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moss-bride · 9 months

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Koi boi (Lawrence x fem!reader) Chapt:4

Dead dove do not eat.

How do deers mate?

The female doe enters estrus. The male buck enters rut. His horns shed blood lining while her hormones course through her body and shed tissue. Both lose themselves to a dance

She mulls over that weird fact while juggling the decision of her clothes trying for a look that isn't too showy. What will Lawrence wear? She generally saw him as an unkempt man. He will be choosing comfort over looks, she's sure, sweats and a thrown on sweatshirt with a red patterned shirt. Hair tied in the same loose ponytail. That's his usual outfit worn day in and day out.

Now that she thinks about it, does he even change? It doesn't seem it since the clothing that hang on him is always wrinkled.

Even though Lawrence isn't exactly fashionable she intends to impress him.

She chooses a decently short skirt with warm leggings and a long sleeve blouse. Going with something that looks pretty second and keeps warm first. She fights the sleepiness in her eyes and finishes her makeup. (lip balm and eyeliner for now,)

The final touch prior she leaves is perfume. Unlike her clothes, this one is important, a scent can serve as a signature or introduction before she can even say a word. Lawrence is constantly checking out gardening books, it would make sense to single out a flowery or earthy smell.

(she tucks thoughts of grass, horns and decay away for now.)

After much debate she chooses warm Magnolia. She rubs small doses into her neck and wrists, heading out into the dark night.

The hour he chose for them to meetup is oddly late. The streets are empty and free of human milling. Stores are closed, the windows on business buildings are dark. An hour before the bars close and past the time a usual person would be awake.

She's been to The Jackalope once in the past. A kind colleague had invited her out with the rest of the female employees sometime ago. The whole evening was awkward and she never got reinvited but she appreciated the sentiment.

She walks around the corner and makes it there in record time. Nothing changed around the place except the obvious fact that there's far less people. An employee is in the far right, wiping down the bar table, winding down after what must have been a busy night.

She spots the shiny blond hair in the corner, waiting for her. He hasn't ordered drinks yet. She takes a deep breath, gathering her courage, clutches her purse and heads his way. When Lawrence sees her he goes still

Doesn't break contact until she reaches the table.

Wearing his usual clothes as she predicted.

"Lawrence. I'm really happy you asked me out."

She could say 'No one's ever made an effort to know more about me. I feel that there is a chance we might mean something if we play our cards right. I hope -' but that would be idiotic thing to do. Worse, he might find it creepy.

She sits across from him and he nervously flits his eyes from place to place. "I hope you weren't waiting long."

"I wasn't." he assures her. They order drinks. He gets a beer and she does the same, politely sips after his cue. Ignoring the awful taste in her mouth.

He gulps it down halfway, as nervous as she is. Yet they let the silence settle between them. They aren't talkative people and that's what makes her like Lawrence. Others would try to start a forced conversation but he's perfectly fine with the quiet in the beginning.

She tilts in to covertly sniff him. There is that familiar smell emanating from him. Overripe fruit and…decay. She never thought she could stand such a scent but maybe it's the person that makes it tolerable.

Staring at the amber surface of her drink, the light inside the bar bounced off the ice cube to give her a warped expression. She drums her finger on the table. "Is beer your go-to drink?"

He shakes his head. "I don't drink much."

"That shows a good amount of restraint." alcohol can be such a chore to avoid.

She takes a sip as he thinks. Lawrence invited her here for a reason, an intrinsic want to act on the desire to know. It's been taunting him and growing since he started to stalk her. For years he held off, swimming beyond her vision as the whispers and loneliness grew. ( After finding her, He didn't know what to do with a kindred soul. Still has no idea.)

Since asking her to the bar, he was a ball of nerves. This is his first time willingly spent in someone's company.…what questions does he ask? What does he do with his hands except ball them on his lap? He's sweating bullets under his clothes, looking anywhere but her eager eyes. The kindness in them burns because-

He's not a good person.

And if he continues on with this she'll find that out. Part of him imagines a world where he shows her all his perversions and she doesn't turn him away. (she understood the river, can't she understand him too.) His brain knows this is naive. What sane person would want to talk to him if they knew the skeletons in his closet?

Earlier he spent the day switching between clutching his toilet bowl puking until all that was left was bile and smoking half his storage. Neighbors had sent a complaint to the apartment office because of the smell. Bitter burnt leaves and overwhelming rot. 'A skunk orgy' a neighbor muttered as he walked past today.

Poppy milk ridden dreams and nicotine hazed truths that for a singular moment are less daunting. Not that it helps. The high never lasts and he's thrust back into reality. Choking through the hazy smoke to find that it's time to leave. Throwing on what he could find and marching out the door.

Currently, he feels it's too hot in here. He can't breathe-

He takes a couple of breaths to calm the nerves jumping under skin. Slow draws of life that he counts until hitting triple digits, then he calms.

He begs his mouth to come up with something to say. But she doesn't mind his voicelessness. Her serenity eases the worst of his worry

Sensing this inner turmoil in her 'date', She begins her next question to alleviate the pressure. A statement. "So, you are a big reader." Of course he is, why else would he be in the library practically everyday?! She could bang her head against the table with how ridiculous this is.

"I like reading. Fiction and nonfiction. But especially florilegia books, they exist as a curated collection of botanical art." While he talks she keeps her expression tentative and encouraging. Gets the feeling that he's not used to talking so much. "It's an escape. A moment where I can stop being."

She can relate to that. "Florilegia are kind of the same as bestiary books, right? Does that mean you garden?"

He enjoys this question better than the others, visibly perking up. He must be a plant person. "I do. Vines, and shrubs mostly." She wonders the number of plants he takes care of. The location of his garden can be saved for their (hopeful) next date.

Lost in the daydream she almost misses him adding on a whisper. "I like how they need me."

When you are needed you exist to complete a function for necessity sake. She could fit that role. "Being needed can be a wonderful feeling. Makes you feel less alone."

He flushes, seems happy that she understands.

Then he says a strange thing. "They are helpless and can't live without me, it's nice…"

She chooses to ignore that heavy statement in favor of naive delusions

Two borderline strangers, heavily sedated by anxiety and wrapped up in their own world to an almost egotistical degree, attempting to reach across the line of understanding and knowing. He's able to let go of the haunting thought of things going bad to just be there. In this empty bar with her while She leans her chin on her palm, swirling the drink in her hand. Nodding in agreement.

"Yeah. I mean. In my opinion, Not being needed is the closest thing I ever felt to being dead."

His head snaps up and there is an edge of a glare. Too late, she realizes she said some kind of a trigger word. "Death isn't like that at all!"

His voice is surprisingly deep, gone is the forced wispy tone. She sits up straight and glances at the bartender, who's too distracted in the back to hear. Thank the Lord.

His pink face displays a new energy. She winces, apologizes." I shouldn't have brought it up." startled by his sudden exclamation she tries to smooth over the mishap. Not expecting the turn in their conversation at all.

But he seems oddly defensive of a topic others speak on with derision and fear. "You've experienced it..."

He stutters and falls silent. Confessing. "I did." the information breaks her heart.

She reaches across the table and holds his sweaty palm. "I have too." shaking her head she tries to gather composure by freely admitting a personal detail. She doesn't care about her death experience. "That shouldn't be a topic for a first date.," she tries to quickly move on.

It's on the tip of his tongue to ask her what she saw. He recalls that she was an infant when she died and from that, has strange images of unmoving water. He can't reveal that he knows yet.

He notices the bandages on her finger. Thickly layered but the red soaks in a bit.

"You had an accident." She was in her restroom when it happened.

"Oh yeah… I was clumsy and slammed it against a drawer." She lies extra prettily while shifting the hand way. She'll take what really happened to the grave because there is a high chance if she told the truth he'd pity her or look at her with disgust, either way it's a goodbye to a second date.

Lawrence is focused on another side of it. Why underwear? He wants to ask. Can you give me these bandages too? Said underwear he shoved under his pillow. Folded so the blood patch is visible and he can reach to snake it in his palm. It's faded into pink from the amounts of times his tongue brushed and sucked it

He's gazing at the wraps with a need he hopes isn't apparent. She's too sweet. Drawing him in to be consumed by her flame. Helpless bug that he is.

They don't talk much, however, the air between them is one of acceptance. His anxious mind is able to think. His body doesn't need to be stopped from shaking with uncertainty. "What do you do for a living?"

He curtly responds "Warehouse. And you?" But he already knows what she does.

She answers brightly. The job is boring and the men around her joke too often about her going home with them. Suggestive looks they give her make her gag. Lawrence wouldn't do such a thing. He's a gentle soul. She wanted his eyes on her and she got her wish, his cool gaze hardly leaves her face as she talks,

Lined with stress and gray skin.

Instead of testosterone driven frenzy Lawrence is pensive, would never hurt a fly. Maybe it would be more accurate to call him Ferdinand in that sense. Her docile man. "How old are you?" she asks and eagerly observes his pink lips move.

She was right about being in his late twenties, not that it matters, she imagines she'd still be interested if he was batting a hundred. She gives him her own age and he doesn't seem to care.

'Stag' means an adult male deer. A male deer has antlers for defense and to compete with other stags for the claims of a Doe (female deer)

I'll be your Doe. Whatever you need, I'll be. She dazedly thinks as they walk side by side with each other, out the door and into the world.

His hands are in his jacket and so are hers. They should be hand holding, romance movies say that's how a night should end, but she doesn't want to push him. Lawrence might spring away. Stags are demanding things and she needs to make the necessary adjustments to have his company. She swears she won't take what isn't offered

Yet when they arrive at her building doors she can't help but turn to him. A novel expectation that he will initiate a romantic gesture.

"Thank you Lawrence. I had a good time."

His gaze darts. Reluctant to leave her but unsure in showing it. His fingernails bit half moons into his sweaty palm.

She goes up one step so they are the same and cups his face. At first he freezes, ready to pull back. His skin is a bit oily under her thumb, she rubs soothing circles on his cheekbones. Her deer doesn't flee.

The moment she's been waiting for, she inches close and lays a single peck on his lips and lingers, though chaste. Taste of a misplaced sun. Smelling of things rot and sour.

Fur hyde, salt water. She closes her eyes and enjoys the still lips that part in a surprised intake. If you told her she's kissing porcelain instead of a man she would believe you. They are chapped and cold yet she loves the brief peck. It's all she dares to take right now.

"Lawrence…" She puffs his name against his frozen cheek and he shivers.

Her touch and breath burns into his rotten core.

She's silent as he backs off, leaving her at the doorway to her building. Her final smile is soft. Dreamy. Not a goodbye but a confession. "You're wonderful."

He could be mistaken but she's looking at him in a hopeful way, as if he brought her the world. A sight too beautiful to be a lie. He desires so desperately for it to be true. For her face to be one of those rare few in the world that don't use a pretty facade to lie.

Is he as useless as a moth in this situation?

Helplessly drawn to the first sight of distant light on the horizon with the lack of hindsight that once reached he'll be burnt to a crisp in the graze of fire. He hates it.

His throat seizes in confusion. 'You think you can control me?!' He wants to shake her. 'I'm not giving you anything!'

Wants to frighten her for inspiring these emotions in his chest and in the same vein, sink into the hook of understanding.

Lawrence licks his lips, faintly tasting magnolias in hot may. White/green Buds bursting in full bloom. Her enthralling scent.

He decided......

Take her thread! (kidnap)

His plants will bloom and fruit but stay in the confines of a pot. They don't move or utter words of disagreement. He does what he wants without judgment or derision from them. She would go well with his other flowers.Can't stand the thought of her existing without him, leaving him on the steps to continue her life

Leave it for now (+2 more chapters of stalking before kidnapping)

What if her trustworthiness is a lie? A trap set by her because she sensed the things that are wrong with him and is closing the trap door so she can laugh and scoff with the rest of humanity

Sound the alarm and tell everyone he is not normal. It makes him angry. He can't stand the attention

If there ever was such a thing as a baseline for his fractured mind, it is slipping in running currents. He's called to a stall. Yearning to watch her for moments more. The same way one watches a thrown pebbled sink into water.

#lawrence oleander #x reader #fanfic #ao3 fanfic #the price of flesh #dead dove fic #boyfriend to death #btd lawrence #btd2

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icarusplunged · 2 years

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@crowshoots said:

❝ i’m staying. ❞ :') keon

❝ … ❞

it isn’t that fahey’s words are unheard. keon’s chest rises and falls where he sits among bedsheets in the space they had cleared for him at the slat. empty space, other than a bed and a tall crate by the window that held a plate of food he hasn’t eaten. his eyes are open, but they’re tired. bruised with dark, sleepless circles, vacant as his mother’s. keon’s body hears them, but his mind does not. he hasn’t spoken a word in the weeks he’s been recovering from korin’s failed attempt on his life – and the horrible revelation that preceded it. his mother. whatever he had done to her after kimber’s death separated her mind and her body. all this time, while keon’s grief and resentment built and he thought she abandoned him, all this time alone and trying to make things work with his father, all this time. once he found out, it was keon who began the fight. it was korin going in for a killing blow that caused something in him to finally snap. the half-transformation, botched by his father pinning him to the floor with a hand squeezing his throat and the other in his hair, saved keon’s neck from being snapped. the scales grew around korin’s hand, protectively, exuding a new and angry glow even he couldn’t touch. the horns nearly speared his father before he could untangle his fingers. and that was it. keon took advantage of the confusion, broke free, and stumbled to his feet – his face was half-man, half-gold. tears streamed down the side that was still a boy trying desperately to be loved. his breaths heaved, and he and korin stared at each other, as the heaviness of this new truth set upon the both of them. “jackal,” korin hissed. but his voice didn’t match the conflicting rage and fear on his face. it was a term that meant betrayer. jackals fended only for themselves. they turned on their family and pack. they were tricksters, untrustworthy. but if he wanted to do something about his son’s impending exit, he could not. keon had twisted his leg; he could hurl fire, but he seemed to know it would only look weak. “don’t you dare walk out of that door,” he murmured, voice low and even now. “if you do, i hope you know that what happens will be your fault. ” keon waited a moment for the words to sink into his chest like dull, painful blades. he let them sit; he kept the knife in. then, face still wrung with grief, he turned and limped out of the manor. there was nowhere else to go but the dregs, no one else korin couldn’t touch, so as the sky wept a storm he banged on the door of the slat. keon plays this now, over and over in his head, as if something could have changed. as if he could have done something differently. been better – been worthy. but all he can think about is the certainty pushing past the fear in his father’s eyes as he readied himself to snap his son’s neck. his heir, sure, but his son. his only son. and now? now, what could possibly be left of the man who used to stand in keon’s body? what is there to him without korin, without his legacy, except a thing that needlessly takes up space and air? he hears fahey loud and clear, now. i’m staying. ❝ don’t bother, ❞ he mutters. it’s the first thing he’s said since he arrived. his voice is hoarse from disuse, and from the general deterioration of his health; oversleeping, undersleeping, refusing to eat or get out of bed for more than necessity. so much more could be said. asked. ‘has my father put out anything public?’ ��why do you care? why did you take me in?’ but he says nothing more. it would only open the floodgates again; at least with the numbness, this cold and dark fog, there is no pain.

#ic.#keon threads.#{ whoops this turned into a drabble }#{ FEEL FREE TO REPLY IF YOU WANT THOUGH!! }#crowshoots #{ i really wanted to explore what an alt version of korin's betrayal/keon's rebellion might look like. }#keon bond » crowshoots ( you feel your heart taking root in your body; like you’ve discovered something you didn’t even have a name for. )#abuse cw #child abuse cw #depression cw #???#idk ask to tag <3

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leviathans-body-pillow · 2 years

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Beauty and the Beast

Asmo x fem!Mc teratophillia smut

Warnings: +18 very R rated, teritophillia (monster fetish), smut, monster genitalia, tentacles, knotting, slight breeding kink, r@pe threat (but no actual non con just an empty threat), angst

Ooo boy this one is long lmao

Summary: so what if part of Asmo’s curse as the avatar of lust is he can only have sexy in his full released demon form. Usually this isn’t a problem since he usually charms his partners and can make them forget his true form. However his new lover Mc is immune to his charm. His solution? Avoid sex at all cost. With a little masturbation all goes well until Mc begins to believe he doesn’t find her attractive. Angry and hurt she goes to confront him. ((angst with a very fluffy ending, I tried to put the smut under a cut but I’m on mobile so well so if it works))

After about a year of constant flirting and lingering touches and a serious conversation about love and boundaries you and Asmo finally made things official. Now it has been about 5 months into your relationship. He had been everything you could ask for: loving, affectionate, considerate, loyal, sensitive… everything except passionate. Which was very odd considering he was the avatar of lust. It’s not like you hadn’t tried to get things moving but every time things start to heat up he has some reason to stop. “Why rush a good thing” or “I want the first time to be special” or simply running away claiming he forgot something important. It’s not that you wanted to pressure him into sex, you respect his consent but at this point you at least felt like you deserved a serious explanation as to why he was holding back from you.

Asmo sat next to you on your bed, one hand caressing you cheek while the other wrapped snuggly around your waist. You hands rubbed up his chest and into his soft hair as your tongue tangled with his. Taking a chance you moved to sit in his lap gently grinding on him to make your intentions clear. Asmo paused for a moment but just when you thought he would push you off, his hands moved to hold you hips against him. You and Asmo made out and humping each other like desperate horny kids. Feeling the heat of the moment you pulled away from his kiss just enough so you could look into his eyes.

“Asmodeus please I want you to make love to me.” You confessed combing your fingers through his hair. You fingers hit something hard at the top of his head, taken aback you pulled back further to fully see your lover. His horns were growing out from the top of his head, his teeth grew long and sharp, as his wing struggled to be freed from under his shirt. His gaze was intense but there was an anxiety growing behind his burning amber eyes.

“Asmo are you ok?” You asked growing concerned by the fearful look in his eyes. It was nothing you hadn’t seen before, it’s not like you didn’t know he was a demon. So why did he seem so frightened?

With out giving you an answer, Asmo swiftly lifted you off of him with a strength you didn’t know he had and gently laid you on the bed. With out meeting you eyes he left you there only muttering something along the lines of “sorry have to go.”

You were to stunned to run after him. He really left you there, concerned, horny, and feeling more rejected than ever. After the initial shock wore off you felt sad and sorry for your self. Did he not love you? Was he not attracted to you? Was flirting with you all that time and telling you he loved you just some twisted game? Ya let’s play lead on and sexually frustrate and humiliate the human girl. Now you were angry. This isn’t the first time this had happened but it was going to be the last one way or another.

You matched your way down the hall to Asmo room hoping to find him there. As you approached the door you could hear something faint coming from the room. Curious you pressed your ear to the door. It was the sound of Asmo’s voice calling your name mixed with soft moans and gasps. Either he was mastorbating or crying. ‘And for his sake’, you thought, ‘he better be crying.’

Feeling bold you tried the door handle to find that it was unlocked. Quietly you turned the handle and pushed open the door. His usually bright and warm room was now cold and dark. Something in the atmosphere felt off. Your instincts told you to not reveal your presence as you tiptoed into the room. His canopy bed had the veils pulled shut. Between the dark and the silky drapes you could barley make out the strange figure on the bed. Logic told you it had to be Asmo but instinct told you to run.

Steeling your nerves and trying to conjure up the anger that had brought you here, you approach the bed. Asmo’s stops as he hears you approach now aware of your presence.

He doesn’t need to look to see it’s you, there no mistaking the sound of your blood pounding in your chest or your soft breath leaving you lungs or the distinct sent of your pheromones.

You can hear a soft monsteras clicking as you watch the figure move from behind the thin veil still not able to figure out what exactly you’re seeing. You take a deep breath repeating in your head it’s just Asmo it’s just Asmo. “Why did you leaving me like that?” Your voice coming out more fightedned than you had wanted.

“Go away!” The creature roared in a voice the sounded like your lovers but there was a tonality to it that didn’t sound quite right.

“No! Please just talk to me!” You took a hesitant step closer.

“Don’t come any closer!” He pleaded with you as you continued to move towards the bed. “I’ll kill you human!”

“Asmo please do you not love me?” You questioned taking another step closer.

“I’ll rip open you belly and gut you like a pig!”

“Please tell me what’s wrong!” You where at the foot of the bed now reaching up to pull back the veil.

The whole time Asmo continued to threatened you. “Damn you human! If you look I’ll rape you! I’ll slit open your throat and fuck the hole!”

Ignoring his warnings you threw back the veil only to be met by a black stinger pointed at your throat. Asmo was on all four, crouching back like a cornered animal ready to pounce. He used his now large black wings to cover his face.

Hesitantly at first you reach up to the stinger. Asmo released a threatening clicking from the back of his throat as you gently placed your hands on the appendage moving it out of the way. Despite his threats Asmo didn’t resist you as you moved to sit on the bed. He retreated to the head of the bed huddling up behind his great black wings to hide himself from your gaze. His stinger looming above the cocoon of wings, as a warning.

You studied what you could see of his body. His usually small wings were now at least triple their usual size. Their usually soft smooth texture replaced with rough leathery flesh that appeared to be torn and wounded at the bottom. He stinger looked to be that of a scorpions, black and shiny from the exoskeleton. From behind his wings you could see his familiar horns and soft strawberry blonde hair. Poking out from beneath he wings appeared to be the toes of rooster’s feet but with the talons of a bird of prey.

You broke the silence by calling his bluff, “are you going to gut and rape me now?”

“No, I don’t want to hurt you.” Asmo’s voice cracked as his voice came out in a choked sob. “I can’t hurt you, please just go away.” He wailed as his wings shook from the sobs racking through his body.

You’re anger completely vanished as his pained cries broke your heart. You crawled closer, now sitting in front of him. Gently you reached a hand out to smooth over his leathery wings. When he didn’t stop you, you raised your other hand to his wings. Softly you tried to open them so you could hold him.

In a flash Asmodeus had you pushed under him by the throat with a monsterus strength. “Is this what you wanted!? You wanted to come gauche at the beast!? Well here I am!” Asmo roared tightening his grip on you pushing you down further into the mattress. Hot tears fell from his eyes, wetting your face.

You saw him fully now, his teeth razor sharp and protruding from his soft lips. He stared down at you with his amber eyes against on ocean of black where the white should be. Under his normal eyes he had a ring of what at first appeared to be three black dots under each eye, but as you stared into them they blinked. He had six spider like eyes giving him a total of eight. Jutting out from his jaw were what looked like razor sharp pincers. His torso appeared rather normal, but as your eyes traveled down to his hips you could see the start of red feathers.

“Asmo…” was all you could choke out with his hands around you throat.

“No I told you not to look!” He cried but his actions betrayed his words as he loosened his grip of you. He eventually released you, sitting back on his feathery knees bringing his hand up to cover his face.

“I’m hideous,” he weeped, his voice growing rough from crying.

“I don’t think you are” you answered sitting up.

“Liar!” He accused, not moving his hands to meet your eyes.

You both sat there for a while in silence. Asmo lost in his self hatred and you letting him get his feeling out.

After what felt like hours you finally spoke, “can I touch you’re feathers?”

Asmo just whimpered in response, hesitantly nodding yes.

Slowly you moved towards him not wanting to startle him again. Kneeling in front of you, you reached out with one hand to gently stroke the scarlet feathers that covered his thighs and hips. They were soft! Unbelievably soft and silky. You hummed quietly as you combed your hands through his feathers. Feeling confident, you moved to bury your face in his lap. Asmo huffed out a sigh of relief, comforted by your closeness.

Carefully you felt you way up his torso, cautious of any change in Asmo’s behavior. But he lets you touch him, running your hand over his chest. His skin was as soft and warm as ever. Slowly you moved to place your hands over his. Taking them into yours, he allowed you to pull them away from his face. You both sat there holding each other’s hands. Asmo didn’t look up to meet your gaze, he face red and puffy from crying.

“Asmo,” you spoke, “please tell me what’s going on.”

Asmo let out sigh, “this is who I really am Mc. This is my true form.” More tear threatened to fall. “It’s a curse, our punishment for falling from grace. Normally we can control our form easily, but when ever I have sexual contact with another I loose control. I’m stuck like this until I get off. Normally I hypnotize my victims to forget my true nature but you!” He meets your gaze as he says this, “I can’t make you forget!”

“Asmo,” you moved a hand to caress his face as best you could with his pincer in the way. “I don’t want to forget any part of you, I love you.”

He began to cry again. This time you moved to sit on his lap so you could properly hug him. He wrapped his arms and wings around you, resting his head on your shoulder.

“So this is why you’d run away when ever I’d try to seduce you.” You hummed petting his soft hair.

“I’m sorry,” Asmo muttered holding you closer. “I didn’t want you to see me like this.”

:readmore:

“I thought maybe you didn’t find me attractive.” You confessed, feeling silly now.

“Do you think I would be stuck in the accursed form if I wasn’t attracted to you?” Asmo wanted to feel insulted but he knew how you must’ve felt when ever he left you.

“I suppose not. What do you do when you run away?” You asked fearing the answer may be that he finds someone he can hypnotize.

“I hide somewhere private close by and jack off.” He admitted, you might as well know everything at this point. “I just want to get out of this form as soon as possible.”

“Can I help you this time?” You ask.

“What?” Asmo looks up at you shocked by your proposition.

You blush holding the gaze of his 8 eyes, “Asmodeus, I want to have sex with you.”

“Ok,” Asmo consents, his voice barely above a whisper.

You lean in for a kiss, carful not to get cut on his sharp pincers that open up to let you in. Asmo meets you half way placing a soft kiss on your lips. You deepen the kiss pressing forward. Asmo carefully open his mouth to let you in, you gladly take his invitation carful not to cut your self on his fangs.

His tongue was different now, like nothing you had ever felt. His mouth felt like a mess of tentacles, swirling around your tongue and invading your mouth. A familiar warmth pooled in you stomach as you imagined what it would feel like for him to eat you out.

With out breaking the kiss, you reached down to feel between his feathery legs, eager to explore his foreign body. Asmo moaned into you kiss as you fingers found a wet slit. Feeling brave you ran you fingers over the opening, the skin was silky and soft. It didn’t feel like vulva, there were no soft lips or folds, just a simple moist gash. Pleased with his reaction you continued to stroke it as his slick coated your fingers. Confident now you pressed gently at his entrance. Asmo’s head lolled back as your fingers entered him. Slowly you began to pump your fingers in and out l. Asmo had no shame as he moan from you ministrations. As he loosened up and you fingers sunk deeper in to him. As you pushed deeper your fingers hit the rounded tip of something hard.

“Aaaa! There! Mc right there!” Asmo cried out as you rubbed against the tip of what ever you had found. As you continued, the tip started to push back against you fingers. It continued to push you’re fingers back until it was peaking out of his entrance. Encouraged by Asmo’s reactions you continued to rub the swollen tip.

“Shit… Mc don’t stop I’m gonna…” however instead of an orgasm, a new appendage burst through Asmo’s slit. It looked somewhat like a fleshy pink flower. Pink tentacles blossomed like petals around a darker pink stem of the tip you had been stimulating.

You reach for one of the pink tentacles, it responds to your touch coiling in your hand. You’re mesmerized by the foreign appendage and wriggling and squirming as if they have a mind of their own. They don’t seems as sensitive as the stem but touching them still made Asmo squirm.

“Ah Mc I need you, please let me fuck you!” He begged desperate for release.

Who were you to deny him after all this time you had waited for this moment. You wanted to move into a position for him but honestly weren’t sure what would be best.

“Come here,” Asmo reached for you as if he could read your mind. Carefully now he laid you underneath him.

“Are you sure this is ok?” Asmo asked searching your eyes for any hint of disgust of fear.

“Yes Asmodeus! Please I want you to fuck me.” You answered with as much love and excitement as you could muster with words alone. You wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him down to kiss him on the nose.

Asmo lined himself up with your entrance. You suck in a breath as you feel how large he truly was in this form.

“What’s wrong?” Asmo stops sensing your concern.

“Is it gonna fit?” You ask worried everything you both went through to get to this point will be for nothing just because you’re little.

Asmo couldn’t help but giggle at how cute you are. “Hush doll, don’t worry I think you’ll be surprised how far you can stretch.”

Before you could further voice you concern, you’re interrupted by the strange pleasure of one of Asmo’s petals rubbing your clit in circles. Another tentacle teases your entrance, barely entering you while swirling inside.

You fall back against the bed, “aaaa… Asmo don’t tease me. “ you whined.

“Oh? Don’t tease you?” Asmo cooed loving how desperate you were for him. “Is this better?” He asked as the tentacle playing at you entrance fulling enters you, coiling against your g-spot.

“Aaa yes there!” You moan arching your back. A familiar coil starts to tighten in your core. Another tentacle squeezes into your hole joining the other to stretch you. After giving you a few seconds to adjust another wriggled into you. You burn from the stretch but the pain is drowned out by the constant stimulation of the tentacles squirming against your clit and g-spot. It was too much, your mind went blank as your body began to shake. “Asmo…aaaaa….Asmo! I’m…. I’m gonaaaa….”

“What’s that Mc? You’re gonna what?” Asmodeus teased, adoring how fucked out of your mind you already were.

“I….I’m…..Aaaaaaaa” you couldn’t finish your thought as the coil in you core broke, releasing a flood. Asmo with drew his tentacles causing you to spray him with your juices.

“Fuck that’s hot!” Asmo practically moaned at the sight of you squirting for him. Your body went limp under him as you tried to catch your breath, over whelmed from your orgasm hot tears burned in your eyes.

“Are you ok to keep going my precious Mc?” Asmo cooed, placing a soft kiss to your forehead while he ran his hands over you sensitive body.

You could only nod as the tears in your eye rolled down you cheeks, making a noise that sounded along the line of a yes.

“We can stop if it’s too much.” Asmo assured you as he lined his tip up with your aching hole. He starred deeply into your eyes. There was a storm of emotions behind his amber eyes: anxiety and lust, but also happiness and a love so deep it caused your heart to ache. As he began to gently push into your entrance, you pull him down into a passionate kiss careful of his sharp pincers and fangs. Asmo wraps his arms around your torso holding you tight against him as he bottoms out inside of you. You could feel a slight stretch but thanks to Asmo’s care you were properly stretched out.

Asmo started out slow wanting to savor this intimate moment. He rested his forehead against yours not wanting to loosen his hold on you. Despite his slow pace your previous orgasm had your nerves on fire. The gentle sensation of his member pumping in and out of you at a steady pace was enough to drive your crazy. A tentacle returned to its previous position, lightly stimulating you overly sensitive clit.

“Asmo!” You cried out your fingers digging angry red lines into his back and neck. You desperately tried to hold on but your second orgasm hit you hard. Asmo moaned at the feeling of your walls tightening around him as you came.

The sensation broke Asmo’s resolve making him now desperate for release. He began to fuck into you at a vicious pace. You kept your tight grip on his member, your walls pulling him in deeper. Asmo pulled you legs over his shoulder pushing you down into a mating press. You could feel the tip of his large member push against your cervix. Any pain you would have felt was downed out by the feeling of you third climax building. You couldn’t even think, lewd sounds poured from your lips as your mind melt from the pleasure. Asmo’s controlled thrusts grew sloppy but never slowed as he chased his orgasm.

“Fuck you’re so good Mc! Aaaa you’re so tight!” Asmo cried out. He buried his head in the crook of your neck as he tried to hold you even tighter. Asmodeus moan your name over and over like a prayer as he grew dangerously close to the edge.

With his release close, the base of his member swelled into a knot, locking you both together. The sudden strange sensation pushed you over the edge for a third time. The feeling of your orgasm pushed Asmo over the edge with you. You both cried out in ecstasy together as Asmo filled you with his seed. You felt impossible full as you abdomen swelled with his cum, his member and knot holding it in.

Asmo collapsed against you, carful not to crush you under his weight. “I love you,” he confessed trying to choke back tears that threatened to spill.

“I love you too Asmodeus” you returned his feeling lazily carding your fingers through his hair.

You laid together in each other’s arms exchanging sweet nothings until Asmo’s knot went down. As he pulled out, his body shifted back into his humanoid form. “Why don’t we take a bath?” He suggested as his seed started to leak from your used hole.

“That sounds nice.” You answered, letting him scoop you up in his arms far too spent to walk on your own.

You spent the rest of the night with Asmo caring for each other. Painting each other’s nails, trying out different face masks, as you fed each other snacks and wine. Later falling sleep wrapped in each other’s arms.

#obey me asmo #obey me asmodeus #shall we date obey me #obey me #obey me writing #obey me smut #asmodeus x reader #asmo x mc #asmo x reader #asmodeus x mc #om! asmodeus #asmodeus smut #obey me swd

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teddi-too · 3 years

Text

Male Minotaur x Gender Neutral Reader (NSFW)

A/N: Lemon, 18+, my goodness this plot doesn’t make sense but it’s just a vehicle to the spice, ya know?

Finally, time away from the city, from work, from everyone. Sure some of your friends thought it was weird you wanted to rent a cabin in the woods for a week by yourself but it was heaven to you. Your job has been stressful lately and with working from home it never really felt like you got a break. You needed to get away, actually away. Out of your home. A chance to decompress and refresh.

You brought several books with you, some playing cards, and your laptop for when you broke down and needed a screen. The nearest residence was the owner of this cabin and that was nearly a mile away on the other side of the property. You were deep in the woods and you felt comforted by the seclusion. The cabin had everything you needed, a small kitchen that you loaded up with groceries from the nearest town, a surprisingly large bathroom with a huge whirlpool tub, a cozy living room with a gas fireplace, and the bedroom was a cute loft that you had to climb up a ladder to get to. There was a desk near the front window that you could sit and eat or play solitaire at and a small table and chair on the front porch.

You settled in and made yourself a cup of tea and sat on the porch. It was a long drive and by the time you had checked in, stocked up on groceries and unpacked, the sun was beginning to set. Instead of popping up to make dinner right away, you let yourself just watch the sunset sitting on the porch. The trees were so thick outside the cabin, you couldn’t really see the sunset but it was nice seeing the color change in the trees. The darkness seemed to swallow up the thick forest and you felt comforted knowing you were truly alone.

The next couple days were simple and lovely just like you had hoped. You slept in, made good meals and laid on the couch reading. But your favorite thing to do was to sit on the front porch and stare out into the woods. There was something healing about breathing in the fresh air and letting yourself do nothing.

The third day passed by just the same except when you were on the porch eating your dinner, you felt differently than you had before. You didn’t feel the same emptiness from the woods that you did before. It almost felt like something was watching you. You stared at the treeline, scanning for movement and trying to convince your quickening heartbeat that you were, in fact, alone. You stared at the treeline so long you must have gotten dizzy because you swear you saw some greenery moving on its own. A mossy mass of...rocks or something behind the trees looked like it had moved. But that would be ridiculous. Rocks don’t move, moss doesn’t breathe...even though that’s what it definitely looked like it was doing.

Your throat was dry and even though you felt a little silly, you called out anyway.

“Hello? Um...trees-forest? Are you...alive? Are you...watching me?”

What the fuck, you immediately thought. Did you just talk to the forest? You stood up and started to gather your plate and silverware.

“I’m sorry.” You heard a faint, low voice respond. You froze in your tracks, eyes widening to try to see anything in the dusk. “I just liked watching you. Please, don’t be scared.”

Ok, yup. Three days in isolation and you have started hearing voices. You thought for sure it would take longer than that, you thought you could at least make it a week and be ok. You closed your eyes tight and then opened them to scan the treeline again. The mass of moss and rock you had eyed earlier was now gone. Your heart sank. You began to stop forward towards the edge of the porch.

No, stupid feet. The other way. Inside. Inside!

“Who are you?” you called again, your voice slightly shaky. You heard some trees groan, some leaves shook, and then out between two trees emerged the most beautiful creature you had ever seen.

It was tall and broad, its body rippled with muscle and its skin was a cool greenish gray that mimicked the woods around it. It had the head of a bull, with ivory horns extending upward. It had a thick, shaggy mane framing its face that stretched down its neck and covered its shoulder. It’s torso looked like a human man albeit with more muscles than any action movie hero you had ever seen. Your eyes followed along its thick arms down to its hands which nervously turned over and over each other.It’s middle section melted back into the same mossy looking fur of its man and its legs returned to a more bull-like anatomy ending in large hooves. It...he...looked exactly like a minotaur out of a fantasy novel. His face was kind from what you could see, his mane hung shaggily over his eyes a bit. He had to be over seven feet tall. How he had hidden himself so well among the trees was a mystery.

“I’m sorry if I frightened you. You just are so beautiful...I couldn’t help but watch you.” he said, his deep voice getting smaller and smaller as he finished his sentence until watch you came out as a whisper. You were so mesmerized by this creature any fear you had before subsided.

“It’s ok, do you have a name?” It felt like an odd question, considering it was clearly an intelligent creature that spoke your language but you didn’t know what else to say. What are you? seemed like a terribly rude thing to say. The creature shrugged.

“No, I’m…” he seemed to be searching for words, “the guardian of this forest. Which mostly means I just live here.” You chuckled and he looked at you with a small smile. You told him your name and explained that you were just visiting for a few days. The minotaur knew this cabin well, he liked to come and see who the visitors were. Though, you learned, most of them weren’t as quiet and respectful as you. Most of them came to binge drink and make a mess for a weekend. It made him happy how often you just liked to sit and look out at the forest, his forest.

“You are the most beautiful creature I have ever seen. Are there more like you?” you asked, smiling. He seemed to light up at your comment for a moment before the spark dimmed a bit.

“You really think I’m beautiful?” he rubbed the back of his neck shyly. “I’m...the only one that I know of. I’ve been alone since I was a calf.” You frowned at the sadness in his voice.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” you said and began to walk towards him. He backed up a few steps as you got close. “I’m sorry, should I...keep my distance?”

“No, it’s just...most people are scared of me or...want to...hurt me.” he said while looking at the ground. He massaged his bicep and you noticed a dark scar stretching across his arm. “I usually stay away from people but…I feel drawn to you and I'm not sure why.” He didn’t move further back when you continued to step towards him.

“I’m so sorry people have been cruel to you. I would never hurt you, I...you’re so…” your words trailed off. You felt drawn towards him too. You looked back at the cabin, wondering if he could even comfortably come inside. While you were looking away, he had closed the distance between you. You turned and looked up at him. You reached your hand out to touch him. There was tension pulsing between your bodies. You wanted him, you couldn’t explain why you wanted to give yourself so freely to him but you did. You were so certain of it.

The fur around his neck and upper chest that had looked almost like grass and moss from far away turned out to be soft and thick and cool to the touch. Your fingers could nearly disappear into it. He lowered himself so that you were nearly face to face. You stroked him softly from cheek to chest playing in his fur. Your light, wanting touch seemed to relax him and he began to lean towards you. He snout nuzzled into the crook of your neck. He breathed in your scent deeply. You felt a long, thick tongue lick up your neck. It was warm and heavy on your skin. It caused an electric and staticy feeling to pool in your lower abdomen. You realized quickly how badly you wanted him--to explore him, touch him, feel him.

He pulled away and looked at you earnestly with wanting eyes. His strong hands danced up and down your arms and you weren’t sure if he was reassuring you or himself. You smiled at him and nodded your head, closing your eyes and moving in to kiss him. He circled his arms low around your waist and returned your kiss. Before you realized it, he had pulled your feet off the ground and was holding you against him. He straightened himself and you put your legs around him. He so smoothly and effortlessly navigated your height difference to make it so neither of you were straining to meet each other. Pressing against his body, wrapped in a deep, sloppy kiss your body couldn’t help but react to him. Heat moved throughout your body, concentrating in your core and desire took over you. Holding tight to the giant creature, your hips began to writhe slowly against him.

You broke from the kiss every so often to check in on him, cupping his jaw in your hands, placing small chaste kisses on his snout, moving your hands through his mane and rubbing his chest. Never parting for long before returning to his mouth.

“I want you--need you,” you said breathlessly. He leaned over and layed you gently on the hard ground and crouched down onto his knees. He stilled himself for a moment and then reached out his hand to you.

“I want you to touch me but...I know that I’m...different” he trailed off, his eyes breaking contact with yours. You sat up and closed the distance between you once again and kissed his chest and ran your hands over his muscled body.

“Please, believe me when I say I want this...I want you. You’re beautiful.” You weren’t sure how else to convince him that you were being sincere so you took your hands away from him and began to remove your clothing. His jaw dropped slightly and his eyes moved all over your body as he took in the sight. He cooed compliments about your figure, your skin, your complexion, he babbled on and on until you were naked in front of him. When you had finished taking off your clothes you looked at him and noticed he was palming his crotch. You touched his arm gently and he moved his hand away to let you see.

The bulge you barely noticed before had grown bigger and there was a small opening that wasn’t visible earlier. You reached out and traced your fingertips along the opening. It was warm and slick. You cupped the bulge in your hands and began massaging it. Looking up at his face, his eyes were closed tight and he was nodding his head compulsively. His fists were balled up, settled on his hips. He was used to his own hands being his only source of pleasure but he wanted your touch to be what undid him this time.

As you massaged him, the tip of his penis began to push out of the sheath. The head was round and thick, red and glistening with his own slick. You continued to work the sheath, watching in awe as his full length pushed itself out of his body before falling heavily against his thigh. His cock was long and thick and your body pulsed with your need for it. He parted his thick, muscled thighs, spreading his knees apart further to give you better access. You took a deep breath and your body tightened at the sight wondering what it would feel like to be stuffed with his cock.

You slowly trailed your fingers along the top of his hard cock before encircling it in your palm. It was heavy and warm, your fingers could barely meet around its girth. You dipped your head lower and dragged your tongue along his member. It was sticky with the cooled slick from his sheath.

After teasing his length with your tongue, you took him into your mouth. He was so thick, the corners of your mouth felt stretched just taking the tip. You slipped your mouth as far down the shaft as you could and began to suck, bobbing your head lightly along his length. You breathed in through your nose, trying to relax your throat and mouth to take more of him but he was just so large. You resigned to focus in on the head of his cock where you could more easily create suction with your mouth. You stayed there teasing his tip until you could taste his precum begin to weep. His hips jutted forward instinctively, choking you on his length. You pulled away with a cough, drool falling from your mouth.

You heard him clear his throat, attempting to regain his composure. You smiled up at him and began to move your hand up and down his shaft to extend his pleasure. You reached out with your other hand cupping his testicles and rubbed over one then the other with your thumb. The only sound you could hear was his heavy breathing and his choked back groans. His large hands reached down towards you, pawing at you with no real intention. He was overwhelmed with the sensation of your hands working him.

His hand cupped your chin gently and pushed lightly on your shoulders to signal you to lay down again. Inching forward on his knees, he grabbed your sides and lifted you up onto his hips so he could reach your entrance more easily. You could feel his hard cock digging into your back and you laid, exposed and vulnerable against him.

He took his large thumb and stuck it in your mouth, you sucked on it slowly moving your head in an exaggerated way that drove him wild. He pulled back his hand and used his wet thumb to start massaging your entrance; slow large circles just next to your entrance. A cool electric feeling stretched out from your sex throughout your entire body. After teasing your entrance, moving closer and closer with his thumb quickening his pace he moved his hand away, leaving your desire falling off a cliff.

You whined at the loss of his touch and tried to move your hips to show your need. He smirked, moved your body up on him further and dipped his muzzle down towards your sex. His breath was hot and heavy as he moved his snout over sex wanting to take you in with all his senses. He nuzzled your entrance with his lips briefly before opening his mouth and laying his strong tongue against you. His tongue was wide and flat and moved over your hole with a heaviness that left you wordlessly begging for more. His drool mixed with your own slick left you sopping wet and pulsing with need. He worked the outside of your entrance for a dizzyingly long time before dipping his tongue into you. You could feel his cock twitch beneath you and you knew you both wanted all of each other.

He tasted you, moving his tongue in and out of you, lapping over your entrance until he was confident you were ready to take his large cock. He longingly moved his hands over your body as he repositioned you. You reached for his cock and stroked it a few more times making sure he was at the same height of his desire as you were. You stared intensely at one another, your bodies pulsing with anticipation.

He lined himself up with your entrance and you felt his thick cock press against you.

“Please” you whined, not able to take the slow pace any longer. You knew he wanted to savor this but your body needed him so badly. He pushed into you slowly and you let out a loud gasp as your body clenched and spasmed trying to take him in. Your eyes stung with tears as he continued to move into you, stretching you to your limit. When he got to a place where he felt like he couldn’t push in further, he slowly moved out of you; then back in again. He picked up his pace just slightly moving in and out, working you open with his cock, pushing deeper in as he thrusted.

He grunted quietly as he continued to move faster and faster and you returned with your own moans. The wet sucking noises of him fucking you filled the cool night and your body felt like it was swimming in pleasure. You tried moving your hips in pace with his to multiply the friction your bodies were experiencing but he was so big and you were so overcome with bliss you got lost in the feeling.

Making you thunder back into the present moment, you cried out loudly as he placed the heel of his hand into your stomach rutting into you with even more strength than before. The added pressure of his hands on your torso made you see stars and your first orgasm ripped through you without any warning. Your body felt hot and sparks pricked all over your skin as he fucked you through your orgasm, never slowing down. You tried to catch your breath and steady yourself but he began fucking you even faster, pushing into you nearly past your limit as he chased his own release.

“I-want to see me all over you” he stuttered out, a grunt and thrust punctuating each word. You nodded wordlessly, your head dizzy as your overstimulated hole spasmed around his cock. He pushed into you a few more times before he pulled himself out of you and let you drop roughly to the ground. His voice strained against his desire as he grabbed his cock and started stroking himself. Your body buzzed with anticipation and you started fingering your hole waiting for him to finish all over you.

His head thrashed, horns cutting wildly through the air, suddenly reminding you of his bull upper half. His pace was erratic as he worked himself to the edge, he stuck his hips forward to move over your body and he came with a roar. Thick ropes of white-hot come erupted from his cock and landed on your torso. He continued to stroke himself, moving his hips as he came, sending his seed all over your neck, face and on the ground around you. His whole body seemed to spasm and he fell forward on to his hands, breathing heavily and hovering above you. The sight of him coming sent another shiver up your body as your hole pulsed around your fingers, desire still swimming around you.

After pausing for a moment, both of you quiet in your blissed out state, he placed a hand on your chest, fingering his own seed admiring the mess he made of you. He placed a come covered finger over your lips and pushed into your mouth, watching your reaction as you tasted him. You sucked his release off his finger.

“How many more days are you here?” he panted, still catching his breath. You laughed and put your arms around his thick neck. Your body felt completely drained of all strength and you weren’t sure you’d even be able to lift yourself off the ground right then.

“Do that again and I might never leave.”

#exophilia #teratophillia #terato #monster lover #monster x reader #monster fucker #minotaur #minotaur x reader

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y0itsbri · 3 years

Text

gallavich week 2021 - day 3 - travel au as always inspo from @ianandmickeygallavich // @gallavichthings

Stuck with You

Words: 5.5k

Summary: A winter storm strands a desperate-to-return-to-Chicago Ian at the airport with no car. A dark-haired mysterious man in an expensive-looking leather jacket and sunglasses seems to be his only hope. Ian grows suspicious of the man's true intentions as they embark on their road trip with some funky excursions. The two men find what need they most in each other.

"Fiona, I'm literally at the gate. I'm about to board now!" Ian was lying straight out of his ass as he was running through the bustling airport, dragging his bag as fast as the bent-as-all-hell wheels on the suitcase would allow him. He had not, in fact, woken up to his first alarm... or second. Maybe he was running extremely late despite Fiona's near-constant nagging to get there early in case something happens again.

Ian mumbled a quiet "Fuck" as his suitcase's wheel locked up again. He did not have time for this. His huffed cursing was apparently heard by Fiona's supersonic hearing. A woman in white capris glared his way. Okay, maybe it wasn't that quiet.

"Ian!" Fiona's voice rang through his phone. She sounded frantic and exhausted. She had every right to be, but Ian was not in the mood for an early morning guilt trip. "What happened? And you better stop fuckin' lying to me and get your ass-"

"Fi, I gotta go, love you, talk to you later, promise," he mumbled all the formalities as genuinely as he could muster before he hung up. He had tuned his attention into his surroundings and noticed an absurd about of people hovered around the rent-a-car station while the airport gates nearly empty, except for the occasional airport employees trying to reason with irritated passengers.

Sure enough, something did happen, as Fiona would have happily predicted. There was a massive winter storm and all flights had been delayed until further notice. Ian idly walked to his gate just to make sure he wasn't going to miss his plane like he had the day before. The gate was a fuckin' ghost town besides one man in an expensive-looking studded leather jacket and shiny dark hair to match. His eyes were hidden behind a pair of purple sunglasses, despite the fact that they were currently indoors.

Ian instinctively stepped closer to the man to maybe strike up a conversation. It wasn't something he was so fond of doing, but if he was trapped at an airport, he might as well make friends. Anything to distract his anxious thoughts about not making it back to Chicago in time for his interview. He couldn't even look at his phone, knowing Fiona was probably blowing it up right now about how he has to get his shit together. He knows.

In the midst of his inner debate, Ian oh-so-gracefully tripped over a chair -- the wheels of his suitcase coming to a halt, causing the bag to loudly clang against a nearby pole.

The man jumped up with a startle, yanking off his glasses and swiftly reaching into his boot and pulling out a small knife. He slowly took in the fact that there was no threat -- just a giant blushing ginger wincing at the knife pointed his direction.

The man sighed and tucked his knife away, "Shit, I thought you were trying to rob me or something."

Ian eyed a small black backpack tucked behind the man's legs. That bag was sleek and tiny compared to Ian's nightmare of a bag.

"Ain't look like you got much to steal," Ian joked, immediately regretting his decision to be witty after literally just being held at knifepoint. Maybe the mysterious man would appreciate his charm.

The man frowned. Okay, maybe Ian's humor wasn't for everyone.

"And how did you get that knife through security?" Ian asked in attempt to ease the tension a bit.

"None of your damn business." The man retorted shortly, but his eyes lingered over Ian for a moment longer, amused.

"Right." Ian replied after a moment. That was fair. He was a stranger, after all. But there was something about this man that was so intriguing. The man stood nearly half a foot shorter than Ian and clearly had the personality to make up for it. Ian was most definitely not in the mood to almost get stabbed again so he decided to lay off the talking, making an obvious show of adverting his gaze from the gorgeous leather-clad man in front of him.

"Uh.. hey," the man spoke up again as he looked around the terminal. "Did I miss the flight or did everyone just get abducted by aliens or some shit?"

Ian was amused at the aliens bit. Who even was this guy?

"It looks like all flights are delayed. Some freak super-storm coming in, don't want any crashes or anything."

"Buncha pussies," the dark-haired man grumbled as he stood up.

"Where are you going?" Shut up, Ian, shut up shut up shut up.

"Rent-a-car? Is that okay with you?" The guy pulled his bag over his shoulder, but turned his gaze back to Ian.

"Uh, yeah, I mean -- sorry, never mind." Nice going, Ian.

"I'm just busting your balls, man. Just gotta get back to Chicago before the weekend. Can't just sit around like a little bitch and wait for a storm to pass like some people." The enigmatic man teased him.

Ian rolled his eyes, but followed him like a lost puppy. "You're not the only one. I have an interview in Chicago in two days and I really can't miss it." Ian pointed back towards the rent-a-car area when the man didn't question him any further. "Don't think you'll have much luck with that, by the way. They looked almost sold outta cars when I walked past here earlier."

"So you walked past the rent-a-car instead of actually getting one? Real smart, Stumbles."

Ian cringed at the nickname. So much for first impressions. The man pulled out his phone from the tight pocket of his pants and stopped abruptly, Ian almost losing his balance to keep from stumbling into the guy. Again. Ian was literally swept up off his feet by this dude. He had to get himself in control before he lost what remained of his dignity.

"Ey' Dimitri, I need a car." The guy said into the phone. Ian awkwardly waited around. It wasn't like they made any plans of travelling together but they were in the middle of a conversation, he couldn't just leave. It wouldn't be polite. Not that much about this guy was polite to begin with. But they had something going at least. The phone conversation got heated very quickly. Now Ian could very clearly see why he was the type of person to have a knife in arm's reach at any given notice.

"I know you have fuckin' plenty. I'll drop it off next time I see Yevgeny, you know I'm good for it. I gotta job this weekend- It is your fuckin' business when your bitch of a wife- Oh c'mon, you can admit she's a bit of a bitch. Whatever- Or do you wanna tell Svetlana that your incompetent ass is the reason why she ain't getting her payment- or do you plan on paying for that shit? Didn't think so. Black cat. Red one."

There was definitely a lot to unpack and as curious as Ian was, he was definitely not gonna ask... yet.

"Red, you comin'?" The dark-haired man called over his shoulder as he started heading towards the airport's exit.

"Me?" Way to play it cool, Ian.

"No. The other giant ginger standing behind you. Yes, you."

"My name's Ian, by the way."

"Don't care."

"Where are we going?"

"Chicago."

Together but not together, they waited for... Dimitri, maybe? The shorter man beside Ian was tapping around on his phone and hadn't said a word about their plans beyond the simple 'Chicago.'

Right as Ian got the nerve to ask, a sleek black jaguar came to a halt on the street in front of them. Ian only knew a bit about cars because his brother liked fixing them up -- and man, was this a sick car. Lip would be jealous. Ian fought the urge to take a photo of the car -- unsure what the boundaries were in situations like this.

Ian's mystery man sauntered over to the driver's seat, exchanging a loaded handshake before switching places with the driver, who was apparently not Dimitri.

The passenger side window rolled down, revealing a bright red interior. "Coming, princess?"

Ian placed his suitcase in the backseat before hopping in the front himself.

"Do I ever get to know your name, princess?" Ian teased back. But he was genuinely curious.

The guy smirked, "Buckle up. I ain't slowing down for anything." And true to his word, they sped out of the parking lot, earning a few well-deserved horns from cars that they had cut off. Ian cringed.

Ian waited until they were on the interstate to speak again, not wanting to be the cause for an accident with this guy's hectic driving and the snow lightly falling on the road in front of them. Maybe he shouldn't be getting into cars with mysterious strangers. Maybe he should have thought of that before he did, in fact, get into a car with a mysterious stranger.

Ian decided to try again, "Ya know, if you don't tell me your name, I'm just going to start calling you something real stupid, like Bob or Cookie or Raven."

"Raven is actually kinda badass." The man replied, not taking his eyes off the road, but the side of his mouth quirking upward.

This guy was impossible, "Ugh."

"Ya know, you're kind of annoying for a passenger who should be grateful that I'm saving your ass. I could dump you on the side of the road, make you hitch hike all the way to Chicago or wherever the hell you end up. Probably some real weirdos out there wanting to pick up a pretty boy like you."

"Didn't ask to be saved." Ian blushed despite his best efforts to play it cool.

"No? So you were just following me all around the airport, why?" He glanced at Ian this time.

Yeah, he had a point. "Like I said, I got an interview I can't miss. My sister set it up for me and she would actually have my ass if I fucked this up. I'm talking like this-is-the-final-straw." Ian sighed, running his hands up and down his face.

"Hmm. You'll make it. I'm a good driver." He smirked. He lifted his hand off the wheel as if he were about to touch Ian's shoulder or something, but decided against it at the last second.

"Good and fast are not equivalent." Ian's breath hitched.

"Says you." The guy drummed his fingers.

"Says most people. And probably the cops." Ian was not about to spend a night in the slammer.

"Fuck the cops." He said like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"Yeah."

The conversation died down and a rock ballad lulled over the car's exquisite sound system. Damn, this was a nice car.

"Mickey." The guy murmured, barely audible over the bass.

"What?" Like the mouse?

"My name's Mickey, by the way." He glanced over at Ian.

Oh. "Kinda badass." Ian returned with eye contact a smirk.

Mickey smiled at the road ahead of them.

"Mornin', Sleeping Beauty." Mickey called out from the driver's seat, patting Ian's shoulder. Ian could have sworn Mickey's hand lingered a bit longer than necessary, but maybe he was just reading into the interaction.

Ian must have fallen asleep sometime during the drive, because now they were parking in the parking lot of a diner. Red neon lights highlighted the exterior, giving the place a sultry vibe. Odd vibe for an off-the-road diner, but Ian supposed it could be weirder.

Mickey hopped out of the car and shoved his hands into the pocket in his leather jacket, searching for something.

After a moment, Ian slowly stretched his legs out as he crawled out of the car and found Mickey smoking a cigarette while leaning against the hood of the car. It was picture perfect. Mickey hadn't noticed him emerge yet, so Ian decided to give into his urges as he snapped a picture of the beautiful man in front of him -- all black shadows and glowing red.

Ian closed the car door and Mickey stubbed out his cigarette and led them inside. "Usual table," he said to the hostess, who led them to a table set for two towards the back of the establishment.

Yeah, this was weird. Who the fuck had a 'usual table' at a joint off the highway in the middle of nowhere?

Inside hung the heads of exotic animals that Ian hoped were fake. Once they were sat across from each other, Mickey ordered a short stack of pancakes and Ian ordered a hamburger and fries -- the first thing he saw on the menu.

"So, brunch and tigers? What is this place?" Ian mused, curiosity and now suspicion overtaking him.

"Cool, huh? Got connections." Mickey went back to rearranging the condiments and sugars on their table.

"Mhm." Ian was skeptical, but didn't want to pry. He seemed to be on this guy's good side for now.

Ian spent the better part of their stay just taking in everything around them. The walls were lined with playing cards, posters from bands he's never heard of, bizarre news articles, lights swung and tacked up with a casual precision, literal jewelry and crowns under display cases, and he could've sworn there was sparkles mixed into the red paint covering the walls. It was like a goblin's cave or something.

Occasionally, he would look up at Mickey, who would look away almost instantly -- like he'd been caught in the middle of something. Planning something? Ian couldn't tell if Mickey's cheeks were actually blushing red or if it was just the lighting. Probably for the best because Ian blushed like a motherfucker whenever he held Mickey's eyes for too long.

Luckily, the waitress brought over their food before Ian could say something stupid. Ian's hamburger and fries were places in a classic red boat with black and white checkered paper. The burger was massive and had a flamingo pick placed in the center of it. Mickey's pancakes were covered in bananas, blueberries, and powdered sugar. The waitress also set down a glass elephant bottle filled with, what looked like, maple syrup. The waitress just smiled at them and walked away without another word. This place was strange. And Ian couldn't shake that feeling.

About halfway through eating, Ian had enough of the odd vibes and promptly excused himself to go to the bathroom. He had to get out of here, forgo his luggage in the fancy ass car. He didn't care if he'd have to hitch hike at this point. He washed his hands in the bathroom sink, planning when to make his escape, when the door swung open.

"Ian." Mickey looked genuinely concerned. No stupid nickname. Ian. "What's wrong, man? You looked pretty sick back there. Is it food poisoning? I'll give Anakin a fuckin' piece of my mind if he didn't cook that fuckin' burger. He knows better than to fuck with me." He rattled off.

Ian felt flighty and tried to take off during Mickey's rage-induced ramble but an arm gripped his bicep, stopping him in his tracks.

"Hey, Ian, look at me." That was the problem. Ian couldn't stop looking at him. He would probably do anything he asked. And that was fucking dangerous. He was a stranger with connections. That couldn't lead to anything good.

Ian finally made eye contact and the grip on his arm loosened, gently sliding towards his wrist before falling back to Mickey's side.

"Promise me you won't kill me." Ian blurted out.

Mickey's eyebrows nearly flew off his face, "Kill you? Where the fuck is this coming from? You think I hate you or something?"

"Well, maybe, I don't know. This is weird."

"Maybe." Mickey paused, actually making an effort to see this whole strange situation from Ian's perspective. "But I like weird."

Ian stayed silent.

"I promise I'm not going to kill you. I promise that I'm going to get you back to Chicago for your interview. I promise we're all good, okay?"

The tension in Ian's shoulder's visibly relaxed and he released a breath he didn't know he had been holding. But that confession still doesn't explain this weird excursion.

"Why does everyone here know you?" Ian finally asked, swallowing his nerves.

This was not a conversation for the men's bathroom, but here they were anyways.

Mickey looked a bit embarrassed. "Used to live a few towns over with my ex-wife-"

"Ex-wife?" Ian nearly choked.

"Svetlana. Fuckin' disaster. But I used to come here with my son, Yev, on special occasions when his mom was out. He always loved it -- thought he was the king or some shit."

"Oh."

"Don't see the kid as much anymore, but this place still has the best fuckin' pancakes so we go when we can."

"So this isn't a sting operation to kidnap me?"

Mickey rolled his eyes, "You're an idiot. I actually happen to like you."

"Yeah, me too."

"So glad you like yourself, champ."

"Oh, fuck me." Ian groaned.

"Maybe later." Mickey smiled too sweetly for someone who had just insinuated what they had.

They returned to their table, finishing off what they could. Mickey had insisted he pay for both of their meals -- reparation for nearly giving Ian a heart attack and fleeing off to fucking Mexico or something. The waitress collected their tab and walked away with a wink, "Have fun tonight, boys."

"See ya 'round, Geneva." Mickey called, "Always in my fuckin' business." But Ian could tell it was meant with nothing but fondness.

Mickey held gave a two finger salute to the hostess on his way out before holding the lion-studded doors and turning to face Ian, "We're in this together, yeah?"

"Yeah."

Ian didn't fall asleep in the car this time. Instead, they played the license plate game and carried impersonal conversation in between stops at gas stations and fast food restaurants.

"Books or movies?" Ian read from his phone.

"What kind of fuckin' question is that?"

"From the online list you made me look up!"

"Yeah, because you suck at coming up with questions!"

"Whatever. Books or movies?"

"Movies, duh."

"Aw, c'mon, you don't like books? When was the last time you even read a book?"

Mickey flipped him off, "What about you, smartass? You prefer books over movies?"

"Well, no..."

"Well, exactly."

"Cats or dogs?" Ian asked. "I've never had either, but dogs are cool."

"Yeah, 'cause you act like one."

Ian gasped, mocking an expression of hurt. "I bet you're a dog person, though."

"Yeah, why're you so sure about that?"

"They're all tough and shit."

"I got a cat back home. She's tougher than any dog I know."

"What's her name?"

"Indy."

"Aw, softy."

"It's short for Indica, clearly we're cool."

Ian gave an even more exaggerated "Aww."

"Shut up, next question."

They had missed the worst of the winter storm that had threatened their flight and gotten them in this situation to begin with. It was starting to get dark and while Mickey assured Ian that he could drive through the night, Ian insisted they could stop at a hotel and still make it back before his interview. Truthfully, he didn't want to be involved in a luxury car crash with a maybe Russian mobster. He couldn't pinpoint Mickey, but that's what he had currently decided on.

They had pulled off into the lot of a pink hotel. Mickey had gotten them two rooms, side-by-side. Instead of going up to his room and passing out like Ian had expected, Mickey headed straight towards the hotel bar -- ordering a mojito and a vodka tonic and making friendly talk with the waitress in a very low cut red shirt like they were old friends. Mickey was nothing like Ian expected.

Ian headed up to his room to drop off his suitcase and call Fiona back, sure she was going to disown him right then and there for avoiding her calls all day.

Ian opted against going down to the bar and instead watched reruns on the hotel tv. Alcohol didn't really mix well with his meds and he didn't want a hangover if they were going to be in a car all day tomorrow -- especially a nice car like that. Yeah, he wasn't puking in that anytime soon if he could help it.

He took a long, hot shower, indulging in the hotel's eucalyptus-scented body wash before settling in for the night.

Ian was resting peacefully until he heard a blood-curdling scream next door. Mickey was next door. Mickey.

Ian leapt out of bed, grabbing nothing but his shirt before frantically knocking on Mickey's door. C'mon Mickey, don't be dead. C'mon. C'mon.

Mickey swung open the door rubbing sleep from his eyes, "Ian?"

"Uh, hi. I heard screaming. Just making sure you're not being murdered."

"Shit, yeah. I get night terrors sometimes. I meant to mention that to you, but it must have slipped my mind after a few drinks. Didn't see you down there?"

"I called it an early night," Ian replied guiltily. He felt bad if Mickey was waiting for him. But he didn't know.

"Yeah... anything else?" Mickey looked Ian up and down. Ian was suddenly hyper aware he was standing in front of Mickey in only his boxers.

"Um, no." Ian glanced around nervously.

"Great." Mickey shut the door. Whatever. Ian turned to open his door, but it wouldn't open. He searched his pants for the key card only to be reminded that he was not, in fact, wearing pants. Fucking great indeed.

Ian knocked on Mickey's door again.

"What?" He grumbled with a tooth pick between his teeth. "'m not fuckin' screamin' anymore."

"I locked myself out."

"Of course you did." Mickey rubbed a hand down his face, "You ain't goin' down to the front desk in your underwear and I'm not goin' down there either so it looks like you can either come with me or sleep in the hallway, your choice."

Some choice.

Ian followed Mickey into his room, the same layout as Ian's -- just mirrored. Mickey tossed a blanket at him and then collapsed back into the pillows himself.

Ian tried to make himself comfortable on the ground but all he was going to do was bruise his fuckin' spine and freeze his ass off because apparently Mickey likes to sleep in Antarctica.

"Fuckin' cold." Ian mumbled, cocooned in his one tiny hotel-grade blanket that hardly covered his long body.

Mickey didn't open his eyes, but he lifted the comforter on the bed, "Get in here, Frosty."

Ian hesitated. But he was really fucking cold. He made sure not to touch Mickey at all as he crawled under the covers, laying as still as he could on the edge of the mattress. Mickey sighed and scooted his back into Ian's chest, grabbed Ian's arm, and draped it around his waist. "There."

Ian was still for a moment before settling into the warmth.

"Mickey." He said softly. He wasn't even sure if Mickey had heard him.

"What?"

"Is that your real name? Mickey?"

Mickey sighed, "Mikhailo."

"Hmm. I like Mikhailo. It's like Mick-halo, like you're an angel."

"Baby, you've met me. There ain't nothing good about me. I'm more like the devil."

"Why's that?"

"Dude, I almost knifed you when we first met."

"I had that coming, though."

"Maybe so."

"Is that all?"

"Fuckin' terrorized my neighborhood as a kid."

"Me too, you ain't special. Got anything else?"

"I'm a raging homo."

Ian rolled his eyes. "Me too. Anything else?"

"Can't do enough for my own kid."

Ian was quiet so Mickey continued.

"Svet won't keep him in Chicago where my job is. I don't wanna be the asshole to choose work over my kid, but I can't just up and leave, either."

"Yeah, but it sounds like you visit him a lot. He must know you love him, though. Bet you're a better father than mine."

"Yeah, mine too. Ain't hard to beat. He's a real dick. I don't wanna be anything like that piece of shit."

Ian squeezing his grip around Mickey's waist. "You're not. I'm still betting you're all things good."

"Hmm."

"Guess we'll just have to see."

"Guess so."

A moment passed before Mickey spoke again.

"Go to sleep, stupid."

"Goodnight, Mick-halo."

Ian nestled his head into Mickey's hair, smelling the eucalyptus on his as well. The two not-strangers drifted off together.

Ian woke up after Mickey, who was already packing up his oddly tiny back pack again. And Ian's suitcase. He took a moment to recall last night's events.

"How the fuck did you get that?"

"Morning to you, too." Mickey tossed a prepacked muffin at Ian's half asleep body. "Went to the front desk for a spare key after continental breakfast, duh. Eat up, we're leaving in 10."

Ian groaned and pulled the covers over his head. He felt a weight on the mattress beside him. He peeked from behind the blanket to see that Mickey had sat down and was currently staring at his legs? Ass? Who knew. Turns out 'thighs' was the correct answer as he set his hand on the outer part of Ian's right thigh. Just resting it there for a moment before getting up.

"Fine, we're leaving in 15."

Satisfied, Ian closed his eyes for a few minutes, feeling the ghost of Mickey on his leg. He was so warm. It was like his heart was on fire.

They ended up leaving 10 minutes after Mickey's initial 15 were up. But it wasn't Ian's fault that there was a hold-up at the front desk. Something about a scheduling conflict between a drag show and a speech contest. Hell, Mickey thought they should combine the two events and call it a day.

Back in the car, Mickey had some upbeat indie music playing this morning while they circled around the old town to find a gas station.

"Ya want anything?" Mickey asked before he turned away from the pump and towards the building, patting down his ass to make sure he had his wallet.

Ian was distracted by the patting for a moment before replying. "Uh, maybe a Gatorade or something?"

Mickey tapped the hood of the car twice instead of replying verbally, but the message was received nonetheless.

Ian pulled up the picture he had taken yesterday of Mickey in front of the bizarre diner, moments before he thought he was being hunted for sport. It was beautiful. He was beautiful.

After a moment, the driver's side door swung open, "Whatcha lookin' at, Smiles? Texting your girlfriend?" Mickey teased as he closed the gas tank and hopped in with a coffee balancing in one hand and three different flavors of Gatorade in the other.

"Nothing." Damn, Ian. Like that ain't an obvious lie.

"Ain't nothing, lemme see." Mickey took Ian's phone and dropped the Gatorades on his lap.

"Ouch! Well, thanks -- for these -- but give me my phone back!"

"Is that me?"

No sense in lying now. He was literally looking at it. "Uh, yeah. Thought it looked cool."

"That's dope as fuck, man. Send that shit to me, I wanna post it on my Instagram."

Ian certainly hadn't expected that response. But when had Mickey ever been what he expected?

"I don't have your number." And he wasn't asking for his number like some school girl. Mickey had literally requested he send him something. Ian had no idea why he felt so ridiculously nervous.

"Gimme." Mickey made grabby hands for the phone and began to plug in his number before Ian realized that this definitely counted as distracted driving in a very nice car. "Done."

Done.

The morning and afternoon went by pretty quickly. Mickey sang along to some pop songs while drumming his hands on the steering wheel. Ian took some photos of the inside of the car, earning some light teasing from Mickey. Shut up, this might be my only time in a car worth more than ten grand.

Ian watched the highway and the grass blurring past his window when he suddenly remembered the small notepad and pen he had swiped from Mickey's hotel room.

Mickey looked pretty distracted, so Ian took it out and began to sketch his profile. The man was too beautiful. He couldn't help himself. With a burst of confidence, he added a note to it before ripping the page out and sticking it in the side pocket of Mickey's back pack. If Mickey saw him, he didn't say anything -- for once -- and Ian was glad for that.

They were nearing Illinois state lines, so they had to get into travel specifics. Ian gave him the address to his apartment. Both being Southside, Mickey knew the area well enough that he wouldn't need directions until last minute.

Ian figured now was as good as time as any to ask, "What are you doing in Chicago?"

Mickey made a face like he was thinking about how much he wanted to explain to Ian. "Well, for one, I live there. Second, you've seen my tattoos right?" He held out his knuckles reading FUCK U-UP. Ian nodded and Mickey relaxed one hand back onto the steering wheel before continuing, "Tattoos were a family ritual. I help my brothers on runs when they need it -- those idiots can't plan for shit by themselves. Makes good money though. I also work part-time at this high-end restaurant downtown. Satisfies my sister that I have a legit job. Ain't too bad either. Lotta sketchy shit goes on, though, but they know I'm good to look the other way for a low low price." He grinned.

"Damn, you sure are something," Ian mused.

"Yup yup. What about you hot-shot? What's the whole deal with this interview?"

Ian sighed. "Never finished high school and uh, I have a mood disorder thing so a lot of places won't even consider me. Got fired from my last job for snapping at the dickhead manager --which was well-deserved by the way -- but still stupid. My sister, Fiona, got me this interview with the magazine company she works for -- she thinks I'm so sick like our mother and that if I don't have a job to keep me stable that I'll just fuck off. But the job would be really cool because I've been into photography and shit since like forever. I don't know, it's stupid. But I really just can't stand to let anyone down again, because I am better. They just don't always believe me."

Mickey frowned, and Ian worried he shared too much. But then Mickey rested his hand on Ian's thigh, "Hey, man. That sounds cool. But it's okay to not be okay. Just be honest with me, and I believe you. Promise?"

"Promise."

Ian's apartment was in sight before he knew it. It was starting to get dark out, but he would still be able to get a good night's sleep before his interview in the morning. Mickey's car definitely did not belong in his neighborhood. It stood out like a sore thumb. He couldn't stay for long if he wanted to leave with the car in tact.

Mickey helped Ian get his suitcase out of the backseat and then leaned against the car, watching Ian with a strange look in his eye. Before Ian could ask, Mickey stalked over to him and leaned up, and pressed his lip's against Ian's. He smelled so sweet. It wasn't the eucalyptus shampoo either -- that had long faded. This was just pure Mickey. Mikhailo.

The moment was over too soon and Ian groaned. Mickey gently patted his cheek, "Don't worry, big guy, you ain't gettin' rid of me this easy. I'll see you soon."

"Soon." Ian repeated back, still a bit dazed in the head.

Mickey smirked as he hopped back into the jaguar and sped off to wherever the fuck it is that Mickey goes.

Ian lugged his bag upstairs, unlocked his door, and plopped down on the couch.

Soon.

After texting Fiona one last time, Ian had turned his phone off to avoid any distractions. Giving in to the urge to text Mickey would definitely be a distraction. He needed routine. At least for tonight.

It was a relatively quiet night in terms of activities. He had microwaved a frozen dinner and watched a couple episodes of Schitt's Creek before taking his meds, brushing his teeth, and heading to bed.

No matter how chill of a night he was planning on having, his mind kept racing with thoughts of Mickey with everything he did. That man was so cool and funny and kind, even if he didn't believe it himself. Ian didn't know what exactly had caused such a reign of self-doubt over him, but they would talk about it someday. Ian wanted him to see how good he was. Mickey just brought long-vanished excitement to Ian's life again. He trusted him and cared for him. And he missed him. They had only spent two days together, but Ian couldn't imagine sleeping without him. He drifted off to sleep thinking about what Mickey would look like in his bed with him.

Ian had gotten up at his first alarm for once and arrived to the interview 15 minutes early. He was genuinely passionate about this job so it was easy to turn up his charm. He would hear a call back later that afternoon, but given that he was pretty sure Fiona was sleeping with his would-be boss's boss, he was almost certain he would get the job.

Ian finally turned his phone on when he got home. One message from Fiona -- reminding him of the interview. But more importantly, three from Mickey. He immediately clicked on Mickey's name, absolutely no use in playing it cool anymore. He couldn't get him out of his head.

Mickey (9:27pm): *image attachment*

Mickey (9:27pm): found this in my bag, i wonder how it got there🤔

Mickey (7:32am): good luck at your interview! hope it was worth literally dragging your ass across the country for

Ian smiled.

Ian (10:06am): I have absolutely no idea how that drawing got there. Maybe trolls? 😇

Ian (10:07am): And your luck helped! I think the interviewer liked me :)

Mickey (10:07am): hopefully he didnt like you too much

Ian (10:09am): SHE liked me a very healthy amount.

Mickey (10:10am): gonna keep it that way

Ian (10:12am): 🙄 Oh Mick. Can't be jealous over something you don't have.

Mickey (10:15am): i have you right where i want you dont you worry your pretty little head

Ian (10:17am): So you think I'm pretty is what I'm hearing?

Mickey (10:18am): i think your annoying go away

Ian (10:19am): I thought I couldn't get rid of you that easy?

Mickey (10:19am): changed my fucking mind

Their texting banter came to a halt when Mickey picked up a shift at his legitimate job. Ian unpacked his ratty old suitcase and cleaned up his apartment while he waited for his phone to ring. From the job... from Mickey.

Right when he was switching loads of laundry, his phone rang. It would be a lie if he said he didn't drop everything and run.

It was his new boss him on his new job. He couldn't hold back his grin as he immediately texted Mickey, then Fiona. He was proud of himself.

Fiona called and they chatted about the job -- omitting the part where he assumed she was sleeping with the boss -- and Ian's road trip -- omitting the part where he kissed his once assumed kidnapper -- and then about Fiona's kids and Carl's lately stunt. He was so invested in his little criminal brother that he almost didn't hear the knock at his door.

"Fi, I gotta call you back. I think I have a delivery or something." Ian wasn't expecting anything.

Ian nearly leapt backwards when he cautiously opened his door (there were no damn peepholes in his building) to find Mickey waiting on his doormat with a grin on his face. "Congrats on the job, man!"

"Oh my God. You're here?"

"Yeah, I told you I would see you soon. I'm a man of my word. And I brought cupcakes." Always the unexpected. "Well minus one. I didn't know which apartment was yours and I went to your neighbor's first and he wouldn't tell me where you lived without a fuckin' cupcake. Greedy asshole." He murmured, quietly smiting the old bastard.

"Mickey." Ian smiled, eyes crinkling with it. "You're good. You're so good."

#gw2021 #gw2021day3 #gallavich week 2021 #shameless #gallavich #ian gallagher #mickey milkovich #ian x mickey #my posts #shameless fanfic #shameless fanfiction #gallavich fanfic #gallavich fanfiction

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amethystpath-writes · 3 years

Text

Designed to Ensnarl

(NOT A PROMPT)

******

“You are a trap,” the demon sneered, “designed to ensnarl the innocent in a trick of the eye and banish them unfairly.”

The angel, in all his heavenly glory, extended a leg as he sat upon a beach rock with a sigh. “I suppose you might think that.”

“I said it, did I not?” One might have sworn the demon was lit with the fires of hell at this very moment given the orange glow of her horns.

“Attraction is different for everyone, so you must think I am trying to lure you.”

Of course, the angel was trying to attract the demon. It was an angel’s duty to ‘vanquish all evil,’ now, wasn’t it? And by all means, Tauni was evil.

Lust, the Council claimed, for the pure and unscathed- for this very angel on a rock. She was thus condemned, stripped of her halo and her luxurious, beautiful wings, and instead given horns and two very nasty scars on her back. If she got into the devil man’s good favour, she’d be rewarded with new wings, ones perhaps even cooler in design than the pesky human-bird’s.

“I believe I remember you,” the angel said, stretching his back and shoulders, while his white wings remained still, as he basked in the hot sun. The Greeks would have called him Apollo, for bathing in his own light, appearing so naturally, yet golden beneath it.

“If not, I might go into grief.”

Tauni could see the riddle playing out in his mind. Clearly, he was lost, navigating his own memories, trying to find where this demon at his feet may have appeared in his life beyond this exact moment.

Something seemed to click as the sun-bathed angel propped himself up on both elbows and said, “You have changed since first I met you.” His head tilted. He blinked. Something about his response was broken, yet the demon continued in her anger.

“So, you do remember.” Tauni gave a snort, one that could have split Earth if she allowed it. And she would have if it weren’t for the red man’s rules. “I regret nothing except trusting my own kind.” The demon grumbled, “What used to be my own kind.”

Apollo bent one leg, laying it against the rock beneath him while the other remained bent, knee up high. His arms were cast behind him, reaching up like a ballerina, but unlike such a careful dancer, Apollo’s arms were placed without thought.

A lazy lounge, on an empty beach, by a specimen designed to deceive.

“You feel betrayed because you are a traitor. How quaint,” the angel laughed, head falling back as he did so. “It is not angels which are labelled so frequently as ‘incubus and succubus.’”

That laugh, Tauni thought, but she couldn’t finish. She wanted to be angry, and so she would pretend the laugh was mocking, not unamused or- or ironic-sounding.

Jaw clenched, the demon crossed her arms. She would be punished for attacking an angel which wasn’t currently being sought after by the Council. Even demons weren’t anarchists, as much as they wished to be sometimes. “You should have fallen too.”

“Is that right?” Apollo licked his teeth, tongue playing with his canines- a taunt if the demon he was speaking to knew anything. “You fell,” Apollo joked, “for me. Do you not think you should have fallen for your lust?” He laughed again at some unseen joke before lifting his head once again to face Tauni. “See, the funny thing is this: You cannot see past your own sins.”

“And what is that supposed to mean?”

Why did Tauni come here? Why did she find it necessary to confront a former lover when there was nothing she could do about the outcome? She couldn’t touch the angel, not unless she wanted yet another quality stripped from her very self. First her halo and wings, now it would be her horns. Tauni shuddered at the thought of her brain being pulled so cruelly. It wouldn’t kill her; the devil never killed his subjects.

“You see me on this rock.”

“Clear as day.”

“And what am I doing?” Apollo asked, body and wings adorned with beads of water from a short wave paying visit to him. “Besides looking gorgeous, that is.”

Tauni squinted. Was that pride she detected? Apollo sounded rather sure of himself- maybe it was because the demon before him had already blamed her fall on his looks.

“Nothing,” she answered after pause. “Are you trying to tell me you are fallen accused of sloth?”

“Would it be so hard to believe?”

Considering the ring of white light above your head, and those wings you keep against that rock, yes. It is hard to believe.

As the demon said nothing, Apollo told her, “You were late.”

“Late?” Tauni questioned, voice laced with malice, and perhaps a bit of impatience.

But Apollo didn’t say what she was late to. Rather, he corrected her. “You said I am doing nothing,” the angel said, “but I am laying.”

Same difference, is it not? Apollo seemed to know her question, for he cast his gaze away to the continuous sea, pondering.

“You never asked why I am laying here, Tauni.”

The demon’s heart fluttered at the sound of her name. Of course, Tauni knew her own name, but it always sounded so much nicer coming from Apollo’s mouth.

Apollo, she had the decency to think now. That is not his name.

How was it…that simply hearing her own name from an angel she used to love…used to. Who was she kidding? Tauni still loved the angel, didn’t she? She did, or else she wouldn’t be confronting him now.

How was it that hearing her name from the angel she loved made her so…so full of melancholy and nostalgia, want and need, heartbreak and fulfilment?

“Am I supposed to ask now?”

“If you want to,” Apollo answered.

Not ‘Apollo.’

“Why are you laying here?”

Love. I used to call him ‘love.’

The angel nodded, seeming to prepare himself, before sitting up in full- heels finding grooves in the rock so that he could pull himself forward as he straightened his back. He was sat up now, lips pulled into a tight line, eyes and cheeks becoming puffy- viewable even from where Tauni stood.

At first, the demon saw nothing wrong. Her love was as he always was- beautiful, of course. Sculpted. Magnificent. But then...she swallowed as her throat tightened. “You fell.”

Her voice was a whisper, one which the angel couldn’t hear over the crash of another wave- one which thankfully didn’t wash away the wings left behind, flat against the rock he sat upon now. Detached. Useless.

“Why…why did you not say so from the start?”

“You thought I was still an angel,” Apollo said. “I thought it was what I needed- to pretend I was still holy. But I am not, and there is something else I require.”

Say you need me, Tauni thought, so that I can tell you just the same.

“I need you, my paradise.” A pause. “These wings mean nothing if we are forever apart.” The fallen angel painstakingly rose from his rock, placing his feet down in the wet sand as he walked towards his demon lover. Not a demon for much longer. “Take the second plunge with me,” he said. “Without horns, you are human. And as long as I am not found, the devil can never touch me, even with my scars.”

“You want to run from Heaven and Hell?”

“I want to run from them with you.”

But- “We would be running forever.”

“Then it is forever we can be together. Tauni, we can live without disgrace. Flee from the Council and help me flee as well. We can mount my wings like a trophy and put your horns in a display case. We will look rich in the human world and have what we want handed to us.”

She thought about it for some time, considering the consequences of being found, versus the joy of living freely.

Yes, they would run. They would be hunted by the Council, but…it would be worth it. For the two to be together, with any amount of time without consequence, it would be worth it.

“Have the world handed to us, huh? You never did deny being accused of sloth.”

“So, is that a yes?” ‘Apollo’ asked.

“No,” Tauni answered. “It’s a hell yes.”

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kusagrasskusa · 3 years

Text

Kabuto and Adoptive Reader - "Shihaikigo"

Part 1, possible a part 2 (will be linked if it comes out)

Summer: Kabuto had been walking home from a fight and met a little girl there. She had a special kekkei genkai called a Shihaikigo, meaning "controlling marks," which contained the ability to control half the mind of an opposer. She's willingly taken to the Sound Village after she began to trust Kabuto and there she met Orochimaru. She would either be sent to another Sound Villager to be raised or stay under Orochimaru's watchful eye until her kekkei genkai gets stronger. If Kabuto were to aid Y/N in life and to raise her, he could be killed in order to break down Y/N. She's very distrustful in a lot of people but Kabuto since they met. Her kekkei genkai is something that is strong enough to rival a Sharingan or Byakugan so Orochimaru plans to use to for himself one day.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Laying there, on the sidewalk on a rainy night, helpless was a child with long, messy, hair and a soaked light-grey dress with red stains. She had no shoes, no home, no comfort, and nobody. She was essentially useless; helpless in this dark, cruel, magical world full of demons, heros, and killers. No matter where she searched for any kind of sanctuary or light, there was nothing. She was left with no motivation or thing to hold on to as right inside the very woods that surrounded the village she is in, was a clan hidden deep within. In this clan was very few powerful, but nonetheless meaningful and strong.

They managed to survive alone and strongly for centuries since their beginnings, as their kekkei genkai is the ability to control 25%-50% some signals heading towards someone's brain, which can therefore nearly control their actions and thoughts and feelings. Of course, such power comes with restrictions. The hair of the people in the clan is very sacred; although it could be cut, it limits the ability for them to use their kekkei genkai forever, even when the hair regrows. If their power is overused, they will be become sick and possibly will be paralyzed, mentally unstable, and others even among death.

This power is stores within three marks on the person's body; it doesn't matter where they are as long as it's on the head, neck, palm, or shoulders. The mark travels between the brain and fingertips, and the user then has to touch their opponent with their fingertips in order for their power to be in use. As mentioned, it has a limit so typically the user's kill is fast and clean. For it's dark advantages and evil disadvantages, this power is represented with horns and a halo;

This clan was feared quite a lot for it's abilities, and most people are raised to never use their abilities as it could be dangerous. But some people would use it on accident as it was surprisingly much easier to use than thought. And it was a certain child's accidental use of that power that caused her to be so helpless on the pavement of Konoha on a dark, wet night. It was empty and alone on these streets aside from the sound of slow footsteps immersing from the left side of her.

The six year old girl barely turned her head to the person walking passed her; he didn't even seem to notice her. But upon seeing his silver hair, a sparkle appeared in her eyes; it was too foggy to even notice the difference between this snake and the ninja she thinks he is.

"Kakashi, is that you?" Ahe asked weakly, slowly standing up. She pulled her arms to her chest, shaking as the cold rain began to rain down harder. The man in front of her stopped, paused for a moment, then slowly turned around k face her. "Oh...I'm sorry, I thought you were someone else." The girl's look returned to hopeless as she hung her head low.

"Why are you out here all alone at night? Where are your parents?" He asked emotionless as he pushed his glasses up, eyeing the helpless girl. The girl was silent for a moment before whimpering a little. Then all at once, she broke into tears and collapsed onto the concrete floor beneath her. The man stared at her hopeless form for a minute, watching her cry and whimper before he finally crouched down besides her. He pet her back before sliding his hand up under her chin, moving her head up so he could see her clearly.

"You are part of the L/N Clan, aren't you? You possess the Shihaikigo kekkei genkai, do you not? I can see marks on your skin." The silverhead asked, cockkng his head to the side. The little girl sniffed as she wiped away her fallen tears, her lip quivering as she nodded. After a moment, he hummed. "Why is there blood on your dress?" He asked as he wiped away her tears.

"I didn't mean to," she whimpered out. "It was an accident..." And just from that, Kabuto understood. The blood was from her parents; she accidentally killed them. He smirked lightly upon seeing her fragile body break down once more, but this time she lunged towards him and wrapped her small arms around him and clenched his clothes tightly. She cried into his chest as Kabuto brushed his fingers through her chair.

"It hurts, doesn't it? To have lost everything you had ever cared for just like that. And you fear the people around you will hate you; hurt you emotionally snd physically; kill you. It's truly frightening. Such a shame someone so oung has to endure such a thing, hmm?" He asked as he pat her back. She remained in her broken state, his more quiet and listening closely to him. "However, what if I told you there was a way to make these problems disappear? I know people who will except you and love you and raise you for who you are."

Y/N pulled away, her small hands wiping away her tears once more. "But...but...killers don't deserve happiness," she breathed out softly. Kabuto clicked his tongue, shaking his head.

"I think you'll find that everyone deserves happiness. Except," he paused, gritting his teeth as a wider smile appeared over his face. "Excpet those who try to take it from you because they have no idea what you've been through. Selfish people like that will never deserve happiness." Y/N pure yet terrified E/C eyes stared deep into his; she was so young, so naive and so gullible.

"I, for one, believe you deserve happiness. You're a little girl who made a mistake. That's all," he spoke, looking down at her with such manipulation in his eyes. "You deserve a good home with a warm bed for you and nice food. You deserve good parents and most of all, happiness. Don't you want that?" Y/N slowly nodded her head, never breaking her gaze into his eyes. She was so helpless that it was sickening for Kabuto to pry on such a little girl and obviously only for her kekkei genkai.

Y/N sniffed, sighing a shakey breath before replying. "Thank you...so, so much, suh-sir. I really do want things to go back to normal," she replied. She wrapped her arms around him again and sobbed away her last tears in his chest as he held her close. He was patient with her but the heavy rain and fog was making it very hard to see through his glasses. Suddenly, he burst out in a little laugh.

"How rude of me to offer this before I even introduced myself. My name is Kabuto Yakushi. What is your's?"

"My, my name? It's Y/N L/N," she mumbled as she pulled away from him for the last time. "I just really, really, want things to go back to normal. Please, take somewhere safe, please," she begged. Kabuto softly wrapped his larger hands around her waist and picked her up while standing up straight as well. He held her close smiling softly at her with closed eyes and a tilted head. Y/N smiled back at him and giggled for the first time in a while.

He than began his walk to his original path with Y/N in his arms. Along the long walk, he would ask a question about her age, clothing type, school life and grades, hobbies and other things, and he'd give his own answer as well. Anything to get to know each other. Puddles splashed with each step he took and the clouds seem to just get darker and darker. But luckily, about 30 minutes later, it all came to a stop once Kabuto had arrived to his destination: the hideout of Orochimaru or Otogakure.

"Stay here for a little please, Miss Y/N," Kabuto spoke lightly as he walked inside the underground home. "I must go talk to someone right now, but I'll be back with a surprise," he smiled at her as he left her by the entrance doors. She waved goodbye to him as a large smile remained on her face as she was happy to finally by out of the rain. Kabuto's face dropped as he walked to Orochimaru's room in order to discuss Y/N to him. On his way, what played in his mind was the conversation he had with her on his way here.

Such a young girl was capable of such intelligent responses and detailed storytelling. She may have stuttered here and there but overall she was very consistent and concise. She reminded him a lot of himself as he was willing to abandon his orphanage and family to make them live a better life out of fear for their lives. Y/N attacked her parents for nearly harming a few civilians out of thr goodness of her heart. The situations may have been different but deep down, his heart was just as pure as her's at one point in time.

"A member of the L/N clan, you say? My, my Kabuto, you found quite the prize," Orochimaru smiled darkly as he finished hearing the word of his pawn's finding. "Is she capable of using the Shihaikigo?"

"Yes. In fact, she ran away from her clan because she ended a life with it despite her young age," he explained with a dark smile on his face. "She has a very intelligent mind as well."

Orochimaru laughs were hushed as he considered his moves with the girl. "Perhaps after Kimimaro could be her, don't you think? After all, her kekkei genkai is worth as much as a Byakugan or Sharingan; what good is simply seeing chakra when you could control it? A power like that must be harnessed," he thought out loud. "How about this... A girl of her age can't comprehend what it's like to have a meaning or worth and what giving up her life for another would mean. We will raise her to be desensitized to any evil she sees before we break the truth to her."

Kabuto nodded, "Understood, Lord Orochimaru."

"Well, don't just stand there. I'd love to meet the child," he laughed as he looked Kabuto in the eye again, his smirk growing. Kabuto obeyed and walked out, returning again later with a soaked little girl by his side. She was so happy when she heard she could meet the one who would make her dreams come true, only to be met with fear when she saw the pale snake-like man himself. Her smile dropped and she started to shake; Y/N hid behind his leg, staring at the creature with fear in her eyes.

"Y/N, dear, you can't always judge a book by its cover. This man is Lord Orochimaru; it would be wise to-"

"Come now, Kabuto, this reaction is understandable really." The snake stared down at the little girl with interest glimmering in his dead eyes. He then extended his hand towards the little girl crouching down before her. "Give me your hand, darling. I don't bite, I promise," he laughed. Y/N's lip quivered as she looked up at Kabuto. He had an encouraging smile on his face that told her everything would be alright. That's all the validation she needed before reaching out to take Orochimaru's hand and have him pull her closer.

He held her chin and examined the three marks along her body (you choose where they are :)) before laughing once again. "You're kind is so incredible. That even a child managed to murder with it. Yes, truly incredible." Y/N's eyes widened with fear and she started to freak out even more.

"Mister Oro...Orochimaru, I don't understand," she mumbled fearfully. Orochimaru brushed his fingers over one of her marks and then stood up, patting her head.

"You'll understand one day, child. I promise you," he said as he looked at Kabuto. "Do you wish to help raise her or have other ninja do it?"

"I want to stay with Kabuto, Mister Orochimaru," the little girl called out. Kabuto's dark eyes looked down at her small form. He felt helpless against the adorable voice of the girl and sighed out loudly. She turned to Kabuto and took his hand, hugging it possessively. "Please don't leave me! I just met you and you're the only friend I got now! Please, Kabuto, I'll be good, I swear!" Orochimaru raised a brow, laughing.

"You are good with children, I see. Good. If you wish to take her, I'm sure you would have no problem finding food and clothes for her, right?" Kabuto crouched down by Y/N, her still hugging his hand, and chuckled before booping her nose. He could guess that Orochimaru may kill him in order to destroy her and use her in the future, but for right now, a little more time with the girl wouldn't hurt. After all, it had been quite a while since he had been near a child. In the back of his mind was always the home he grew up in and forever, he will miss it. If being around a single happy child will make him feel more at home, so be it.

The thing is, Kabuto doesn't care about Y/N enough to care about raising her; after all, Orochimaru may kill him. However the idea of having a piece of his past that was taken frkm him back meant a lot to him. So why throw it away? And the thing tipping the scale towards possible death was Y/N's adorable big E/C eyes and cute voice, just like some of the girls in his old home. Plus how she can expirence what it's like to be parentless and be able to relate to him kn a deep level.

"Alright, I made up my mind," Kabuto spoke.

"Kabuto, please," Y/N spoke, her dry eyes swelling up with tears again. "I want to stay with you." Orochimaru smiled at Kabuto patiently, awaiting an answer.

"I'll take her in. It's best to keep a watchful eye under such a kekkei genkai, isn't it?" He asked rhetorically. Y/N gasped loudly before smiling widely and hugging him so tightly.

"Thank you! I promise you woke regret it, haha!" Kabuto frowned, patting the top of her head.

"Let's get you cleaned up before we sleep, Y/N. While you bathe, I'll find clothes for you, okay?" He asked as he pulled away from her hug. Y/N smiled happily as she nodded grabbing his hand before desending out if the room with Kabuto. Orochimaru stayed behind, watching closely, laughing under his breath about how innocent she is and what his plans for her will be.

It had been an hour later when the two of them were ready to go to sleep. After all, although it wasn't mentioned earlier, Kabuto was dirty from fighting earlier that day and he needed to bathe as well. Of course, separate from when Y/N did. The silverhead's chamber was relatively large and minimalistic, though now more crowded with a little mattress across the room and two bags full of clothes for her age group. There was a big bed, a dresser, a mirror, and a bunch of candles around the room for a light source. There, of course, was no windows and no toys for Y/N to play with much to her dismay hut she was too tired to question.

"You will sleep in my bed tonight," Kabuto spoke as he helped Y/N climb into his bed. "If you need anything, let me know. I'm blowing out all the candles so if you need anything, you have to speak before you doing anything else, okay?" Y/N yawned and nodded in understanding.

"Yep. Thank you," she replied as she rubbed her tired eyes and laid down. Kabuto blew out each candle on every side of the room before he returned to the small mattress across the room. It was comfortable but it would be removed so as Kabuto would eventually get Y/N a chamber of her own to sleep in of course. He pulled the covers over him and set his glasses on the floor besides him. "Hey Kabuto?"

"Yes?"

"I love you as much as my real dad. Thank you."

Kabuto frowned, taking a moment to comprehend what she had said. "I care about you too. Goodnight."

"Goodnight, sleep tight, don't let the bedbugs bite," she giggled before slowly falling asleep under the covers.

#kabuto x reader #kabuto #kabuto yakushi #kabuto yakushi and child reader #child reader #adoptive child reader #naruto x reader #naruto #naruto shitposting #naruto shippuden #orochimaeu is a snake #anime #shounen #reader insert #x child reader

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sunnysviolin · 3 years

Text

Choices (Rewrite)

Hey guys! I decided to do a rewrite of Choices because I felt like I could expand on it a bit more. You can also read it on ao3 here but because this fic was originally just on here, I thought I would also post it on here

Her son was still asleep.

The house was bright with the afternoon light, sun spilling in from all of the windows. It was one of the things she loved most about her home, how much light it was able to bring in. From the big wide windows in the piano room, to the tiny one overlooking the staircase. Even though it was small it filled the room with brightness. Even the sliding glass doors brought in the sunshine, although she almost never opened the curtains anymore. The light touched everything in the house, the empty stairwell, the miscolored walls, the dozens and dozens of cardboard boxes stacked precariously on top of one another.

Sometimes the memories floated up from where she had tampered them down, catching on a thought floating in her head and coming up to the surface. The light in the house made her think of the windows, and the windows made her think of the piano, the one piece of furniture she was leaving behind, and the piano made her think of the day they bought the house.

She had been pregnant by then, just beginning to show. They had told their respective parents earlier that month on the first trimester mark, and all four had been pleased. It felt good to earn Takashi’s parents approval, it may have only come from the child growing in her, but she was happy to have it. Anything would beat the icy stares and cold judgement that they had when he first brought her home for dinner.

The day they bought the house was also the day they found out they were having a girl. Cold gel on her belly and a monitor pressing against her, and there was a picture of their daughter. She still looked more like an alien than a baby, but she had little fingers and little toes, and her doctor said that the baby was a girl. She couldn’t have been more excited.

She had been hesitant about buying the house at first, scared of the possibilities. Could they afford the house with everything the baby might need? Was the house too big, was it safe enough for their child? Takashi had assured her that everything would be fine, but the doubts were still egging at her, even on this final day that they could possibly turn back. It was the piano that changed her mind. The piano, and her daughter.

As she stood in the doorway of the room that had the piano, she rested a hand on her stomach. Her mind was still reeling from the knowledge that there was in fact a little person in her, a little person that would grow into a little girl for her to love and cherish and raise.

She had never learned to play the piano, but this little girl would. She would sit at the piano with long black hair, straight like her fathers instead of wavy like her own. This little girl would have her eyes, and a perfect smile. She would grow up in this house, and her parents would be with her for every step of the way.

Takashi had come up behind her and she had turned herself into his arms, declaring there and then that this was their home now. They signed the papers only an hour later in their realtors office, and she had been in her final month of pregnancy when they finally had moved in. There had been some water damage, and Takashi hadn’t wanted to risk mold around her and the baby. She had been a whale by the time they finally got into the house, waddling around unpacking cardboard boxes so very similar to the ones adorning the house now.

It had felt right then, like the real beginning to her life. Everything had made sense. Now the brightness of the house was overwhelming, the sun hitting her eyes and leaving black blurs in her vision. She kept most of the curtains shut, and there was no one there who would open them back up for her.

Still, the light kept creeping in.

Stop thinking about that. Get back to what you have to do.

I left some food in the fridge for you downstairs. It's STEAK... your favorite! Love you, XOXO.

She circled that final O and peeled the sticky note off of the pack, placing it on the wall by the doorway next to the rest of her little messages to her son. Sunny did better when he had reminders of things, and the bright neon of the stickies tended to catch his eye long enough to engage his curiosity. She patted the note twice to ensure it was stuck on firmly, and then she started her mental checklist again.

Pack up the last of our things. Check.

Call the landlord to start setting up the apartment. Check.

Make sure the moving men knew to leave the piano. Check.

Leave Sunny a list of chores. Check.

Make sure Sunny has what he needs and knows how to get it. Check.

Everything was laid out exactly as it should be. Everything was taken care of. So why did she have a foreboding feeling? Why did she not want to leave? She had wanted to leave this house for the last four years, she had craved escaping the grief and pain that tainted the walls. Now she was finally at the precipice of getting exactly what she wanted, and fear was holding her in place.

On a whim she called out that she was leaving to the empty dead house. Sunny did not wake. Sunny’s door did not open. She hadn’t expected it to, but she hoped it would. He might have come downstairs and give her a hug goodbye, he might have given her some sign that he was aware she even existed at all.

Except he wouldn’t, and it was better to pretend that it was just because of the house. Once she got him out of this house it would all be okay again, and to get him out of the house, she needed to leave and set up their new home.

With that thought at the forefront of her mind, she picked up her handbag and walked to the door. It was heavy when it opened, it had always been heavy, but now it was a struggle to even get the knob to turn. But turn it did, and soon she was standing in her yard, the front door closing behind her with an ominous click. That sound always sent a shiver racing down her spine. It was the same noise as when the men closed Mari’s casket. A simple quiet snick, efficient in its brutality.

That’s the sound that happened when they finally took my baby away. That’s the sound that happened when they shut the world forever on her beautiful face. She never shut any of the doors in the house anymore in an effort to avoid that sound.

She hurried to the car and slammed the door shut, the vibration of it rolling up her arm and cancelling out the noise of the casket door closing. A shaky breath flew out of her mouth and she gripped the steering wheel, letting her head fall against it.

It’s all fine. Everything is fine. You’re overreacting to a little noise. It’s just an overreaction.

She grabbed her purse and began to dig through it, the jingly sound of her keys coming from its depths. Once she found them she jammed the key into the ignition, about to turn it when it happened again. A crackly voice in her head, speaking in slow gravely Japanese. The voice of her Baasan stuck in her mind, stalling her hand from turning the key.

You shouldn’t leave him alone.

It was a ridiculous thought. She had left Sunny home alone plenty of times. It wasn’t anything new or out of the ordinary. Sunny probably wouldn’t even get up, except to use the bathroom and eat. She would be back in three days, and then they would be able to move on with their lives. There was nothing to worry about. She turned the key, and Baasan spoke up again.

Three days? You told yourself one, then two at most. Now Three? What on earth could you possibly need to do that would keep you away from your son for three days. He’s fragile now, you know.

Plenty of things Baa-Baa She rationalized. She had to lay out the furniture, call an inspector, get food for the fridge, and make sure everything would be just the way it should be for Sunny’s arrival. There was lots to do, and she needed all of that time. It wasn’t like she had left Sunny in a ditch without shelter or care. He was in his home, the only home he had ever known, with food to eat and a warm bed.

Ah yes, a single steak. Certainly enough for three days. He’s going to starve while you are gone. Why do you want to starve your son?

She wasn’t starving him. She...she wasn’t. Sunny barely ate anymore anyway. Uncertainty wound itself around her shoulders. She had left him a steak in the fridge, and the microwave was right by it to warm it up. She had even sharpened the knife for him.

Leaving your only son with a sharp knife alone in the house. What a choice .

She shook her head, unable to shake the thoughts from her head. Her hands tightened on the steering wheel, and she threw her body around, pulling out of the driveway and speeding down the road. Her Baasan’s voice screamed in her head

Turn Back. Turn Back, damn you. Go back, he needs you. You left out a knife, a knife you sharpened. You didn’t sharpen any of the others. Why did you leave that knife out? Do you want him to hurt himself?

“No!” She shouted into the empty air, startling herself. Her hands jerked, and the car jerked too, pulling into the other lane. An oncoming vehicle blared its horn, and she overcorrected, going half off the road. The man in the other car gave her the finger as he whizzed past, and she laughed, a strangely broken sound. Why would she want to hurt Sunny? He was her baby, her little one. The last little one she had, the only family she had. All she had now was her son, and she would never let anything hurt him.

“I’m doing this for him,” She said to herself, her voice placid and sweet, “It’s all for him. Once he’s out of that house things will be better. It’ll be all better,”

Why couldn’t she believe herself? She wasn’t lying, she wanted this for Sunny.

You want it for you. You want to be rid of that place, rid of the memories and everything you lost. Whatever it takes you’re leaving that all behind and it will be like none of it ever existed. That’s for you, not him.

But Sunny wasn’t one of the things she wanted to leave behind. Sunny was coming with her. But that didn’t explain why he wasn’t here sitting in the car with her. Baasan tried speaking up one last time.

Turn Back. You can take it back before he even wakes up. Throw that knife out into the backyard. Let it rest next to where your son hung his sister.

Where your baby hung herself. He needs you. He needs his mommy.

No. No, it was fine.

Sunny didn’t need her. What Sunny needed was a fresh start. Sunny needed to get out of that house, that horrible house filled with ghosts- alive and dead. Sunny needed her to be his mother, to make decisions when he couldn’t. Sunny needed his mother to help him, and she would. She would fill this new house with new furniture and new clothes, and she would become a new person. A kinder person, a better person, someone who could forgive his mistakes. Someone who could love him. Someone who could see him without hating him.

Sunny would be fine. Sunny would sleep all day and all night like he always did. He was a caterpillar in a cocoon, and she was going to help him finish his metamorphosis. Leaving this house, his chrysalis, would help him to transform. He would emerge as her beautiful boy again, her quiet darling, her Sunny. She put on her turn signal and started up the drive once more, this time with no hesitation at all.

All he had to do was survive a few more days in the fog. He could manage that. He’d lived this long in it, hadn’t he?

#omori #omori fic #omori sunny #omori sunnys mother #omori sunnys father #shes such an interestign character #and I decided to think about it a bit more #ayways #rewrite!#Do you like the original or this one better?

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yandere-wishes · 4 years

Text

🖤💔Yandere!Demon Slayers As Demons💔🖤

Dear readers for the first time in two weeks I offer you something that isn't a random post or a rant. This is an AU that I’ve been working on for a while, and seeing how this turns out I might continue it in terms of one shots and a mini series. Please enjoy!!

👺👺👺👺👺👺👺👺👺👺👺👺👺👺👺👺👺👺👺👺👺👺👺👺

Demon Tanjiro is much more complex than his human counterpart. His mood fluctuates too much, alternating between a loving docile young demon desperate for his lover's warm embrace, to a rabid beast who's willing to tear your stomach open with his claws and feast on your entrails while you're still breathing. He's just too unpredictable, what makes him praise you and litter your body with toothy kisses, might just get your arm dislocated the next day. There's just no telling, he just isn't Tanjiro anymore, he's some wild, savage, murderous monster wearing Tanjiro's face.

He's always watching...

His mere gaze isn't enough to turn you into a motionless rag doll. Slumped in the corner like a forgotten toy. No, but his silence is. The way his eyes are locked on you as if your some sort of little bunny that waltzed into his territory, the way his mouth is sewn shut by some invisible thread, the way his head is tilted to the side like he was trying to calculate your next move...it's all too tranquil, too clam, just like the eye of a hurricane.

Languidly Tanjiro begins to crouch down, his moves are rapid and glitchy as if he isn't in control of his own body. Somewhere you hear something cracking, it's a dreadful noise like hammers pounding at your skull. It's only when you lift your eyes to the Oni in front of you, do you realize the noise is coming from him. It's like he's deforming in some way, dying and regenerating all in a single breath...and yet he still looks so...so beautiful.

Even while he's stalking towards you on hands and knees, you can't deny how stunning he looks. Mouth molded into a small smile, long rust-colored locks pooling on the ground around him and his eyes... they're red one second and brown the next, changing ever so quickly just like his moods.

He's much more passive like this, you note as if you've made some sort of groundbreaking discovery. So docile and calm...almost like a storm before it strikes. No, Tanjiro is not a storm you remind your self. He's a lion stalking its prey, relishing in the taunting silence it radiates by its mere presence.

Tanjiro's eyes have lost all hope, all passion. They're nothing more than empty spheres resting in his sockets.

You vaguely remember -or at least you think you do- a time when every action coming from the rust haired boy was entangled in a blanket of passion, every move had a clear purpose, every word was laced with an unyielding fire that had been beaten into his spirit. But now....well you didn't know what he was now, what Mozen and his sadistic "creations" had turned him into. What had they stolen from him? Was it his soul, his hope, or maybe something far worst.

Your amazement only shatters when you notice just how close he's gotten. His icy cold breath tickling the side of your neck. You squirm, pressing your palms flat against his chest. Tangiro doesn't flinch, his head cocks back to the side, his broken stare, vaguely reminds you of a discarded doll. Maybe that's what he is, not a slayer or a demon, just some broken doll that keeps you locked up in his room so that he can get a sense of being needed.

A wave of empathy crashed over you. Wearily you dropped your arms to your side, in a flash Tangiro wraps his long gauntly arms around you, squashing your bones as he pulled you ever so closer to him, nuzzling his visage in the crock of your neck.

Tanjiro Kamado may have once been a remarkable demon slayer on his way to becoming the next water piller of the demon slayer corps...but now he was nothing more than a pitiful broken demon, seeking the feeling of humanity inside a breaking, mortified girl.

👹👹👹👹👹👹👹👹👹👹👹👹👹👹👹👹👹👹👹👹👹

Zenitsu is a lot bolder, a lot pushier with his affection now that he's been turned into a demon. He wants you to love him the way he loves you, only this time he isn't afraid to break a leg or two, so you'll have no choice but to stay with him.

His child-like tendencies are still there, albeit demented, yet ever-present. The tantrums and endless crying are as frequent as ever...except now, well now he breaks a bone for every tear YOU make him spill and leaves a scar for every time YOU couldn't satisfy him. Just remember that none of this is poor Zenitsu's fault, oh no, how could it be his fault? He's given you everything you could ever dream of! Even though you're nothing more than a pathetic useless human, Zenitsu still took you as his beloved wife! You should be grateful to him, dedicate your every living second to him, play the role of the loving, caring wife! Not some ungrateful brat, who is always trying to run away!

And yet, you've become oddly accustomed to it. No longer do you mind the screams and beatings. They've grown to be a part of you, a sick and twisted thing that resides within you, infecting your every thought. Much like how Zenitsu's become a heartsick, defective shell of his former self.

"STOP IT"

something shattered against the wall, breaking into a million flying shards. The noise echoed through the light less room. Weary, your eyes flashed from the broken remains of what may have been an antique vase, to the crying monster in front of you. The tips of his long curved horns were turning a stark blood red, an indication that his blood was starting to boil. Although you didn't need the mood indicating head tusks to know just how upset the blond crybaby had gotten, they were still a nice little warning to remind you of just how far you could push him.

"Stop trying to escape!"

Had his voice amplified since your last "screaming contest"?

Did Muzen really think that Zenitsu's voice needed to get any louder, anymore irritating?

"I wasn't" you deadpanned, your arms crossed in front of your chest. "How can I, did you forget what you did to my leg this morning?" the bones inside your left leg had been deformed, causing your entire leg to point sideways. It was a detestable sight, yet it seemed to fill your rotting heart with a sense akin to a school girl's crush.

'Zenitsu-chan still loves me! See, see, he went out of his way to touch me!'

'No you idiot, he went out of his way to hurt you.'

Your mind had seemingly been slashed in half since your arrival at the former demon slayer's hideout. One tiny voice acted like a deranged lovesick little girl. Whist the other pertained some form of logic and common sense. This typically led to many interior arguments, all bordering on the exact same premise.

HE LOVES ME

HE'S HURTING ME

HE LOVES ME

HE'S HURTING ME

HE LOVES ME

HE'S HURTING ME

HE LOVES ME

HE'S HURTING ME

HE LOVES ME

HE'S HURTING ME

HE LOVES ME

HE'S HURTING ME

"Quit your whining!" the voice that escaped your lips, was flat and commanding, for a second it vaguely reminded you of Giyu Tomioka before the memory of your former lover shattered. Zenitsu's crying continued but his angry shouts slowly died down, his golden eyes shifted to stare directly at you. wearily you lifted your hands towards him, like an infant begging to be picked up.

"I'm hungry Zenitsu! Take me into the kitchen, after all, it's your fault I'm like this!"

Sure Zenitsu was much more powerful than you, sure he could snap your neck, ending your pitiful life at any moment. But his desperate need for approval -something else that had transcended from his human life to his current one- gave you the upper hand in this muddle of a relationship.

As a demon Inosuke is more...feral, for lack of a better word. He is all so keen on seeing just how far he can push his darlings limits, both mentally or physically.

He's always hovering around you, trailing his clawed fingers over patches of exposed skin. Smirking all so curly as you shiver and shrink back. His knife-like fangs seen to be permanently impaling your neck. Draining you of your life force. He's just so damn heartless!

🗡️ 🗡️ 🗡️ 🗡️ 🗡️ 🗡️ 🗡️ 🗡️ 🗡️ 🗡️ 🗡️ 🗡️ 🗡️ 🗡️ 🗡️ 🗡️ 🗡️ 🗡️ 🗡️

Although he may be a ruthless monster, a creature of the night that fed on the innocent, there was no denying that Inosuke was resourceful, resourceful, and strong. He knew just where to hide you, so you would neither be found nor have a chance to escape. There was also the way he routinely cracked your fibula and tibia as a “preprecaution”.

Your arm wasn't meant to bend that way, neither was your leg when you thought about it. Yet despite the odd angle there had yet to be any cracking or popping to indicate the limp had been, once again, broken. The only real evidence to suggest that the limps were in fact being abused was the white scorching pain coursing through them. A feeling that you had almost grown entirely familiar with.

Inosuke's green eyes shifted lazily between your scrunched up face and the twisting limps. One of his "normal" arms was occupied mangling your left arm, the other two appendages that sprouted from his back were pulling your leg upwards at the knee joint. Inosuke's head leaned over his remaining arm, he looked bored, like your pain was so mundane that it couldn't even grant him a mere chuckle.

"I like it better when you scream" his voice was laced with a demanding malice, something bitter and rotting. "It's boring when you try to act all strong and mighty".

You weren't acting, acting required skills, and an audience who wanted to believe in the performer. No, your lack of response wasn't a show of strength or iron will, it was merely because your vocal cords had been shrieked raw, preventing them from making a single peep.

Your tear-filled eyes shot up to stare into his depraved orbs. Had there ever been a time when his eyes didn't strike fear into those who peered into them? You highly doubted it, heck the idea of Inosuke ever being anything less than terrifying was a laughable thought.

An eerie familiar noise filled the room, the cracking noise happened in three instances, like three swipes of a blade. First, it was your talus followed by your patella, and then to finish the spin chilling symphony was the crescendo of your breaking humerus for the hundredth time.

Tears began to flow rapidly from your eyes, staining your thin layer of clothes. You could feel Inosuke's presence shifting about, leaning ever so closer to nuzzle into the side of your neck. His teeth grazing the already punctured skin.

Inosuke use to be a demon slayer right? A passionate young man who wanted nothing more than to destroy the very same monsters that he himself became? What a laughable story, a fictional tale if ever you'd heard one!

This man was and would always be nothing more than a cruel demon!

#demon slayer #demon slayer x reader #demon slayer x you #yandere demon slayer #kimetsu no yaiba #kimetsu no yaiba x reader #kimetsu no yaiba x you #yandere kimetsu no yaiba #kimetsu no yaiba tanjiro kamado #kimetsu no yaiba tanjiro kamado x reader #kimetsu no yaiba tanjiro kamado x you #tanjiro kamado x reader #tanjiro kamado x you #yandere tanjiro kamado #yandere tanjiro kamado x reader #yandere tanjiro kamado x you #demon slayer tanjiro kamado #demon slayer tanjiro kamado x reader #demon slayer tanjiro kamado x you #demon slayer zenitsu agatsuma #demon slayer zenitsu agatsuma x reader #demon slayer zenitsu agatsuma x you #zenitsu agatsuma #zenitsu agatsuma x reader #zenitsu agatsuma x you #yandere zenitsu agatsuma #yandere zenitsu agatsuma x reader #yandere zenitsu agatsuma x you #demon slayer inosuke hashibira #demon slayer inosuke hashibira x reader

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in-slytherin-we-trust · 4 years

Note

Can we get Cedric x reader, when the reader found a bunny in the forest at night and trying to sneak it to her bedroom but getting cought by perfect Cedric? Like we cant take animals from forest because its dangerous. Sorry if my english is badd, hope you have a nice dayy 💕💕

Yours To Keep (Cedric Diggory x Reader)

Additional info: Cedric is in his 6th year and he is a prefect.

Y/L/N = Your last name

Fifth year Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws are gathering around a clearing somewhere in the outskirts of Forbidden Forest. Hagrid standing in the center of it with one hand on the unicorn, the creature that they’re studying today. It is a magnificent view for sure. Hagrid said that unicorns preferred a woman's touch but the young ones were more trusting and don’t mind men as much. Such as this one that they have the pleasure of meeting, it is still silver in colour and its horns are just starting to grew in.

Y/N was standing in the back near the bushes, it’s not because she’s not fascinated by today’s lesson, in fact as a kid she was obsessed with anything unicorn related. At some point she had even asked her mother to do a unicorn horn inspired hairstyle for her (which didn’t turn out great might I add, she looked more like a saiga antelope). The reason why she chose to be in the back because something near the bushes has caught her eyes, it’s a cute little white bunny. It looked soo lost and Y/N had spend a considerable amount of time watching it, thinking that a fellow bunny might appear, but it seems like this one is a lone rabbit.

She discretely flicked her wand and build it a mini fort from fallen twigs and leaves, not that anyone would notice her seeing that all eyes are dead set on the unicorn. The bunny jumps into the air with all four paws off the ground and twists in mid-air before landing, it looks like it’s very happy about its new makeshift home. Adorable little thing... Y/N wishes that she could take it in but Hogwarts has a strict policy on what kind of animals are allowed as a pet and sadly rabbit is not on the list.

But then again.... nobody needs to know right?

Y/N mulled it over, concocting a plan inside her head to abduct the bunny and make herself the new owner. It’s much safer with her anyway than roaming alone inside this sinister forest filled with unknown dangerous creatures. It’s been decided then, tonight she’s going to pull a bunny heist.

———————————————————————

Night has fallen over Hogwarts and almost all of the students have crossed over to the dreamland, everyone except Y/N maybe. She’s laying in her bed under the cover of blanket but sleep is the farthest thing from her mind. All the girls that share a dorm with her are already fast asleep, now is her window of opportunity.

She carefully put one foot on the wooden floor, pulling the blanket off her body and tip toe across the room towards the circular door that leads to the tunnels that connects their dormitories with the common room. So far so good, the common room is empty, illuminated just slightly by warm copper lamps so students who come in late won’t trip over something.

Times like these are when she’s most grateful about Hufflepuff’s basement location. They are one floor below the ground, near the Hogwarts Kitchens. The chances of running into a fellow student is slim because they are so far away from other houses dormitories. Y/N proceeded stealthily, wrapping her robe tighter around herself as the chily night air starts to creep in. She go up a flight of stone steps and arrived near the Great Hall, where she then took a right turn towards the entrance hall and courtyard. ———————————————————————

Y/N managed to found the clearing where they held the Care of Magical Creatures class earlier in the day with little to no trouble since she has memorized the path. She walked to the bushes and sigh happily when she find the white bunny still lying down inside its mini fort. Its front paws pointing forward and rear legs stuck out sideways in a relaxed manner. Y/N kneel down and slowly reached out a hand, watching it’s reaction but found no sign of it being scared or aggravated, then scratch the bunny’s ears softly.

“Hi there cutie... would you like to come with me?” She cooed, knowing that it wouldn’t understand her anyway but still that doesn’t stops her.

The bunny looked up to her with its round innocent eyes and Y/N carefully scoop it into her arms. Rocking it from side to side like what you usually do to put a baby to sleep. It looks pretty content so she took it as a sign that it likes her.

“Alrighty then, time to go back” She mumbled to herself.

Y/N put the bunny inside the hidden pocket inside her robe, concealing it from sight just in case, and trudge her way back to the castle.

———————————————————————

Everything was going smoothly up until she made the mistake of looking behind her back the whole time, she forgot to watch where she’s actually heading and bump into something tall and hard, probably a wall. Or so she thought.

When she looked straight ahead, she took a huge gulp and let out a quiet “Uh oh” as she realized that it is most certainly not a wall, but rather a person.

And not just any person, it’s Cedric Diggory, a Hufflepuff prefect, her house’s prefect. Bloody hell, damn her luck.

The impact of the collision also caused the very thing that she’s trying to hide to poke out of her robe. Cedric actually look dumbfounded when he saw two pointy white ears peeking out. He flicked his illuminated wand between the illegal creature to the guilty face of an underclassman, one who surprisingly bears a Hufflepuff symbol on her chest.

“Do I get a say in this, Prefect Diggory?” She muttered weakly, trying her best to look innocent although she just got caught red handed.

“Breaking 2 rules in one night huh? I never took you as the troublemaker kind” Cedric replied, one eyebrow raising up. One would say he actually look rather amused than cross.

Y/N still hasn’t found the courage to make up an excuse seeing that it wouldn’t help her case by much anyway, she couldn’t believe her own audacity when she finds herself ogling over the handsome boy in front of her instead. Of course she’s aware that Cedric Diggory is ridiculously good looking, I mean he’s literally one of the most sought after guy in the entire school. It’s just that she never really stood this close to properly see his features before, he was always surrounded by his friends or admirers so it’s kinda hard to have a closer look. Not until now.

“Cat got your tongue, Y/L/N?” His teasing tone snapped her out of her reverie.

An incredulous gasp escaped from her mouth, “Wait a minute... you actually know who I am?”

“Well I am the prefect of our house you know..” He said sarcastically, “—I make it my business to know all those under my supervision and that includes you”

Y/N hums, looking very much impressed at the amount of effort that he’s putting into his responsibility. When she thought he couldn’t get more perfect, Cedric Diggory proved her wrong again.

“So mind explaining to me what were you doing in these hours of night? I wasn’t aware that fifth year student has the liberty of roaming the corridors freely as they pleased” Now the tone of his voice took a serious turn but besides that he still keep his face in a friendly manner, encouraging her to speak.

“I found a bunny earlier during Care for Magical Creatures class and it’s just soo cute I can’t help myself, so I sneaked out to come and take it in because I couldn’t possibly do that under broad daylight, could I?” She replied sheepishly, now that she spoke it out loud, it sounds silly and childish. Not exactly the impression that she would like to make on this stud in front of her but oh well.

Y/N is taken by surprise when Cedric let out an amused snort and his mouth tugged up into a huge grin, charming. “Sorry for causing trouble” She added for good measure.

“Nahh.. it’s no trouble at all” He said good naturedly.

“So does that means i’m off the hook?” She asked hopefully, pulling her puppy dog eyes on him.

“Yes, Y/N... i’m letting this slide but don’t you go and get yourself in trouble again, understood?”

“Thank you so much” She half shout as she flung herself to him, giving him a hug out of excitement and relief. But when she realizes what she’s doing, she awkwardly pulled herself back. “Sorry ‘bout that, I got carried away”

Cedric chuckles at the girl, she really is entertaining. He has actually known her from some time, looking at her from afar on several occasions because she may or may not have caught his eyes. It’s just that he never has any excuse to talk to her seeing that they’re in a different year and has no mutual friends. He’s really glad he’s on patrol duty tonight because he got more than he bargained for, not that he mind it one bit.

“You planning to keep the bunny?” He asked curiously.

“Well yeah... if that’s okay” She said, biting her lower lip, eyes darting nervously.

“It’s yours to keep” He shrugged his shoulders, trying to play it off nonchalantly, “I mean you did find it after all”

Cedric watched as Y/N beamed from ear to ear, it’s adorable really, seeing her light up like that certainly got him smiling back.

He put his hands on both of her shoulders gently, making her look up to him quizzically, “Take care of yourself, angel”

Y/N can feel her cheeks burning up at the endearment term. Finding it hard to meet his intense gaze back, he seemed to enjoy making her fluster though, smirking to himself.

Oh no he didn’t... two can play at this game

“If getting myself in trouble daily means that it’s you who will deal after me, it just tempt me to cause even more ruckus” She half purred, now that certainly startled the poor boy he even let out a chocked noise.

Y/N grinned widely at the reaction that she’s getting, she definitely made the Cedric Diggory hot and bothered just like that. What an accomplishment indeed.

She then winked at him, “I’ll see you around, lover boy” before she sauntered off, leaving the prefect with his mouth gaping.

———————————————————————

A/N : Hi there anon! thank you for requesting this💛 I hope this is good enough, I had such a blast writing for Cedric since he’s actually one of my favorite characters and I don’t think I would ever get over his death 😢

#cedric diggory x reader #cedric diggory #cedric diggory imagine #cedric diggory x you #cedric diggory fluff #cedric diggory angst #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter imagine #harry potter #harry potter x reader #harry potter smut #harry potter oneshots #harry potter oneshot

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ciggylungz · 4 years

Text

Tip toe

(Blurb request:

What if y/ns parents dont approve of Harry being her bf so they have to fuck behind their back) high school couple au

You ask, I deliver- 1.6k words

High school relationships were never easy, although things get a lot more complicated when your parents don’t approve of the person you choose to date. And well…that was y/n’s current predicament. She was forced to resort to sneaking around to see her boyfriend Harry. She truly didn’t understand why her parents didn’t like him, Harry is the best guy she could have chosen to be with, yet her parents still have the ‘no dating till you’re in college’ rule. One she didn’t respect nor follow, but her parents didn’t need to know that.

Y/n hates that she has to sneak around, but she really can’t live without her Hazza so she does it. The only time she feels truly happy is when she’s with her boy, and well the sex is also really fucking good. So more often than not the time they manage to snag together is spent shagging.

Of course, the two have their sweet, pg-rated moments but lets face it- teenagers are horny and Harry and Y/n are not an exception to that rule of nature.

______________________

‘I’m parked up the block’

y/n tried to hide her grin as her phone dinged, she had managed to trick her parents into thinking she was spending the night with her friend Maddie, instead of the true place she’ll be sleeping-or rather not sleeping- that night. In Harry’s bed.

The girl gave her parents a quick goodbye, shoving her feet into her sneakers as she traveled out of the house, practically sprinting down the street towards the familiar black car tapping quickly on the passenger window to get his attention before sliding in the car. “Happy to see me?” Harry beamed at her, his smile just as big as hers getting a elbow to the ribs lightly before she leaned over to kiss him, a good dramatic smacking kiss with a dramatic ‘mwah!’ at the end. Harry swears his girlfriend is the most adorable thing to ever walk this earth.

“Silly tonight are we, baby?” his tone was teasing, putting the car in reverse putting his hand on the back of her headrest to get a good view out his rear window- he didn’t feel like getting in another fender bender and have to cough up the money for whoever he bothered. “ ‘m just happy to see my squishy Hazzy boy! I’m excited to love on ya’, kiss your cute squishy face and play with the little Harry in your pants.” The boy snorted, shaking his head with a breathy laugh as he pulled onto the pain road “I’m happy to see yeh too lovie, and for the record he’s not little he’s well above average and didn’t appreciate that comment missy” he pointed a sassy finger at the girl who giggled, lightly biting the tip of it before giving it a nice harsh suck, releasing it after. “you are going to be the death of me, sweetheart.”

The pair made it safe and sound to the Styles home, Anne taking the night shift so the two teens had the house till the morning, so of course they planned to take full advantage of that luxury.

“Baby, baby let’s at least get the door open till yeh jump my bones yea?” Harry was fumbling to get his keys in the door, his girlfriend standing on her toes to kiss his neck distracting him from the task at hand. “But I loveeeeeeeeeeee you, I want to kiss my boyfriend!” “you can! Give m’ a second please” he managed to get the two in the house, locking the door behind him while his baby tugged on the hem of his shirt. Her adorable pout only made the boy smile when he looked down at her, wrapping his arms around her waist giving her a few kisses before hiking her up. Her legs wrapped around his waist, arms looping around his neck a bright smile on her face. “God, you’re cute. Missed holdin’ my girl.” “think you could hold m’ and fuck me in the air?” Y/n teased the boy getting a eye roll in return, “I thought I was supposed to be the horn dog, I think you might be the teenage boy instead of me miss thang” Harry chuckled setting her back down so they could make their journey up the steps, “Hey I can’t help my boyfriends hot as fuck, and I haven’t got to play with his pp in a week! I wanna touch my boyfriend’s weenie” their combined giggles echoed in the empty house, following them into the boys room when he swung the door open “Okay can we not refer to my junk as a weenie? That’s a bit of a boner killer, don’t yeh think?” , “I’m the one who puts your penis in my mouth, I can call it what I want mister.”

Harry really didn’t have a solid argument against that one.

“fair enough, yeh want it bad don’t you?” the joking atmosphere seemed to switch instantly, his tone now deeper and suggestive making a whine rumble from y/n’s throat that went straight to Harry’s cock. “Tell me, tell me what you want sweetheart..” the boy inched towards the bed his girlfriend was laying on, painfully slow teasing the poor girl further knowing dominant Harry was coming out tonight and she didn’t call the shots anymore. “Yes, I want your cock Hazzy please. I need it.” Harry hummed slightly, making his way to the edge of the bed knees bumping his girlfriends slightly. “you need it huh? Go on, take m’ cock out princess.”

y/n wasted no time, darting her hands forward to yank his belt from it’s loops. The leather made a delicious snapping noise whilst it was ripped from the boys hips the need growing inside her with every second that passes. With a slight fumbling of her excited fingers she managed to unzip him and tug his jeans down his legs, Harry kicking them off his ankles, turning his attention back to his eager girlfriend who was tugging his boxers down to free his semi-hard length, making eye contact with her as she waited for her next direction.

“Don’t give me those innocent eyes baby, you were just begging for my cock. Open your mouth, don’t act shy now honey.” A sultry smirk tugging the right side of his mouth up at the corner while watching his girlfriend take hold of his member to slide it into her pretty little mouth. Y/n was too needy to go slow, her suckling was strong the bobbing of her head going quick working hard to get him fully hard for her. it obviously didn’t take long, Harry had missed her touch as much as she missed his, soon enough his cock stood at it’s full 9 inches pushing against the flesh over her cheeks every few bobs. “God, mouth feels fuckin’ great. Wanna feel that throat before I fuck yeh, you know what to do.”

Y/n was moaning even without getting any stimulation to where she needed it, seeing her man bossing her around was enough to make her feel like she could come on the spot. She followed her instructions, taking in a nice deep breath and holding it, keeping her throat open as Harry pushed his cock all the way down her throat giving her cheek a light tap as he felt her jaw instinctively trying to close when her gag reflex was triggered effectively getting her to keep it relaxed while the tip of his cock massaged itself deep down her throat. Harry gave a good few strokes into her open throat, just enough to make him feel good and make sure she has a sore throat to remember him by for a few days after before pulling out pushing her back onto his mattress.

Y/n giggled slightly as her boyfriend quickly tugged her clothes from her body, pausing to tug his own shirt over his head then shuffling to lay on his stomach between her legs. He was face to face with her dripping cunt, the organ a bit swollen and flushed from being so turned on, he could tell just by looking at it that she must be aching. “Please Harry…please don’t tease me I need you.” Her pitiful voice and harsh tugs of his locks got Harry even more riled up, plunging his tongue between her folds lapping up the wetness that had already collected giving a nice strong suckle to her engorged clit getting the girl to squirm, legs trying to close as pretty moans tumbled out of her mouth. “God Harry- ah fuck-wa-wait wait I wanna cum with you in me. St- oh my god- stop I’m not gonna last!” her pleads fell on deaf ears, Harry deciding he wanted her to cum now. The relentless pleasuring giving her no choice but to tip over the ledge stars dotting her vision, her first orgasm in over a week was a fucking good one.

Once Harry was satisfied, he shuffled the both of them further towards his headboard, roughly opening his bedside table drawer to pull out a condom making quick work of sliding it down himself positioning himself back between her legs, not able to stop himself from slamming into her fully. The girl gasped, feeling the tip of his cock push into her cervix from how hard he thrust into her all 9 inches of him sheathed inside her walls now. Everything seemed to happen so fast, the hammering of his hips into hers the moaning and curses and both of their eventual orgasms brought on by the touch of each other.

y/n was brought back to reality when Harry’s sweaty body dropped on top of her, pulling himself out of her to rest his softening cock between their bodies as they caught their breath numerous ‘I love you’s’ and ‘you felt so good’ being mumbled between them.

y/n decided this was definitely worth having to sneak around for.

#harry styles fluff #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles angst #harry styles au #harry styles imagine #harry styles #harry styles blurb #blurb night #harry style drabble #harry styles fanfic #harry styles writing #harry styles smut

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kookie-doughs · 3 years

Text

Y/N L/N AND THE HALFBLOODS

Percy Jackson X Reader -Y/N L/N met Percy Jackson and everything was now ruined.

CHAPTER 5: COMING TO CAMP

I woke up feeling sore all over, but what I heard and saw made no sense, so I just passed out again. I remember lying in a soft bed, being spoon-fed something that tasted like buttered popcorn, only it was pudding. A short-cropped blonde haired guy hovered over me, looking down at me. When he saw my eyes open, he asked, "How are you feeling?" I managed to croak, "What?" "Are you feeling better?" "I guess," I mumbled, "I don't... where's Percy?" Somebody knocked on the door, and the guy slowly set the pudding down. "I'll see you when you're better." He smiled. The next time I woke up, the guy was gone.

When I finally came around for good, there was nothing weird about my surroundings, except that they were nicer than I was used to. I was sitting in a deck chair on a huge porch, gazing across a meadow at green hills in the distance. The breeze smelled like strawberries. There was a blanket over my legs, a pillow behind my neck. All that was great, but my mouth felt like a scorpion had been using it for a nest. My tongue was dry and nasty and every one of my teeth hurt. On the table next to me was a tall drink. It looked like iced apple juice, with a green straw and a paper parasol stuck through a maraschino cherry. My hand was so weak I almost dropped the glass once I got my fingers around it. "You're awake," a voice said. A blonde girl was leaning against the porch railing, looking tired and done. She was wearing blue jeans, Converse hi-tops and a bright orange T-shirt that said CAMPHALF-BLOOD. "I should call the others," she said. "Where's Percy?" "He's talking with Mr. D." "Is he well?" "You've been through worse," She said with her eyebrows knitted(?). "And the first thing you ask is your friend?" "Percy, should—" "I'll tell the others." She looked at me one last time and left. I stared across the meadow. There were groves of trees, a winding stream, acres of strawberries spread out under the blue sky. The valley was surrounded by rolling hills, and the tallest one, directly in front of us, was the one with the huge pine tree on top. Even that looked beautiful in the sunlight. Without Percy's presence I was reminded of everything I lost. Everyone I care about. "Hey," A voice behind me called. "Annabeth passed by and told me you're awake. Feeling better?" "Oh, hey." I smiled weakly. "Feelin real peachy." "Luke, Luke Castellan." "Y/N L/N..." We stayed quiet for a minute. "I'm sorry for what happened. I don't exactly know what went on but..." Looking at him, I gave him a sad smile, "Thanks... I guess. Even I'm not sure what went on honestly... I don't know what's going on." "Well, I'm not exactly much of an explainer so, we just gotta wait for Chiron." "I... remember everything. From the moment the sea pulled me, to loosing my parents and dog, to bringing us here... I just... don't understand..." I suddenly felt dizzy, my vision swimming. "Don't strain yourself," Luke said. "Here." He helped me hold my glass and put the straw to my lips. I recoiled at the taste, because I was expecting apple juice. It wasn't that at all. It was (Favorite Food or F/F). Liquid F/F. And not just any F/F—my mom and dad's special F/F. Drinking it, my whole body felt warm and good, full of energy. My grief didn't go away, but I felt as if my mom and dad had just pet my head, fed me F/F the way they used to when I was small, and told me everything was going to be okay. Before I knew it, I'd drained the glass. I stared into it, sure I'd just had a warm drink, but the ice cubes hadn't even melted. "Was it good?" Luke asked. I nodded. "Are you feeling better now? "Yeah," I said. "Thanks." "That's good," he said. "That's good. I don't think you could risk drinking any more of that stuff." "What do you mean?" He took the empty glass from me, as if it were dynamite, and set it back on the table. "Y/N!" I turned to the voice and saw Grover. "Hey, Luke." "I'll take it they want her?" Grover nodded. "I'll see you later." Luke smiled and ruffled my hair, then left me with Grover. Grover watched Luke leave then turned to me, "Come on. Chiron and Mr. D are waiting." The porch wrapped all the way around the farmhouse. My legs felt wobbly, trying to walk that far. I asked him where Percy was and he said he was already there. As we came around the opposite end of the house, I caught my breath. We must've been on the north shore of Long Island, because on this side of the house, the valley marched all the way up to the water, which glittered about a mile in the distance. Between here and there, I simply couldn't process everything I was seeing. The landscape was dotted with buildings that looked like ancient Greek architecture—an open-air pavilion, an amphitheater, a circular arena—except that they all looked brand new, their white marble columns sparkling in the sun. In a nearby sandpit, a dozen high school-age kids and satyrs played volleyball. Canoes glided across a small lake. Kids in bright orange T-shirts like Grover's were chasing each other around a cluster of cabins nestled in the woods. Some shot targets at an archery range. Others rode horses down a wooded trail, and, unless I was hallucinating, some of their horses had wings. "Y/N!!" I was engulfed and tackled which almost made me fall. Percy looked at me with sad eyes, holding unto the Minotaur horn. He looked tired and sick. "Are you okay Percy?" He nodded and rested his head on my shoulder. Down at the end of the porch, two men sat across from each other at a card table. The blond-haired girl that I woke up to was leaning on the porch rail next to them. The man facing me was small, but porky. He had a red nose, big watery eyes, and curly hair so black it was almost purple. He looked like those paintings of baby angels— what do you call them, hubbubs? No, cherubs. That's it. He looked like a cherub who'd turned middle-aged in a trailer park. He wore a tiger-pattern Hawaiian shirt. "Hate to break your touching reunion but we were talking." The man said. "That's Mr. D," Grover murmured to me. "He's the camp director. Be polite. The girl, that's Annabeth Chase. She's just a camper, but she's been here longer than just about anybody. And you already know Chiron..." He pointed at the guy whose back was to me. First, I realized he was sitting in the wheelchair. Then I recognized the tweed jacket, the thinning brown hair, the scraggly beard. "Mr. Brunner!" I cried. The Latin teacher turned and smiled at me. "Ah, good, Y/N," he said. "You're awake. Percy couldn't focus since he was worried of you. He woke up an hour before you. Care for a game of pinochle?" He offered me a chair to the right of Mr. D, who looked at me with bloodshot eyes and heaved a great sigh. "Oh, I suppose I must say it. Welcome to Camp Half-Blood. There. Now, don't expect me to be glad to see you." "Uh, thanks." I turned to Percy who looked at me confusedly as well. "Annabeth?" Mr. Brunner called to the blond girl. She came forward and Mr. Brunner introduced us. "This young lady and Luke nursed you back to health, Y/N. Annabeth, my dear, why don't you go check on Percy and Y/N's bunk? We'll be putting him in cabin eleven for now." Annabeth said, "Sure, Chiron." She was probably my age, maybe same height, and a whole lot more athletic looking. With her deep tan and her curly blond hair, she was almost exactly what I thought a stereotypical California girl would look like, except her eyes ruined the image. They were startling gray, like storm clouds; pretty, but intimidating, too, as if she were analyzing the best way to take me down in a fight. She glanced at the minotaur horn in Percy's hands, then back at him. I felt a bit iffy and got closer to Percy. She turned to me and said, "You should thank Luke." Then she sprinted off down the lawn, her blond hair flying behind her. "So," Percy said, anxious to change the subject. "You, uh, work here, Mr. Brunner?". "Not Mr. Brunner," the ex—Mr. Brunner said. "I'm afraid that was a pseudonym. You may call me Chiron." "Okay." Totally confused, I looked at the director. "And Mr. D ... does that stand for something?" Mr. D stopped shuffling the cards. He looked at me like I'd just belched loudly. "Young woman, names are powerful things. You don't just go around using them for no reason." "Oh. Right. Sorry." "I must say, Percy, Y/N," Chiron-Brunner broke in, "I'm glad to see you both alive. It's been a long time since I've made a house call to a potential camper. I'd hate to think I've wasted my time. And I am quite surprise to recruit two." "House call?" "Recruit two?" "My year at Yancy Academy, to instruct you. We have satyrs at most schools, of course, keeping a lookout. But Grover alerted me as soon as he met you. He sensed you were something special, so I decided to come upstate. I convinced the other Latin teacher to ... ah, take a leave of absence. And when the mist hadn't worked on Y/N, Grover and I thought she saw through the mist." "Mist?" "It's... something." "You came to Yancy just to teach me?" Percy asked. Chiron nodded. "Honestly, I wasn't sure about you at first. We contacted your mother, let her know we were keeping an eye on you in case you were ready for Camp Half-Blood. But you still had so much to learn. Nevertheless, you made it here alive, and that's always the first test. As for Y/N..." He looked at me skeptically then to Mr. D. "You're... still scentless." "Grover," Mr. D said impatiently, "are you playing or not?" "Yes, sir!" Grover trembled as he took the fourth chair, though I didn't know why he should be so afraid of a pudgy little man in a tiger-print Hawaiian shirt. "You do know how to play pinochle?" Mr. D eyed me suspiciously. "I'm afraid not," I said. "I'm afraid not, sir," he said. "Sir," I repeated. I was liking the camp director less and less. "Well," he told me, "it is, along with gladiator fighting and Pac-Man, one of the greatest games ever invented by humans. I would expect all civilized young men to know the rules." "I'm sure the girl can learn," Chiron said. "The other kid was bad, I doubt this one can do better." "Please," Percy said pulling me closer to him, "what is this place? What am I doing here? Mr. Brun—Chiron—why would you go to Yancy Academy just to teach me?" Mr. D snorted. "I asked the same question." The camp director dealt the cards. Grover flinched every time one landed in his pile. Chiron smiled at us sympathetically. "Percy," he said. "Did your mother tell you nothing?' "She said... She told me she was afraid to send me here, even though my father had wanted her to. She said that once I was here, I probably couldn't leave. She wanted to keep me close to her." "And you?" He turned to me. "Nothing like this ever happened... Everything was normal." "Typical," Mr. D said. "That's how they usually get killed. Young lady, are you bidding or not?" "What?" I asked. He explained, impatiently, how you bid in pinochle, and so I did. "I'm afraid there's too much to tell," Chiron said. "I'm afraid our usual orientation film won't be sufficient." "Orientation film?" Percy asked. "No," Chiron decided. "Well, Percy. You know your friend Grover is a satyr. You know"—he pointed to the horn in the shoe box—"that you and Y/N have killed the Minotaur. No small feat, either, lad. What you may not know is that great powers are at work in your life. Gods—the forces you call the Greek gods—are very much alive." I stared at the others around the table. I waited for somebody to yell, Not! But all I got was Mr. D yelling, "Oh, a royal marriage. Trick! Trick!" He cackled as he tallied up his points. "Mr. D," Grover asked timidly, "if you're not going to eat it, could I have your Diet Coke can?" "Eh? Oh, all right." Grover bit a huge shard out of the empty aluminum can and chewed it mournfully. "Wait," I told Chiron. "You're telling me there's such a thing as God." "Well, now," Chiron said. "God—capital G, God. That's a different matter altogether. We shan't deal with the metaphysical." "Metaphysical? But you were just talking about—" "Ah, gods, plural, as in, great beings that control the forces of nature and human endeavors: the immortal gods of Olympus. That's a smaller matter." "Smaller?" "Yes, quite. The gods we discussed in Latin class." "Zeus," Percy said. "Hera. Apollo. You mean them." And there it was again—distant thunder on a cloudless day. "Young man," said Mr. D, "I would really be less casual about throwing those names around, if I were you." "But they're stories," Percy said. "They're—myths, to explain lightning and the seasons and stuff. They're what people believed before there was science." "Science!" Mr. D scoffed. "And tell me, Perseus Jackson"—I felt Percy flinched when he was called—"what will people think of your 'science' two thousand years from now?" Mr. D continued. "Hmm? They will call it primitive mumbo jumbo. That's what. Oh, I love mortals—they have absolutely no sense of perspective. They think they've come so-o-o far. And have they, Chiron? Look at this boy and tell me." I wasn't liking Mr. D much, but there was something about the way he called me mortal, as if... he wasn't. It was enough to put a lump in my throat, to suggest why Grover was dutifully minding his cards, chewing his soda can, and keeping his mouth shut. "Percy," Chiron said, "you may choose to believe or not, but the fact is that immortal means immortal. Can you imagine that for a moment, never dying? Never fading? Existing, just as you are, for all time?" "You mean, whether people believed in you or not," Percy said. "Exactly," Chiron agreed. "If you were a god, how would you like being called a myth, an old story to explain lightning? What if I told you, Perseus Jackson, that someday people would call you and Y/N a myth, just created to explain how children can get over losing their parents?" My heart pounded. He was trying to make us angry for some reason, but I wasn't going to let him. Gripping on Percy I said, "I wouldn't like it. But I don't believe in gods." "Oh, you'd better," Mr. D murmured. "Before one of them incinerates you." Grover said, "P-please, sir. She's just lost her family. She's in shock." "A lucky thing, too," Mr. D grumbled, playing a card. "Bad enough I'm confined to this miserable job, working with kids who don't even believe.'" He waved his hand and a goblet appeared on the table, as if the sunlight had bent, momentarily, and woven the air into glass. The goblet filled itself with red wine. My jaw dropped, but Chiron hardly looked up. "Mr. D," he warned, "your restrictions." Mr. D looked at the wine and feigned surprise. "Dear me." He looked at the sky and yelled, "Old habits! Sorry!" More thunder. Mr. D waved his hand again, and the wineglass changed into a fresh can of Diet Coke. He sighed unhappily, popped the top of the soda, and went back to his card game. Chiron winked at me. "Mr. D offended his father a while back, took a fancy to a wood nymph who had been declared off-limits." "A wood nymph," I repeated, still staring at the Diet Coke can like it was from outer space. "Yes," Mr. D confessed. "Father loves to punish me. The first time, Prohibition. Ghastly! Absolutely horrid ten years! The second time—well, she really was pretty, and I couldn't stay away—the second time, he sent me here. Half-Blood Hill. Summer camp for brats like you. 'Be a better influence,' he told me. 'Work with youths rather than tearing them down.' Ha.' Absolutely unfair." Mr. D sounded about six years old, like a pouting little kid. "And ..." Percy stammered, "your father is ..." "Di immortales, Chiron," Mr. D said. "I thought you taught this boy the basics. My father is Zeus, of course." I ran through D names from Greek mythology. Wine. The skin of a tiger. The satyrs that all seemed to work here. The way Grover cringed, as if Mr. D were his master. "You're Dionysus," I said. "The god of wine." Mr. D rolled his eyes. "What do they say, these days, Grover? Do the children say, 'Well, duh!'?" "Y-yes, Mr. D." "Then, well, duh! Y/N L/N. Did you think I was Aphrodite, perhaps?" "You're a god." "Yes, child." "A god. You." He turned to look at me straight on, and I saw a kind of purplish fire in his eyes, a hint that this whiny, plump little man was only showing me the tiniest bit of his true nature. I saw visions of grape vines choking unbelievers to death, drunken warriors insane with battle lust, sailors screaming as their hands turned to flippers, their faces elongating into dolphin snouts. I knew that if I pushed him, Mr. D would show me worse things. He would plant a disease in my brain that would leave me wearing a strait-jacket in a rubber room for the rest of my life. "Would you like to test me, child?" he said quietly. "No. No, sir." The fire died a little. He turned back to his card game. "I believe I win." "Not quite, Mr. D," Chiron said. He set down a straight, tallied the points, and said, "The game goes to me." I thought Mr. D was going to vaporize Chiron right out of his wheelchair, but he just sighed through his nose, as if he were used to being beaten by the Latin teacher. He got up, and Grover rose, too. "I'm tired," Mr. D said. "I believe I'll take a nap before the sing-along tonight. But first, Grover, we need to talk, again, about your less-than-perfect performance on this assignment." Grover's face beaded with sweat. "Y-yes, sir." Mr. D turned to me. "Cabin eleven, Percy Jackson, Y/N L/N. And mind your manners." He swept into the farmhouse, Grover following miserably. "Will Grover be okay?" Percy asked Chiron. Chiron nodded, though he looked a bit troubled. "Old Dionysus isn't really mad. He just hates his job. He's been ... ah, grounded, I guess you would say, and he can't stand waiting another century before he's allowed to go back to Olympus." "Mount Olympus," Percy said. "You're telling me there really is a palace there?" "Well now, there's Mount Olympus in Greece. And then there's the home of the gods, the convergence point of their powers, which did indeed used to be on Mount Olympus. It's still called Mount Olympus, out of respect to the old ways, but the palace moves, Percy, just as the gods do." "You mean the Greek gods are here? Like... in America?" "Well, certainly. The gods move with the heart of the West." "The what?" "Come now, Percy. What you call 'Western civilization.' Do you think it's just an abstract concept? No, it's a living force. A collective consciousness that has burned bright for thousands of years. The gods are part of it. You might even say they are the source of it, or at least, they are tied so tightly to it that they couldn't possibly fade, not unless all of Western civilization were obliterated. The fire started in Greece. Then, as you well know—or as I hope you know, since you passed my course—the heart of the fire moved to Rome, and so did the gods. Oh, different names, perhaps—Jupiter for Zeus, Venus for Aphrodite, and so on—but the same forces, the same gods." "And then they died." "Died? No. Did the West die? The gods simply moved, to Germany, to France, to Spain, for a while. Wherever the flame was brightest, the gods were there. They spent several centuries in England. All you need to do is look at the architecture. People do not forget the gods. Every place they've ruled, for the last three thousand years, you can see them in paintings, in statues, on the most important buildings. And yes, Percy, of course they are now in your United States. Look at your symbol, the eagle of Zeus. Look at the statue of Prometheus in RockefellerCenter, the Greek facades of your government buildings in Washington. I defy you to find any American city where the Olympians are not prominently displayed in multiple places. Like it or not—and believe me, plenty of people weren't very fond of Rome, either—America is now the heart of the flame. It is the great power of the West. And so Olympus is here. And we are here." It was all too much, especially the fact that I seemed to be included in Chiron's we, as if I were part of some club. "Who are you, Chiron? Who... who am I? I-Is Y/N?" Chiron smiled. He shifted his weight as if he were going to get up out of his wheelchair, but I knew that was impossible. He was paralyzed from the waist down. "Who are you?" he mused. "Well, that's the question we all want answered, isn't it? But for now, we should get you a bunk in cabin eleven. There will be new friends to meet. I believe Y/N had met one of them, Luke Castellan. And plenty of time for lessons tomorrow. Besides, there will be s'mores at the campfire tonight, and I simply adore chocolate." And then he did rise from his wheelchair. But there was something odd about the way he did it. His blanket fell away from his legs, but the legs didn't move. His waist kept getting longer, rising above his belt. At first, I thought he was wearing very long, white velvet underwear, but as he kept rising out of the chair, taller than any man, I realized that the velvet underwear wasn't underwear; it was the front of an animal, muscle and sinew under coarse white fur. And the wheelchair wasn't a chair. It was some kind of container, an enormous box on wheels, and it must've been magic, because there's no way it could've held all of him. A leg came out, long and knobby-kneed, with a huge polished hoof. Then another front leg, then hindquarters, and then the box was empty, nothing but a metal shell with a couple of fake human legs attached.. I stared at the horse who had just sprung from the wheelchair: a huge white stallion. But where its neck should be was the upper body of my Latin teacher, smoothly grafted to the horse's trunk. "What a relief," the centaur said. "I'd been cooped up in there so long, my fetlocks had fallen asleep. Now, come, Percy Jackson, Y/N L/N. Let's meet the other campers." I took Percy's hand, anxious of what is coming.

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#Percy Jackson #Percy Jackson X Reader #Percy Jackson X Y/N #Y/N L/N #Y/N L/N and the halfbloods #luke castellan #Luke castellan x reader #X Reader #Book 1 #pjo #Chapter 5 #Lightning thief

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sweetwritertanya · 4 years

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Dressed Up For Halloween (Jimin)

Summary: Your boyfriend is currently miles away on Halloween night and you watch the special live he and the rest of the members had scheduled for tonight. But things get interesting when you come up with a special unplanned costume that he seems to rather enjoy on you.

Warnings: SMUT! For this fic there will be: swearing, erotic body touching, mutual masturbation, female masturbation, male masturbation, phone sex over videocall, dirty talk (like, lots).

Word Count: 3759

You turned on your computer and smiled once the video started, watching your boyfriend and his friends on the other side of the screen. Jimin was too busy to celebrate the 31st of October with you this year. He was currently shooting a Halloween special live with the rest of the members quite a few miles away from the city you both lived in. There was no way he could make the trip back in one night, so he and the boys would just sleep in hotel rooms.

Still, as you watched his cute mushy face smiling at the camera, you really wished you could be with him right now. Sighing, you get off your couch and grab some snacks and a drink from the kitchen. You couldn’t be with him personally, but you would be with him digitally. You would watch the full live and text him all about it after.

Chuckling to yourself in your empty apartment, you watch curiously as they play a game to decide who gets what costume for the night. You didn’t know they would be dressed up for Halloween, but it made sense when you thought about it. Their team would definitely prepare something like that for them.

It couldn’t have gone better. You almost choke in your food once you realize what outfit Jimin was supposed to put on. An angel. Coincidentally, he was wearing a white blouse that went along perfectly with the pair of wings he struggled to get on his back. Alongside his blond painted hair and already angelic features, it took your breath away. This man was truly an angel among men, no question about it.

Your eyes couldn’t leave him for the first half hour of the live, your lips with the corners pulled up without you even noticing it until your cheeks hurt. Once they made a little break halfway though, it was like you were called back to reality. You got up and went to the bathroom in the meantime, only to come back in time to hear your phone ping with a message.

Grabbing it from between the cushions of your couch, your smile returns as you realize it’s a text from Jimin. He tells you about how much he misses you and how his day is going, namely about how he got stuck with the angel’s costume. He actually sends you a selfie showcasing his wings, as if you haven’t been watching from the beginning.

That makes you think of something. You always wanted to go out on Halloween with a boyfriend on a couple’s costume. Maybe you two couldn’t be together this year, but that didn’t mean you couldn’t match your costumes. You were pretty sure you still had the props you needed that would go along with the scandalous red dress at the back of your closet…

In a whim, you get up and run to your bedroom, searching for the things you needed. You strip from your hoodie and leggings to a short spaghetti strap red dress, showcasing your bountiful cleavage and soft fluffy arms, as well as your rounded legs. The dress was tight fitting, hugging at your curves perfectly. You skip any make-up except for a bold red lip. And, of course, to tie it all together, you grab the props from a box at a top shelf of your closet: a red trident and a hair band with two little red horns.

Damn, you looked good. Before you second-guessed yourself, you pick up your phone, lay in your still unmade bed and take a pick. Just a bit suggestive, enough to raise a bit of blood. You tell him you miss him too, that you dressed up to match with him and send the picture after.

Back in the living room, you wait in front of the computer for the live to continue and a few of the guys are already sited back in place. You wait for Jimin to come up, but he takes longer than the others and is the last to show up, something the members tease him about as always. Only when the camera zooms on his face do you realize the slight blush ramifying from his cheeks to his ears. You bit your lip as you wonder if it was because of you.

Eventually the rest of the program they had for the live continues and it actually stretches another twenty minutes longer than the planned time. You had a good time watching them, like you always did. But it did feel lonely once the live ended and you closed your computer, realizing you were alone with nothing to do for Halloween.

You were picking up all the snacks you brought to the living room and putting them back in place when your phone rang again. Finishing your task, you go back into the living room and see a message from Jimin. He is telling you not to change your outfit and give him twenty minutes. All in caps.

You suck in your smiling lips as a rush of excitement runs through you. He only used all caps when really passionate about something, he must have really liked your costume. Thankfully, you still had everything on except the lipstick that had smudge while eating. So, as you wait to hear back from him, you take your time to style you hair a bit better, reapply the lipstick and, as silly as it was since it’s not like you would be seeing him personally, you even put on your favorite perfume.

By the time he video-called you, your stomach was in butterflies and your heart skipped a beat at the first ringtone. When you answer, you see him back at the hotel, in his own room, still in his white shirt but no longer wearing the wings. He is laying with his stomach down on his bed, usually slim eyes enlarged as he looked at you through the phone’s screen.

“You’re still wearing it” he whispers in an incredulous manner.

“Of course, you asked me to” you answer back, standing up only to sit back at the head of your bed, where the light from the lamp was best.

“Why are you doing this to me?… You know I can’t go and be with you today, still you sent me a pic like that? You’re killing me here, angel” he whines, with that amazingly cute pout he always made.

“You’re the angel here, Mr. Jimin. May I remind you, today I’m the devil” you point with an index finger to the pointy horns on your head.

He grins and looks away embarrassed for a moment, only to look back at the camera with half-moon eyes.

“You tease me too much, Y/N. Do you know how hard it is to see you like this and not being there to witness? To see you in person, to hug you and touch you and kiss those pretty red lips and… Arrgg!” Jimin was only frustrating himself, it seemed.

“I wish you were here too, love” you confess. Then, a most devilish idea crosses your mind and your heart accelerates with eagerness and anticipation. Maybe you were getting too much into character today, letting such sinful desires guide you. “But, if you were here, just out of curiosity, what would you do? You know, to me, I mean.”

Your bottom lip disappears behind your teeth as you watch Jimin blink in surprise and look away as he licks his lips, gulping hard before responding. The colored flare from before seems to return gradually to his cheeks. All of this pulls at the muscles of your lower stomach in a familiar way.

“I, hum… I would kiss you, for sure” he shyly starts.

“No, no. You never just come up to me and just kiss me like that. You always build up to the kiss, Jimin. So, how would you do it if you were here?” you press for detail.

Jimin changes his position on the other side of the screen, sitting in a similar position to you in bed, with his back against the headboard. He takes a deep breath and looks slightly away from the phone as he answers you again, in a more thoughtful way.

“Well, if I could go and see you right now, the first thing I would do is hug you tight in my arms. Wrap my arms around your shoulders and pull your warm body to mine, breathe in your unique scent.”

You smile at that, picturing it effortlessly in your head.

“And I would hug you back, my hands on your back keeping you close to me. What next?”

“Then I would pull back just a little. Just enough to look at your face. I would frame your cheeks in my hands” he seems to look at his hands as he talks, as if imagining it vividly like you. “I would let my fingers brush your skin slightly before leaning in and kissing you.”

“I can see that. Perfectly, in fact. What type of kiss?”

It’s his turn to bite his plump lip, no more denying the blush evident on his face. He looks away to his right, giving you a nice view of his lean neck and the collar-bones peeking through the shirt. He then looks slightly down as he answers in a lower voice.

“Small pecks. At first.” His eyes glance up quickly into yours before he continues. Even through the phone, the intensity behind them sends sparks down your body. “Then longer kisses. Deep loving ones.”

You nod your head, wondering if he could tell your cheeks were flushed too.

“And I would kiss you back. My hands would be around your shoulders, grasping at the nape of your neck or along your spine. Care to tell me where yours would be?”

When he gets up of bed instead of answering you, you think that maybe you went too far and he didn’t like it. That he was uncomfortable with this. But instead, you listen rather than watch, since he had the camera of his phone against his pants and all you saw was a black screen, as he walks to his room’s door and the sound of the door locking is clear as day.

Jimin resumes his place in bed as if nothing happened, but you were both relieved and giddy.

“Honestly?” he questions staring at the screen with a bit of uncertainty behind shy eyes.

“Yes. Honestly” you assure with poise.

“They would probably move from your face to your waist” he begins, now a bit more confident as he keeps his stare on yours. Those dark eyes have your skin burning from underneath and it gets harder to breathe as he keeps talking. “I would let my fingers sink into your fluffy skin and then squeeze it. Maybe let them wonder all the way to your round bum. Give it a few pinches too, hear you yelp as I do so.”

You body starts itching for something and it’s difficult to keep still. You clean your throat as you switch your position a little, letting your phone stand on the nightstand against the lamp as you sit sideways to look at him, your hands now free. You keep them hugging at your sides.

“You do like to do that” you acquiesce. Jimin smirks on the other side. “I would probably be pulling at your hair by then, one hand clawing at your shoulders or down your chest. Ask you to take your shirt off.”

To your surprise but undeniable delight, he does just that. The phone falls to the bed but you can still see his arms as he raises them to take the white shirt off. Once he picks the phone again, he is half-naked and you can see the blush is spreading heavily to his ears now. But he keeps his eyes on yours, intense and provoking.

“We would be in the bedroom by now, next to the bed. I would… I would kiss down your neck as I pulled those tiny straps down your shoulders” he continued, referring to the current red straps from your dress. He pauses and you realize he is waiting. With a hammering beat inside your chest, you tilt the phone so he can see as you use your fingers to slowly brush them off your shoulders like he wanted. He swallows dry and nods. “Like… Like that, yes.”

“My hands would be all over your skin, down your muscular back, tracing the curves down your arms or creating paths down your torso” you murmur in a deeper voice, expressive. You don’t tell him how you would feel his muscles tensing under your digits whenever you did so, or how he would shudder under your touch. “And then?”

“Then…” he seems to be breathing heavier now, and the crimson color is spreading to his neck. “Then I would pull the dress down your chest and watch your breasts just jump out.” His voice was almost shy, small but filled with want. It made your skin prickle, anticipating his touch that would never really come.

“Oh? You mean these?”

Your hands travel up your body to grab at your chest yourself, squeezing them roughly before you pull the tight fabric off of them and display your naked tits to him. He gasps in surprise, small eyes doubling in size before he closes them and throws his head back against the headboard, half groaning and half whimpering.

“Y/N, fuck, you’re killing me!” he whines, sucking a breath as he looks back at the screen.

“It will be worth it, love. Now, c’mon, what would you do with these?” you try and refocus, ignoring the chills going down your back.

“I… I would burry my face in them. I would hold them in my hands and play with them, kiss them, lick them, suck on them until you scream and pull at my hair.”

Nervous but determined, your hands act as if they belonged to him and start teasing at your hardened nubs, flicking them and pulling at them, rubbing them exactly the way Jimin would do it, except you couldn’t replicate the feeling of his mouth on them. Even so, doing this as he moaned on the other side of the screen was more than enough to have your core burning with desire, jolts of electricity going straight to your womb at every brush of your nipples. Your back arches into your hands and your legs rub together on their own accord.

“Y/N, I am… I want to…!” Jimin is struggling to communicate how he feels but you can see it in his face. Even if far from the perfection it is to see it in person, the pixels don’t hide his blown out heavy eyes, his heated-up face and parted lips, breathing heavier and heavier through them. His hands are nowhere to be seen on the screen and you have a feeling you know where they are placed.

“Show me yours and I’ll show you mine, love” you whisper seductively to the phone.

“What?” Jimin is confused, not getting what you’re hinting at.

So, to clarify him, your hands drop down from your naked chest and, out of his view for now, you pull the rest of your dress down your body and even pull your panties off. You go back to your position in front of the phone’s camera and dangle your underwear in front of it.

“Show me yours, I’ll show you mine” you repeat, and now understanding dawns on his face.

“Oh, fuck me” he exhales, the phone suddenly being moved and once again you don’t see much but you can hear him moving around in a frenzy.

“That’s the point, yes” you chuckle and decide to get a better angle for him as well.

It was a bit awkward, trying to position the phone against your stacked-up pillows so that the most of your naked body is on view for what you are about to do. But Jimin’s reaction so far silence the doubts that threaten to creep in and make you feel embarrassed. You couldn’t be with your boyfriend in person, but it didn’t mean you two couldn’t find pleasure together. And there was nothing wrong with that.

“Ready, love?” you ask as you are laying in bed on your side, facing the still dark screen of the phone.

“Hum, yeah, yes!”

He finally comes into view again, the phone now standing on something tall that gives a perfect angle of him laying down in bed as well. Except, he still has his boxers on.

“C’mon, love, that’s unfair. I’m all naked, why aren’t you?”

He licks his lips and in a swift move, his boxers are gone. And there he was, laying in all his naked glory, his girthy hard shaft standing proud and flushed against his belly. His hands twitch while they remained on his thighs, probably refraining from using them on his cock just yet. Dark eyes set on you, awaiting your next move.

Your hands travel down your soft skin, around the curve of your protruding lower belly, down the sides of your thick legs, into your warm and malleable inner thighs. You huff slightly as your fingers reach your core, delving in between your labia just slightly.

“I’m already so juicy for you, Jimin. I didn’t know I would get this worked up over phone sex” you confess, almost a bit embarrassed by it.

“M-Me too. I didn’t want to tell you, but I was already, hum… hum, leaking and I had to clean myself up before. This… This is really hot, Y/N. It’s making me dizzy.”

You smile at that and your heart expands, while the fire down bellow is fueled by the notion.

“You can touch yourself, Jimin. As if it was me. As if I was there with you right now, taking a hold of your pretty dick and pumping you until you were hot and throbbing, completely hardened in my hands.”

It doesn’t take any further encouragement, Jimin’s hands wrap around himself and you watch in amazement as he moves his hand up and down his stiff member, in a faster pace than you would have probably had, sliding with ease and using his thumb to engage with the red tip every other turn. He has his eyes half-closed as he does so, puffy lips opened, muscles tense and a glint to his skin form the low light around him. It was the most erotic view you had ever seen, Jimin getting himself off at the thought of you, in front of you.

He whispers your name breathless and you moan, your fingers that had been still all this time starting their own work. You imagine his hands on you, much like he was doing. You rub at your moist folds and your body shudders at the jolts of pleasure that curse through you, dragging the tips of your digits up and down the slit until your reach your painfully throbbing clit.

“J-Jimin!” you moan as you start drawing circles around the flesh button, your legs widely spread as you lay with your back to the mattress.

“F-Fuck, Y/N! You look so pretty like that!” he tells you in a high-pitched breath. His hands, from what you can tell through your heavy eyelids, speed up on his shaft. “S-Sink your finger in for me, angel! Let me know how warm and wet you are inside.”

Your fingers brush your clit just once more before going south and easily sliding in to your entrance. You mewl at the feeling, juices gushing around your fingers as you start thrusting them in and out. It takes a lot of will power for you to concentrate and convey with words the feeling to your partner.

“I’m… I’m sizzling and drenched, Jimin. I wish… I wish it was you, love. Ahhh, I wish it was your cock instead” you confess bashfully, your fingers never stopping their work.

You hear him curse under his breath but your blood is starting to rush too rapidly in your veins that it muffles your hearing. You curl your palm so that you can use it to drag against your clit at the same time you sink your fingers, deeper and faster as a ball of pure tension grows and grows down in your belly, about to blow up.

“I’m about to… Y/N, oh, fuck, Y/N let me see it, please, angel” he begs in a cry and you don’t quite get it at first. “Let me see your fingers, please, I’m so close.”

Breathless, you nod and take a hold of the phone with your free hand and, the best you can, angle it so you can still see the screen while he can see your fingers continuously disappearing between your spread legs, into your pink glistening and slick flesh. He groans loudly and you force yourself to keep your eyes open just so you can see the blur that is his hand on his cock, moving so quickly the phone can’t pick it up with definition and it just hazes. His angry red mushroom head is already spewing white cum and you watch as more starts to come out and lands on his ever-moving hand.

Your fingers work to match his impossible pace and you curl them inside just as your walls start fluttering and strings start pulling at the blistering knot inside. The palm of your hands continues rubbing against the engorged pearl of nerves while your fingers curl at that exact spot that has your body jolting and spasming, exactly at the same time Jimin groans and curses your name as thick ropes of white spew out from his throbbing length and land on his abdominal muscles.

You squeal breathless as your hips buck up and the ball of nerves burst inside, spreading rushes of pleasurable relief all across your body, white noise defining your ears, black dotes impairing your vision and your brain melts away in the feeling of being high on dopamine. Your fingers slip out coated in your juices and you struggle to move the phone back to your side, now with only a vision of your face on the camera as you struggle to regain your breathing and coherence.

“That… That was incredible” you hear Jimin say, he too trying to catch his breath.

You smile, happily tired and spent.

“The devil works wonders, love.”

#halloween special #13 stories for halloween #bts #BTS jimin #jimin #chubby reader #bts x chubby reader #jimin x reader #jimin x you #plus size reader #bts fanfic #bts fanfiction #jimin fanfic #jimin smut #bts smut #kpop chubby reader #kpop plus size #kpop smut

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thefanficmonster · 3 years

Text

Your Enemy

Connor Walsh & Michaela Pratt (How To Get Away With Murder)

Warnings: Angst, Eating Disorder, Swearing, Trauma, Anxiety, Spoilers for HTGAWM Season 1, Mentions of Murder

Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Platonic Relationship

Summary: Following the most stressful events she’s ever had to deal with in her life, Michaela is forced to face a demon she thought she had left in her past. Luckily, this time she doesn’t have to deal with it on her own and has the support of a person she deemed least likely to ever come through for her.

Requested by Anon. Hello darling! I’m so happy to be hearing you’ve completed a full year of ED recovery! I’m very proud of you for having fought such a tough battle and came out of it a the bravest, strongest winner. Hope you enjoy the fic and hope it doesn’t trigger any bad memories. If it does, please let me know wo I can change it up. Love and care about you lots, Vy ❤

It’s been almost a month now. Almost a month since she was involved in the murder and dismemberment of her professor’s husband who her and her classmates were sure was the killer of a college student by the name of Lila Stangard. A month and she still can’t stomach any of it - a month during which she hasn’t stomached much else either.

It all started the morning after the murder when she was still a distressed and disheveled mess, a nervous wreck that refused to leave the confinement and safety of her home and face the world out of fear of getting that stamp and punishment she knew she deserved. She knew she was basically a criminal in hiding. They all were and it was frustrating as all hell to see them all putting up with it so well like that murder wasn’t their first or their last. They almost came off as though they felt they did the right thing - rid the world of one more disgusting prick which Sam undoubtedly was, but that still wasn’t on them to decide. What they did was still a crime, they were still killers and would get charged as ones if this was ever to be found out by any law enforcement.

And Michaela Pratt could barely live with herself.

That first week her stomach was in constant knots that would tighten at the mere mention of food. Therefore, she lived solely on liquids that supplied her with faux energy and nothing nutritious that her body could work with. Then it became a habit. Well, it had more so to do with the fact that she looked in the mirror one day after showering and noticed the sudden change in her body, how it seemed smaller and, in her eyes, prettier than before. She liked the ‘improvement’ and wanted to hold onto it, linking it to her new eating habits she decided to stick to them. Though, they can’t really be called ‘eating habits’ considering she spent a great deal of time not eating anything at all, leaving large gaps between each tiny meal and drinking significantly more black coffee. She even developed the bad habit of smoking - a way for her to get out of the room whenever the rest of the Keating 5 were on a lunch break.

She hated the familiarity of it all, but there was also a certain dose of comfort to it. She had faced this demonic entity that resides within the very mind of the troubled person and that’s why she wasn’t scared. It felt more like opening the flood gates she had barely managed to shut and keep closed in the first place. Hell, it was almost relieving to open them up again, allow the inevitable to finally happen.

Having to lie about eating, having to renew her wardrobe with clothes of a smaller size - and some larger ones to hide the sudden change in - and dealing with dry and cracked skin, chipping nails and thinning hair were only few of the hiccups Michaela started facing when her weight loss became more significant and apparent, so much so that the Keating 5 were starting to worry. She was used to lying and making up stories about it. After all, this wasn’t her first time going down the dangerous lane that is undereating and abruptly losing a ton of weight. As mentioned, she dealt with it as a teenager for almost two years. Eventually, her lies started becoming see-through, causing her family to force her into recovery which eventually worked - took her a while to cooperate, but she managed to be convinced her life was to be lived properly. Her success was to be earned in more ways than boney limbs and vertigo every time she stood up. She came to the realization that the world was a crueler place than she had anticipated. It was a warzone she needed to be strong to face and, having become thin as a stick and mentally rattled she was terribly underprepared for facing and battling any of it.

Michaela Pratt decided she deserved better - chose to toughen up and take the bull of her life by the horns and control it properly. She finally became the one really in control - not her self-destructive side, but her rational, fighter side. The warrior in her decided enough was enough.

However, for her, there’s never such a thing as enough.

Sensing it was a delicate and rather triggering subject, the members around the Keating household were more than reluctant on touching the topic and asking at least one of the many questions they always had in mind.

Why do you suddenly wear such wide clothes?

Why do you no longer put sugar in your coffee?

What’s with those bags under your eyes? You haven’t been getting much sleep?

How come you always have a big breakfast even when you wake up late?

Why do you never eat?

Those and so many more questions swarmed the heads of her friends but none of them were brave enough to say anything. No one went to look for her around lunchtime to see where she goes to hide during that period. No one mentions their suspicions and doubts about her statements. No one dares to point out that she’s become a ghost of the Michaela they previously knew. She’s not as fierce as she used to be - not the same way. She just snaps at people, throwing empty insults at them. Her focus has dropped significantly and she often times falls asleep while on the clock, working on the case. They all see it but they all choose to be passive on-lookers, by-standers, no one sporting the guts and bravery to bring it up and ask her or express worry.

Well, no one except the brutally honest and straight forward Connor.

“And here I was wondering where our Shooting Star had fallen.“ He says, making his presence known verbally only after he snatched the pack of cigarettes from Michaela’s hand, startling her to no end. “Since when do you smoke, by the way?”

“None of your goddamn business.“ She hisses back at him, reaching for the stolen pack like an angry tigress. “Give them back, asshole.“

She’s stopped in her futile yet hostile attempts of retrieving the stolen cigarettes when Connor grabs one of her arms and develops a downright terrified look on his face: eyes wide, mouth hanging slightly open, confusion, shock and concern in his gaze. That’s a rare combination for him - someone who’s supposedly super laid-back and careless. That concern is what hits her the hardest. It catches her so off-guard she puts her movements to a halt and just stares back at him for a few seconds, both of them deciding what to say.

“Michaela, what have you done to yourself? What are you doing to yourself?“ He asks her, still not letting go of her arm which feels tiny in his grip. His fingers loosen their hold instinctively, as if afraid that any more pressure could break it. “Are punishing yourself for what happened to Sam?“

Michaela returns to her senses, shaking her head and frowning as she yanks her arm out of his grip. “Nothing happened to Sam!” She whisper-yells, narrowing her eyes, glaring at him with a fiery intensity, “Don’t talk like he died of a heart attack or in a car accident. We happened to him. We fucking killed him, Connor! Come to terms with that already!”

“Scream that louder, will ya? A more perfect confession doesn’t exist.“ Subtly, he slips the pack in the back pocket of his jeans, the movement flying under Michaela’s radar since she’s so laser-focused on his face and the subtle changes in his expressions. “Seriously, what the hell are you doing? Is this the punishment you think you deserve?”

She rolls her eyes, “That’s fucking nonsense. It’s no punishment, I just wanna fit into my wedding dress come the time I have to walk down the aisle.“

“So fitting into your wedding dress is the priority? Tell me, what will your hairdresser and make-up artist gonna say when they see your cracked and bruised skin, your thinned hair, the massive bags underneath your eyes. Also, are you even gonna fit in the dress or is it gonna hang on you the way it would on a stick figure.“

“Shut up! Connor, my life, my appearance and my eating habits are none of your business. You can’t play the caring enemy and fuck with my head - hating me one minute caring about me the next. It really doesn’t suit you, in fact, it’s below you.“

“Michaela, I’m not your enemy.“ He taps her temple with his finger, getting his hand smacked away about a second later, “That brain of yours is currently your enemy, not me. You need to get rid of it.“

“But what if I can’t?!“ She snaps, her eyes glistening with tears Connor didn’t expect to see, “What if that’s all I have? That me who’s constantly whispering to me that I don’t need nor deserve food - she’s stuck with me longer than anyone else has. She’s been with me since I was fifteen, Connor. Fifteen! She never left, even when I tried to push her away and chase her out of my head. She stayed there, and now she’s helping me. You wouldn’t understand! You don’t have dresses to fit in, people to please, your own criteria to fulfill! You don’t even feel like you deserve punishment for what you did! You dismembered a human being, Connor! When are you gonna come to terms with the fact that you’re a murderer?!“

“When you come to terms with the fact that you’re killing yourself, Michaela!“ He too snaps, unable to control his emotions when faced with a literal life or death situation - one regarding his friend on top of all.

No, she’s not my friend. I’m just doing what any person would do in this scenario, he convinces himself. Turns out there are several facts Connor Walsh can’t come to terms with - caring about his biggest rival is one of them.

“She’s not your friend, Michaela! She doesn’t want anything good for you. She’ll end up leading you to your death if you keep listening and trusting her! That Michaela is the one deserving of punishment, not you. Don’t let her overpower the rational Michaela I met that day, the first day of class. The one I wanted to strangle for being so cocky and self-centered and was stealing my spotlight. The one who left me in the dust a few too many times for me not to respect her. She could kick the self-destructive Michaela’s ass. Let her.“

A choked sob escapes Michaela’s throat as a result of Connor’s speech. The last thing she expected was support and help - she was prepared for the mocking, the sympathy and pity, the ‘Seriously? Get over it, will ya?’ or the ‘It’s all in your head. Just eat, damn it.’ she grew used to hearing the first time she was dealing with an eating disorder. If she wasn’t still herself she would’ve probably even given him a hug - one she’d regret later - but she remained in her spot, arms folded over her chest, nodding slowly.

“Thank you, Connor. But it’s not as easy as you make it sound.“ She sniffles, her gaze wandering elsewhere, embarrassed by how she broke down in front of him just now. Lord knows she’ll be even more pissed later, but right now she’s got other things on her mind. Something she hadn’t even brushed upon before this conversation with Connor - recovery. She’s not used to seeking help from anyone for anything, especially not something she saw as her superpower until someone forced her eyes open. Forced the epiphany on her that she’s not living, she’s killing herself.

“Of course it’s not easy. That’s why no one does it alone, you know.“ Hesitantly, very very hesitantly, he lifts his hand, cautiously placing it on Michaela’s shoulder. “People reach out for support and go talk to professionals. You don’t have to do this alone. In fact, you can’t do this alone.“ He pauses, waiting for her gaze to meet his. When it does, he continues, “I won’t let you.“

Never did Michaela expect support from anyone, never did she want or need it. But here she is receiving it from the person she thought least likely to offer it. Never did she think there’d come a day when her arms, as if on autopilot would, wrap around Connor Walsh in a tight embrace of gratitude. While pretty startled, he manages to return the hug after blinking once or twice to comprehend the situation.

“Thank you.“ He hears her whisper and that’s more than he ever thought he’d get from her.

“Don’t mention it.“ He lets a small smile slip onto his face as his hold on her tightens ever so slightly.

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lluvguts · 3 years

Link

chapter one!🌻 🖤

word count: 4,695

pairing: reddie + stenbrough

warnings: there’s some mentions of family dysfunction and depression, so if you’re sensitive to those topics then you’ve been warned :)

it’s also unformatted (no italics) but the ao3 one has those if you like em

Richie wasn't expecting his thirteenth birthday to be anything special. The usual for the Tozier house was balloons and typically a dessert for breakfast. For his twelfth birthday Richie muscled through an ice cream sundae, so he was hoping that this time it'd be a cake. Or maybe waffles, he loved those. But when Richie dragged his sleepy feet down the carpeted staircase to the kitchen, all his doubts faded away as he was welcomed to the morning smells of a steaming griddle and Maggie, Richie's mother, softly humming a tune while she poured some water into the thick waffle batter. He was about to say something, maybe let out a little mumble of complaint that the sink water messed with the goodness of the waffles (but was stopped by how off her happy hum sounded, at least coming from her usual quiet) when his dad piped up.

"Hey! The birthday boy's up. How about some coffee, son?" Wentworth rose from where he was skimming over the Derry newspapers to give him a smelly, dad-cologne hug. Richie noticed the few doctor's papers Went had brushed under the usual mail before the hug, but didn't say anything.

"He's thirteen, Went. Hardly much of a man to need coffee in the morning," Richie heard his mother murmur absently through his dad's arms covering his ears.

Wentworth released Richie, who adjusted his askew glasses and worshipped the clear kitchen air, then ruffled Richie's already mussed head of black hair. "That's alright, Chee. We'll get her on our side soon enough."

Richie loved that his parents called him that. Chee. It wasn't dopey enough of a nickname for him to hate it, and being thirteen after all, Richie knew he was venturing into the realm where kids thought their parents were losers who were always out to get them. They don't suck a mouth of rocks, Richie thought. They made me waffles and didn't even ask if I wanted syrup and whipped cream on top. They knew I liked it.

"All of my other friends drink coffee," Richie said with his hands playfully crossed. He meant to say, if I had any friends, I'm sure they drink coffee. But he kept his mouth zipper shut.

"Strawberries, too?" Richie appeared at his mother's side and let his hand rest by the soft hem of her nightdress. Her face reflected in the kitchen window looked pinched and tired. Richie held in the bowling boll of worry that rolled into his gut, because even if his mother usually stayed in bed past ten in the morning, it was his birthday, after all. It was only okay with this one exception. Richie's mother hardly got enough sleep. Or rather, she slept often but was never fully rested. It was something to do with the depression conversation that Richie had overheard one night at the foot of the stairs when he should have been in bed. It was odd to him, but his mother simply couldn't get a few good chucks from the sun that shone through the blinds like he did. Maybe she was lonely. Does it get dead boring sitting at your desk, staring out a window that you wished maybe had a few more kids in front of it, or something to see other than the neighbors and all their baby's toys in the yard? Richie wasn't stupid. He knew they were "trying" (a fancy word he also picked up, which just meant they were having sex) for more kids, but just, couldn't? But...wasn't Richie enough? It was the question that kept him up at night, when the Superman clock by his bedside often read midnight, in brilliant red. They wanted a baby girl, they didn't want you. They have another kid and you're all alone now, Richie. It was the topic of discussion that went unsaid in the Tozier household, though to Richie it was the big fat elephant in the room. An elephant with enough weight to send him spiraling under the covers when he should be sleeping, heavy enough so that his sides heaved as the pillow drowned his sobs. An elephant that sat in every corner, even if it was Richie's birthday.

"Of course, baby," Richie's mother took her free hand and hugged the side of his face to her dress, then set the sliced strawberries on top of the whipped cream mountain. She took his plate with both hands and walked toward the table, so Richie steered around her just in time to sit down next to his dad before they broke into the familiar off-key Happy Birthday chorus.

"Was there anything you were hoping you'd get when you turned thirteen, Chee?" His dad asked once Richie had speared a few massive amounts of waffle into his mouth. Maggie smiled politely at her messy eater and then tried to wipe the dark circles from under her watery brown eyes. But things like that didn't just go away.

Richie slung his arm across his lips to catch the maple syrup he felt dripping down his chin then spoke in a careful voice. "I was, uh, hoping to get a bike?"

"And why would you want something like that? Walking to school is perfectly fine. Healthy, even," His dad fired back, but by the way he heard the telltale smile in his voice, Richie knew he was playing, too. Both his parents shared a knowing glance and then turned back to Richie.

"What? You mean, you're serious?" Richie nearly spilled a glob of whipped cream from his mouth. "You guys got me a bike?"

"Why don't you check the front porch, there's a mysterious package with your name on it," Wentworth said.

"Oh, let him finish his breakfast first," Maggie interjected but Richie was already racing out of the kitchen to the front door, his fork still gripped in one hand.

There, shining like a beacon among the weedy yard and creaky old porch furniture was a great lump covered in blue wrapping paper. Richie's favorite color. It was the color of the calm sea he'd seen as a toddler and blue raspberry slushies, the kind that stained your tongue neon blue and made all the hurtful words the bullies said not matter as much when you had a mouthful of sugar. Even that same royal blue of the empty baby's room next to Richie's. But he let those bowling pins stay in place for now. Richie bounded down the steps and didn't bother waiting for his parent's approval to tear through the wrapping paper. Hidden beneath the layers of paper was in fact a bike, but it wasn't one he'd ever seen before. If he had, the monster of a bike was bound to be from a pawn shop or something. The bike was old. With huge fading handles and a package carrier on the back. It even had one of those rubber horns clasped to one of the handles. Richie crouched down to stare at the wheels, where it looked as though his dad or maybe a less experienced man had tried ripping the cards once inserted between the spokes, and left a few wispy pieces of paper as a ghost of their presence. Even more odd, the word Silver was scrawled in a barely perceptible line across the slim body of the bike. Richie felt like he was touching the cool metal of the past, and loved every second spent staring at the bike when he heard his parents step out onto the porch in their house shoes. Richie turned his head and flashed an appreciative smile at the both of them.

"What do you think?" His mother held her hands firmly to her stomach, wringing them when Richie remained silent. "We found it over by Center Street. Some fellow, Denbrough something or other was giving it away, but I had to pay him at least something-"

"I love it!" Richie flung himself up to wrap his skinny arms around his mother equally skinny waist, then buried a string of thank-yous into her nightdress. He held her tightly and hoped his words were proof enough for her to believe it. He wasn't lying, he did like the bike. But he liked knowing he could race past the houses and cars, right to school. Right past awful Henry Bowers and Victor Criss.

"You're welcome," Wentworth and Maggie said with a high laugh. Well, his father laughed but his mother's didn't go past her lips, like maybe her mouth remembered how to be happy but the rest of her didn't.

"You're growing up, Richie. Thirteen now, but soon you'll be twenty and never even realize it...Then you'll be having kids of your own..." Maggie trailed off, no longer meeting her son's wide eyes.

"...Mom, you okay?"

His father butted in once more when he noticed Richie lingering far too long on Maggie's frown. "You wanna try it out? I'm sure you've got hardly any homework to do on a Saturday."

"Can I?" Richie asked his mother, who only replied with a nod. He sure did have an ass load of school work to do, but he didn't want his mother to worry over him even more.

"Don't be out too late, or I'll be sending the hounds on you, mister."

"Dad, we don't have any dogs, remember? Maybe I'll ask for a puppy for Christmas! How bout that, eh?" Richie laughed, but it died when he saw the pained, fragile look in his mother's eyes.

Went took Maggie by the shoulders and guided her into the house, where the sound of her short little cries escaped past the front door. Richie waited with his eyes shut till he couldn't hear the stifled sniffling to slip back into the house for his messenger bag in his bedroom then quietly shut the front door. He didn't want to be in the way, not after seeing how worked up she had gotten. He mounted the bike--Silver, or whatever name it was to the last kid that used it--and fastened the radio from his bag to the basket in front of him. A cool rhythm played out along the Derry streets as Richie pedaled (or tried to, as he'd only ridden one bike before maybe-Silver, when he was only five) toward his freedom. He had the whole day to himself, whether it be spent at Costello's for some candy in exchange for the loose pennies in his short pockets, or at the library for a new comic. Or, on a completely different note, on the burning asphalt because Richie had sped up too fast around a turn down Jackson with his head floating far above the clouds, leaving him jolting back awake and not nearly enough time to break. The bike swung him forward, angrily bucking like an untamed horse, and Richie slipped off the seat and into the sidewalk as the radio strung out another cheery, soulful tune. The sun-scorched mounds of rubble ground against his cheeks and Richie thinks for a second that maybe riding a bike (especially such a behemoth like this one) was such a good idea. His glasses flew off into a patch of dying grass a few feet in front of him, and when Richie found his bearings he realized he hadn't fallen along the sidewalk at all. In fact, there was no sidewalk. The road ended a mile or so back, and all that remained was a few rundown houses showcased by uneven edges of asphalt and sidelines of jagged gravel that cut into his bare knees and chin.

I knew I should have worn pants today, Richie thought as he scrambled over on his stomach for his glasses. He blinked up for a street sign, but there weren't any of those, either. The last one he'd remembered seeing was Neibolt Street, and the realization alone made his body shiver despite the throbbing heat from the scrapes and cuts. This was exactly where his mother might pray Richie wouldn't end up. The houses on Neibolt (if someone were to really call them homes) were scattered and obviously vacant, with boarded up windows and an overall stench of mildew rot that hung over each property. Richie righted his bike and switched off the radio, worried some hobo were to peek their grimy head out from a near window if they heard the music. The closest house loomed over him, it engulfed the entire street with its dark wood-rotted panels and what seemed to be a garden, perhaps in a happier time, but had gone straight to hell. The porch was barely visible through a twisting snarl of rosebushes, the only colorful thing about that wretched house as Richie could see. Those scarlet blooms called to him, and Richie couldn't help but take a tentative step with his battered sneakers up to the chipped picket fence, staring out into the dead quiet for a sign of life inside the house.

A flash of chestnut zoomed past one of the roses, and Richie stopped dead in his tracks. His hand was hovering above the unhinged gate for more movement, holding his breath. A bird must be caught in there. That dark brown softness hesitated behind the bush, then disappeared under the porch and what looked like into the caved in cellar. Oh my god. It's not a bird...that's someone's hair. It's a boy.

"Wait!" Richie called out, abandoning maybe-Silver at the corner but still had his messenger bag slung across his sweaty chest. He dove toward the rosebush, his head full of wonder as to why a kid would hang around a dump like this, and not the least bit concerned for his own safety as the thorns tugged on the soft flesh of his forearms and ankles. The boy had maneuvered through the sharp pieces of the broken porch to get to the cellar, and Richie whined despite himself at the pain as he crawled on his hands and bloody knees to the shattered entrance. It was beyond dark in there, but it seemed quiet and barren to Richie so he stuck one leg into the mouth of the cellar and jumped down. Nothing seemed new, as it all sounded so ancient and tomb-like as the dust from his fall settled, the leaves definitely weren't from this season and the glass wasn't sharp to the touch of his soles. They were worn into the decaying earth of the cellar floor, like they were used to being stepped on. Richie nearly tumbled into the boy when his feet connected with the spongy spring leaves and glass shards.

"Oh! Jeez, I'm sorry. I didn't think you'd be-" Richie started to say, but stopped himself short when what spare light flickered across the boy's face let Richie really get a good look at him. Though bathed in darkness and musty shadows, the boy looked young. Maybe thirteen, like he was. But what made Richie's heart speed up to an unsteady clang in his dry throat was the boy's face. His lips were parted, as if in awe, and as he did so a thin trickle of a black sticky something dribbled down his chin to his shirt collar. The boy only wiped it away, as if it were a pesky fly and nothing more. His fingers and hands were stained too, with that syrupy something. It couldn't be...blood? It's too dark to be blood, really. Unless it's so deep inside him that it's- God, stop it Rich.

Richie reached out a hand to the boy. "Jesus, are you alright? What're you doing down here?"

He couldn't really make out the words through the stream of blood or mucus passing through the boy's mouth, but he heard something along the lines of, "You can see me?" With this was the kid's hands recoiling from Richie, until he stumbled against the brickwork behind him.

"Um...Yes?" He blinked, still staring, completely fascinated by the way the boy didn't really care about his bloody speech impediment. "Say, what's that all over your mouth? Some costume?"

"I wish," The boy hiccupped, or let out some sort of wheezy intake of breath, and more blood coursed down his front. It reminded Richie of when Ron had cursed himself in Harry Potter and began to hurl mouthfuls of slugs. Except that was a fairytale and this was actually happening. He didn't just say that he casually throws up blood. Or black loogie stuff. He couldn't have.

"You mean that," Richie pointed to his stained lips, making him frown. "Happens all the time?" Richie gaped at him, and the other boy only looked away into the depths of the cellar with the lines of his cheeks dark in embarrassment.

"Don't act so surprised, if you'd been through what I- Oh, never mind," He turned back to Richie and wiped his mouth. "What're you doing down here? How did you even find me?"

Richie glanced at the chips of glass by his shoes, feeling stupid. "I fell off my bike. But I saw some idiot wandering into a haunted house and wanted to make sure they weren't going to get their guts unzipped." At the last of his words the boy's brows furrowed and he was glaring with pursed, blood-stained lips. Richie couldn't help the few extra words that often times were the garnish of his sentences. It just came out. His tongue usually betrayed him like that, and these little blips in his brain were the main cause for the teasing at school. Teasing was putting it lightly, though, Richie knew. He didn't come home with black eyes and a practiced lie to his mother for some teasing.

What'd ya say, trashmouth? How about I smash those buck teeth in for ya, faggot?

The boy considered this, his brown eyes softening in the dusty light. "Well, next time don't go chasing a stranger into someplace you don't know. And it isn't haunted."

"I'm only a stranger because you didn't ask for my name."

"And I still haven't," He spit back.

"It's Richie."

"Eddie."

Richie held his hands up in defeat. He wasn't exactly an expert in the making friends department, though he wished he was. God, he did. "C'mon. I just met you and you're already mad at me. Must be a world record or something."

"I'm not mad at you. You just shouldn't be here, Richie," Eddie interrupted himself with a wicked gasp and another gush of blood glistened along his already stained shirt. "It's not safe."

"And why not? Why did you ask me if I could see you? What, are you a ghost or something?" Richie asked playfully, but Eddie's face paled. Water shuddered with a groan through the pipes, somewhere above them, making Eddie jump slightly and then wince at the blood that was caked on Richie's knees and bare arms, as if seeing it for the first time. His next words were grave and demanding, and Richie didn't feel up to debate when such a small thirteen year old kid looked so terrified of some plumbing.

"You need to go," Eddie stated, but didn't try to push Richie away.

"What's the matter? Afraid you won't get any hot water in your shower tonight?" His traitorous mouth spat out.

"Go Richie! You need to get out of here!" Eddie's breath came in ragged pants, and with it more gross blood oozing like snot from between his chattering teeth. He really is scared shitless, Richie thought.

His feet wouldn't move, only lock up in the crazed moment he remembered the glass underneath his shoes and their cool, hard presence like an old knife against his toes. The water in the pipes reached a new height, and the noise stopped directly above them, where a resonant thud pounded across the ceiling and made a few scraps of paint tumble down. Richie felt the world settle around him too, maybe for the first time in the past few minutes, and that was when he felt the weight of his messenger bag grounding him to the earth.

"Here," Richie flipped open the front of his bag and handed Eddie an empty potato chip bag he'd left in there. He didn't know why he was handing him some week old trash, he just thought that it would help the boy's...problem. Eddie only blinked at him, incredulous, before snatching the bag with a shaky hand.

"So you don't ruin any more shirts," Richie explained, then mimed the action of throwing up into an invisible baggie. Eddie's face got that weird pinkish tinge again, and Richie thought the boy was going to say something, or maybe giggle just a bit, but the memory of the creaking and angry pipe sounds made his soft features fall.

"What're you still doing here? Go before it's too late!" Eddie waved his hands frantically at Richie, looking conflicted between shoving his skinny ass up and out of the cellar and perhaps curling into a ball. Maybe he can handle the loogie stuff better that way, Richie thought. He spun around and leapt for the small crag of windowpane left in the cellar, with just enough leverage to haul himself up and back underneath the porch of the house on Neibolt Street. As he half-crawled, half-staggered his way out from under the dry stench of the porch, he didn't hear any more groaning from the pipes. But if Richie stood by the rosebush and bent his head down toward the wooden skirt, he swore he heard Eddie's short sobs, much like his mother's. They were the type that didn't care if you had something to say. They raged through your lungs and out your throat with a little dash of tears to go with it. Except, among the hushed rustle of nearby rosebushes, Richie realized that Eddie's choked sobs were fearful. Like that raging something was attacking him instead.

He found maybe-Silver perched just where he'd left it, the only breeze of reality that allowed Richie to swing his stinging knees across the seat and pedal for home. Get out before it's too late, Eddie had said. Before what?

"What harrowing tales does Richie the Brave have for us tonight?" Wentworth asked. Richie sat across their little kitchen table, the one that collected hospital documents and angry-seeming papers with debt scrawled in red ink, and was shoveling mashed potatoes and burnt asparagus into his mouth. Richie's mother had went to bed early, her dinner going untouched next to Went's empty chair (which explained the over-cooked dinner but not the extra plate and silverware. Did he think she'd come down and inspect the house for fire once she smelled the burning chicken?). After the outburst from this morning, Richie guessed he was too scared to wake her to eat. Richie didn't blame him.

"Oh, not much," Richie began, and made a little mashed potato ski slope as he thought over what to say. He knew it were best to leave out the creepy house on Neibolt from his daring tales, but maybe adding a new character to the story wouldn't hurt anyone. "Went to the trainyard and accidentally busted up my knees. But I made a friend on the ride back home."

This was good, he knew. It wrapped up his fake story with enough packing peanuts that it passed as the real one, with his injuries all accounted for, and Richie even had the guts to tie a little ribbon around it and say he actually made a friend. It got Wentworth listening, which was the real bow on top. His dad grinned and pretended to pull wax from his ears.

"A friend? That's great, son. What's he like?"

Richie stared into the mess he'd made of his dinner. He wished his mother were downstairs too, just so maybe she'd smile at how great his day had gone. He missed her smile.

"His name's Eddie. I don't know much about him, we only talked for a few blocks before he had to turn back and see his ma, you know? But I think he's got some trouble breathing."

"Asthma?"

"Huh?" Richie looked up from his plate, sure his dad had just said ass mom.

"Maybe your little friend's got asthma, Chee."

Richie shrugged. "Maybe. But he's got it real bad. Coughing up blood and stuff." He didn't mean for the last part to trickle out, but like Eddie's weird blood fits he fell into, it just came out.

"Coughing up blood?"

"Yeah. Like motor oil," Richie bit his lip but still the words came. His dad only gaped at him, not looking the slightest bit convinced but all the same concerned.

"Do Eddie's parents know about this? That doesn't sound good, Richie."

The boy's name didn't sound right coming from his dad's mouth, and on top of that he used Richie, his full name. This was unfamiliar territory Richie had land-mined himself into. When was the last time his dad had called him by his real name? Or sounded as skeptical as he did now?

"You think I'm making it up, aren't you?" Richie asked, not knowing where this foreign anger had come from or why it decided to pump through his veins, white-hot energy straight to his brain. Wentworth's face faltered, but he gained some composure. For the first time Richie realized how tired and strained his dad's face looked. Not just his face, but his whole body. His shoulders were curved and hunched, as if pressed down by some invisible weight, circles tracing his brown eyes, a nervous twiddle of his index finger around his wedding ring. His dad looked exhausted, and old, and Richie wasn't sure what to make of that.

"I- Of course not, Chee. I'm just trying to get a better picture. You said your friend has asthma-"

"Can I be excused, dad? I'm not really hungry." Richie was super hungry, after all that had happened today, but wasn't liking the idea of having to conjure up more lies to string along his story. I should have just kept my goddamn mouth shut. He hardly knew why the hell Eddie was down in that disgusting well house, let alone his odd habit of throwing up blood. It all seemed too peculiar, but not fake enough for Richie to just shrug it off. It was real. He could smell those dead leaves in his nose, still feel the thorn pricks burrowing shallow nicks in his skin, the coppery stench of Eddie's body once only a few feet from him, making the stuffy cellar stink like old pennies. All because of Eddie. Eddie, with his pinched face and tiny arms. Eddie who was probably the same age as Richie was but still had a tender childlike orbit to him, even if it got swallowed up by the crippling fear he'd seen smash into those bright brown eyes-

"Richie? Are you okay?" His dad was leaning across the table now, his plate clean and pushed aside. Richie brushed his advancing hand away and gathered his own plate.

"Sorry, yeah. Dazed off for a bit." But Wentworth was still staring fixedly at him, like maybe he'd never believed a single thing uttered from Richie's trashcan of a mouth since he'd came home.

"Alright, well goodnight then. And happy birthday," His dad grabbed Richie's arm before he could run away (and Richie did his very best not to cry out as his dad's fingers squeezed the sore scratches) and brought him in for a side hug. He cringed out of the hug, but couldn't stop the broken-looking smile that stretched across his face. It showcased far too much teeth.

"Thanks, dad." Richie wrinkled his nose at how strained the conversation sounded, like neither really wanted to sit down and play house while their missing piece of the puzzle wasn't there to complete them. Richie just wanted to sleep away whatever had happened between him and his mother, but the Neibolt house tugged at his consciousness through his aching muscles and tiny scabs. And that equally striking pang of worry for whatever had Eddie trapped inside its walls.

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