at night. A documentary about the recently discovered Exo-planet was on the Discovery channel, and she’d actually worked up an appetite after it was over. She missed acting her age. Maybe that’s why she ended up getting into her Jeep. She was tired of feeling nostalgic and actually wanted to do something for herself. As minuscule as grabbing snacks from the gas station down the street was, it still felt out of the ordinary for her. Special.

Dina was sitting on the couch when the pair slunk into the house, walking on their tip toes in the hopes that the creaking wooden floors wouldn’t wake up JJ. Ellie froze in the entryway, green eyes wide as she took in the female’s crossed arms and death-glare. She was in trouble, which meant that Jesse was in trouble as well by association.

“Do you know what time it is?” Dina whisper-yelled, throwing her arm in the direction of the clock on the wall.

Ellie squinted her one good eye, noting that it was now four in the morning. She’d lost three hours. She should have been passed out on her prescribed sleeping pills by now, plagued by vivid nightmares. Instead she was intruding on her two best friends, and for what? ‘A pack of beer’, she reminded herself. A god damn pack of fuckin’ beer.

Ellie’s mouth went dry, her lips moving but no words escaping her. How many times had she apologized to Dina since she’d gotten home after the accident? Still, her best friend’s anger was better than Jesse’s pity. The sleeves of Ellie’s flannel tightened around her biceps as she crossed her arms over her chest, mirroring Dina’s posture as if to protect herself. She slipped a hand up, covering her neck anxiously.

“I’m getting better, D. I’ll schedule an emergency meeting with my therapist and-” Ellie sounded pathetic, even to her own ears.

What she was doing couldn’t be called living. Ellie was simply existing and not doing a very good job at it either. She was tired of being tired. She blinked her misty eyes, turning to face the kitchen. She refused to cry. Once she started she couldn’t be sure that she’d be able to stop.

Jesse and Dina’s shoes were all neatly laid out by the front door and JJ’s baby bag was sitting on the dining room table. This was a family that she had just burdened. Her eyes snagged on JJ’s highchair, and then the guilt was building right back up in her chest.

Guilt and jealousy.

Ellie had once had hopes of starting her own family eventually. When did she lose her grasp on that? On her lifelong dreams and aspirations? She wanted to help people- save people- so when had she become the one that needed saving? The marines hadn’t ruined Ellie. Ellie had ruined Ellie.

“No, you’re not.” Dina said simply, her voice sounding thick with emotion. “Ellie, look at me.” Her voice was commanding despite her sadness.

Ellie’s eyes fell to the floor, but she turned her head to face Dina, green eyes flickering up to her face. Bottom lip quivering, brown eyes misty- Dina looked miserable.

“You’re not getting better.” She whispered to Ellie, shaking her head to drive the point home. It looked like the words physically hurt for her to say.

Every excuse that she could have given dissipated. Suddenly she felt naked, utterly exposed. Every nasty, jagged scar was on full display. How many times had she said that to the people that cared about her?

“I’m getting better.” “I actually feel a bit better today.” “You don’t have to worry about me. The meds are really working this time.” Ellie wasn’t sure when it happened but she had become a liar. A damn good one too. Dina was looking at her now though, really looking at her, and Ellie’s face crumpled.

“Fuck.” Ellie whispered to herself, moving her hands to cover her face.

Jesse stepped behind Ellie, wrapping his arms around her tightly, resting his cheek on the top of her head. A sob caught in Ellie’s chest and she strangled it before it could escape her. She couldn’t lose it. She couldn’t let her shoulders sag, couldn’t allow herself to feel everything in front of her best friends.

“I called Joel,” Dina finally said, leaning against the back of the couch, her knuckles going white with how hard she gripped the leather. “And he bought you a plane ticket. You’re flying out tomorrow.”

“No,” Ellie was already shaking her head before Dina had even finished her sentence. “How could you do this?” She felt the betrayal like a slap in the face. Her lips parted, eyes wide in silent desperation.

Please let this be a nightmare.

Her hand desperately flew to her arm, giving it a sharp pinch. The floor didn’t fall out from under her. She didn’t sit up sweating in her tangled sheets. This was actually happening. Actually real.

“You’re flailing, Ellie. We thought that eventually you’d level out,” Dina tried, taking a few steps towards Ellie and her husband. “But you’re only getting worse.”

“I’m getting better.” The well rehearsed line was the only thing she could think to utter. She prayed that eventually she could convince herself of that too. If she said the words enough times then maybe, eventually, they would become her reality. Perhaps she could somehow manifest her recovery.

“When was the last time you ate a solid meal? You barely touched your plate the other night. And I know you aren’t eating the food that Jesse drops off for you.” Dina was pointing out her flaws as if she didn’t see them all herself.

A full stomach meant nausea.

“When was the last time you showered?” The dark haired girl questioned.

Showering meant closing herself up into a tight space. It meant getting naked- seeing her scars. Remembering what happened to her and the rest of her unit.

“We know how this will end, Ellie. I don’t care if you hate me for the rest of my life for calling Joel. I refuse to lose you like this.” Dina’s voice quivered as she spoke, but her eyes hardened. She was resolute about her decision.

Jesse’s arms tightened around Ellie and suddenly they no longer felt like a comfort but a prison. She needed air. Needed to call Joel and apologize. Needed to tell him that she was fine. She was fine. She would be just fine.

“I can’t breathe.” Ellie managed to whisper out, knees buckling from underneath her. It felt like the world was finally swallowing her up whole.

She was a failure. She’d failed Jesse, Dina, JJ and Joel. Why couldn’t she just be normal again? Why couldn’t she just fucking breathe.

Jesse let go of Ellie as she began gasping for air, helping to sit her down on the cold hardwood floor. It felt like everything around her had slowed down to a crawl, but her mind- it had sped up to a breakneck pace. She couldn’t turn it off. Couldn’t turn off the thoughts and the images and the feelings.

She’d killed her unit. It was her fault that they all died. They had all been taken home in body bags, and what had Ellie gotten? A fucking government issued check every month that she blew on booze and a Purple Heart that collected dust.

“D, get the medication that’s in the cabinet and a glass of water.” Jesse called out to his wife. It sounded like they were underwater. She was drowning.

“She’s ripping her fucking hair out, Jesse.” Dina called out in panic, rifling through the medicine cabinet with shaky hands. Her best friend gripped her wrists, forcing them back down to her sides. Strands of Auburn hair were tangled up between her clammy fingers.

JJ must have woken up because of the comotion. She could hear him crying from the other room. Screaming for his mother.

Blood. So much blood. It’s coming out of her mouth, what do I do? What do I do about internal bleeding again? Wasn’t I trained for this? Breathe. She’s not breathing. Are there other landmines? Can I drag her to safety? Where is everyone else? H-How. . . How can I help?

“Swallow, Ellie.” Dina was crouched in front of her, forcing her lips open to slide a pill onto her tongue.

“It was my fault. I-I fucking,” She choked out, gagging at the taste of the pill that was beginning to dissolve on her tongue. “I led them out there. Oh, fuck.”

Dina was beginning to panic, pushing the plastic cup up to Ellie’s mouth in the hopes that she would drink. She did, choking back the water in deep gulps. The water helped to fill the aching pit that was beginning to grow in her stomach. Water poured down the sides of Ellie’s lips, but she kept drinking. Deep, thoughtful gulps of ice cold water.

“Should I call an ambulance?” Dina finally asked, her eyes flickering between Ellie and her husband.

“No. No hospital. Just go sit with JJ, alright? I’ve got her.” Jesse told her, letting go of Ellie’s hands so that he could wrap an arm around her waist, hugging her against his chest so that she couldn’t stand up.

Ellie blinked and Dina was gone, the sound of her bare feet jogging down the hall was the only reminder of her presence.

“Joel isn’t going to judge you, Ellie. We all just want to help. So let us, alright?” She knew he was telling the truth, but the thought of Joel seeing her as lesser-than killed her. She would crumble completely if Joel looked at her with the same sorrowful eyes that Jesse did.

Joel was newly retired though, and the last thing he needed was to put up with his PTSD-ridden adopted daughter. She was tired of feeling like a burden, but where had standing on her own two feet gotten her? Arrested on multiple occasions? So she relented. She surrendered to the idea of sleeping in her old bedroom and taking up space in Joel’s too-big ranch home.

“Okay.” Ellie croaked, feeling the medication kicking in. Sleep. All Ellie wanted to do was sleep.

“Okay?” Jesse repeated back to her, needing to know that she was serious. The last thing he probably wanted to do was wrestle Ellie onto the plane. He wasn’t entirely sure he could overpower her when it came down to it.

“Okay.”

Grief was an uphill battle. One minute you’re laughing with your friends and then the next you’re laid up in bed, tossing and turning with the realization that what could have been was now an impossibility. You missed Abby. You missed the life that you could have had with her. All of the memories and milestones you missed out on were soul crushing the second that the sun went down.

You were left in your empty house, laid up in the bed that the two of you once shared. Her scent had long since washed out of her pillow. All that was left were pictures and a gravesite that you still couldn’t bring yourself to visit. Life doesn’t stop when you lose somebody though. People eventually become less forgiving as the months pass by.

So you squeezed your eyes closed and hoped that sleep would come sooner rather than later. You had an early start tomorrow for work, and the last thing you wanted was to show up with puffy eyes.

Life was getting better though. The pain wasn't as debilitating as it had been months ago, and for that you were thankful.

One step at a time, one day at a time.

You were still breathing, which was exactly what Abby would have wanted for you. The overwhelming grief hadn't killed you, no matter how many times you'd secretly prayed that it would. You were still here and that was good enough.

For now, at least.

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wzrd-wheezes · 5 months

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Game On - Sirius Black x Reader Smut

Request: what do you think of established relationship sirius black x fem!reader edging + desperate banging (maybe overstimulation done by who u choose to be the one that snaps first as a sort of “punishment” even tho they’re both in this together 💀)

sirius and reader share the same braincells and are in a very lovey-dovey relationship but one day they feel bored and want to try adding a little ✨spice✨ into their relationship, so they come up with this plan to shake things up a bit: they get dressed up to look their best and go to a club/pub/etc where they flirt with other people while looking at each other till one of them snaps and drags the other to a bathroom or another secluded place and desperately go at it with each other

AN - one thing i love about you guys is that when i ask for smut requests, i know that you'll deliver!! Also, if you guys would like, i can write a part 2/ alternat ending where sirius loses the competition and ends up in the same situation as reader…?

Warnings: this starts off fine but by the end gets pretty filthy. Nothing too weird but -contains: light bondage, edging, slight overstimulation. 3.3k words

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Sirius asked as her zipped up his girlfriend’s dress. They were stood in front of the full-length mirror in their bedroom, and he gazed at her reflection as he pressed a soft kiss to her shoulder.

“I’m sure. It was my idea after all.”

“I know. I’m just making sure.”

They had been inseparable since their school days, the two of them practically joined at the hip. Yet, within the comfort of their connection, a desire for something new lingered. It was something that they had mulled over countless times, the idea of injecting some excitement into their relationship. When Y/N mentioned the idea, Sirius readily agreed.

The agenda for the evening was a competition of sorts. They were going to head to one of the local bars, each of them going their separate ways upon arrival. It was a test of wills to see who would crack with jealously as they both flirted and danced with strangers.

“You’re going down, Black.” Y/N smiled cheekily, pecking him on the lips as she grabbed her bag and headed to the door.

“Game on.” he grinned.

The bar that they had chosen was heaving. From the moment they entered, they were enveloped in a kaleidoscope of colours. Neon lights danced across the walls, casting vibrant hues of pink, purple and blue onto the mass of people dancing. The room itself wasn’t very big, a bar lined one wall, and a large dancefloor took centre stage, tall tables filled the space in between. It was large enough so that Y/N and Sirius could distance themselves, but small enough that they could constantly keep an eye on each other.

They both headed towards the bar, eager to get a drink. Sirius went to one end, Y/N to the other. Y/N slipped onto one of the tall bar stools, resting her chin in her hand as she waited for the bartender to come and take her order.

“What can I get for you, gorgeous?” the bartender asked, leaning forward slightly. Caught off guard, Y/N felt a faint flush creep onto her cheeks.

“Surprise me.” she replied playfully.

His grin widened at her response as he accepted the challenge. With practiced ease, he made her a cocktail, his hands moving gracefully as he poured and mixed with precision. As he slid the drink across the bar towards her, their fingers brushed briefly, sending a jolt of electricity coursing through her veins.

Sirius was at the other end of the bar lounged against the polished surface; whisky glass perched in his ring clad fingers. His gaze swept across the crowded room planning his next move. As he sipped his drink, his attention was momentarily diverted to his girlfriend at the other side of the bar, engaged in animated conversation with the bartender. ‘Damn, she’s quick,’ he thought as a flicker of emotion crossed his features before he masked it with a playful grin, catching her eye and raising his glass in a silent toast. He quickly downed the rest of his drink before ordering another.

It didn’t take long for him to find someone to flirt with, as he scanned the room he locked eyes with a girl sat alone at one of the tall tables towards the dance floor. Grabbing his drink, he made his way over. Sirius flashed a charming smile as he approached the girl, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

“Mind if I join you?” he had already pulled out the chair before giving her time to answer.

“Depends,” the girl looked up, her eyes sparkling with amusement, “Are you planning on buying me a drink?”

“Of course.” Sirius replied with a mock-indignant tone, “What’s your poison?”

By the time Sirius headed back to the bar to buy their drinks, Y/N had already left. He glanced around for her, expecting her to be still chatting to the bartender, but she wasn’t there. Sirius frowned a little, scouring the bar for sight of his girlfriend as he waiting for their drinks to be made. He found her as he headed back to the table, she was sat directly opposite from him on the other side of the room. Her head was thrown back as she laughed at whatever it was that whoever she was talking to said.

As Sirius approached the bar to order their drinks, he realised that Y/N was no longer there. Confusion flickered across his features as he had half-expected her to still be engaged in conversation with the bartender.

Frowning slightly, Sirius cast a searching gaze around the bar, his eyes darting from one corner to the next in a bid to locate his girlfriend. It wasn’t until he got back to the table that he spotted her, seated across the room from him, her laugher ringing out amidst the lively atmosphere. A pang of jealously stirred within him as he watched Y/N interact with the man she was sat with. He took a sip of his drink, determined not to let her win their little competition.

As Sirius sat back down, the girl’s eyes lit up with amusement, her lips curling into a playful smile as she took in his arrival.

“Well, well, look who’s back,” she teased, “I was starting to think you’d abandoned me for good.”

Sirius chuckled, sliding into the chair opposite her with a grin, “Sorry about that. Had to navigate through the crowd of admirers just to get our drinks.”

“Well, I’m flattered you braved the crowds for me.”

Sirius let out an amused laugh, but he couldn’t keep his attention off of Y/N. Although the conversation between Sirius and the girl flowed effortlessly, each sentence punctuated with flirtatious banter, he spent every spare second eyeing up his girlfriend.

As soon as Y/N saw that Sirius had gone to sit with another girl, she knew that she had to take it up a level. There was absolutely no way that she was giving him the satisfaction of winning. After her short conversation with the bartender, another man had approached her and offered to buy her a drink which she politely accepted. He led her over to the table that he was sat on, and much to Y/N’s amusement, it was directly opposite from Sirius.

“You have a gorgeous smile, by the way.” the man said, reaching a hand out to touch her arm.

“Flattery will get you everywhere, won’t it?” Y/N smirked.

“I certainly hope so.”

As Y/N and Sirius found themselves engrossed in conversations across the crowded club, a subtle game of jealousy unfolded between them, each vying to capture the other’s attention. Y/N had really upped the flirtatiousness, laughing slightly louder than usual, leaving lingering touches on the man’s arm. She couldn’t help but look over at Sirius, her heart racing with anticipation at the thought of his reaction.

It was only when Y/N saw Sirius lean in a little too closely to the girl that she knew she needed to up her game.

“Wanna dance?” she asked.

He had introduced himself, but the name slipped from her mind almost as soon as he said it. Adam? Alex? Aaron. It didn’t matter much to her, to be honest. She wasn’t particularly invested in him, merely seeing him as a means to an end in her quest to provoke Sirius. She couldn’t help but feel a twinge of guilt for his unwitting role in her scheme. Nevertheless, Adam/Alex/Aaron seemed eager enough to accept her invitation to dance.

As they moved to the music, Y/N couldn’t help but notice the way that Sirius’s gaze lingered on them from across the room. With each movement, she could feel his eyes burning into her, a silent testament to the effect that she was having on him.

Feeling a surge of exhilaration, Y/N leaned in closer to her dance partner, her movements growing more playful with each passing moment. She glanced over his shoulder and locked eyes with Sirius, a mischievous smile tugging at the corner of her lips.

Sirius, quite frankly, had had enough. Still locking eyes with his girlfriend, he picked up his glass and drained the contents before turning to the girl (who he had now found out was called Jess) and asked her to dance.

“Fancy a dance then?”

“You don’t strike me as much of a dancer.” she narrowed her eyes at him skeptically.

“Guess you’ll have to find out then, won’t you?” he replied, extending his hand towards her.

Y/N and Sirius were now only a few meters apart, both dancing with their respective partners. With each playful twirl and flirtatious touch, Y/N felt a pang of jealously gnaw at her insides. Her jaw clenched slightly as she fought to keep her composure. As the music pounded, Y/N’s movements became more deliberate, each step calculated to catch Sirius’s attention. Just as she was sure that Sirius was near to reaching breaking point, she saw red. A fleeting look over at Sirius had revealed the girl’s hands tangled in his hair as she reached up on her tiptoes to whisper something in his ear. Sirius had laughed, his hand resting on her waist. With her heart pounding in her chest, she approached Sirius, tugging sharply on his arm.

“You win.”

“Well, I hate to say I told you so.” Sirius teased, his tone laced with playful arrogance, “But I did warn you that you wouldn’t stand a chance against me.”

Y/N rolled her eyes at him as she grabbed a hold of his hand and led him out of the bar.

“You’re awfully eager to get home for someone that has quite a hefty forfeit waiting for them.” he mused, “you did remember that part of the game, right?”

“As if I could forget.” Y/N fumbled with her keys, trying to unlock their front door, “It’s all I’ve been thinking about all night.”

“Yeah? Did you get jealous, baby?” Sirius kicked the front door shut behind him, swiftly pressing Y/N against the wall, “You were trying so hard to get me to bite, weren’t you?”

Sirius had suddenly switched, his eyes darkening as he pressed himself against her. Y/N’s head was tipped back against the wall as he pressed sloppy, desperate kisses up the collum of her neck.

“You better head upstairs, you’ve got a long night ahead of you, gorgeous.”

Within minutes of being in their bedroom, Sirius had her naked, and spread out on the bed, her hand expertly tied to the headboard. He on the other hand, was fully clothed, save for his white dress shirt that was unbuttoned halfway down his chest revealing the tattoos that adorned his skin. He stood at the edge of their bed, staring down at her cockily.

“Poor girl.” he tutted, “You wanted to win so bad, didn’t you? Didn’t want to be the one tied up and teased when we got home, did you? Was a silly idea from you, really, because you were never going to win.”

“I was close.” Y/N argued, “You nearly snapped first. ‘Saw it in your eyes when I was dancing.”

“Mhm. I didn’t like that he had his hands all over you. That’s my job.” Sirius said, “I almost feel bad for him –s pending his night talking to you when all you could think about all night was how good I was going to fuck you when we got home.”

Y/N whined, tugging against her restraints. Sirius just chuckled, kneeling down on the edge of the bed, nudging her legs open.

“That’s right, isn’t it? I bet every time he touched you, all you could think about was me. How I’d be making you beg for me as soon as we got home.”

“Sirius, please.”

“This wet already?” he slid a finger through her folds, “Were you soaked all night just thinking about me?”

Y/N groaned and nodded. She knew Sirius would get like this if he won and she would be lying if she said that she wasn’t enjoying every single second of it.

“Y-yes, Sirius, been thinking about you all night.”

He smirked as he pushed one of his fingers inside of her, eliciting a soft moan from her lips. He pumped it inside a few times before slowly adding another one.

“So eager for me.” he murmured, “It’s going to be a little while before I let you come though.”

“I know...” Y/N whispered, “Just, don’t stop. Please.”

Sirius didn’t need to be told twice. He had no intentions of stopping any time soon. Dipping his head down to meet the sensitive flesh, he licked a slow deliberate stripe over her clit. Y/N struggled, yanking against her restraints, desperate to weave her hands through his hair. When Sirius pulled away, her hips bucked up instinctively, eager to have his touch.

“How many times do you think I need to edge you before you go completely dumb for me?” Sirius asked, sickly sweet smile on his face, “Usually five does the trick doesn’t it? But tonight, you seem so desperate already. I don’t think it’ll take that many at all.”

“Please. Not five.” she whimpered, looking down at him pleadingly.

“No?”

Sirius sat up, raking a hand through his dark hair as he reached down into the box that they kept tucked under their bed. Y/N’s eyes widened, knowing exactly what he was searching for. She heard it before she saw it, the soft buzzing sound that filled the room. Sirius pressed the vibrator gently against her clit, resuming his previous position and sliding two fingers back inside of her.

“Good girl.” he cooed, “Feel good, baby?”

Y/N nodded, her head tipped back against the pillows, mouth slightly open. Sirius turned the vibrator up notch, causing a soft moan to fall from her lips. The girl’s hips rocked forward onto Sirius’s fingers, earning a smirk from him.

“Tell me when you get close.”

A few moments passed, the motion of her hips becoming quicker, trying to meet the rhythm of Sirius’s thrusts.

“C-close.” she gasped, her eyes screwing shut, “Can I come?”

“Nope.”

Sirius turned the vibrator off and removed his fingers. Y/N whimpered at the loss of stimulation, frowning down at her boyfriend.

“Don’t look so disappointed. You knew this was going to happen when we decide to do our little competition,” Sirius nipped at the skin of her inner thigh, making her flinch, “You picked the punishments, baby. You really thought you were going to win, didn’t you? Wanted to have me all tied up and desperate?”

“I’ll win next time. Just hated how she was touching you.”

“Next time?” Sirius cocked his head at her, “You’re very confident for someone who’s all tied up right now.”

“Shut u-”

Y/N didn’t get chance to finish her sentence as Sirius switched the vibrator on and pressed it firmly back against her clit.

“Remember your manners.”

Sirius continued his routine of playing around with the settings out the vibrator while simultaneously fucking his girlfriend with his fingers. He knew exactly what got her going so it was no surprise that a few minutes later she was thrashing around on the bed begging him to keep going.

“No.”

“Please, Sirius.”

“I said no.”

He pressed his fingers upwards, hitting her just right, getting her just teetering on the edge of orgasm before quickly switching the vibrator off and leaving her empty once more.

“Getting so wet for me, darling.” He held his fingers up so that she could see. Her wetness had coated his fingers and Sirius smiled proudly as he showed them to her, “Wanna taste?”

Before she could reply, he pushed his fingers passed her lips, now slightly swollen from her biting down on them. She groaned, taking them into her mouth and swirling her tongue around his digits.

“Dirty girl.” he said, taking his fingers out and guiding them back inside of her pussy. Just as he did before, her brought her to the edge again. And again.

By the fourth time she was denied orgasm, her skin was glistening with sweat, her hips bucking up erratically each time he threated to remove his fingers. Her lips were read and bitten, her breath coming out in short bursts.

“Sirius, please, please just let me come.”

He ignored her, lazily drawing circles over her sensitive clit with his thumb.

“Fuck. Sirius, please. God, I need it.”

“But you sound so pretty when you beg, baby. Would be such a shame if I stopped now...” he let his voice trail off, taking in her frustrated expression for a moment before continuing, “But, seen as you asked so nicely...”

He stood up and unbuttoned the rest of his shirt, sliding it over his toned arms and removing it. Not quite being done with the teasing, he decided to take his time getting undressed, leaving his girlfriend laying tied up and needy on the bed as she watched. He neatly folded his shirt and placed it on the chair in the corner of the room. Smirking, he stood at the foot of the bed, deft fingers removing his belt and dropping it to the floor with a clatter, he shoved his trousers and boxers down and took his cock into his hand, pumping it a few times.

“God, you look fucking gorgeous.” he all but pounced on top of her, nuzzling his face into her neck.

It was as it something had switched in his brain, the teasing and tormenting now long forgotten as some primal urge took over. He needed to be inside her. His lips collided with hers, the kiss hungry and urgent. He undid her restraints with one hand, not even breaking contact with her lips.

He lined himself up with her entrance, urging her to wrap her legs around his waist as he pushed his way inside. Their moans mixed together as he entered. Having use of her hands back, Y/N couldn’t wait to touch him. Her hands moving rapidly up to tangle in his hair. Sirius rested his forehead against hers as he thrust his hips, the chain that hung from his neck dangling in her face, the cool metal cold against her flushed skin.

“You getting close, love?” Sirius asked, feeling his girlfriend tense up around him.

“Y-yeah. So close.” she let out a ragged breath, burying her face in the crook of his neck.

“Come for me, baby.”

Sirius increased his pace, driving her once more to the edge of orgasm, however, this time, he didn’t stop as she reached her peak, maintaining the steady rhythm of his thrusts as her orgasm came crashing down. She dragged her nails down his back causing him to let out a gruff moan as she convulsed around him.

“That’s my girl.”

“S-sensitive, Sirius. Fuck.” Y/N wriggled around on the bed, her body burning with the aftermath of her orgasm.

“Keep going, baby. You wanted this, yeah? Spent all that time begging me to let you come.” he taunted, “Want you to come again f’me. Want you to come at the same time as me. You can do that, can’t you?”

Y/N nodded quickly, grabbing the back of Sirius’s neck and pulling him down to kiss her. He smiled into the kiss, his hips snapping against hers as he chased his own high. His moans grew louder as she clenched around him, her hips rocking in time with his.

“Fuck, you feel so good. Always feel so good f’me.” he growled, “Gonna come inside you, baby. Gonna fill you up.”

Y/N’s chest heaved as she rapidly approached her peak once again. She could feel Sirius growing closer and close with each movement. The roll of his hips started to stutter and he sunk his teeth into the flesh between her shoulder and neck and he climaxed. Y/N followed suit, once again wrapping her legs around him, drawing him as close as she possibly could.

They both collapsed in a sweaty heap on the bed. Sirius reached over to brush her hair out of her face, propping himself up on one elbow as he gazed lovingly at her.

“Good game?” he reached down to catch her lips sweetly with his.

“Good game.”

#sirius black #sirius black smut #sirius black x reader #sirius black x reader smut #marauders era

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butchcarmy · 7 months

Text

ALEXITHYMIA CH 2: alcohol, garlic, and lipstick

Roommate AU: Carmy Berzatto x Reader (R18)

ao3 link ch 1 ch 3 ch 4

Summary: Carmy can’t put into words how he feels about his roommate. It’s only been a couple months, but here he is looking forward to going home and sharing a smoke with them. That’s all it is, though. There are no underlying feelings, none at all, even if everyone around him has something to say about it.

Or: Carmy is repressed as ever, but through the combined power of vulnerability, weed, and the horny, Carmy too can find love.

tags for this ch: alcohol use, throwing up, semi-permanent lipstick, accidentally embarrassing carmy in front of all his coworkers

Chapter 2: alcohol, garlic, and lipstick (8k)

He doesn’t get to see them for a couple days after that night on the couch.

This is more the rhythm he’s used to—early mornings and late nights, out of the house so long he never sees them. The next several days blur together into what feels like one very, very long day. When he sleeps, he doesn’t dream. It often feels as if he didn’t sleep at all.

Their past exchange haunts him. He catches himself slipping, lost in thoughts as he watches the pot simmer. They’ve never had any sort of conversation like that before. Sure, they didn’t really talk about anything, but…

But in that same vein, Carmy can’t stop thinking about it. He wonders if they’re thinking about it, too. The thought feels like a tangled ball of yarn in the pit of his stomach, writhing and messy. He shouldn’t be thinking about it—they’re just roommates, after all.

He’s restlessly worried about that moment on the couch, and yet, he can’t even muster up the words as to why.

Because if you finally say it, it’ll all be real, he thinks vaguely, somewhat hysterically to himself, and that’s where it always ends.

Wednesday evening, he comes in from home exhausted as ever. Nothing new. He feels the strain in his wrist when he shoves his shitty front door open—obviously overdid it in the kitchen. After shoving his sneakers off, he flicks the lights on in the kitchen, and he spots a bright pink sticky note on the counter.

Now that’s new.

He walks up to it, squinting at the pink that’s almost neon under the fluorescents. It’s a note from his roommate.

hey carmy, it reads, scribbled on in pen. im going out with friends tonight, so I won’t be back until later + leftovers in the fridge if you want any :)

Carmy makes a small noise of acknowledgement to himself. Picks up the note, puts it back down.

Running a hand through sweaty hair, he opens the fridge. It’s full of ingredients, perhaps far too many for a guy who barely cooks for himself. Ironically enough, it’s the one who doesn’t cook for a living who keeps the fridge stocked. There's a lot of miscellaneous sauces, near empty coffee creamers, and mysterious tupperwares.

He spots a new tupperware that has another pink sticky note on it, so he grabs that one out of the fridge.

He pops it open. There’s condensation on the inside of the lid, and it drips onto the floor. Inside sits pasta, potatoes, chicken, onions, and peppers, all cooked into a cheap, yet harmonious meal. It’s a familiar instant pot recipe.

It tastes familiar, too. The ingredients together taste like home. He’s not sure if it even tastes like his home, although surely his mom cooked something like this. As he stews over the flavors in his mouth, Italian seasoning, garlic, and black pepper, he wonders if maybe this apartment is starting to feel like home.

The thought is so ridiculous he shakes his head to himself, but…

It feels warm coming home to someone. He can’t deny that he likes that feeling. Maybe he’s settling into this place more than he thought. Maybe he’s…getting more used to having a roommate than he expected.

Maybe I’ll see them tomorrow, he thinks as he stares at his dark bedroom ceiling. He’s so sleepy he can’t even help himself from thinking about them. The lethargy always goes full blast as soon as his back hits the mattress.

Graciously, he doesn’t dream when he sleeps. Unfortunately, he wakes back up again in only a matter of hours.

When he reluctantly wakes up and squints at his phone, he sighs. 1:14 am. Slapping his phone back down on his side table, he stubbornly shuts his eyes in an attempt to go back to bed. It would’ve been too nice if his body let him sleep throughout the night.

Then, there’s the sound of the door opening.

He listens to the familiar sound of their footsteps against their old hardwood floor. It’s admittedly a little strange—it’s usually the other way around, with Carmy coming back home so late they’re already asleep. Except for this time.

They’re in the kitchen, he deduces, carefully listening. It’s easy to hear everything, especially in the quiet of night. As he closes his eyes again, listening, he imagines them.

The sound of the fridge opening. No, the freezer—it always squeaks when it opens. It shuts. Yes, now that’s the fridge door. He imagines them looking into the fridge just like he was a couple of hours ago, tilting their head thoughtfully to the side. He’s not sure if they know that they do that.

By all means, it should be disruptive, the way they’re opening and shutting cabinets in the kitchen. And yet, as he lays there, snuggled drowsily into his sheets, it starts to sound like a lullaby. He listens to them, thinking of them cooking, and he begins to drift to sleep.

“Fuck—fuck! Shit shit shit—”

There’s a sharp yelp, and Carmy’s jumping out of bed.

If he’s being honest, he probably wasn’t actually going to fall back asleep so easily anyway. He rarely ever does.

He stumbles into the brightly lit kitchen, dressed in sweatpants and a baggy t-shirt. The lights are so bright that he’s squinting, struggling to adjust.

“Sorry if I woke you up, there was a roach,” they explain meekly before he can think of what to say. They’re standing there, bottle of roach killer in their hand.

Carmy looks down. As expected, there’s a big dead roach, sitting in a pale pool of roach killer.

“I…see.” He yawns, a big one that makes the corners of his eyes tear up. “You didn’t wake me up, I was already awake. You just got back?”

“Mhm,” they reply, reaching for some paper towels, and that’s when Carmy really notices their outfit. Black, flashy, clearly meant for a night out at a bar. Dark colors always looked good on them. Their makeup matches, dark and smudged around their eyes. Seeing them dressed up like this makes it nearly impossible to deny how much he likes looking at them.

He in particular likes the plunging neckline on their thin shirt, dipping right down their chest.

Stop stop stop, he thinks suddenly, tearing his eyes away. He’s lucky they’re not looking at him, instead preoccupied with throwing away the roach corpse on the floor. He looks around almost a little frantically to find something, anything else to talk about.

“What’s this?” Carmy asks, peering into the pan on the stovetop.

“I, like, really want garlic bread right now.” They lean onto the counter, looking at the pan with him. “So I was making garlic bread. But then that fucking roach came and killed my vibe.”

This is when Carmy notices that they’re rather drunk.

“Huh,” he says. “Isn’t this, uh, just a piece of bread?”

“Oh.” They pause, lifting the bread gingerly with one finger. “Um, this is so totally a piece of bread. No butter. No nothing.” They start laughing then, leaning harder onto the counter and covering their face. “Fuck, that is so dumb.”

“You were getting there,” he comments, unable to resist an amused smile.

“I couldn’t find the garlic powder,” they admit, face turning into a frown. “Or, like, anything else. But I need garlic bread, Carmy. I need this.”

“We have garlic cloves,” he points out.

“You cannot expect me to mince a fuckin’ garlic right now,” they retort, motioning at him with their arms so aggressively they stumble towards him. Instinctively, he puts his hands on their shoulders, and tries not to think too hard about it.

They’re warm, and they smell like perfume, weed, and alcohol.

“I think you should sit.” Carmy suggests, an eyebrow raised. He doesn’t think he’s seen them this drunk before.

“Hm. Yeah. Imma do that.” They trudge over to one of their bar stools at the kitchen island, slumping onto it. Their shirt droops, revealing more skin, and Carmy pointedly looks away. There’s the sound of their forehead smacking against the counter, and then a groan.

“Uh, you ok?”

“I’m drunk and I want garlic bread,” they whine, flopping their arms across the counter. “But I can’t find the garlic—the garlic powder, and…I’m too stupid to make it right now,” they end in a miserable mumble.

“I could make you some,” Carmy hears himself saying.

“...Really?” They tilt their head up to look at him, eyes big and full of wonder. “You would do that for me?”

“It’s just garlic bread,” he tries, instantly stricken with embarrassment. He hopes he’s hiding it well enough.

“But you’re making it!” They make a contented noise. “Imagine getting the best chef in the world to make you garlic bread.”

“I can do a lot better than garlic bread. Just so you know,” he says, entirely in an attempt to hide the way their praise makes him feel giddy.

“I know.” His attempt backfires—their response is so genuine it makes him feel worse. “You could definitely do a million times better than garlic bread.”

“Maybe not quite a million, but somewhere around there,” he says, and then he starts working.

He starts with a clove of garlic, mincing it quickly on their small wooden cutting board. He stands at the kitchen island with them, eyes flickering between the garlic and their watchful gaze. They’re still strewn across the counter, cheek pressed against the surface.

“You literally mince garlic so good,” they mumble, eyes glued to his knife. “I wanna do it like you.”

“I could teach you.” The garlic is chopped thin, and then scraped against the edge of his knife. “Just takes a lot of practice, really.”

“Teacher Carmy,” they say, almost like a song. They’ve got this big, dopey smile on their face that makes Carmy’s heart hurt. “Mr. Berzattooo,” they add, their smile growing more mischievous.

“I don’t think I like the sound of that,” he admits, words tinged with amusement, and they laugh. “I think we should just stick to chef.”

“Yes, chef!” They salute unnecessarily, and he chuckles.

He takes out the butter—their nice butter, not the spread stuff. Heats it over their pan, scrapes the minced garlic into the hot butter, creating a delicious sizzle.

“You, uh, go out to a bar?” He asks, because he’s curious. It’s easier talking to them with his back turned to them, forced to face the pan.

“Yeah, just went with a couple of friends. I wasn’t scheduled for tomorrow, so I thought a little fun would be nice. But I must say, bars are not exciting on Wednesday nights.”

“Seems like you got to have a good time anyway.”

“Mhm, yeah. They had cheap drinks. I got so many.” They laugh. “They honestly didn’t taste that good.”

“And you kept getting them?”

“It’s just ‘cause they were strong. Sometimes you just wanna get fucked up, y’know? Oh my god, it smells so fuckin’ good right now. What the hell are you doing?”

“It’s just butter and garlic,” he answers honestly.

“This is the best thing ever. You are literally so nice.” The sincerity in their words is so palpable that Carmy feels his stomach twist. “Anyone would be so lucky to be with you.”

Fuck, Carmy thinks distantly. He adamantly refuses to acknowledge how this comment makes him feel.

“I dunno about that,” he replies, a safe neutral even though he can’t help the embarrassment.

“Really?” They blow a raspberry at him. “Well, I like having you as my roommate. That’s something, right?”

Carmy’s glad he’s not facing them. He’s not sure what his expression looks like right now.

“Well. Lucky for me, I guess.” He pauses, listening to the sizzle of the garlic. for a moment. “You’re a good roommate, too. I…didn’t know if I would like having one at all.”

“Oh yeah? You never had one before?”

“Not since culinary school, and they weren’t good.” He sighs at the memory. “But this…I like this.”

“I like it too,” they agree, almost a bit dreamily. “It’s nice not having to be by yourself all the time.”

“Yeah,” he murmurs. “It is.”

He turns around then, garlic bread plated and in his hand, and they gasp, hands over their mouth.

“Carmy,” they whisper. “Oh my god. Oh my god.”

“You’re definitely drunk,” he says, smiling in endearment.

“Um, yeah. And you just made me garlic bread. To a drunk person, garlic bread is the next coming of Christ.” They slide the plate towards them, staring at it with big eyes. “And you put cheese on it!”

“Should I not have?”

“Of course you should have!” They exclaim. “You could’ve put some shit on this I’ve never heard of and I would still eat it. You’re a wizard in the kitchen.”

“Well.” He laughs. Shakes his head. “I’m flattered?”

“You should be,” they whisper. They take a huge bite of it, resounding with a satisfying crunch. “Fuck.” They shake their head from side to side as they eat. “This is so fuckin’ yummy.”

“Good, good.” He nods, pleased. He props his elbows up on the counter, gauging their reaction.

“You are so talented,” they gush, continuing to eat urgently. “And so nice.”

Carmy knows he can’t hide the way his ears go pink.

“Well.” He gives them a shrug he knows looks as half-hearted as it feels. “I do nice things for nice people,” he says finally, mostly because he can't just take the damned compliment.

“I'm nice people?” They repeat, so genuinely earnest that Carmy almost laughs. “That's a relief. I’m, like, so glad you think that, because I can be an annoying piece of shit sometimes.”

“Annoying?” The self deprecation surprises him. They don’t usually talk like this. “I don’t—I don’t think you’re annoying. Have I ever, uh, seemed like I—?”

“Nonono, it has nothing to do with you,” they interrupt with a hiccup, waving their hands. “I just, like, have issues.” They laugh, although Carmy’s positive there’s nothing funny about this. “And I really like you as a, as a roommate,” they stutter clumsily. “So I don’t wanna fuck it up.”

“I, I don’t think you would fuck it up.” There’s something a little unsettling about all this, something that’s putting Carmy on edge.

“I always find a way! I just do, because, I’m—I’m not good at being a person,” they blurt out, and then there’s tears spilling all over their cheeks, streaked with black mascara.

Shit, Carmy thinks.

“Hey,” Carmy says softly, gentle and careful. He looks up at them, concerned eyes searching their watery ones. He wishes he had the words, but they're talking again.

“I just can’t do anything right,” they sob, bottom lip wobbling. He’s also not sure if he’s ever seen them crying so hard. Their face is scrunched in pain, skin drenched in tears. “I, I, I can't even fucking make garlic bread!”

“You're drunk,” he reminds them, carefully. “Very drunk.”

“I'm drunk, too,” they wail, and Carmy wonders if he said the wrong thing. “I'm a drunk fuck-up! I, I'm too damaged…”

“Damaged?” He echoes. Their own brutality towards themself takes his words away, and all he can do is repeat their cruelty in disbelief.

“My whole life, I've just,” they whisper, and something about it nestles into his chest and stays there. The feeling of it is familiar. “My—my whole life, I—oh, god—”

They stop with a sharp inhale, slapping their hand on their mouth. It’s a movement that Carmy would recognize just about anywhere.

“Shit,” he curses, and he rushes them to the bathroom.

They’re still crying as they throw up into the toilet, apologizing profusely. Carmy tries not to look, just focusing on holding up their hair.

“I’m sorry,” they apologize again before shoving their face back into the toilet.

“It’s okay. It happens.” He absentmindedly notices that he’s never touched their hair before. It’s soft—must be well taken care of. “You’re doing great right now, okay?”

“Thank you,” they sob, tilting their head to the side to rest their cheek on the toilet seat. He lets their hair fall behind them, instead just keeping one hand on their back. “I’m really s-sorry,” they say again, eyes watery and red.

“It’s okay,” he repeats, because it's all he can say. They seem grateful enough.

I haven’t thrown up like this since college,” they tell him miserably. “I don’t like it.”

“Nobody likes throwing up,” he reasons, and they make a weak noise of agreement.

“Last time, I threw up in my roommate’s bathroom—” they pause, as if fighting a wave of nausea, but it seems to pass. “And I barely missed the toilet,” they whisper, like it’s some sort of dark secret.

“Damn.” Carmy’s not sure if he should be smiling, but he is, just a little bit. “Sounds like you were shitfaced.”

“So shitfaced,” they echo. At least they’re smiling back at him. That’s a good sign. “It was such a mess. I felt so bad.”

“Were they mad?”

“No, they weren’t. They even cleaned it up for me.” They groan. “I felt soooo bad, Carmy. So bad. I was worried they would forever hate me for that.”

“Well, if they weren’t mad at you, I’m sure they wouldn’t hate you for it.”

“I just really didn’t want them to hate me,” they say, and they’re looking so intently into Carmy eyes that it feels like he’s bearing his soul to them. “Are you gonna hate me?”

“I'm not gonna hate you because you're throwing up.” Their hair’s falling into their face, and he moves to tuck it behind their ear before he can think about it. Their cheeks are hot to the touch. “Would I be doing this for someone I hate?”

“Good point,” they mumble. Carmy’s hand lingers behind their ear before moving back to the middle of their back, rubbing little circles. The touch is guiltily electric on his end. “Sometimes I just…think people are waiting for a chance to hate me.”

“I think it’s a bit too late for me to find an excuse to dislike you,” Carmy says. “But…I get it.”

“...You do?”

“Yeah,” he says, even though he’s not sure what else to say. They’re still looking at him, clearly waiting for him to elaborate. “I’m not used to anyone caring much about me.”

“I care about you,” they whisper. “I care about you a lot.”

Silence settles between them as any words Carmy had disappear on the tip of his tongue. They just keep looking at him, their eyes gentle and searching, and he can’t tear his gaze away. He can’t tear his hand off their back, either.

“You shouldn't,” he whispers, strangely honest. “I'm not worth it.”

“Too bad.” He can't look away from their gaze, their eyes that are infinitely knowledgeable. “If I can't care about you, you have to stop being nice to me.”

Carmy opens his mouth to protest, but he can't. They seem to know it, too, with the way a knowing smile creeps up their face.

“I don't wanna do that,” he replies finally.

“Thought so.” Their face glows brilliantly with a smile, and it should be infuriating, but it's not. “So deal with it. Me caring about you.”

He laughs at that, because it's so stupid.

“Stupid,” he laughs, and they laugh back, their giggles echoing into the ring of the toilet. “Y'know, I fucked up today at work.”

“Oh yeah? What happened?”

“I was cutting onions. I've done it a million times, but for some reason, I fucked it all up. Onions got all over the floor, and I had to redo it all. Well, my sous had to redo ‘em.”

He's not sure why he's mentioning this to them, or why he's even mentioning it for a second time, but he is.

“I haven't fucked up like that in forever,” he continues, reliving the memory in the back of his brain. The knife hitting the floor, metal against linoleum. “It was stupid. I hadn't done something so fucking, stupid like that in—god knows how long.”

That can't be the point, he thinks to himself. He can't just bring up him messing up onions just to complain about messing up onions. That's not worth anything, to him or to them. They're drunk, anyhow. Why is he bringing up his issues like this, right now?

“You're allowed to mess up on onions,” they say with surprisingly clarity. Their words carry a measured gentleness that doesn't seem possible from a drunk. “It would be crazy if you never messed up, y'know. Like, ever.”

“But it's been years,” he protests. There's a pressure building. “Years since I messed up like that. And someone had to clean up after my shit. They shouldn't have had to do that.”

“Hm…” They make a thoughtful noise. “It's not like you did it on purpose, right?”

“Of course not.”

“That's what friends are for,” they murmur. “And coworkers. Sometimes. It's ok that you messed up.”

“...” A part of Carmy wants to continue protesting, but it feels futile. “I shouldn't have brought it up, you're still drunk anyway,” he says, mostly to himself, but also because he can't stand to acknowledge it anymore.

“I don't care,” they whisper. “I like it when people talk to me about things.” Carmy feels something twist in his stomach, palpable and physical.

“I’m probably being annoying,” he mutters, and as soon as the words come out of his mouth, he wants to bash his head in for saying something so childish.

“No. You’re not.” They respond before he has a chance to take it back. “I want to know you, Carmy.”

“You already know me.”

“Not as much as I would like,” they mutter, eyes fluttering shut, and Carmy has no choice but to swallow the heavy truth.

“You shouldn't fall asleep here. If you're feeling better, we need to get you into your bed.” He knows it's unfair, changing the subject like this. But he can't bear to look at it anymore than he already has.

Luckily for him, they relent without any protest. They lean up against him as he helps them to their room. It's a bit difficult to wade through the piles of clothes on the floor, but Carmy's no better.

“I really didn't mean to get this fucked up,” they mumble once they're laid back in bed.

“No one does.”

“Maybe not no one,” they mutter, mostly to themself. No comment. They sigh. “What time is it?”

“Uh…2:35,” he says after a beat, searching eyes landing on their bedside analog clock.

“Motherfucker. I'm sorry. Don't you have work tomorrow?”

“I do. But…it's fine.” It's very much not fine, he has to wake up in a couple hours, and yet. Here he is, at the end of it.

“You're sweet. You really are.”

“I'm…not sweet,” is all he can get out, voice quiet.

“Well, I think you're sweet to me. Taking care of me like this.” They outstretch their arms all of a sudden. “Come here? Please?”

He knows what they're asking. They've never hugged before. He’s only a hugger when it comes to family. He's seen them hug friends before, maybe, but him? Never.

He shouldn't get closer, he really shouldn't. But he ends up doing it anyway, because he tells himself he likes the way they say please.

“Can I hug you?” They ask.

“Um,” he says. He nods.

They smile again, as brilliant as ever, and bring him into a tight hug. They smell like the mint mouthwash they insisted Carmy retrieve for them, along with their perfume.

“Thank you for taking care of me,” they say. He’s never heard their voice in his ear like this before. They wrap their arms around his neck then, and Carmy’s heart feels like it’s in his throat.

“No problem,” he gets out, feeling a bit breathless.

Before he can even form the next thought, they’re pressing a sleepy kiss on their cheek before flipping back down on their bed.

Carmy feels like throwing up, but…not in a bad way.

“Good night,” they mumble, so sweet. “And thank you.”

Something in his brain shuts off after that. He walks to his room like a zombie, and he falls asleep nearly instantly.

It turns out that going to bed at 2:30 am the night before work is not so fine at all.

“Sorry I’m late, couldn’t sleep,” Carmy says groggily when he comes in, and everyone’s eyes are on him. They’re staring so intently like there’s something on his face. “What?”

“It’s, uh,” Sydney starts, but Richie swiftly cuts her off.

“Must’ve been a long night, eh?” Richie says with such a shit eating grin that makes Carmy pinch his eyebrows.

“Fuck’s your deal?” Carmy bites back, gesturing at him. The length of his fuse matches the amount of sleep he got—slim to none.

“Nothing, cousin,” Richie replies, even though he’s still grinning like a mad man. “You better be telling me about it later though, got it?”

“Whatever,” Carmy mutters. It’s too early in the day to be dealing with this shit. “Just catch me up on what I missed.”

The day starts off rough, but he gets through it because he has to. Throughout the day, though, he can’t help but get the feeling that people keep looking at him when he’s not looking. Maybe it’s just his typical paranoia, but…

“These look good,” Carmy praises. “Really good,” he reiterates, turning the delicate dessert around on its circular plate. Marcus beams, clearly pleased. It’s a small matcha cake with carefully placed layers of ganache and fruit. Carmy takes a bit of it with a fork, rolling the earthy and tangy flavors around on his tongue.

“How is it?” Marcus asks, eyes firm on him.

“A little crumbly,” Carmy answers honestly. “Did you take my advice from last time?”

“I did,” he replies, frustration evident in his voice. “Think it’s the oven?”

“Maybe. Probably.” Carmy takes another bite. “Try a lower temp. Other than that, though, it’s excellent.”

“Thank you, chef,” Marcus says. “Means a lot.”

“Wouldn’t say it if it wasn’t true.” He claps Marcus on the back, short and quick. “You’ve been working hard. That’s all.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I have.” He pauses then, staring at Carmy. Just like how everyone has been all damn day. “Uh, Chef?”

“What?” He feels the impatience bubbling up in him, frustrated and confused. “People have been staring at my goddamn face all day like I got some shit on it.”

“You do,” Marcus says. “It’s not shit, though. Looks like…lipstick,” he says after a beat.

“Lipstick?” A rock drops in his stomach. Carmy raises his hand to his face, searching.

“On your left,” he clarifies. “By your ear.”

He rubs aggressively there, but he pulls his fingers back without any color on it.

“Did I get it?”

“Well, I thought you did.” Marcus makes a noise, thoughtful. “Guess it’s one of those permanent ones.”

“Permanent?” Carmy repeats, a little hysterical.

“Semi permanent,” Marcus clarifies. He seems amused.

Carmy rushes into their small, shitty bathroom, getting close to the streaked mirror. He angles his head to find the stain. Sure enough, it’s right here on his cheek. It’s a dark, reddish color, in the smeared but recognizable shape of a kiss mark.

“Fuck,” he mutters under his breath. His head feels hot. It must’ve happened last night, when they kissed him right before falling asleep.

Semi-permanent, he hears Marcus say in the back of his head. Of course it is.

With a wet paper towel, he scrubs at the mark so hard it hurts. Even so, it remains, still clear on his pale, reddened skin. He wishes his hair was long enough to hide it.

“It’s not coming off,” he says, stressed upon returning to Marcus’ station. He hopes he doesn’t sound as hysterical as he feels. Sydney’s there too, chewing on the matcha pastry Carmy had earlier. “Why the fuck isn’t it coming off?”

“You’ll probably need a makeup wipe. I think I have some in my bag if you want one,” Sydney offers. Carmy swears she has a halo around her head. “Just a warning, though, they’re old as fuck. I haven’t worn makeup in a long time.”

“It’s fine. Can I take one?” Carmy runs a stressed hand through his hair. “Can’t believe no one fuckin’ told me. I—I fucking greeted customers like this!”

“It’s cool, Carm. At least it wasn’t a hickey,” Marcus reasons, and Carmy thinks his ears go hot.

“Thank god,” he replies, sarcastic, and they have the nerve to laugh at him. “Shut up,” he tries, but there’s no real heat behind it. Sydney leaves and comes back with a semi-dried up makeup a minute later.

“Don’t get mad if it doesn’t work,” Sydney states, a cautionary disclaimer. “It might be one of those that has a specific remover.”

“Are you serious?” The sigh that comes out is full of disdain. “Fuck me.”

“Day’s already almost done, if it makes it any better,” Marcus notes with a cheeky smile, and Carmy just shakes his head.

The makeup wipe doesn’t work. Carmy tries not to get mad, but maybe he does. Maybe just a little bit.

“It’ll come off with enough washes,” Sydney reassures him. Tina’s standing with her now, too, eyeing him like a spectacle. Everyone seems to be enjoying his misery.

“Just ask your girl to get rid of it for you,” Tina says, an eyebrow raised. She raises a thumb to his cheek, rubs at the mark like a mom. “Damn. Shit’s on there.”

“They’re not—it’s not like that,” he sputters. He’s been trying to get through the day without anyone asking about it, but now that there’s some down time, there’s no stopping anyone.

“A one night stand?” Tina guesses, eyes widening. She laughs and smacks him on the arm. “Didn’t think you had it in you, boy!”

“It’s not that, either,” Carmy stresses. He knows he’s getting overly flustered about it, but he can’t help it. His eyes flicker towards the clock. They’re closing soon. “Just forget it, okay? Please.”

He can tell from their expressions that neither of them want to forget about it, but by some stroke of luck, they’re considering letting it go. Just for now. That’s enough of a victory for now, so he’ll take it.

At least, it would’ve been a victory if Richie didn’t take that very opportunity to step into the kitchen.

“Been trying to find you all day, bastard!” Richie hollers, slinging an arm over Carmy’s hunched shoulder. Carmy sighs, expressive in his annoyance. “Looks like this baby’s finally growing up, huh?”

“I’m 30, asshole,” Carmy says, tiredly, but that never works. Richie’s still talking, anyhow.

“So? Do I know the chick?” Richie’s grin makes Carmy want to punch him.

“No,” he replies, flatly. He’s so tired. “And it’s not what you think. It was just, they’re, uh…”

“Oh shit, cousin!” Richie’s laughing, obnoxiously loud in his ears. “Didn’t think you were capable of—“

“It’s not a one night stand. Already guessed that,” Tina interrupts him.

“What?” He sounds annoyed, like he has the right to be more irritated than Carmy himself. “Then what’s the secret third option? Or are you lying to my face?”

“They’re my roommate,” Carmy explains, finally.

There’s a beat of silence. And then, uproarious noise.

“You have a roommate?” Is Richie’s first question. The second: “Why the fuck didn’t you tell me?”

“Is, like, dating a roommate a good idea? No offense,” Sydney says, hands raised in defense. “Just wondering.”

“It’s not,” Tina answers for her, sharp eyes narrowed at him. But strangely enough, she’s smiling nonetheless.

“They’re my roommate, we’re not dating, and I didn’t tell you because I knew you’d be weird about it!” He shouts over the noise, directing the last one at Richie. “Look—they were just drunk, and I was helping them because they were fucking throwing up. Happy now?”

“And they kissed you,” Richie points out. He’s grinning like he knows some big secret.

“Fuck, okay, can we stop fucking talking about this now? It was just an accident, it’ll be gone tomorrow, and we’re never gonna mention this shit again!”

Carmy gets saved by some distant catastrophic noise in the back, somewhere around the freezer. He leaves without a word. Behind him, he hears raucous laughter mostly to Richie’s tune.

Before he leaves for the night, he stops by the bathroom one more to try and get it off. Predictably, it remains stubborn and stalwart through soap, hot water, and scrubbing. The skin under it is red with irritation, and Carmy knows that he's getting nowhere. If anything, he's making it worse.

His eyes linger on the blotted lipstick on his face. It's smudged, but he can see the cracks and the shape of their lips. His gaze follows the lines of it.

The memory burns bright in his head for a split second. It bursts in like a flashbang, intense and unavoidable. There's a phantom sensation of their lips on his cheek, the smell of their perfume, the warmth of their embrace, and it's, it's just—

Carmy shuts the lights off and heads out. He needs this lipstick mark gone by morning.

When he gets home, the apartment is dark. Unoccupied. As he flicks on the lights, he searches for them. They're usually home before him most nights. However, it seems tonight is an anomaly. He walks down the hallway past his room to theirs, and their ajar door reveals an empty bedroom.

“Fuck,” he mutters to himself. Just his luck.

He opens his phone then, a last resort. He has his messages pulled up, but his thumbs hover over the keyboard and stay there.

How the hell does he even word this?

Hey, I need lipstick remover.

No, that isn't enough information. Who knows how many types of remover there could be? What if it isn't the right one? He needs to be more specific.

Hey, I need lipstick remover for the lipstick you were wearing last night.

That sounds even stranger. Too specific, although it's the truth. That's what he needs. But he can't just…type that, can he? No, there's no way.

Is there any way he can get out of saying that there's lipstick on his face from last night and not make it weird? He wishes they were here so he could just show them. Words have never been his forte. There's little hope for him now.

Please come home right now, he briefly considers typing. It's by far the worst one out of all of them.

After pacing for a solid five minutes, he decides to send a hopefully neutral message.

Hey, you out for the night?

It's still pretty weird. Carmy is not a texter. There's not much he needs to talk about that can't wait until he sees them next. They're usually the one texting him, and it's usually only about groceries or bills. However, he tells himself it's fine because there's no note left on the counter. They always leave a note when they go out.

…They always leave a note when they go out.

This thought resets his pacing around the apartment, frantically looking for the square shape and vivid color of a sticky note. That's how they usually do it, and it's typically on the kitchen counter. So, it's honestly a futile effort to be looking around the whole place, but he does so anyway.

He looks at his phone. It's been almost 10 minutes, and still no response.

This isn't unnatural by any means. They always end up responding eventually, but the prickling anxiety is getting pricklier by the second.

They've got to be so hungover. There's no way they're out again tonight, he thinks to himself, and he's positive it has to be true.

They're missing, and you're not ever gonna get this shit off your face, his brain adds helpfully.

That's what finally kicks him into gear and forces him to press the call button.

It rings for a long time. The more it rings, the longer he stands there in the kitchen, the stupider and more anxious he feels. It's a pitiful feeling to be consumed by, but here he is, unable to resist.

However, when they finally pick up, he's not sure if he feels completely relieved. A different part of his anxiety is spiking now.

“Carmy?” Their voice carries a trace of static through the phone speaker.

“Yeah, hey. You see my text?”

“Oh, oops. Sorry, I missed it. Is everything ok?”

“Where are you?” He asks instead.

“I'm just gettin’ a drink from the corner store. Why? You want me to grab something for you?”

The absolute nonchalance in their voice humbles him, reducing him to complete embarrassment.

“Uh, no, I don't need anything. I mean, uh, I do actually need something from you, though,” he amends hastily.

“Sure, what's up? I guess it must be important if you're calling, right?”

“I, um—yeah, kinda important,” he says with attempted tranquility, completely ignoring how much he was freaking out earlier. “So…you got, uh, lipstick remover?”

“Lipstick remover?” Their surprise makes him shrivel. “Well, I have a couple types of makeup remover…”

“I think it needs to be specific?”

“You think it needs to be specific? What exactly are we dealing with here?” Their voice carries bewildered amusement.

“It's, uh…” He swallows. He can't tiptoe around it anymore. “It's…yours?”

“...Huh?”

“You got some lipstick on me last night, and it's not coming off,” he says finally, mortifyingly, and the line goes silent.

“Fucking—I'm so sorry, my memory is spotty from last night and I, I thought I imagined that, and, uh—” They awkwardly clear their throat. “I'm sorry, I really am. It's not supposed to transfer like that, but I guess it just…”

“It's okay,” he says, despite how hysterical it made him earlier. That part isn't their fault. “It's just, uh, really staying on there.”

“Shit. Of course. It's this super resilient lipstick I use for when I go out drinking, because it's not supposed to come off like, at all, so it comes with this specific remover—I'm sorry, I don’t need to be rambling like this.” They laugh nervously. “I'm on my way home now, but it should be on my desk if you wanna look at it. It's a black tube, which…isn't very specific, I guess. And my desk is really messy…”

“I'll start looking,” Carmy decides.

“I'm sorry,” they reply miserably.

“It's okay. You said you were coming home now?”

“Yes. Yes, I am. I'll see you soon, okay?”

“Cool. See you.”

The call ends. Carmy just stands there for a minute. It's like a tidal wave just rushed over him, and now the water is slowly settling to a stand still.

Black tube, he thinks. How hard can that be?

Very hard, it seems.

Their room is comfortably messy. Definitely not as messy as his. There's some clothes on the floor, jackets on chairs, underwear he turns his gaze away from (don't imagine them in that lace one lying in the corner or the flowery one or the fucking thong he didn't see anything), but that's about it. Nothing outside of typical clutter, in his opinion.

The desk, though. The desk.

He doesn't think he can even see the surface of it. There's just lots of little things scattered across it, from piles of jewelry to stacks of papers and books. It's like an ispy book.

He stares at it, trying to find a black tube. He quickly realizes how much of a futile effort it's going to be.

In this moment, he thinks about how he's never spent much time in their room. The two of them usually hang out in the living room. Besides, he's not one to go snooping around in someone's personal space. Until being pushed to his limits and being given explicit permission, that is.

He leans in, peering closer at the scattered items. There's a little bit of everything. Receipts, make-up brushes, scissors, paper scraps, empty water cups, hair ties, empty candy wrappers, lipsticks…none of which are black tubes.

Maybe it's not on their desk. Maybe it's on a different shelf.

They said it was on their desk, a voice in his head says, but he’s not listening.

The next closest thing is their nightstand. It's a little messy, but nowhere near as bad as their desk. There's a melatonin bottle, some lip balm, a bedside lamp. He squints, seeing what might be more pills or maybe skincare until a dark tube catches his eye.

When he picks it up, he realizes it's not black, instead being a dark blue. Also, it's not a tube, it's more of a bottle.

The text on it also reads as lube, not lipstick remover.

…Lube?

It's lube, his brain repeats, helpful as ever.

I can see that, he thinks back.

“Hello? Carmy?”

A familiar voice has him scrambling to put the lube back. He moves it back to the night stand more quickly than he could have ever expected of himself.

“Hey, I'm in your room,” he calls back, hoping that his fabricated nonchalance comes off as believable. He steps out of their room into the hallway, and they appear at the end of it.

The first he notices is how much better they look when he saw them last. To be fair, the last time he saw them, they were sobbing and throwing up into the toilet, drunk out of their mind, but still. It's still an improvement. Their cheeks are flushed from the cold, and their hair is mussed from being outside.

“Hey. Did you find it?”

“I couldn't find it,” he admits. He steps out of the way to let them through, and then he follows them back into their room.

“Yeah, sorry, my desk is a fucking nightmare,” they mutter darkly, making a beeline for their desk. “I swear I took it out and put it right here…Ah, yes!”

Miraculously, they pull it out. It looks like a lipstick in itself, and when they uncap it, it just looks like a white lip balm.

“So, do I just…rub it on?”

“Well—yeah, you should, but it emulsifies with water, so you just use water and then use a cotton pad…” Carmy supposes the confusion isn't too well masked on his face. “Can I see where it is?” They ask tentatively.

Wordlessly, Carmy turns his head. He supposes they're just glad they didn't see it immediately.

“Oh.” When he turns to face them again, their cheeks are dark with color. It's not a look he's used to seeing on them. “I'm sorry,” they say again with a downturned head.

“It's okay,” Carmy says again, and he means it. He brings a hand to his cheek subconsciously. “I just…”

“Let me take it off,” they insist, guilt knitted in their expression, and that's how Carmy ends up seated on the toilet seat.

“Now I'm the one getting patched up on the toilet,” he says quietly. He wonders if it was the wrong thing to say, but it makes them laugh.

“So, um, when did you notice?” They ask. The tube uncaps with a small pop.

“A couple hours ago,” he admits. The balm feels smooth and oily against his cheek. “I had no idea, but my coworkers, uh…”

“Oh my god,” they mutter under their breath. “I just don't think I'm ever gonna stop apologizing for this.”

“It's fine, really,” he insists, even though he was manically scrubbing at his skin earlier. “It was sorta funny,” he adds, even though he was freaking out while everyone else was laughing. They don't need to know.

“That's good, at least.”

“Yeah. It was—uh…”

He feels their thumb rubbing circles into his cheek, and the words disintegrate like sand in the wind.

“Sorry, this is just one of those things that takes a little bit of work to get off.” Their tone projects a casual indifference to it, but their voice is so quiet that it feels unfairly intimate.

“I didn't know lipstick could be this…intense,” Carmy hears himself say. He's far away, still trapped in the feeling of their hand on his face.

“It's what you need for an intense night out,” they reply with a small smile. He looks up at them then, meeting their dark eyes, but they're concentrated on the spot on his cheek. When they catch him looking, though, they don't look away.

“Are you feeling better?” He asks quietly. He can’t stop looking.

“A lot better. Yesterday was rough, but I'm feeling okay now.”

“Good.”

“Yeah. Um…” They lean back, breaking eye contact, and Carmy feels a pressure releasing. They grab a wet paper towel and carefully drag it across his cheek. “Thanks again, by the way. For putting up with me last night. I mean, it was more than just putting up, but…y'know.”

“Sure,” he says, much softer than intended. “It happens.”

“I think you're just nice,” they tease, fully intended to be light-hearted, but because Carmy's the way that he is, it weighs heavily in his chest.

“Sometimes,” he mumbles, because that's all he can bear to say.

Because last night, they looked him in the eyes and whispered that they wanted to know him. That they thought he was sweet, he was kind. They spoke with such earnestness that for a split second, Carmy considered believing them about everything, even though that’s always the wrong thing to do.

Because once he believes them a little bit, he’ll start acting like he’s a good person. He’ll fool everyone around him, even himself.

Then, the inevitability that is his self-destruction will arrive like it’s always promised. He will mess everything up like he always does, sharp-edged flaws unfurling from the inside out. They’ll slice everyone he was able to fool into getting close enough.

The least he can do is try and give some kindness back before it happens.

“Just take the compliment,” they say with a small grin. “Y'know, I don't remember everything from last night. There's bits and pieces I know that're missing. But from what I do remember…” They make one final wipe at his cheek. “You have to let me be nice to you.”

He remembers, too.

So deal with it, they had said. Me caring about you.

“How could I forget,” he tries to joke, but his laugh comes out sounding far too breathless. Luckily for him, their laugh, much more tangible and believable, joins his own.

“I said some crazy shit last night, I know.” They take a seat next to him on the edge of the bathtub. “But I meant it. I like being your friend, Carmy. I hope I didn’t say too much.”

“You didn't say too much. You were just drunk.” He feels a bit stunned.

“Okay,” they accept after a beat. “I mean, you're right. I was just drunk. Um…” They gesture towards his face. “I got the mark off, by the way.”

Carmy stands up and checks his face in the mirror. Sure enough, it's gone. He feels relief wash over him like a breeze, and another feeling he can't place. It's…It's…

“Thanks,” he says, and they nod.

“It's the least I could do.” They stand up, too, and walk out of the bathroom. They stand in the doorway for a moment before looking at him. “I'm gonna smoke. You wanna join?”

It's…

“Yeah, for sure. I'll be just a sec.”

Then it's just him in the bathroom, the door shut as he stares at his reflection. The harsh fluorescent bathroom light casts harshly down the planes of his face, creating dark shapes on his face. He stares at the spot where the lipstick mark used to be. The longer he stares, the more the unnamed feeling stretches outwards.

When it drops in his stomach, that’s when he realizes.

The feeling is disappointment.

@zorrasucia

#carmy berzatto #carmy berzatto x reader #carmen berzatto x reader #the bear #carmen berzatto #the bear fx #jeremy allen white #WHEEEEE CHAPTER 2 LETS GO!!!!!! thanks everyone for the kind words on ch 1.... it made me very happy..... i love carmy so much. so very muc #this chapter is all over the place but that's just whats up #my stuff #my writing #also hello zs i hope that's what u meant by tagging u LOL i'm a newbie to this #my fics #carmy #reader #alexithymia fic

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lagataprrr · 27 days

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Blame it on the Club's Playlist| Chapter 1. OMG (feat. will.i.am)

S. Gojo x plus!size fem reader

Warnings: slight dry humping?, heavy makeup, oral (fem receiving). Heavy petting. mentions of lack of self confidence, slight reader mentions how she feels about her body.

Blame it on the Club's Playlist| Series Masterlist

Credits to @super-marvel-dc for the gojo divider!!! They have more on their profile🥹

a/n: aaaaa first chapter and im excited to post :))) please comment if you'd like to be added to the taglist! and also should I make the playlist on Spotify for this series.

The air felt like it was sweltering, sweat running down your back and loose strands of your hair sticking to your neck. Your body moving and popping to the rhythm of the song. God you loved this song.

A tequila shot in your hand being tipped to your mouth making more energy and warmth burst through your veins.

You make me wanna say

The entire club sang the chorous of oh’s to Ushers OMG. Your friends laughing as you all danced, and it wasn’t until you turned to go get more tequila that you’re met with a shocking pair of blue eyes watching from the VIP balcony. The color making you feel a shiver run down your spine, and the intensity of his gaze making you take in a breath. Or maybe that was just the fatigue from dancing?

You slipped through the crowd of people, the bartender already nodding and getting your shot ready with none other than Don Julio tequila. The little voice in the back of your head was telling you, that your stomach is going to hate you tomorrow but this was your fault. You lost a bet and found yourself in a club on a Friday instead of being snuggled under your comforter watching your favorite show.

Smiling at the bartender and tipping the shot in your mouth you headed back to the dance floor.

I fell in love with shawty when I seen her on the dance floor

She was dancing sexy, pop, pop, popping, dropping, dropping low

Your body moved to the rhythm of the song, popping your ass to the beat. The alcohol that's running in your system working as a little boost of confidence. Sweat was running down your neck as you danced, your friends laughed between them. The irony, you didn't want to come but are the one having the most fun this night.

One of them grabbed your wrist, getting your attention as she brought her face near your ear. "You've caught the attention of a hottie!" and then she motions to the second floor VIP area, the same area were the blue shocking eyes were still on your figure. A smirk on his lips when he noticed that your friend motioned for him as well. You stared at the man for a few seconds before shaking your head.

"He's not looking at me, I'm pretty sure he's looking at you!" You tell her. Your friend scoffed and now shook her head. Grabbing your hand and twirling you around and pushing her hand in the middle of your back to bend you over, where now you'd dance against her and your face would be towards the mysterious handsome man with white hair.

"Keep dancing!" She yelled behind you, and you did. That second or third shot, you can't quite focus on them now, making everything feel more hotter and the feeling of eyes watching you making your skin feel like it's burning.

Honey got a booty like pow, pow, pow

Honey got some boobies like wow, oh wow

Girl you know I'm loving your, loving your style

Check, check, check, check, check, checking you out like

Your ass moved against your friend, and you could hear her laugh along with your other friend as they motivated you. Your entire focus suddenly fell on the mystery man and you could see him lean against the railing, his undivided attention solely on you and how you were shaking your ass for your friend. Your dress riding up, and your tits felt like they were about to spill out of the skimpy black dress, but god, did it feel euphoric. Maybe it's the fact that it's not common to get this sort of attention from a hot guy in a club, and yes, you know it shouldn't make you feel so elated, who cares. But damn, did it feel good to have someone's eyes watch you so intensely as you shook ass.

Oh (ooh), she got it all

Sexy from her head to her toes

And I want it all, 'n all, 'n all

You turn your head to look at your friends as they winked at you, and one of them slapped your ass making you laugh. Stepping away and pushing some of your hair out of your face, readjusting your dress. One of them pushes her phone in your face to see the video of your little show and how your ass looks like it's about to spill from your dress. You felt a sudden feeling of cringe, not like the fact that your back looked so wide bent down like that, and god why did your arms look like that?

"Don't post that." You tell her and she scoffs.

"You look fucking hot! If I were gay I'd def eat you out babe." She tells me and I shake my head. Until your other friend slightly hits your arm, and you furrow your brows. She raises her eyebrows behind you and you turn around. Your breath got stuck in your throat as you are met with a wide-ass chest, and such a delicious smelling expensive cologne. Looking up a little and are met with the blue eyes that were previously watching, and dear Lord did they look even more hypnotizing up close. Your mouth was open like a damn fish, opening and closing. He gave you a little smirk, licking his lips before leaning down near your ear. His lips slightly grazing your lobe as he spoke.

"Wanna dance?" Immediate goosebumps rose on your skin and a tingle in your lower belly ignited, making heat go to your underwear.

Get it together Y/N, you thought.

Baby, let me love you down

There's so many ways to love ya

Baby, I can break you down

There's so many ways to love ya

Your friends yelled yes over you, but he didn't pay them mind. Only looking at you for a response, and finally did that last tequila shot gave you some ovaries and a response. Nodding your head and he took your hand pulling you to dance with him. His hand was fucking huge, swallowing yours and Jesus he smelled so good. Your body moved automatically, turning around and your behind met his front. You felt him everywhere, his hands on your hips as you moved your ass.

Got me like, oh my gosh I'm so in love

I found you finally, you make me want to say

Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh oh

Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh

Oh my gosh

Your back was flush against his chest, the white button up shirt he wore was soft against your exposed skin of your arms and upper back. He was tall, more tall than anyone you've ever gone out with before.

Not that you're going to go out with him Y/N, you thought.

Tall hot man leans down a little his in the crook of your neck. "I'm Satoru. What's your name pretty girl?"

You turn your head slightly, his eyes going from your eyes to your lips and back up to your eyes. "I'm Y/N"

"Pretty name."

Fell in love with honey like my, oh my

Honey looking wonderful, fly, so fly

Honey like a supermodel, my, oh my

Baby how you do that, make a grown man cry

You grind your ass a little more against him and the grip on your hip tightens, you could feel him hard as a rock. You weren't going to lie that your panties probably have a huge wetspot by now, I mean all you could feel in your senses was him. His smell, his touch, his presence, and god his voice. "I've never seen you here before."

"I lost a bet to my friends, had to come." You respond.

"Glad luck was against you then." He grinned, and god his grin could make women definitely drop their panties in less than a second. You for sure almost did.

Bringing your lip between your teeth, making him glance at them. He hummed and leaned his head closer. His grip on your hips tight as he moved them a little more angles to his raging boner, and somehow getting it between your legs. The prod against your panties making you gasp. Grinning again, he leaned down his lips just a hair from brushing yours. "You've been driving me insane since you walked through those doors."

Your hips moved involuntarily by now, the feeling of his boner between your thighs so good. The little voice in the back of your head being muted by the second as it tried to remind you, you were still in public.

"Is that why you were watching me?" You ask, your lips brushing just so close to his pink ones, making him lick his lips to see if he could savor them.

"Couldn't keep my eyes off you." He admits.

It makes butterflies Burts through your belly.

Oh my gosh

I did it again

So I'm gon' let the beat rock

With one more swivel of your hips against his boner, he finally pushed his lips against yours. The sensation making you moan into the kiss, and bring a hand to his jaw. Your head turned to the side making a slight uncomfortable feeling but his lips against yours overpowering any discomfort. His hands pulling you against his pelvis a little bit more harder, his boner suddenly pushing your underwear just above your clit making you gasp, taking the chance to slip his tongue into your mouth.

Oh, oh, oh my

Oh, oh, oh my, my, my, my, my

Oh my gosh

Oh, oh, oh my

Oh, oh, oh my, my, my, my, my, my

Oh my gosh

Oh my gosh indeed.

He pulls his head back, a little string of saliva still connecting you both, "Do you want to continue this pretty girl or do you wanna keep dancing?"

And for the first time ever you felt excitement to be the one asked that. Not be on the sidelines watching your friends be asked but you.

You nod and he grins. "Words babe."

"I want to continue, but not here?"

He nods and one of his hands go to yours motioning for you to walk in front of him. Being the cover for his boner and because to Satoru he absolutely was going feral watching your ass as you walked in front of him in that little dress.

You found yourself on the second floor of the club, the same area he was at previously watching you. He nodded towards a double door that was near some satin blue curtains and you glanced back at him unsure.

"I'm not supposed to be up here." You laughed nervously and he leaned down, placing a kiss on your cheek.

"I bought out the entire floor tonight." He says nonchalantly and your eyes almost bulge out of your head. He laughs at your reaction before opening the door for you. It was a more secluded area, there was a really looking expensive white couch and a bar. You could still hear the music but not as loud as downstairs. As soon as he closed the door behind him his hands turned you around, tight grip on your hips again and leaning down to kiss you. An even hotter kiss than the previous one, this one making you dizzy as you brought your hands to loop around his neck. Fingers pulling at his white hair at the nape of his neck, making him groan into your mouth. Taking the chance to playfully bite his lower lip. Pulling you flush against his front, his hands trailed from your hips down to your ass squeezing your cheeks with bruising grip and you moaned into the kiss.

His taste was intoxicating, his touch making goosebumps rise on your skin and a delicious shiver run down your spine making you arch your back into him. Your tits pressing against his hard chest making him pull back and glance down. "Fuck," He murmurs bringing a hand up to cup your jaw. "You look so good in that dress, pretty girl."

And as much as you were enjoying all of this, there's a stronger voice in the back of your head telling you that it's not true. It's just the lust talking, but you try to ignore it as you look at his eyes and bite your lip.

His left hand went from your ass cheek do slowly pull your dress over it. Now his hand palming your skin, the black thong you wore doing nothing but accentuating the softness of your skin. His touch felt scalding. Continuing his touches, he dragged his hand to follow the black thong, right under your cheeks and between your thick thighs, that were pressed together to try and alleviate the pulsing from your core. "Relax for me baby." He murmurs into your mouth, his eyes watching your face. Watching as his grazing fingers trace your slit over the thing material of the thong. And dear god were you soaked, the flimsy string doing nothing to hold your juices that were already slowly trailing down your thighs.

Slowly pushing you backwards till the back of your knees hit the edge of the white couch, he gently pushed you down. You held yourself up by your elbows watching as he got on his knees before you, slowly pushing your dress up and your hand was quick to stop him just barely almost before your belly.

"Keep the dress there." Your words firm, lust still in your eyes but Satoru could see there was something else. Deciding not to push further, he nodded, lifting your legs so your knees hanged on his shoulders and your scent flooded his nose. The view in front of him making his cock twitch and probably ooze more precum in his underwear. Slowly dragging your thong down your legs, he was quick to pocket it and gripping your thighs hard. You glance down, feeling nerves.

Is he having second thoughts? Fuck of course he is. You thought, only to let out a gasp in surprise when his lips wrap around your clit with a mean suck. His eyes were on you the whole time, analyzing the way your breathing picked up. He used his fingers to spread your lips open, dragging his mouth around your slit. Completely devouring you like his life depended on it. The coil in your stomach felt so tight, and your legs began to feel numb over his shoulders. Bringing up one his hands, his fingers slowly dipped into your sopping hole, your stomach clenches around the intrusion, and as he curled his fingers your eyes widened and a loud moan.

"O-Oh fuck ngh-" your back arching off the soft cushions of the couch.

He chuckles into your cunt, the vibrations making you almost cry out. A second finger joining inside you, and curling into that same glorious spot. Satoru watched as your brows furrowed and your eyes squeezed shut. "That the spot, pretty girl? Hmm?" You nod, and he places a kiss to your clit. You tightened around his fingers, and he could already tell by the way your legs were daring to suffocate him into your pussy that you were close. "You gonna cum?"

"Yes, yes please." You whine and his sucks on your clit, speeding up his fingers and in no time you were crying out. Legs tensing and shaking so much, your juices spreading all over his chin and hand that still pumped his fingers inside of you. Your whole body tremors from the mind breaking orgasm, and your mind went blank for a few seconds.

Satoru drank as much of your juices as he could, before his lips wrapped around your bundle of nerves again, making your hands to go over his hair, pulling. "W-Wait, you're gonna make me cum again agh-" the coil in your stomach tightened again and you tried to push yourself away from his onslaught but his grip on your thighs tightened, pulling his fingers out and replacing them with his tongue making you scream. "Oh fuck, fuck. C-cumming, ngh." Satoru greedily drank your juices, your taste was addicting and so sweet. Satoru swore in his head that there was nothing sweeter he has ever had in his mouth before you. Your back was arched from the blissful orgasm, your hair sticking to your forehead, and Satoru watch at the fucked out look on your face. Placing kisses on the apex of your thighs, playfully biting the sensitive skin making you whine. Slowly putting your legs back down, and dragging himself over you. Eyes tracing your figure, until they met your own. He could see that nervous glint in your eyes again, and now he wondered what could be occupying your mind other than him and the two mind blowing orgasms he just gave you.

Once the haziness in your brain started clearing a sense of dread overcame you when Satoru's hand gripped your dress to lift and your hand were quick to grip his wrists. Satoru's action immediately stopping and removing his lips off you, eyes scanning your face.

"What's wrong?"

You felt panic rise in your chest, and for once you cursed yourself for feeling this way. The one time you found jackpot of a hottie, and gave you two amazing orgasms and you were just about to ruin it.

"I think I need to find my friends." Was all you murmured, Satoru moving away from you as you stand, pulling down your dress and fleeing like he was the plague. Leaving blue eyes to trail after you.

Oh my gosh. Indeed.

Taglist:

@bankaixx @shiftinghoe @uniquecutie-puffs

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amberstormblade · 2 months

Text

Yes it's 3:30am but we can ignore that because I just finished writing a fanfic about a fanfic. Is that weird? Maybe? No clue! Anyways! This is inspired by @fluffy-papaya and @betweenlands 's Black Sheep, Come Home and everyone should go read that because it's amazing and makes me feral!

I might put this on AO3 too but for now it's just here!

i'm so sleepy, g'night folks! happy reading!

(Sorry for tagging you guys, I can undo that if you want)

The world seemed to shake as the dragon’s dying cries echoed through dimensions. A bolt of adrenaline shot through Rex as he realized what was about to happen. They had been inside the starter base as a sort of preparation as they hadn’t known when they would be visible again and didn’t want to risk instantly burning if previous experience was anything to go by. They’re a little nervous, it took a bit to adjust to everyone actually seeing them last time and even if they’ve been able to correct Legundo on where to look, it’s still something to get used to.

Rex walked towards the center of the room. They took a deep breath and started looking at where their hands should be to try and see if anything had happened yet. Something had changed just, not how they had expected. It was like there was a crack in reality. A small, bright, jagged thing that was just floating there. They went to touch it but it moved with their hand, as if it was attached. Before they could even begin to comprehend what was going on, more cracks began to appear, spider-webbing their way up their arm.

“Okay… this- this is weird, yeah. It’s uh, it’s gonna be okay though. Because once it’s done, I’ll be visible again! So I guess I just… trust the process?” Rex was glad Legundo was in a separate dimension, that way he couldn’t hear their voice shaking.

The cracks started to get brighter as they reached their neck. They started to burn. Rex’s breathing started to speed up as they felt like they were running a marathon in the desert. They could feel their throat as it seemed to close in on itself, could feel as their knees shook and gave way. They remember what Legs had said, that first time they had died.

“Inevitable, heh.” The sudden raspiness of their voice catches them off-guard. Coughing does nothing to clear their throat. “Guess the timing was off? Inevitable, all the same.” The cracks have reached their chest now, seeming to gather around where their heart should be and spread out like veins. Rex struggles to stand back up, not really knowing where they would go, not really knowing what to do. They take one step towards the bed, two, they collapse again as the cracks reach their knees. It’s like their legs have been bound and any attempt to move them just causes more pain.

The burning is more intense now, not in the way of lava or fire, but in the way ice burns your hands from holding it too long. The cracks were draining any warmth that their body had held and it was like they were freezing over, at risk of shattering.

With a great deal of effort, they curl into a ball and just hug themself. Rex was glad Legundo was still in the End. Sure, it’d be nice to not be alone but they also don’t want him to see them like this. They wonder for a second if he’ll have a second funeral for them, mourn them a second time, but quickly dismiss the thought. They were lucky to get anything at all the first time, why would he bother to do the same thing twice? Maybe he won’t even realize they’ve died. Knowing how paranoid he is, Rex wouldn’t be surprised if he thought it was all part of some plan to get him. They might of laughed at the thought if it hadn’t been for the feeling that something was trying to crush them to death. The cracks writhing around their form seemed to be connecting, tightening to the point that they could no longer feel their limbs. They could still feel the tears falling down their face at least. Even if they had been able to move, they probably would have let them fall anyway. Not like anyone could see them. Quiet sobs slipped past their lips, as the burning cold sank in and the cracks grew brighter still. A part of them made a selfish wish. If this truly was the end, they didn’t want to be alone.

Maybe the Universe was kind, because a dull thud came from behind them. They would have recognized the sound anywhere. It was someone respawning at their bed or in this case, returning from the End.

It was Legundo coming home.

“Rex, I’m back! You would not believe how-” His rather cheerful call was quickly cut off and they could feel as he rushed over to them. Quickly kneeling in front of them, Legundo reached out as if to touch them but hesitated at the last second. “Rex? What’s going on?” The worry in his tone was touching, in a way.

Rex tried to speak. Nothing came out at first, just a hoarse, rasping noise. Clearing their throat, they tried again. “...Don’t know. Started… after dragon. Hurts.” Broken sentences are all that can be managed but they get the point across. “Dying maybe… you alone?” They take a deep breath before, “sorry.” There was so much more they wanted to say, but their throat seemed to seal over again, leaving them wheezing for air.

“Hey- hey! It’s gonna be alright! I uh…” He trails off, digging through his things. Legundo pulls out a healing potion, probably one he had gotten from the End, and uncorks it. His hand hovers over Rex again. “I’m gonna touch you now, okay? I can see where your face should be pretty well so I think I can help you drink this. Just, bear with me, okay?” He lays his hand on Rex, flinching back for a second as though he had been shocked. Shaking out his hand, he puts their head on his lap. He cups their jaw oh so gently, as if afraid he might break them. Using his thumb, he traces their lips, carefully parting them. Lifting the bottle, he pours a small amount in their mouth and waits. It’s a struggle, but they swallow it. The sweet taste of watermelon lingers on their tongue as they breathe a little easier. Another mouthful has Rex sucking in their first proper breath since this began.

“...hey, ‘Gundo I- I don’t know how long I have. This didn’t happen last time. I think… I think I might be-”

“Don’t.” He cuts them off. His hand that had slipped from their jaw to their shoulder tightened slightly. “You’re not dying. You said you were going to protect me? You can’t do that if you’re not here. So- So no. You’re not leaving me alone again Rex so you’re going to get better! Okay?” His voice is thick with tears as he pulls them into a deep, bone-crushing hug. Instead of feelling restrictive, however, it felt freeing. It felt like home. A promise between two lonely people that they weren’t going to be alone again, not if they could do anything about it.

Straining to move their arms against the numbness that had overtaken them, Rex returned the hug. The cracks covering their form seemed to reach a crescendo as they flared brighter than the sun. The two just held tighter to each other as Rex cried out in pain. A sort of crackling sound could be heard for a seconds and then, just as suddenly as it all had started, the light and noise stopped.

Rex could still feel Legundo’s arms around them but couldn’t bring themself to open their eyes until, “Oh, you’re colorful.” They were still close enough that the whispered statement seemed to tickle his ear as Legundo leaned back from him slightly.

Painstakingly slowly, Rex opened their eyes. They looked down to see their familiar blue and yellow jacket. They looked up to see Legundo looking directly at them. Their face faintly reflected in his glasses. “Yeah,” They breathed, afraid that speaking too loudly would ruin the moment somehow, make everything suddenly revert. But no.

There were no disappearing acts that would be happening today. In the next few days they would probably fall back into their familiar routines of secrets and cryptic actions. They would have tense moments and heated exchanges. But, they would also remember this moment. They would share a look followed by a fond smile. They would both find excuses to exist closer to each other, soaking in the contact that they craved but didn’t dare ask for. They would allow themselves a second of vulnerability, because that’s what helped them sleep at night. Someone always by their side to keep the nightmares at bay.

Moments like these aren’t easily forgotten. They both rest easy that night, knowing no matter what, they’ll always remember what it feels like when someone cares.

#dominion smp #dominion au #vikingpilot #Viking is called Rex here because Reasons #(he wants to be ominous and also seems to have a weird sort of disconnect between himself as Viking and himself as Rex)#That's not for me to get into tho!#Legundo #don't know if I should put any other tags #brain is eepy #bsch #BeepSheep my beloved

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fullofgutsndopamine · 6 months

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sway (you’re swimming in my veins)

or: hasan is too big of an idiot to say he likes you, so he gets into fights to get your attention

or: you'll have to pry drunk, frat hasan from my cold dead hands

tw/creepy men, toxic masculinity, drunk people, alcohol, cursing, excessive use of “princess” as a pet name

the music is so fucking loud, you can't hear yourself think. Your hands are wrapped around a red solo cup of water, mostly to try to fit in it, to not draw attention to yourself- your eyes scan the crowd as you nod to the music, even though you don't know what this music is at all-

"You're staring." Your friend comes over, elbows you in your side, a smirk is covered up by the rim of the solo cup.

"I have no idea what you're talking about." You lie,

"Frat guys are gross and I simply like to stare at them like they're creatures at a zoo. Some sort of odd creature to point at in awe."

"Right," Sam, your best friend snorts at your elbow, "And this has nothing to do with that hasan guy, right?"

"hasan," you snort, eyes everywhere but at Sam, “i didn’t even remember that’s his name-“

Sam rolls her eyes, "You need to leave him alone. He's bad news. And no-not in the 'i can fix him' sort of way-in-the-this guy needs to be looked at professionally sort of way."

Your voice drops, "What happened?" You ask, like it's a conspiracy theory. And it almost is, in the way you've heard whispers of him, of the bad things he's done, friends grabbing each other's elbows and pulling each other in close, cupped hands to the others ears when he walks in-but no ones ever elaborated beyond a warning to keep away.

Sam sighs, a deep breath, like it's the weight of the world on her shoulders, even though she's just telling someone else's tragic backstory.

"He's-" another sigh, "Just a dick, okay? He talks with his hands, not his mouth. He's always trying to get into a fight. Just-watch him, alright?"

Your head whips around to the guy pushed in the corner, throwing ping pong balls into red solo cups, stopping long enough to yell and throw his fists over his head.

"We're looking at the same guy, right?" You push.

This guy has a mop of unruly curly hair on top of his head, how he stops every once in a while to nervously mess with it, a too big black hoodie on, these dark bags under his eyes-you wouldn't talk to him for the fun of it, but he definitely doesn't look like he'd cause any real harm.

"Just because someone looks harmless, doesn't mean they are. Remember that. I'll be right back, I gotta tell James we'll be ready to go soon."

and she squeezes your shoulder and is off to find her boyfriend. You roll your eyes, the two of them are practically connected at the hip, and it makes you even more self aware of how alone you are.

"Y'know, you look like a creep in the corner?" A voice enters next to you, making you jump. You've never seen this guy before, short, blonde hair a mop on top of his head. "Did I scare you? I'm scott” when he smiles it reveals a partially toothless smile.

you can feel your heartbeat in your ears. a hard thump in your ears. something is wrong, you can tell.

"N-No, I wasn't scared." You try and play it off with a smile, "My friend Sam is around. I should go look for her. Drunk people, yknow-" you laugh, turning to leave, when he reaches out, his hand grips your wrist, hard.

"Stay."

in the corner, hasan is half listening to his two fraternity brothers attempt to talk politics ("Bruh. if you actually think Trump is bad-“) begging his eyes not to glaze over, just nodding his head, when his eyes meet yours.

Originally, he's caught in almost a dead space stare, just somewhere to rest his tired eyes (he'll insist later that it was just that, nothing more. nothing less.) but when he sees you try and move your arm away from this guy and him advancing on you more, well-

"Hey-" He's by your side before he can even stop himself and his Ma's voice is in his head immediately: why are you putting yourself somewhere you don't belong? but he shakes his head, pushing the thought down deep, "What's the problem over here?"

and he stands up straight, arms crossed over his chest, eyes narrowed, trying to look intimidating because he always insist he isn't scary at all, even if his bruised knuckles say otherwise-

And you look, well-relieved and he hates how visibility less stressed you look now that he's here, like he's some sort of hero or as if he did anything big-

"No problem." The guy speaks right away, a slight slur on his lips that makes hasan roll his eyes.

"I think you should leave, Scott. I think they're uncomfortable." hasan keeps his voice low, you have to strain to hear it over the music.

"I think they're big enough to talk for themselves, yeah?" Scott smiles and it makes your skin crawl, an involuntary shiver coming out as you shrug his hand off your shoulder again.

"Get your hands off of them," hasan is taking a step towards Scott, "I'm not telling you again to leave them alone."

"hasan-"You try, not even knowing this guy, trying to talk him off the ledge, wondering if you're about to see what his reputation is here for.

"Yeah, hasan," Scott smirks, his voice high pitched, obviously making fun of you, "Listen to the little-"

Later, you'll insist you didn't see who threw the first punch, even if you definitely saw hasan’s knuckles collide with Scott's jaw first.

A small crowd forms around the two, and in Scott's defense, he gets a few good punches to hasan’s left eye before he's yanked away by a friend.

Sam finds you, tries to get you to leave, especially after this run in with Scott still has you on edge, but you insist you need to talk to him after his little stunt.

So naturally, that's how you find yourself holding his hand, dragging him upstairs to the bathroom, ripping off the out of order sign on the bathroom and shutting the door behind you. You set the toilet seat down and nudge him to sit down and he does, with a groan as goi go through cabinets.

"I didn't even get a thank you." He mumbles.

"Are-" your head pops out from behind a cabinet, where you're digging to find some kind of disinfectant, your narrowed at him, "are you pouting right now?"

He shrugs, staring straight ahead.

"I'm so sorry, but i can't take you serious with that bag of peas on your face." You manage to finally say, barely getting it out without laughing at him as he sets it on the counter.

"Here," You roll your eyes as you finally squat in front of him (even if he towers over you) "So you don't get an infection at the very least. Jesus, that's a nasty cut."

Your hand touches the edge of it and he winces,

"You sure you know what you're doing, princess?"

You look up long enough to glare at him, pouring some alcohol into the lid, decide his comment doesn't deserve an answer.

Instead, you do what you usually do when you're uncomfortable, and make jokes: "charming. haven’t been called princess in years-“ Sure, you've never talked to him but this feels like something someone would usually add onto the nasty impressions they do off him.

he pulls away as you put your hand to his face, his eyes narrowed, eyebrows one, "thanks, i like to think it’s original-“

You stare at him hard because he has to be joking.

“sure,” you level, knowing he won’t remember this in the morning, “i’m lying.”

He nods, satisfied with himself until he sees you unwrapping various supplies, spreading them out in front of you.

"You sure you know what you're doin', princess?”

your hand is against his face as your try to bite your tongue from pointing out the pet name , instead giving him a hard look as you bring the alcohol soaked pad to his eye.

"Fuck!" He finally yells, his hand flies to yours, rests on top of your hand, "Warn someone next time, why don't ya?"

"Can't handle a little alcohol?" you tease with a smirk, bringing gauze up to his eye to blot at it.

"You're a mess."

"You should see the other guy." He mumbles flatly with a groan, "So-that thank you? i'll take it now."

you finally look up and meet his eyes and he's smirking at you.

"Let me get this straight." You grab the peas and hold them, "you just got into a huge fight-in the middle of a party your frat is hosting and you want me to say thank you?"

"I was defending your honor, princess." He insists, that stupid smirk doesn't leave his face.

"I don't need anyone to defend me, certainly not you." You pick the peas up and put them back on his face, maybe with a little more pressure than necessary you hold them there for a second, "I'm leaving, so i won't be here to patch you up. Don't do anything stupid."

and you turn to leave before you do something stupid, like thank him for helping you, or worse-sees the pink splashed across your face.

three weeks pass before you see him again, and honestly-between midterms, your job and everything else in your life, you almost forget about his existance.

That is, as usual, until your eyes wander over to his again.

He sees you staring, and before your head can whip away from his, he gives you a smirk, a wink, throws back what's left in his cup and makes his way to you.

"Funny seeing you here, princess'" He smirks, leans down to talking your ear.

You roll your eyes, "Your frat is with mine. don't act like i'm here for any other reason."

you don't tell him how happy you are to have someone to talk to, always feel out of place at these parties, and he's like a forgotten puppy in a room at a party and you're happy to see him.

"Nah, not for another fifteen minutes or so” He smirks into his beer bottle, almost empty.

"Sorry."

you can tell by his smirk he isn't sorry at all.

and you aren't either, but you have a role to play up, so you groan.

"I gotta check on Sam, make sure she's still alive." you sigh, standing up, wiping imaginary dust off your pants.

"Awe, come on, princess. just five more minutes."

"Goodnight, hasan." you roll your eyes again, walking away.

so naturally, his first thought when Adam, who's equally as drunk as him, gives him a shove, is well, at least he'll see you again, as his hand collided with Adams jaw.

"we've gotta stop meeting like this." he smirks as he holds up the bag of peas to his nose, the fight now over and he sits on the hard title of the bathroom, his knees to his chest. you only knew about the fight because when people were tending to him after he asked for you specifically, by name.

"Is that the same fuckin' bag from three weeks ago?" you ask instead, "Jesus fuck, do y'all ever grocery shop?"

But, against your better judgment, your opening and closing cabinets for cleaner.

"They're frozen, it's fine." he insists as you kneel on the floor next to him and eh closes his eyes immediately when you sit next to him. "You smell nice." he adds.

"Fuck off, hasan." You groan, but you're grateful his eyes are shut so he doesn't see you blushing.

"i'm only speakin' the truth, princess' he smiles, his eyes shut, and he's feeling too confident-until there's more alcohol on his nose and he's groaning-

by first instinct-purely, first instinct, you insist-your hand reaches out and you wrap your hand around his. "You're fine. this should probably warrant a visit to the hospital." you sigh, his hand "You're fine. this should probably warrant a visit to the hospital." you sigh, his hand stays around yours.

"I'm fine." he sighs, opens one eye, still has his teeth barred from the alcohol. "Just stings a lil is all. Listen, lemme get you a drink.

“Just one."

"if i say no am i going to meet you in the bathroom again to patch you up?" you sigh.

"Probably." he smirks, shrugging. at least he's honest.

"One drink, that's it. And no more fights." he laughs, doesn't say anything at first as he stands, offers his hand and helps you up.

"Deal. c'mon, i know just the place." and you let him wrap his hands around yours, fingers interlocked as he leads the way.

#caroline writes #hasan #hasan piker #hasan piker fanfic #hasan piker fanfiction #hasan piker ff #hasan piker fic #hasan piker imagine #hasan piker x reader #hasan piker x y/n #hasanabi #hasanabi x reader #hasanabi x y/n #hasanabi x you

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satans-helper · 11 months

Text

Smother the Flame in Your Heart - Part I

Pairing: Danny Wagner x Sam Kiszka

Word Count: ~5000

Warnings: slash & smut & vampirism [slight body worshiping; oral sex; rimming; fingering; anal sex; slight non-con; blood] 18+ only!

A/N: HAPPY HALLOWEEN!!! I've never written any vampire fan fiction before so I really hope you enjoy. Poor Danny. I hadn't fully intended to make this into a series but it kept flowing, so be on the look out for future chapters ;)

You can also read on AO3 and wattpad

---

Danny knew that even if they weren’t trapped in a crowded nightclub together, he still would have been able to smell that pretty thing from a mile away. The stranger was intoxicating, giving off a strong aroma of ocean salt, summer greenery and sage mixed with the natural sweat that was even more mouth-watering than the rest. There was alcohol in that sweat too, Danny could tell, and lots of it, and then the overwhelming allure from the smell of his blood, iron-rich and strong, coursing through those veins. It was a lot to take in even from afar; it made all of his senses tingle with anticipation.

Danny was still sober, slowly sipping on his drink while he’d been scouting, observing. He hadn’t expected to find anyone of interest, actually, so the fact that someone so beautiful and so delicious smelling had appeared before him was the best Halloween treat he could think of. This young man was too tempting to take his eyes away from even for a second. He’d have to do something about this.

Sam, waiting at the bar for another drink to hopefully cure his petulant woes, knew that if Josh and Jake hadn’t dragged him out to this Halloween club night he’d be having more fun smoking a bong and watching horror movies at home. He wasn’t in the mood to dance with strangers he couldn’t even clearly see. Nearly everyone had taken the costume memo seriously and he found himself surrounded by various pop culture icons, monsters, animals and professionals gone sexy or just gone really weird. Feeling defiant, he’d neglected to show up in any sort of costume no matter how much his brothers begged him to do otherwise.

At least it was Josh’s tab that was open so Sam didn’t have to pay for his own subpar time. When his next drink finally appeared before him, he slunk back against the counter to take in the too-loud, too-obnoxious thumping beat and the sea of people before him.

Danny was watching all of it from his dark corner at the far end of the bar. He watched how that gorgeous young man stirred the ice around in his drink before taking a sip; the points of his cupid’s bow rising as his lips parted to take a sip; the slight sheen of sweat on his face from the heat and humidity caused by everyone else being cramped in together. When his target stepped forward and to the side, beginning to weave through the crowd, Danny followed, curious, wanting and hungry.

Thank god for the small but mostly empty patio out back. Sam breathed in the cleaner, cooler air and reached into his jacket for the little cardboard pack that contained three cigarettes and one hefty joint, opting for the joint. As he was lighting it, inhaling and looking from the cracked concrete to the string lights shaped like little white ghosts, the back door opened again.

Well. Sam’s eyebrows rose on their own accord while he looked his new patio buddy over–at least he was in good, hot company. And this guy wasn’t in a costume either, just in jeans and a black tee, a well-loved suede jacket over top. That allowed for an instant connection in Sam’s mind, so he extended the joint out and asked, “Want a hit?”

He was even more enticing close up and under some light, Danny thought, looking Sam over just as Sam was doing the same to him. “Sure. Thanks,” Danny said, taking the joint and making a point to not show how much the slight brush of Sam’s fingers affected him. Not even the scent of weed could overpower the scent that emanated off him either, Danny noted, and as he took a puff, he could taste the drink that was on those soft pink lips.

“No costume,” Sam observed out loud, leaning back against the wooden fence surrounding the patio. Wow, he’d hit the jackpot even if this ended up just being an opportunity for eye candy. Whoever this guy was, he was a stunner–those strong, dark features drew Sam right in, especially the long, thick rivers of dark curls laced with bronze and gold. And when the guy looked right at him, Sam could clearly see the long, feathery black lashes that fluttered above complex, glittering irises.

Sam almost never felt ordinary, but he did a little bit standing there next to the sexy, mysterious stranger. But then when his new friend smiled in response at Sam’s observation, he could see extra-sharp canines in that mouth. “Oh wait,” he said with a laugh. “A vampire?”

Danny hadn’t actually intended Sam to notice his teeth, as stupid as that may have been. He’d been relying on the dim lighting and this guy’s own inebriation to maintain his stealth. “Kind of?” he offered, handing the joint back. Well, he was in it now, he thought, and pulled back his upper lip to show off one fang. Sam leaned in close to look, inspecting, and when Danny relaxed his mouth again he said, “All I got is the teeth. Forgot to complete the look, I guess.”

“Wow,” Sam said, still staring, eyes fixated on Danny’s mouth. “They look so real.” He took a hit and kept his eyes on him, fascination growing as the alcohol grew stronger in his blood and the weed made a little crawl into his brain. When he exhaled he asked, “You used glue or something?”

Danny chuckled. “Or something. Yeah.” He tilted his head, looking his fellow patio buddy up and down, innocent from an outside perspective but silently undressing Sam in his mind. He could see it so perfectly–the long, lean body spread out against his sheets, head thrown back to leave the tan, smooth throat exposed. When the joint was passed back to him, Danny asked, “You don’t like dressing up for Halloween?”

Sam snorted a little. “Not really. I feel too old for it.”

Danny inspected Sam further from behind the curl of dense smoke in front of his face. “You’re never too old for Halloween. It’s fun.”

That made Sam laugh a little, the irony of another wet blanket telling him he was never too old to dress up and play games. “I guess not. I think I’d just rather be doing something else tonight,” he said, and he saw how Danny’s eyes zeroed in on him even harder somehow. Sam took the joint back, hit it hard, coughed into his elbow, then asked, “What’s your name anyway?”

“Danny.”

“I’m Sam.” Sam passed the joint back for Danny to get the last hit while he nabbed his drink. He was feeling too warm for being underdressed in the cold air, suddenly flustered because his new friend was making no move to hint at an exit plan. He also wouldn’t take his eyes off Sam for a single second, not even when the three people behind them finished their cigarettes and all migrated to the back door.

“So what would you rather be doing right now?” Danny asked, definitely not willing to leave that question in the past. It was a perfect opportunity if Sam were interested, and Danny was pretty sure that he was.

Sam slurped the rest of his drink into watery ice at the bottom of the glass. “I’m open to suggestions,” he said, setting it back down on the table next to him. “If you have anything in mind.”

The night was going better than Sam could have ever expected. He was half-naked in a king-sized bed with Danny on top of him, also shirtless and evidently just as eager, being worshiped, essentially. Sam couldn’t think of another word for what was happening. Danny was kissing him deeply, intentionally, while his hands roamed all over slowly and with the same intent, like he was searching and wanting to discover something and it was driving Sam wild. It wasn’t often he got to be such a pillow princess.

Sam’s bare skin felt so good beneath Danny’s hands, as soft and as smooth as silk, all his to explore as he kissed him until he was moaning into Danny’s mouth. Danny wanted more. He broke away from Sam’s mouth to get his pants off, then his underwear, and Sam just let him do it. He spread his legs enough for Danny to slide between, which he did, purposefully pushing his denim-covered hips hard against Sam’s cock. A surprised but soft moan slipped from Sam’s lips and Danny kissed it away, being careful not to bite into the plush mouth that responded so beautifully to his own. Not yet, anyway.

Sam tried to wrap his arms around Danny but one was shoved up over his head; he gasped when Danny pressed his face right into his armpit, inhaling deeply.

“God, you smell so fucking good,” Danny said roughly before taking another deep, long inhale, his nose brushing into Sam’s armpit hair. He liked the feeling of the wiry arm in his hand too, the muscles so plainly obvious beneath Sam’s tight skin, but it was the smell that was making the crazed need roar to life.

Sam laughed, loud and bright. “Really?”

He was totally innocent, Danny knew, or as innocent as a 20-something boy could be. And Danny didn’t want to hurt him. He’d really try not to. But he knew it would be hard. “Yeah, you really do,” he said, carefully dragging the tips of his teeth across Sam’s chest to get to the other armpit. Sam wiggled beneath him, then Danny felt the weight of his freed arm across his back, bringing him in even closer. “No cologne,” Danny went on, giving Sam another sniff. “No deodorant. I can smell all of you.” When Sam sighed in response and Danny felt his cock stiffen even more against the crotch of his jeans, he made a daring lick through Sam’s armpit with his whole tongue.

“Whoa!” Sam exclaimed with an involuntary, but still earnest, giggle. He’d never had anyone do that; this Danny guy was a little freaky and Sam was loving it. He loved it even more when Danny licked from his armpit to his chest, kissing his sternum, licking again to get to his nipple. With both arms free, Sam sunk his fingers into Danny’s hair in encouragement; Danny sucked and kissed for a moment longer, then he lifted himself up and Sam watched, enthralled, as he stripped down to nothing as well.

Stripping while searching his dresser for condoms and lube, Danny was still trying to figure out how to do this without hurting Sam too badly. He was trying to figure out how to do it without even revealing what “it” was. He was also trying to do it while doing everything else because, no matter how abnormal he was, he still wanted very normal things. He wanted to kiss and touch and have sex like a normal person, and Sam clearly wanted that too. Maybe Danny could go even further, try not to do it for a night, just enjoy this experience and save his hunger for something–or someone–else.

“I really lucked out running into you tonight,” Sam said, eyeing Danny blatantly, dick twitching seemingly in response to seeing Danny’s own.

Danny’s knees pressed against the bed again, inching forward to get between Sam’s legs once more. “Tell me about it,” he said, running his hands down Sam’s thighs, pushing them back and sinking down, chest pressed against the mattress. “You’re so fucking sexy.”

“Did you take your teeth out?” Sam asked, abruptly remembering that those little plastic fangs probably wouldn’t be fun to accidentally swallow.

Danny chuckled, glancing up. “What?”

“Your little fangs.”

“Oh.” Danny ducked back down, hiding his face, hands squeezing the soft, plush flesh of Sam’s inner thighs. “Yeah, I took ‘em out earlier. Don’t you worry.” He pressed a single kiss to that soft skin before reaching up, taking Sam’s dick in his hand while his tongue moved between Sam’s cheeks. Circling his rim while he sank his fingers into Sam’s thighs, Danny tried to pour all of his efforts into pleasing his new, fun, hot sexual partner instead of scarring him for life, literally.

“Oh, I’m not worried about anything,” Sam told him, reaching up, stretching his arms to the headboard. Getting laid had never been easier and Danny certainly had a lot to offer. He reached down to jerk himself off while Danny ate him out, listening to the muffled moans of effort and arousal that were matching Sam’s own. He closed his eyes, so grateful now that his brothers had talked him into going out.

Danny realized he was gripping Sam so hard it must have hurt, but Sam was sighing with contentment and stroking himself, his body moving like gentle waves with everything Danny did. When both of Sam’s hands found the top of Danny’s head, he licked all the way up to the tip of his cock, feeling his belly tremble all the while. “You taste good, too.” He wrapped his hand around Sam’s dick as he moved up further, his lips creating a trail up his torso. Danny looked into those soft, inviting eyes and said, his heart hammering with suppressed desperation, “I wanna taste more of you.”

“Just like a real vampire,” Sam quipped, holding Danny’s face in his hands so he could trace those lips with his thumb. “Maybe you actually should’ve kept the teeth in.”

Obviously a joke. But a joke Danny didn’t know how to respond to. Should he tell Sam? It had never worked before, but Sam was still drunk enough, possibly still a little stoned, and seemed open-minded enough to potentially believe him. No, there was no way, Danny decided. He tried to wash away his urges by focusing on his own body, how it was pressed against Sam’s, how their erections were rubbing against one another’s, how his skin was all warm, so alive, thanks to Sam clinging to him, beckoning for more.

Danny sat back, resting his hands on Sam’s chest. Maybe he could get a taste of the taste he wanted so badly, so to speak. He believed in himself. He could do this. “Well, honestly, Sam–I do like to bite,” he said, carefully watching that angelic face. Danny’s tension drifted away a bit when Sam smiled, looking absolutely delighted at the confession. “Kind of a lot. Would you be into that?”

There was just something about this guy, Sam thought. Danny was sweet and sexy, alluring without even really trying to be. Smoking a bong alone at home and watching a movie didn’t compare at all to what he’d actually gotten into for the night. He grabbed the lube from next to Danny’s shin and tossed it over. “I feel like you could do just about anything you want to me.”

Sam had no idea how dangerous those words were. Danny took a deep breath and felt his hands trembling as he popped the cap of the lube open; he hoped Sam didn’t notice. “How do you wanna do this?”

“Just like this,” Sam said, guiding Danny’s wet fingers between his legs. “I wanna look at you. You’re so fucking hot.”

“You are too,” Danny told him, pushing one of Sam’s legs back as he slid two fingers inside. He was growing restless, all the pent up urges becoming stronger, and as much as he wanted to be slow and gentle, his patience was dwindling. But Sam responded positively, eyelashes fluttering and lips parting while his body relaxed and took Danny right in. Danny took Sam’s cock in his free hand. “I wish I’d met you a long time ago.”

“Oh yeah?” Sam asked, extending his arms out, trying to grab whatever he could, which ended up being some strands of Danny’s hair. “Well, there’s no time like the present, man. Happy fucking Halloween.”

Danny chuckled. “The night when all the freaks come out.”

Sam gave a tug to one strand of hair. “I met the right freak.”

The more gentle Danny persisted with getting Sam ready, the louder Sam became and he began to outright beg for more. Danny felt like his entire body was just a bundle of too-tight nerves when he rolled the condom over himself and shifted on the bed, bringing his hips closer and closer.

Sam quickly looped his arms around Danny once he got the chance, pulling him in. “Come on, Danny–fuck me already.” When Danny shoved forward, Sam gasped sharply and clawed at his shoulders–he was getting what he wanted, but sometimes he didn’t realize what exactly that was. This was one of those times.

“Shit, are you okay?” Danny asked, still so tightly wound he was worried that once he began, it would truly be too much.

“I’m good, yeah, I’m good,” Sam assured him. He drew Danny closer, holding him tight, and kissed him to emphasize that statement. Yes, it hurt, but it felt good, too. It felt strangely right despite Danny being a stranger; Sam wasn’t one to fantasize much, but with Danny enveloping him in heat and pleasure, he could imagine doing this over and over with him. When Danny kissed from his lips to his jaw down to his neck, Sam turned his head to the side. “You said you wanted to bite,” he reminded him through panting breaths as Danny’s pace sped up just a bit, making the burn even deeper.

Oh god, Danny did want that. Sam’s neck was so tempting–he could see one long vein running down, trembling slightly as he strained and kept breathing raggedly. Danny could smell the blood inside and could imagine the taste, so rich and thick it would be in his mouth.

“I do want to,” Danny said, barely more than a whisper. He wasn’t even really cognizant of how he was fucking Sam anymore, too distracted by this offering. He lowered his mouth to Sam’s neck, asking the question with his lips pressed against that warm skin: “You really don’t mind? Even if I give you a hickey?”

Sam wrapped one leg around Danny’s hips. “Do your worst.”

Danny took a deep breath, his hand tightening around Sam’s shoulder while his hips slowed below. It was a test–maybe he could pass it. He’d have to try. So he started gentle, just kissing and inhaling Sam’s scent, creating a trail from just beneath his ear down to his collarbone; Sam moaned quietly in response, one hand stretching down to grab Danny’s ass in encouragement. So he kept going, introducing his tongue to lick, his lips to press harder, and when Sam arched up, rubbing his cock against Danny’s stomach, he carefully pressed the tips of his teeth against his neck.

With deep, dark, sinking shame, Danny failed. As the first note of a scream came from Sam’s throat, he clapped his hand over his mouth while his canines sank deep into his neck. It was awful, Danny knew, for Sam to hear the pop of his own skin being punctured and feel the blood begin to flow. It was awful for Danny to keep him pinned there, his own weight and muscle outdoing Sam’s own, with his hips pressed down tightly and his shoulders unrelenting no matter how much Sam tried to push and punch him off. But the feel of the warm blood in his mouth and the taste on his tongue was really like a drug, something evil and uncontrollable. When Sam got a hard smack across his face, Danny grabbed both of those wrists and pinned them overhead, leaving Sam completely defenseless.

There wasn’t much room for pondering as Sam hopelessly tried to fight Danny off, but he had one thought when time seemed to slow to a complete still: it just couldn’t be real. Vampires didn’t really exist. This was just a deranged psychopath biting him, drinking his blood because he was a sicko, not some spooky mythological creature. But when Danny pulled back, panting, blood on his lips and chin, Sam caught the glimmer of those very real and very sharp teeth stained red and shiny. He whimpered beneath Danny’s palm, fear now making him freeze instead of fight, and couldn’t do anything but stare at that beautiful face that had betrayed him. He was sure he was going to die.

“I’m sorry,” Danny said. He had no idea how he was going to get out of this one, but he had to try and at least stop it while he still could. His body was trembling hard as he lowered himself again, but instead of latching onto Sam’s neck again, he pressed a kiss to the obscene little wounds, then licked long and slow over the bite.

Sam’s breathing slowed. He was confused now in this bizarre lull Danny was eliciting; he didn’t feel the urge to fight back anymore, just to lie there and drift off. But no, that was insane, he reminded himself, and wiggled beneath Danny as he tried to bite his palm.

“Don’t scream,” Danny pleaded, taking his hand away from Sam’s mouth. Thankfully, Sam didn’t, just looked up at him with bewildered, scared eyes. His cheeks were still red though–Danny hadn’t gone too far.

“What the fuck,” Sam said, voice hoarse. He should use all the strength he had left to kick Danny off himself. He should flee. He should tell someone–but who would believe him?

“You’re okay,” Danny said. He wanted to cry. He wanted to disappear. He stroked Sam’s hair, hoping whatever happened now would be enough for him to be forgiven for the first time. It would mean the most, he knew, because it wasn’t just Sam’s looks and blood that had called out to him. There was something else there, something Danny wanted to protect rather than destroy. He licked the blood away from his teeth and wiped his mouth before he offered another futile, “I’m sorry, Sam.”

With Danny’s grip loosened, Sam flailed his wrists free and brought his fingers to his neck. “You didn’t kill me,” he said, and was shocked to find that there was nothing even there beneath his own touch. It was like it hadn’t even happened.

“I didn’t want to,” Danny assured him. He was still hard inside Sam. It was so obscene to be that way, to want more after all this, and he braced himself for Sam to whip into action. “I don’t want to.”

Sam’s mind was reeling. Monsters weren’t real, they were only real in books and movies, but Danny was very, very real. He reached out to touch him, to make sure of that, and found that Danny’s skin felt even warmer than before. Knowing his own blood had aided in that made Sam feel nauseous for a second, but the downcast, sad look of apology on Danny’s face made that feeling disappear.

“I’m confused,” was all Sam could say, flopping his arms back on the bed.

“I know.” With Sam seeming to give into him again, Danny moved in, hair hanging over both of their faces. “Can I make it better somehow?” With a daring, shaking hand, he reached down and circled his fingers around Sam’s cock. Of course he wasn’t hard anymore, but maybe Danny could help him get there again. Maybe, for whatever fucked up reason, the night could still end well.

Sam whined, grabbing Danny’s shoulders not in protest but in want. Nonsensical, stupid, crazy want. “Monsters aren’t supposed to be real,” he said, looking at those lips that were unnaturally red.

“I don’t wanna be a monster,” Danny told him, recognizing Sam’s gaze; he licked his lips before testing the waters further, bringing his face closer until their noses were almost touching. The most fantastical magic came in the form of Sam pulling him into a hug and bringing him down to kiss, like none of it had happened at all. Danny sighed into it, relief rushing through his heart, and started to stroke Sam back to life.

Sam moaned, kissing Danny back deeply, his heart speeding up with that confusion and fear when he tasted his own blood on those dangerous lips. He held the sides of Danny’s face and made him look into his eyes: “What’d you do to me?” he asked, but Danny only sped up his movements, thrusting harder inside him, stroking him faster.

“Something I didn’t wanna do,” Danny said, biting his lip so hard in his sorrow that he made himself bleed.

“I asked you to,” Sam said, realizing his biggest mistake. He wiped the trickle of blood away from Danny’s chin with his finger before bringing it to his own mouth, tasting what was both of them.

“Oh, fuck,” Danny huffed out, humping into Sam wildly, sure that he was leaving bruises on his thighs but past the point of slowing down for real. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, Sam.” He was losing it in not only the feeling of Sam’s body around him but in the unfathomable recognition that he was being accepted. He might have been a monster, a beast, but he found someone who cared enough to stay anyway despite having every right to try and kill him.

Sam pulled Danny’s hair hard, locking their mouths together while Danny fucked into him and jerked him off. He didn’t want to think anymore. He wanted to taste the iron on Danny’s tongue, feel the hard weight on top of him, revel in the strange, twisted orgasm that was growing deep inside him, making his balls tighten, his back arch, his heart pound, his throat quiver.

“Come for me,” Danny begged against Sam’s mouth, further interrupting their kisses by bringing his hand up and spitting pink saliva into it. He reached back down and Sam gasped, eyes closed tight, lips parted as he moaned and squeaked. “Come for me, Sam, please, I need you to.”

Sam needed that, too. He tucked his face into Danny’s neck, his final moan of release sounding like a wounded animal, which he knew he wasn’t far from being. Danny followed with a deep groan and series of pants in Sam’s ear, both of them unraveled and fucked up beyond belief.

“I can’t believe you did,” Danny said after a moment. He collapsed completely on top of Sam, feeling boneless and helpless. Thankfully, Sam didn’t seem to mind and that too was more than Danny knew he deserved. When he got up to pull out, he was able to see the damage he’d done–Sam’s thighs were indeed already bruised, in addition to his wrists having nasty blue and purple rings around them. But the worst part was his neck–while there was no bite mark, there was still carnage there in the form of a nasty, bright red and violet patch where Danny had, in fact, bitten him. A collection of broken blood vessels that made his heart sink.

Sam saw that look. He touched the spot Danny was staring at and it felt too hot and too sore, suddenly painful. “It’s bad?”

Danny nodded. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to–I really tried not to.”

Sam sat up, finally getting the chance to stretch his muscles a bit. He should have been mad, he knew, or really, he should have been traumatized. But there was genuine softness and kindness in Danny’s eyes, not just self-pity. And had he not been a blood-sucking monster, Sam knew he would have really liked him. Actually, he still really liked him, as fucked up as that was.

“It’s not that bad,” Sam said once he was standing in front of Danny’s dresser mirror. Funny, he thought, considering as far as he knew, vampires didn’t have reflections. But there Danny was, right behind him, placing a tentative hand on his shoulder while Sam inspected himself. “I can’t even see teeth marks.”

“I hurt you,” Danny said, slipping away to grab his clothes. If Hell really did exist, he thought as he pulled his boxers back on, he was definitely going there.

“Not enough to drive me away,” Sam said with a small laugh, still able to find humor in the absurdity. He felt more fascinated by Danny now. He’d been shown that the entire world was truly full of mystery. And monsters. But some of those monsters were really, really hot.

“You’re not afraid?” Danny asked, looking up at him when Sam turned to face him, still naked and still showing Danny all the places he really had inflicted pain, even if Sam was weirdly accepting of it.

“Not really. I mean, shit, I sure was when you bit me,” Sam said with another laugh, touching the bruise on his neck again. “Now I’m more afraid of all the other shit I don’t know. If you’re real–if all vampires are real–what else is real?”

Danny sighed, eyes dropping to the floor. “I don’t know.”

Sam hummed. “Do I taste good?”

Danny looked up; Sam was genuinely curious. “Yeah, you taste so fucking good,” he had to admit, his tongue gliding over his teeth for one final taste. “Best I ever had.”

Sam smiled. He sat down next to Danny, feeling exhaustion crash over him like a tidal wave. “That’s the weirdest and best compliment I’ve ever gotten, I think,” he said, crawling up the bed to get under the covers. He just needed sleep. He needed to sleep and he needed that sleep to happen with a vampire. With Danny. He probably needed therapy, too.

Dumbfounded, Danny just watched as Sam cuddled himself underneath the blankets and closed his eyes. He wished he could sleep too, but he couldn’t, though that didn’t stop Danny from getting in next to Sam and holding all night.

---

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#greta van fleet #gvf #sam kiszka #danny wagner #danny wagner x sam kiszka #sanny #josh kiszka #jake kiszka #sam gvf #danny gvf #jake gvf #josh gvf #gvf smut #gvf slash #gvf halloween #stfyh

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captainjimothycarter · 10 months

Note

OOH what about. Teacher AU + Bodyguard AU + steggy!! hope your fic writing goes better too

This was honestly one of the most challenging out and I still even feel like I didn't hit it right. Hope you enjoy!

Read It On AO3

Perhaps pointing out that the gentleman in the sharp suit was being followed by the man wearing the oddly sizes-too-small hoodie and the scruffed-up jeans was not the best of his intentions. He only wanted the gentleman to be aware that he, perhaps, wasn't safe.

He just didn't know it would lead to this.

This being the fact that on his short walk home, he found himself walking beside the sharply dressed stranger and had to shove him out of the way of an oncoming car that had no intention of stopping.

To be fair, he must've blacked out before the car hit him because he remembered nothing of it. He remembered nothing of the car hitting him, shattering his left leg, the hospital, or the surgery.

Maybe that was the lucky part.

He just knew at one point he was pushing the guy out of the way and woke up in a private hospital room, surrounded by overly-filled vases with various flowers. He blinked, confused in the dimly lit room, feeling incredibly dizzy as he looked around.

It took him a moment to realize that his leg was in a cast, that the 'floating' feeling was just pain meds being pushed through his veins. Fuck, what the hell had happened?

"You don't need to worry about the bill," a voice to his left startled him, coming from the sharply dressed stranger.

It took his blurry brain to figure out that the stranger was the same one he'd rescued earlier, he recognized him for his silver eyes and the slight scar down his jawline. The sight of those eyes had him filled with tension until they crinkled in the corner with relief as he leaned forward and brushed the fair hair off of Steve's forehead.

"Sorry, that shouldn't have been the first thing I told you... I wanted to thank you for saving my life, Steve. You didn't have to make that decision but it was a very stupid, ridiculous decision that could've gotten you killed. You don't know the damage you've done by saving my life."

Steve's nose wrinkled at the half-ass apology, rolling his head so that he was staring at the stranger. It made two appear in his vision for a moment, blinking hard to clear it. "That's a funny way of thanking someone for saving your life."

"I guess I'm just a funny guy," he shrugged, lips twitching in the corners. "I'm thankful that you saved my life and all but there are some powerful people out there who now think that you're working for me because you saved my life twice by pointing out I was being stalked and then the whole truck-hitting ordeal."

Steve wanted to laugh, and he did, but any sort of laughing just brought on more sharp pain than what he was used to. Instead, he managed a little snort.

"What? Are you in the mafia?" His other little snort dies in the back of his throat, the sudden serious look on the stranger's face. "You're serious... You're fucking serious? You're part of the ma-"

His words are cut off by the hand covering his mouth, muffling any other attempts.

"Will you learn to be quiet for once in your life? I swear they give you a bit of morphine and you're just rambling away like nothing, kid." He rolled his eyes, crossing one leg over the other and huffing. "First off, my name is Bucky, second off, don't just blurt stuff like that out loud. You don't know who's listening. And before you go off about all of this, your ideas of what involves the 'mafia' are skewed by the media."

"Why are you telling me all of this? Are you going to kill me?"

Bucky snorted, rolling his eyes. "Now, I am a bit of a masochist, but not when it comes to the American Healthcare System. Why bother paying for your surgery and your private room if I was just going to kill you? I could've just left you to die on the street. No, Stevie, I'm not killing you. I told you all of this so you knew not to act so stupid next time or with your bodyguard."

Steve frowned, catching every so often one of Bucky's words and just having to put the sentence together. "You...I don't have a bodyguard."

"You do now. Come in, Peggy, he's coherent enough to meet you!"

"Barnes, how many times do I have to tell you that there's a difference between being coherent and being stable enough for a proper conversation," the woman who must be Peggy lectured Bucky as she stepped inside. "And this one doesn't look like he's coherent."

Steve felt a shiver rush down his spine at the sight of her - she was gorgeous, sharp jawline and beautiful hazel doe eyes. Standing taller than even his muscular form with the muscular forms amongst her body. She was a walking dream and he felt himself forgetting how to speak the moment he looked at her.

At least this Peggy took interest in that, chuckling at the flush on his cheeks, and looked him up and down. "Well, now I see why you told me that he was my type. I thought you were just lying."

"Hey, I never lie!" Bucky defended himself, rolling his eyes. "I know your type when I see it - broad, muscular, and luscious beard. Plus, word on the street he's some snoozy teacher at the local college."

"Well, what a way to make my job seem beneath you," Steve snorted, using the aid of the bed to sit up. He regretted it, holding onto his leg and groaning. "I teach art and art history at the local college, yes. Nothing snooty about it."

"Easy there, Tiger," Peggy said, grasping the remote to have it gently ease him back into a slight slant so he wasn't hurting so much. "You shattered your leg saving my boss's life. Had to have pins in you."

"As a pleasure you are, ma'am, I don't need a fricken bodyguard. I am fine on my own," Steve argued, ignoring their roll of the eyes.

"Looking' the way you do is not fine, Steve," Bucky argued. "Not with that many pins and needles in you. For now, Peggy will keep an eye on you so you're not pulling any stupid stunts like that again."

"Right, so I'll remember not to save your life," Steve mused, rolling his eyes and crossing his arms over his chest. He's rewarded with Bucky clapping his shoulder and smiling down at him.

"Just play nice with him, Carter. I don't want to see another report on my desk that you broke another person’s nose while trying to change their sheets.”

Peggy scoffs, rolling her eyes as Bucky walks out the door. "Ignore him. He's a brute. A good boss, but a brute all the same."

"You don't have to tell me twice," Steve huffed, scrubbing at his face. "Look, uh, I've never had a bodyguard before - never exactly needed one so how in the hell is this going to work?"

Peggy shrugged, dragging a chair to sit beside Steve. "How about we focus on the now, darling? For now, I'll stay in this hospital room with you, keep an eye out for anyone that rubs me the wrong way, then we can worry about the future."

That suited him just fine, the less he put his foot in his mouth, the better. He's still not thrilled about having a more or less, glorified babysitter but he can't argue. Hell, he can't even leave, not with his leg like this.

"So," Steve sighed after Peggy had left and came back with lunch for the both of them. The hospital fish stew was not setting nor smelling well. "Is your boss just overreacting here or is my life really in danger? Or is this some guilt technique of his?"

"Not really guilt or survivor's guilt or whatever you want to call it," she explained, pointing her fork full of potatoes in his direction. "He's absolutely serious about them. While they've never really given us much trouble before beyond the little property war or wanting to cause some tidbit over delivery, they've never really tried to kill him before. And with you saving his life, he's worried that you'll be drawn into this little war and that they'll try to kill you. Don't worry, they won't drag this on for years. I'll be in and out of your hair in just a few months."

"Hopefully before I go back to teaching. As pretty as you are, I can’t really explain the whole bodyguard thing to anyone.”

Steve fell silent, more or less stabbing moodily at the food than really eating. He didn't regret saving this Bucky's life, even if it did break his leg, he was more or less annoyed at the whole bodyguard situation.

He's never had a bodyguard before, never particularly needed one. He knew she could handle herself or else she wouldn't be in this position but what the hell was he supposed to do with her? How could she keep him company all the time?

"You should get some rest," Peggy said softly, breaking his line of thought. "Stop thinking so much, I know, I know, don't need to shoot me that look, Professor Rogers. Easier said than done, but no use in you thinking so damn hard and giving yourself a migraine. You're safe with me."

Steve wanted to snap that he didn't even need her here but yet, he knew he couldn't argue with her. He was too exhausted to, it seems like having a broken leg and having morphine slowly dripped into your IV meant that you were going to sleep the days away.

"Alright, my turn to ask a question," Peggy chuckled, lifting Steve's arm so she could wash his armpit. "God, you're stinky. Why did you choose to teach art and art therapy? It's just such an unusual combination, but I am curious as to how your brain works."

Steve's nose wrinkled at the comment. It wasn't his fault that he was stuck in a wheelchair for the next few months and showering was a bit complicated, but they managed.

Peggy had gotten him out of the hospital a few days earlier than planned by informing his doctor that he had an at-home nurse who would assist with any needs, including physical therapy.

He thought Peggy had hired someone to care for him, while she just surveyed and did whatever bodyguard duties existed. He shouldn't have been surprised when she revealed her knowledge of once being a home nurse.

Why didn't it surprise him to know that she was skilled in many areas? It seemed to make sense with her duty of bodyguarding. He still hadn't gotten much out of her with the whole 'mafia-Bucky' incident, she wasn't too keen on informing him on more than what he needed to know.

The less he knew, the better, the safer he would be.

There hadn't been much of an incident that posed the fact that he even needed a bodyguard. There hadn't been any incidents that posed the reality as to why he needed Peggy to be around him nearly 24/7.

There hadn't been any assassination attempts, no one to put air in his IV tube, push his wheelchair in front of traffic, no attempt on his life. No poison in his coffee, unless you count how burnt it tasted.

He'd tried to tell Peggy that her service wasn't needed, in the sweetest manner possible, but she had insisted otherwise and ignored him when he tried to press the issue. Of course, he had no say in this, not when she was hired for this job, and the fact that he had no good argument.

He was stuck in a wheelchair, and his apartment wasn't exactly wheelchair friendly.

The lukewarm water and Peggy's question brought him back to reality, listening to her and feeling his face heating up. Want to know how his brain works? He blinked, trying to think of an answer as she raised his other arm and started to scrub lightly underneath.

"Huh, I've never been asked that before, honestly. Even when the kiddos interview me for some project or another," Steve mused, scratching at his beard and humming slightly. "Well, I guess I just liked how therapeutic art can be when words fail you when you can't get the right words to say how you feel, it's much easier just to sling a bunch of red paint across a canvas than to continue to struggle to find the words. Plus, art is just fun and should be fun, you don't have to have some God-given talent to enjoy scribbling across paper."

Peggy paused in her washing, letting the rag fall back into the bucket, wringing it out. She looked thoughtfully at him, humming. "I've never thought about that point before, honestly. You're quite the out-of-the-box thinker, Rogers."

Her smile sent a thrill through him as she helped dry him off and changed into a fresh pair of clothes. Over the last few weeks, he's had to admit that they've gotten rather close and he looked forward to their daily conversations.

He had to admit being around her had brightened his mood after living alone these last few years.

"So, if we're questioning others on career choices, what got you into bodyguarding?"

She shrugged, setting the bucket aside and adjusting Steve's leg on the pillow so it was more comfortable. "It's nothing too exciting or whatever you're imagining. Just a particular set of skills that came of use to him. Some skills just grew over time, learned new ones while under him.

If you're curious as to how we met, I saved his life when he was shot at. Fished the bullet out and everything. He thought that I would make a good bodyguard after I strangled the assailant with just my bare hands, but you don't want to hear that."

Steve made a face, he'd rather honestly hear about this. He wanted to hear all about her life and everything that she did. "You know, we have a few weeks before I can head back to work, I'd love to hear everything you have to say."

Peggy smiled, tilting his head to meet his gaze. "Well, then I guess we better get comfortable."

#Steggy #StevePeggy #Steve x Peggy #Steve/Peggy #Peggy Carter #Steve Rogers

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justsomeoneintoomanyfandoms · 22 days

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Hiii! Can I please get a matchup for One piece, demon slayer and jjk? First of all, thank you so much for doing this... really... thank you!! ❤

Here i go....

Pronouns: She/her

Sexuality: Straight

MBTI: INFP (sometimes i feel like i am a INTP)

Appearance: tall, black middle length hair. Dark brown eyes. Tan skin.

Personality: i am so introverted. I maybe seemed as selfish and uncaring. But i do care, especially for my family. I am sometimes paranoid about things. But i always try not to talk bad about others and try to be possitive. I always try to be a kind and mature person. I really try.

Likes and Dislikes: I love reading... watching anime... and character.ai... but i recently stopped using character.ai. i was addicted to it. Oh i love sleeping. I like drawing and painting... i like Writing... i like to fantasise things...

These days i am studying Mathematics, physics and chemistry for my final exams. It is so hard. I want to be a electrical engineer one day. And a businesswoman.

I must say my anime husband is Ace.

What more should i say? Oh i am kind of lazy... and procrastinating.... but i want to be a hard working person... i know just 'wanting to become' is nothing without 'trying to be'.... so i will try to overcome my had habits....

i don't have much friends... but i have my younger sister as a friend... a best friend....

that's pretty much it...

Hope you can get the idea...

Thank you again.... have a nice day!!!🌸

Hi Anon! Thank you for your request! Sorry it took a while. I hope you like your matchups!

In One Piece, I match you with...

It’s a good thing you like Ace because he certainly likes you back! He’s fallen head over heels for your kindness and would do anything to be on the receiving end of it.

You’re both lazy sort of people and there’s nothing wrong with that in Ace’s eyes. He loves the fact that when he unexpectedly falls asleep, you’re happy to rest alongside him.

Speaking of, he also loves sleeping with you intentionally. He likes the intimacy and domesticity of drifting off to sleep knowing the person he cares about most is right beside him.

In a modern au, Ace would definitely be into anime. I can see him being a fan of things like Jujutsu Kaisen and Hunter x Hunter but he’s open to suggestions and will happily watch anything you like.

Definitely teases you a bit for liking character.ai. But at the same time, he totally gets it. There are some cool characters out there that he’d love to talk to as well. Maybe you’ll have to show him how to use it sometime…

In Demon Slayer, I match you with...

You and Giyu are definitely more on the introverted side of things so it might take a while for your relationship to start. But once it does, you two are inseparable.

You’re definitely the more positive one in your relationship but Giyu is trying his best to change his view of the world. Hopefully over time you can show him that not everything in the world is as sad as he sometimes thinks it is.

Since neither of you have many friends, your bond would be even closer than you might expect. I can see you giving each other the courage to make new friends together as well which is always a good thing.

He loves watching you paint. He finds it relaxing and enjoys seeing your pieces come together. He might ask you to draw some things for him from time to time but won’t force you if you’re not feeling inspired.

In the same vein, he loves your writing as well. If you share any of your work with him, Giyu will read it carefully and give you good feedback, both positive and constructive.

In Jujutsu Kaisen, I match you with...

Since you’re mature, I think you’d get along well with Itadori. He’s a fun loving guy but is able to be serious when the occasion calls for it. It’s a good combination.

He’s definitely a procrastinator so he totally gets where you’re coming from with that. Hopefully you can help each other be a bit more productive rather than encouraging the procrastination too much…

Itadori thinks it’s great that you like fantasising about things. He can be a bit spacy at times and doesn’t mind sitting together in silence, lost in your own thoughts.

Loves watching anime with you! I see him as a shonen fan publicly but a rom-com lover in private. He’s pretty happy watching anything you like though.

Itadori also really likes watching you draw. He’ll set up a notepad next to you and try to copy your work, even though he definitely doesn’t have the same level of skill you do.

#writing #fanfic #matchup #matchup request #request #one piece #portgas d ace #demon slayer #kimetsu no yaiba #giyu tomioka #jujutsu kaisen

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riahlynn101 · 1 month

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"[You] Should Know Better Than That" (5).

Trigger warnings: Implied kidnapping, mentioned character death, and implied childhood neglect/abuse.

Sorry for the late update guys :((

Chapter 5

Vanessa slams her car door. This is the last place she wants to be. Ever, but especially not on her day off.

Her eyes are instantly drawn to deep black skid marks on the pavement, coming from somewhere near the back of the building, and out of the parking lot. Vanessa’s stomach roils.

That can’t be good.

-x-x-x-

“What happened?” Mike asks, handing Max a cup of water. It takes her a moment to process what he’s doing and even longer to accept the cup. A blanket is wrapped around her shoulders - not that that helps her trembling.

One of her hands holds firmly onto the cup, while the other pets Bonesy's head. Mike has never been particularly fond of dogs, or he’s just never been around them enough to hold an opinion beyond indifference, but he’s always found Bonesy nice to be around. Besides being soft, the dog seems to know when Max needs comfort. He kind of wishes his parents got him a dog after Garrett….

Abby peeks out from her room. Mike makes eye contact with her. “Later,” he mouths, before sitting in the nearby recliner. She opens her mouth to say something but decides against it, going back into her room.

“I don’t know,” Max says. Just like the rest of her body, her voice shakes as well. It’s strained, too, and reminds him of how his mom sounded being questioned by the police after the incident. Like she wants nothing more than to curl up and never speak again. “I can’t! I can’t!” Her breathing comes out faster.

“Hey,” Mike starts, in the same soft tone he uses when Abby gets overwhelmed or anxious, “you don’t have to tell me anything. I just want to make sure you’re okay.”

Max stares down into her cup. He can only guess what she’s thinking.

Her next words are so quiet that Mike thinks he’s misheard her. “My brother’s dead.”

“Sorry?” He sits forward, elbows on his knees. Mike focuses all his attention on her. “What did you say?”

Max looks at him, eyes wide. “My brother’s dead, Mike.” Tears slide down her face. “He’s dead and those things killed him.” She hiccups, rocking back and forth. Bonsey whines and nuzzles into her hand, but Max is too worked up for any sort of comfort.

A buzz of anxiety floods his veins, like the shock of an electric current. “Max? What happened?”

She shakes her head. “‘M sorry, Mike. I’m so, so sorry. She paid us and I- we needed the money.”

“Who?”

Max sobs. “Your aunt! She paid us to sabotage you! We…we went to your job and wrecked the place. Do a little damage. But things went wrong.” She wipes at her eyes. “I was desperate! My brother was desperate, and now he’s….”

Something in Mike’s chest twinges at the revelation. It should have been obvious from the start. Max not pressing him for payment, even though he’s only paid her once in the fifteen times she’s babysat. Aunt Jane encouraging him to hire her. It was all planned.

He wants to scream and cry and demand answers, and he almost does. A fire climbs its way from his lungs, up his throat, ready to be unleashed. This is the sort of betrayal that’ll follow him for years, sliding into place with all the other ones committed by his parents over the years. But….

Max has returned to looking down. He watches the tears fall into the now empty cup. There’s a sadness there that he sees every day in the mirror. Except her sadness is fresh, stinging like an open wound exposed to air.

He takes a deep breath. His mother used to say, ‘compassion is best used on those that are hurting.’

“It’s…” he has to force down his anger. He can be angry later. Right now, sitting across from Max, he needs to be kind. “Going to be okay.”

“Nuh, no.” The way she looks at him makes Mike feel like an approaching predator, sizing her up for dinner. Like she thinks his words are surface level, and he secretly means to hurt her.

He looks over at the muted TV. An older woman with short white hair displays a diamond ring worth more than Mike’s ever made in his entire life. He smiles. “Weren’t you just talking about that ring?”

She doesn’t respond, but it does get her to look at the TV.

“You know, it looks a lot like my mom’s ring.” He laughs. “I remember the way it used to catch in the light. Mom only took it off for baths and to wash dishes. She said it was proof of their love.”

“I want that,” Max admits. “To be loved like that.”

No, you don’t. Mike mentally kicks himself.

He tries to conjure more positive memories of his parents. “They used to dance in the living room. They’d put on a record and dance after my brother and I went to bed.” He closes his eyes, remembering the sounds of classical music on vinyl, his parents' laughter, and the tiny footsteps as his brother joined him at the top of the stairs. They would watch them move about the room until one of them would catch a glimpse of Mike or his brother and send them back to bed.

Max closes her eyes as if trying to picture the memory. A faint smile grazes her lips. “I don’t remember my parents,” she says. “I used to dream about them, but they’ve been gone for a long time. My brother was all I had.”

“I’m sorry,” Mike murmurs. He might not understand why she betrayed him, but he does understand losing your sibling, your parents, and your stability. And she just lost all of that in one go.

He tries to imagine dying and leaving Abby at the mercy of Aunt Jane, but the idea makes him too nauseous.

“Do you need a place to crash?” It wouldn't be ideal to have anyone else live here, but Mike wouldn’t feel right about abandoning her.

“Just for tonight,” she says. “I can talk to my college and see if they can place me in student housing.”

“Try to take it easy tonight. I’ll make dinner.” He gets to his feet. “Tacos or pizza?”

#cross posted on ao3 #fnaf fanfic #fnaf vanessa #fnaf au #fnaf movie #fnaf mike schmidt #schmelly #mike x vanessa

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gothamxwattpad · 1 year

Text

Eat, Fuck, Kill- Billy Hargrove

Hellfire Haunts Writing Challenge

Billy fucking Hargrove. He and I, we dated once and it didn’t last. He was a dick and I hated how his cigarettes smelled. He had needs that I wouldn’t subject myself to. I was a nice girl, an angel some would say. I doubt he even remembers.

But I’m not longer that girl he knew. And he hasn’t changed one bit. I’ve seen him with his stupid car and the different girls each night behind the high school, under the bleachers. I don’t blame them, the girls, he convinces them that he’s a nice guy. I can hear his voice now, “It’s okay, we won’t get caught. The thrill will make it better.” He gave me the same line.

The same pattern, every night, behind the school and under the bleachers. Sometimes he would bring a blanket. What the hell was I doing watching him like a creep? I was waiting to catch him alone.

I want to see if he tastes as bad as he is as a person. I can do that now, I’m not a toy he can play with and throw away afterwards, not anymore. I want him to be the toy, to show him what he is. I want to make him regret and to fear and to feel. Because I no longer can.

I remain in the shadows, I always remain in the dark. Tonight he’s with a pretty blonde with bouncy curls and white dress. Tonight he opens the car door for her and talks softly and sweetly. She’s hesitant, she knows something is off and she’s not interested in his act. Smart girl, this is my chance.

I float out of the shadows in their direction, making sure the first thing he notices is the sound of my boots crunching against the gravel. The second thing is the red lipstick, and third the sucker- my flavor is cherry. My legs, long and smooth and dressed in black fishnet. Leather jacket over a black shirt and a red flannel tied around my waist. He won’t resist.

“Holyshit, Rosie, is that you?” He says with a laugh, grinning ear to ear as I approach.

He used my middle name. Sort of, Alex Rosalind Moore. Not that it matters, I’m dead. I’ve been dead for a good while now. I found the MISSING flyers in the windows too.

“The one and only.” I reply, popping the sucker back into my mouth.

He’s surprised, entranced by me. I look different from the last time he saw me. I used to wear pretty girly things. Ponytails and heels and dresses. I wouldn’t be caught dead in them now.

“Damn. Where have you been?” He purrs to me as I come closer.

I lean against his car, he used to hate that. “Get the fuck off my car.”, he would snap. I’m in his reach, I can smell his cigarettes and cologne. Can he smell the cherry? Just a bit closer…

“It doesn’t matter, I’m not planning on sticking around.” I reply, “Unless you want to give me a reason to stay.”

His eyes light up. He’s excited now. He’s thinking, “Finally! This girl is going to let me get some!” He’s going to get something alright, he’s probably not going to enjoy it as much as I will. I’m the predator and he’s the prey.

“You know, I feel bad about how things ended between us last time. I made a mistake and I’m sorry.” He says, he leans in closer to me.

I could put my fingers through his soft hair, I want to smell it. I want to breathe in his scent. Especially his neck, that vein that’s popping out. It throbs. I didn’t realize how hungry I was getting.

“You feel bad? You called me mean names and made me walk home. I even cried myself to sleep.” I soften my voice to make me sound like the girl I used to be.

My sweet, innocent sounding voice. It works on older men, it makes them feel big and powerful. Add the puppy dog eyes, point them up so it looks like you’re small and weak. They love that shit. Their fucking disgusting.

“I’m sorry, Rosie. I really am.” He says.

#fanfiction #original story #writing #hellfire haunts #last years writing challenge that I never finished

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chordsykat · 2 years

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Another picture everyone wants to know more about, and indeed one of my favorites from the past year is this one.

With this image, you can see that I started with the line art in black, only. No colored lines on this puppy -- the "feel" of stained glass demands big, dark lines in this case. You can see that I blocked out the colors in a very basic fashion and added a circle as a "guide" at this point. Eventually, it becomes a crescent moon...

I used an actual shot of the moon to fill in the circle on the second row. I think I just selected the area and used "Paste Into" to make a mask. I then set it to "Multiply" and cut the opacity about 50% so it picked up the gray color I blocked it in with, initially. I also shaded Toki and Eden with a green/blue hue. You can see it's sort of a "softened" cel shading where I blur the edges a bit. The next thing I did was to make the "glass" effect, and the way this was achieved was by selecting different sections of the figures and again using "Paste Into" to put a layer of marble I lifted off Google (see examples here) as a mask. Then I'd select a few more sections, paste a different marble pattern in, and repeat. I'd "Invert" the patterns (so they're black with white "veins") and set them to "Screen". I did the same with the moon, and by the time we've gotten to the last image of the second row, you can see I added a few more "backlights" to the image. This was done with the inclusion of a radial all-white gradient set to "Overlay" above the shadow layer. I also changed the very-back layer from white to black.

For the finishing touches, I added a few more highlights over another layer above everything, and in the layer between the colors and the black background, made a layer of blue radial gradient and some stars on either edge of the moon. The very, very last step was to put a layer of contrasting blue and red gradients above everything and set that to "Soft Light". I've left the gradient layer in the final image set to "Normal" so you can see what it looks like. Little things like this make a big difference in the final composition, and it's fun to experiment with overlays in such ways. :)

Thanks for looking! Hope you got some groovy ideas... Will definitely be pulling out some of my art from the past (and the future, I'm sure) to do more breakdowns like these since I haven't been giving you guys as many tutorials as I've wanted to, lately.

#coloring #digital art #how to #stained glass effect #how to color #quick tips #art stuff

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l-i-c-o · 1 year

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Patchy(A Creepypasta Origin)

BREAKING NEWS: 14-year-old, Petra Driscoll, disappeared on her way to school this morning. It's suspected she was kidnapped. Especially with the new fear of a murderer going around. Parents, children, keep watch over yourselves and others for your safety. If you know anything; like his or Petra's whereabouts, where he might be going, report it to authorities immediately.

Tears...Warm, pain-filled tears, flowing like a river from Petra's eyes. How did she end up here? Struggling against metal restraints that held her down to a wooden torture bed.

The clanking of metal chains, the sound of a struggle, told the man down the hall his victim was awake.

The brown-haired female looked to the side, only to see a tall figure standing in the doorway. The man walked over to her, a cold, sadistic chuckle coming from his mouth, s ending shivers down her spine.

"Let me go!" Petra's voice quivered in fear as her entire being struggled to be freed.

"You are quite the feisty one..." Another dark chuckle escaped the man's lips as he sat down on a stool near the bed. Now in the

light, she could see him more clearly..

The man on the stool wore a copper-colored, steampunk-style crow mask, as well as a black steampunk outfit with a black leather overcoat. She couldn't see any of his features due to the mask, but she could barely see he had ginger hair and quite fair skin.

The man proceeded to drop two bags onto a metal tray next to him. One which was filled with all sorts of torture instruments.

As she opened her mouth to speak, the man placed a gloved hand over it, to shut her up, "Shhh...It'll only hurt a bit.."

Petra felt a stinging pain in her arm, starting to feel a bit drowsy as a cold feeling went all throughout her right arm. Her eyelids felt heavy and she could barely keep them open.

The man started to cackle, "Nighty-night, little one..."

And with that, Petra's eyes shut. The man had injected her with a drug, which knocked her unconscious. He could now begin his...project.

When the effect of the drugs wore off, and Petra regained her consciousness, her entire body felt like it was on fire. Everything hurt like Hell..

"Ow..." She grunted, moving her arm to rub her right eye, causing her to wince.

It was then she realized she could move, there were no more restraints. They were gone, she could move freely.

Slowly, yet surely, Petra got herself off of the torture table, every movement sending zaps of, what felt like hellfire, through her veins.

She hobbled quietly out of the torture room, feeling woozy already, almost collapsing to her knees, to the hallway.

From where she stood, she saw the man, seemingly asleep on the couch.

'Is this guy stupid?! He must be a dumbass if he's leaving me free to move around and then falling asleep.'

As she thought that, the tone in her mind was one of disbelief and mockery. She turned back around to look in the room and spotted the torture devices still all laid out. She hobbled over to the tray and quickly picked up the scalpel.

That was when she saw it...Patches of her skin..They were darker. She was all blotchy. She hobbled over to the mirror, scalpel in hand, and stared at herself, at her face, which was now two different colors. One of her eyes was gone, now, a black void in place of where her eyes used to be. Yet it felt the same....And all that held her body together, were some stitches.

She looked down the hall and thought about an escape...He was asleep. Surely she could quietly make it out and get help, even get him caught. But in her mind, that wasn't justice. He needed to pay for everything he'd done.

She gripped the scalpel tightly, rage clouding her mind, and gently placing one foot in front of the other, made her way down the hallway, and into the living room, where her perpetrator lay fast asleep on the couch.

She slowly, but surely made her way over to the side of the couch, making as little noise as possible while she progressed.

With the rise of her arm, she readied herself to stab him. To make him pay. For what he did to her, and possible past victims.

But before she could move, her hand was grabbed and the man was sitting up, looking straight into her eyes with a twisted glint in his own.

"Just as I thought.." He laughed with such evil intent, "One little inconvenience....and you'd snap.....Oh, little one....You're just like me.."

Petra shook her head as the reality sank in. She almost stabbed him....It doesn't matter what he did, stabbing him doesn't make it better. It makes her as, if not, almost, as bad as him.

"I'm...not like you.." She muttered, shaking her head, refusing to believe his words.

"Oh, yes....you are..." He cupped her cheek with his gloved hand, "And I'll teach you to follow in my footsteps."

Days...months.. Petra didn't really know how much time had passed since she'd been kidnapped by William, she didn't even know if her birthday had passed yet.

But during this time, Petra's feelings toward William began to change. She no longer hated him, despised him. She hated to admit it, but she kinda felt bad for him. She cared for him a little bit. He was a horrible person, but she couldn't help it.

She didn't understand why she cared, and she hated it, but she also felt the need to show William, to prove to him, that she was enough.

He convinced her, somehow, that she was just like him, that they were...one and the same. She believed him, and she made it her goal to prove it to him. All the while, she knew exactly how. She just needed to kill anyone who's ever hurt him...He didn't deserve it, and they deserve death.

At least, that was her plan. Until the cops broke into the house one day, waking her from a light slumber she had been in before. She remembered it vividly, detail for detail.

The crash of the door being forced open, the yelling, heavy footsteps, gunshots. When she'd walked out, William was dead on the floor. He had a bullet in his head, and a couple bullet holes in his torso as well, one in his shoulder, heart area, and stomach.

He was...dead. She saw it, with her very own eyes. Those...cops! Something in her brain snapped when she saw William on the floor, his dead body, laying in a puddle of leaking blood.

She grabbed the nearest weapon she could find and charged for the police officers, stabbing one of them multiple times as the others tried to rip her off and shot at her.

She stabbed at the ones clawing, prying at her, and the others just had an atrocious aim. Like, it was really disappointing. After a long while, multiple bodies were on the floor and there they were, a 14-year-old girl, who just defeated an entire police force, against the chief of police.

She had a crazed smile on her face, "Any last words...?"

She raised her arm, ready to pounce and plunge the knife into the woman's chest, but she was stopped by a SWAT team entering the house and detaining her. No matter how much she foght back, it was no use..

And now here she was, sitting in fetal position in an insane asylum, thinking about that day. They tried to 'save' her. They didn't 'save' her, they ruined her. They deserved to pay. And yet, there was one person out there, who was still alive. She didn't get to get her full revenge.

This only fueled her rage and bloodlust. The chief made it out alive, scott clean, only a couple scratches, minor injuries, and here she was now. Accept people feared her, now. They feared the name Patchy, the mention of it made some people tremble out of fear. She LOVED it, knowing that there were people out there who were scared of her, it was exhilarating.

Now she had a plan. She would escape, finally avenge William, and that's exactly what she did. She'd been deemed officially dead after she stabbed herself, dying tragically on her way to the medical wing.

Breaking News: The body of Petra Driscoll, better known as "Patchy", disappeared earlier after being deemed officially dead this morning. Forensics are looking into the situation, but so far, they have no leads.

Rosa, the chief of police, shut the TV off with a heavy sigh, as she stood up and began to walk to her bedroom

She looked at her alarm clock, "10 pm.."

She turned the light off and crawled into her bed, getting ready to go to sleep for the night, when she saw, what seemed to be the silhouette of a woman, standing in her doorway.

She rubbed her eyes and it was gone, so she shrugged it off and closed her eyes, starting to fall asleep.

"Goodnight, Rosa."

(Currently Available on here, Reddit[r/creepypasta], and Wattpad)

#patchy #patchycreepypasta #creepypasta oc #oc #firstcreepypasta #creepypasta original character #creepypastaorigin

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dustedmagazine · 2 years

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Dust Volume 8, No. 11

We like Patrick Shiroishi so much, we covered him three times.

Once more we gather round the Dusted table (which is imaginary), giving thanks for all we’ve received and preparing to overindulge. We binge not on pie or stuffing, but music, noise rock and free jazz improvisation, black metal and distorted cello, synthesizer-altered violin and Michigan shoegaze, and we have a triple helping of Patrick Shiroishi, because, why not? Contributors include Patrick Masterson, Bill Meyer, Jonathan Shaw, Jennifer Kelly, Ian Mathers and Bryon Hayes. God bless us every one.

Chat Pile — “Tenkiller / Lake Time” (The Flenser)

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Hear those lurching, filthy tones in the background of the official trailer for indie horror movie Tenkiller? See the kid with the skateboard’s shirt? “Are you scared?” Well, if you’re a fan of Oklahoma City’s Chat Pile and not a fan of twang, maybe you should be given the b-side to The Flenser’s latest cassingle that excerpts two cuts from the film’s official soundtrack — all of which Chat Pile is responsible for. The eponymous a-side is far more in the expected vein of what the band most recently (and successfully) pulled off on God’s Country over the summer, but “Lake Time (Mr. Rodan)” is akin to how The Men opted out of harsher noise-rock territory for the breezier spaces of countrified/country-fried jangle. “This is gonna be fun,” says a character toward the end of the trailer. And doesn’t it feel that way when these guys are involved? Yeehaw!

Patrick Masterson

Cunningham / Nguyen / Shiroishi — Basket of Knives (Astral Editions)

Basket of Knives by Cunningham / Nguyen / Shiroishi

This cassette documents the first-time convergence of three busy American improvisers from as many time zones. Drummer Thom Nguyen lives in Asheville NC, violinist Alex Cunningham resides in St Louis MO, and alto saxophonist (this time, anyway) Patrick Shiroishi is a Los Angeleno. But they were definitely in the same space when they made this recording, tuning into each other’s idiosyncratic improvisational approaches. Nguyen’s body-blow drumming draws on heavy rock parameters, but retains the suppleness of free improvisation, and the other two make judicious use of effects to warp and broaden the resources of their respective instruments. On the final track, it’s hard to say exactly how Shiroishi makes the sounds that he makes, but the vocal quality of his contributions combine with a drizzle of gong and cymbal tones to impart a ceremonial air.

Bill Meyer

Epectase — Nécroses (Frozen Records)

Nécroses by Epectase

<p><iframe style="border: 0; width: 100%; height: 120px;" src="https://bandcamp.com/EmbeddedPlayer/album=332432060/size=large/bgcol=ffffff/linkcol=0687f5/tracklist=false/artwork=small/transparent=true/" seamless><a href="https://epectase.bandcamp.com/album/n-croses">Nécroses by Epectase</a></iframe></p>

Epectase’s terrific 2018 LP Astres was a continuous sequence of surprises and near-comic transitions, few of which should have worked and nearly all of which did: for example, from a recognizable variety of contemporary black metal to Southern-boogie guitar heroics, in a span of four minutes. This new record dispenses with those wacko ambitions and imaginative leaps, in favor of a much more consistent sound. It’s black metal, it flirts with a proggy cosmiche aesthetic and it mostly goes hard. On the LP’s closing track “Nécrose,” the more focused intensity is quite effective, issuing in a song that builds and thrills. But by that point, the record has already logged 34 minutes, including a scenery-chewing, goth-infused opening (full of pronouncements like, “Something calls my soul, a sacred truth / A divine black land,” delivered by what sounds like a young Francophilic Vincent Price) that’s hard not to giggle at. While the wide-open, pranksome environment of Astres could absorb that sort of thing, the more gravid sensibility of Nécroses sags under its weight. When guitarist Titouan le Gal is given space to riff and solo, the record cooks, but the histrionics fail to entertain.

Jonathan Shaw

Lori Goldston—High and Low (SofaBurn)

High and Low by Lori Goldston

You probably think of the cello as a mellow, well-behaved instrument, its voice rich, autumnal and grounded. Well, Lori Goldston would like a word, because her cello, deployed for everyone from Kurt Cobain to Mirah to David Byrne, is an altogether unrulier beast. It’s prone to fevered moans and frantic saws, to intervals of peace bounded by wild scratch improvisations. She plays the cello like Paul Flaherty plays the saxophone, like she maybe wants to break it. High and Low captures her in full, mutinous form, slow moving but agitated in the long, freewheeling dissonances of “Real and Imagined,” taut and vibrating with unease in the whorl of “Crossing Over Place,” forthrightly mournful in the closer “We Miss You.” “Moss on Rock” is quite possibly as rock as a cello can ever be, buzzed with distortion and haunted with voice-like overtones and clattering with drums (that’s Danny Sasakie). Long live the disrupters, especially when they play orchestral instruments.

Jennifer Kelly

Raquel Gonzalez — Sonic Creations For Violin And Lyra (Trouble In Mind: Explorer Series)

Sonic Creations For Violin And Lyra by Raquel Gonzalez

The modern-day music obsessive may not be nourished by tunes alone. Recognizing that, Trouble In Mind has instituted the Explorer Series, a cassette sub-label devoted to figures on the fringe of sound shapery. Previous instalments have delved into drone, fingerstyle guitar, and home electronics. Raquel Gonzalez is a Chicago-based violinist and software engineer, but this electronic music recording is framed as a dialogue between two pieces of hardware. The titular lyra is not the ancient Greek stringed instrument, but the Lyra-8, an “organismic” synthesizer. Put crudely, the device has a mind of its own, and Gonzalez’ efforts to influence its output, either by playing the violin into the thing or tuning its knobs, are more conversations than acts of absolute control. One can hear the actions of bowing and knob-turning shaping the sounds, but there’s also an unruly quality to the resulting fizzes and buzzes that can be attributed to the synth doing what it’s going to do. For maximum effect, pop this tape into a safe-but-aged boombox, and feel the fuzz.

Bill Meyer

Greet Death — New Low EP (Deathwish Inc.)

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Michigan shoegazers Greet Death’s 2019 record New Hell (which some of us got to a bit late, ahem) was a strikingly hard-edged and bleak example of the form, with the extended workouts of the title track and “You're Gonna Hate What You've Done” leaving particularly deep bruises. As you might guess from the title of their new EP, their first as a quartet after adding Jackie Kalmink on bass, that bleakness hasn’t lessened a bit here. The surprise is that even as songs like “Punishment Existence” and “I Hate Everything” refine the mordant despair that makes Greet Death so distinctive (the band definitely makes music for listeners who can identify with lines like “I remember feeling relatively fine / part of me that died”), musically this new EP registers as much gentler than before, maybe even… pretty? Whether it’s the deceptively bright surge of “Panic Song” or “Your Love Is Alcohol”’s dissipated beauty, the result makes wallowing for 20 minutes or so feel more appealing than ever.

Ian Mathers

Party Dozen — The Real Work (Temporary Residence Ltd.)

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There’s a lot of different directions you can take a sax-and-drums duo, and the Sydney-based Party Dozen (Kirsty Tickle on saxophone, Jonathan Boulet on drums and sampler) have gone with a decidedly aggro one, as is evident as soon as “The Iron Boot” opens their third LP by kicking the listener in the face. This tight, noisy 35 minutes doesn’t lack dynamic range though; in addition to ragers like “The Worker” and “Major Beef” they deftly handle the noir-ish atmospheres of “Earthly Times” and lost 1970s horror soundtrack vibes on the closing “Risky Behaviour.” Even when they bring in Nick Cave for a brief, Birthday Party-style cameo at the end of the raucous “Macca the Mutt” one of Australia’s most indelible performers kind of just folds into the duo’s assured and frequently abrasive sound. It’s hard work, but they’re very good at it.

Ian Mathers

Pile — “Loops” (Exploding in Sound)

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Don’t let the professionally shot video and polished studio overdubbing of “Loops” fool you: Rick Maguire’s still one of America’s best songwriters, still a musician capable of contorting rock conventions amid weathered lyrics and his band’s formidable backing chops. What at first sounds like it’s going to be on the thrashier side of the quartet’s oeuvre instead mutates a different way, holding steady as a sludgy midtempo rocker that adjusts for Maguire’s slurs and soars (“Tell me, are you being honest? / ‘Cause they deserve the truth from you” he stretches out toward the end) before an almost elegiac outro hinting at a whole other solo interpretation that might, in fine Pile tradition, be the best part of the whole thing. Tracked and mixed almost a year ago now, All Fiction will see a release in February; anyone with an iota of sense ought to be excited for it.

Patrick Masterson

PinkPantheress — “Do You Miss Me?” (Warner Music UK)

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Gemma Victoria Walker broke out of the TikTok trenches with the featherweight “Pain,” but her self-christened "new nostalgic" sound that amounts to wistful bedroom dance-pop akin to Air France, Doss, Clairo, Sally Shapiro or Doja Cat when she's being coy without the pyrotechnics is slowly cohering, as evidenced by “Do You Miss Me?” The template of sneaking in a couple of verses before a hummable chorus that she immediately backs away from is still here — that half-remembered feeling could arguably be the foundation of her whole ethos — but even at a slender two minutes, you get the impression this is something more fully realized, more thought out. Maybe it’s just that there are a ton of words packed into not a lot of space to Kaytranada and Phil’s muted yet insistent thump, all airy propulsion, all tension and longing. It’s clear she’s coming into her own, even if the baby steps make it harder to see at close range.

Patrick Masterson

Chris Pitsiokos — The Art of the Alto (Relative Pitch)

Art of the Alto by Chris Pitsiokos

Chris Pitsiokos approaches music from several directions, using a variety of tools. But his primary piece of hardware is the alto saxophone. The Art of the Alto is not his first solo recording on the instrument, but it is, as the title suggests, a window onto his efforts to move beyond being a guy who plays the horn into the realm of being an artist who makes statements with one. This is not an easy in 2022. Giants like Anthony Braxton and Roscoe Mitchell have already stomped giant footprints into the earth, and the self-aware artist knows that they stand inside the behemoths’ footprints. Pitsiokos also has an eye and ear on the work of non-alto saxophonists; in particular, one can hear the influence of Evan Parker upon “Shale” (all eight of this CD’s tracks are named after rocks). Pitsiokos may not be making unprecedented imprints upon the landscape, but he navigates the territory adroitly, ably connecting points of tone, contour, and rhythm like a navigator learned enough to know where the stars are on a given night without looking over his shoulder. The saxophone is his astrolabe, but his headspace confidently contains the star chart.

Bill Meyer

Seawind of Battery — Clockwatching (Island House)

IH-001: Clockwatching by Seawind of Battery

Mike Horn, a New York City guitarist who has made music with Goldkey and Sunblinders, spins out radiant, slow-moving clouds of lingering tone and this first outing as Seawind of Battery. Melodies push forward shyly out of long, pensive drones, yet the mix feels light as air and unconflicted. In “Summer Hymn,” the notes hang on, so that what you hear is a blend of what has come before and what’s happening now. Still, there’s no murk in the mesh of tones, just a bit of ambient glow to them. “Levels” sets a trebly tremor on repeat, then ruptures it with muscular runs of electric guitar, giving the whole piece an aura of anticipation and immanence. This is an extraordinarily serene and lovely album, which spreads calm all around it. As is often the case, Clockwatching makes time stand still.

Jennifer Kelly

The Senders — All Killer No Filler: 1997-2001 (Left for Dead)

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The Senders shared stages with punk and proto-punk legends like Johnny Thunders and Wayne Kramer, were friendly with Blondie and played all the clubs that birthed NYC punk rock, but they weren’t punk rockers. Instead, this ragged four- (sometimes five-) some played a feral sort of blues rock, stripped down and ferocious. Though it occurred at basically the same time, their music was utterly at odds with the big ticket blues rock of ZZ Top, the Allman Brothers and Led Zeppelin. Phil Marcade, a Frenchman, led the band in a hoarse, incendiary growl and also played harmonica. Wild Bill Thompson played Chuck Berry-nodding riffs. Steve Shevlin, a former boxer, played bass and Marc Bourset drums. Some nights, Danny Ray blared on saxophone. The band covered blues classics like Howling Wolf’s “Killing Floor” and Fats Domino’s “I’m Gonna Be a Wheel,” and swaggering originals like “The Living End” with equal abandon. It was as raw as punk but bent like blues. This two-disc set captures the Senders in their late 1970s fury and, notably, includes previously unreleased live tracks with Johnny Thunders sitting in. The sound isn’t great, but the fire is unmistakable. A worthy, mostly forgotten chapter in New York City rock history.

Jennifer Kelly

Patrick Shiroishi — Evergreen (Touch)

Evergreen by Patrick Shiroishi

Ed. Note: Due to some miscommunication and disorganization, we have two takes on this album. Enjoy!

Bill Meyer:

Throughout its 40 years of existence, Touch has carried itself more like a nexus of cross-platform, independent artistic practice than a record label. It has celebrated its 40th anniversary with a series of site-specific events, and not many artists have appeared at more than one of them. Patrick Shiroishi performed at two, in Santa Cruz and San Francisco, and has followed up with this digital-only release. Best known as an improvising saxophonist, Shiroishi’s work actually spans several genres and explores concerns with relationships, social justice, and personal and national history. Evergreen represents Shiroishi’s reaction to the Touch catalog. Made mainly from field recordings made at Los Angeles’ Evergreen Cemetery, which is the resting place of several of his relatives, and slow-moving synth melodies, it projects an uneasy ambience. Periodically a sax or clarinet surfaces in the mix, giving a sharper focus to the music’s diffuse melancholy, but the source of the sadness only materializes near the end, in the form of a relative’s recollection of the trials that Shiroishi’s ancestors faced during World War II.

Bryon Hayes:

Evergreen is Patrick Shiroishi’s debut for the UK-based Touch label. Here he’s dialing back his reed vibrations in favor of ambient emanations in line with the imprint’s oeuvre. The music treads a similar path to that of Across Water, a split release with Jessica Ackerley that arrived earlier this year, in that it is as subtle and eloquent as it is passionate and poignant. Shiroishi’s visits to the eponymous cemetery, in which generations of his family lay resting, yielded the field recordings upon which he constructed this lengthy piece. He augmented these with synths and additional recordings, as well as his voice, sax, and clarinet. There is a bivalent nature to this composition, as Shiroishi used both diurnal and nocturnal field recordings to form the emotional core of the music. The daylight half is airy and expansive, while the sunset brings harsher timbres along with it. Each of these modes carries with it a distinctive beauty, and together they demonstrate Shiroishi’s mastery of emotional expression through sound.

Heather Trost—Desert Flowers (BaDaBing)

Desert Flowers by Heather Trost

“Frog and Toad Are Friends” whorls and billows with euphoria, its giddy synths twining out like plastic tendrils, its vocals denatured to breathy “ahs” and buried back in the mix. There is no audible trace of Heather Trost’s other instrument, the occasionally melancholy violin. This hand-clapped, wordless tribute to a well-loved children’s book has a fantastical air, as does, indeed, the rest of this wide-eyed with wonder collection. Trost’s voice is high and calm and uninflected, a la Julee Cruise; she could be singing for children. “Blue Fish,” the one from the Flux Gourmet soundtrack, proceeds in a stately, harpsichord-ish fashion, its weirdness (which, by all accounts, echoes the film) subterranean, unconfrontational and unsettling. Trost works again with her husband and Hawk and Hacksaw Partner, Julian Barnes, to create tiny, glowing paradises that are just a little off.

Jennifer Kelly

Use Knife — The Shedding of Skin (Viernulvier)

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Use Knife started out as a Belgian modular synth duo, but before this, their debut album, they met Brussels-based Iraqi musician Saif Al-Qaissy, who quickly became part of the band. The Shedding of Skin definitely still has plenty of that original focus on analogue, outsider electronic music, but a significant and successful infusion of influences, forms, and instruments from Arabic music gives the trip real distinctiveness and bite. Mixed at Montreal’s Hotel2Tango by Jerusalem in My Heart’s Radwan Ghazi Moumneh (who also plays buzuk and synth on the Coil-esque centrepiece “To Feed the Gentry”), the six songs here (including a brief, yearning reading of traditional song “Ed Wana Ed”) aim somewhere between the club and the experimental atelier, or possibly some kind of ritual space. The real success here is making music that feels like it would work equally well in any of those areas, even if you’re just listening on headphones.

Ian Mathers

Yard Act Vs. Mad Professor — “Pour More” (Rough Trade)

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Post-punk’s affinity for dub goes right back to Public Image Ltd.’s earliest experiments fucking around on Richard Branson’s dime (RIP Keith Levene), so there shouldn’t have been any shocked faces in the house hearing how Leeds’ Yard Act enlisted legendary producer Mad Professor to remix The Overload as The Overdub (natch). The latter — who’s worked with Lee “Scratch” Perry, Sly and Robbie, Sade and Massive Attack — gives “Pour Another” the dub touch by minimizing James Smith’s garrulous observations and emphasizing the rhythm section in a rework that wouldn’t sound out of place at a DFA party 20 years ago or upstairs at Eric’s 20 years before that. Available exclusively on vinyl through Rough Trade at the moment, but like everything else, that’ll surely change in due course.

Patrick Masterson

Yleiset Syyt — Toisten Todellisuus (La Vida Es Un Mus)

Toisten Todellisuus by Yleiset Syyt

This raucous compilation release from rousing punks Yleiset Syyt may have you flashing on 1984 — not for the street punk vibes (although you can hear some echoes of Oi! in this Finnish band’s sing-along choruses), more so for the thrilling realization that many 1980s kids (ahem) had upon reading the international scene reports in MRR. “Holy shit! There’s hardcore bands in Ljubljana! A-and in Helsinki!” Yep, still are, as this record evidences, and Yleiset Syyt are a mighty outfit. The band synthesizes some of the best elements of street punk, melodic hardcore and anarcho-punk, creating songs with hummable parts and lots of lose-your-shit moshpit moments. Toisten Todellisuus (roughly “the reality of others”) includes the band’s S/T EP from 2019 and Umpikujamekanismi from 2021, for 20 minutes of unstoppable punk energy. These Laplanders play fast and hard, providing as much pleasure as punishment in their tough tunes. Check out the killer guitar work in “Bileet Ohi” and the crazy great riffs in “Jatkuvaa Sotaa.” Punk’s not dead, America. Better listen up.

Jonathan Shaw

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