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kikiwhataboutthatbrendon · 4 years

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Nothing Could Be Possible Without Potential

https://archiveofourown.org/works/29339106/chapters/72915165#workskin

An unlikely bond between Nothing and Justice.

This was not written by me, it was written by my sister @threesorrows .

She thinks the universe made-it must have made her, the universe makes everything- but she doesn't know. It's hard to tell. If the universe did make her, she is half finished, perhaps a project abandoned half way through or forgotten about. She prefers thinking of it that way, as opposed to the universe being too disgusted or angry with how she turned out to finish her.

She knows she is unfinished because she has no name.

Life must have brought her into existence though- and this she thinks was an accident. Perhaps a leak of power in the wrong area, a flight of fancy on some inanimate statue that she had been before. She knows it was not on purpose because Life was not there when she woke.

No one was there when she woke. When she pulled herself into awareness, a muddle of limbs and shapes and knowledge that she did not so much learn as know.

She knows of the gods, knows of the universe, knows Life should have been there for her beginning, knows that Death should be there for her end, but she doubts. She knows there are many gods, knows they may find each other, but she has never seen one. Her kin are not vastly social creatures, they stick to small packs like wolves but more tightly knit. She is not surprised they don’t actively seek her out, but in her wanderings, she is surprised none idly come to investigate.

There are no words for what she was when she first woke up. Too many eyes and limbs and veins holding it all together, she didn’t like that form so she changed it.

She started with grass, with dirt, started as the first things she saw, but grass was pulled by the wind and dirt was drowned under rain and she wished to move. She was a thing not meant to exist, so she existed in others’ forms.

A ladybug, first, because one crawled over her-as-grass and it could fly above the ground that bound the ants and caterpillars. Birds next, big and small, and then butterflies who were beautiful but boring. Flying was nice, but she didn’t love it, so she moved on.

Wolves and chickens and dolphins and cows and tropical fish and pigs and llamas and horses and humans. She tried them all. All had their charms, all had their downsides, she flipped between them like pages of a well-loved book. Like one found in a library that had been passed between a hundred hands and waited for a hundred more, but she was all those hands just in different forms.

Humans were nice, because she could walk into cities and temples and talk to the priests and the artisans and she could learn. One artist pressed a pencil into her unused hand and she taught herself to draw. She liked drawing, and maybe that’s a bit why she liked being a human.

But humans could get tiring, could get so caught up in themselves, so busy, and if her long collection of forms really were a book the most well worn-well loved- page would be cats.

She loved cats, loved the way they stretched and flowed and how she could jump from any height and to any height. How she could laze in any sunbeam and be left alone.

She is a cat when Justice found her. It had been too many human years, countless shifts between forms, since she had started her existence, she did not think any god would come to her, but there Justice is.

Her form is of a black cat with little white socks and a small patch right above her nose. He crouches down before her, long, red cloak splaying out behind him and dark hair matching her fur.

“Hello, would you spare a minute for my company?”

She yawns, showing off long, white teeth and twists herself into a jewelled hummingbird to reach level with his face.

“Sure, why have you come?” She zips slightly to the right in her curiosity.

“To greet you.”

“Hello, then.”

“Hello,” he says with a gentle smile.

“Why now?”

He sighs, a low, drawn out thing, and suddenly he seems old. Not in his face, or in his eyes which show nothing at all, but in his very presence, like weariness and age had found him again after a long game of chase.

“Because I could come no sooner.”

Other gods come. Not Life, not Death, but others, they pass by like they did not before, give nods and share stories and gifts, but they come and they go in infrequent bursts. Luck enjoys flitting by, dropping fortune and happenstance as he goes but he does not linger. Justice is an almost-constant.

Gods do not stay. They are not stagnant creatures, especially not human ones, which are called and pulled and drawn to their worshippers and domains. Justice is a human god, so he goes where he is bid, but when those ties do not inexorably tug at him, he finds her.

It is nice, comfortable, even. He does not press, he sits and he listens and he will look at her art or compliment whatever form she takes up. She starts pressing her lines harder into the paper, makes ridges and gouges that he can run his fingers over.

She shows him all the small, overlooked places, where children and animals hide and watch and play. She takes him through familiar and unfamiliar markets and they trade favourite foods. He shows her his many courthouses, made out of quartz and clay and wood and obsidian. They are large and they are small and everything in between. Sometimes they venture through at night, pacing empty halls in peace, sometimes they linger on the edges of the daily crush of people and business.

Sometimes they talk, sometimes they do not. Often, they merely enjoy each other’s company.

“How do you always find me?” She asks one time, curling up in a stray sunbeam that glints off her orange fur.

Justice relaxes back, it’s a peaceful day, a beautiful day, a day for happiness, but he frowns. “Because the universe demanded you be let to find your own way, held even Life away from you so you grew and learned in solitude, and it was necessary, but it was not right.”

“What would be my recompense, then?” She stares up at him with big, luminous eyes; daring eyes. “Would you fight the universe if I asked that as my payment?”

“Yes,” he says with a chuckle. “But that’s not what you demand.”

“I suppose not,” she says, and springs up, racing away into the trees.

He does not follow for a long while.

She is nothing. She is nameless. She is a mistake, a chance, a thing that does not really belong. And yet- she can’t help but wonder.

This time, she seeks him out. She goes through courthouses, grand and small and hopes he is there because she cannot find him in the many cases that don’t reach his doors, that he must go out and find. Perhaps Luck had guided her to his friend-passed by in a breeze and whisper and gone before she could see- because he is not in one of his searchings.

Justice is in a small courthouse, barely two rooms, built from haphazard bricks and not called a courthouse really, but it is one all the same. He sits against the back wall, unseen by all as he sees all and nothing at the same time. When the proceedings are done, she unspools herself from her perch shifting from a lizard to a cat in a blurred moment, landing neatly on his shoulder.

“Hello,” he says.

“I am Nameless, am I not?” She asks instead of her usual greeting. It is an answer she knows, but her heart hopes otherwise.

“No,” he says, and the world stops in its eternal motion, “you are not Nameless.”

“Then what am I?” She challenges.

“You are Potential,” Justice says, the corner of his eyes crinkling, obscuring some of the milky white. “You can be anything you wish to become.”

The name sends ripples through her fur, it burrows between her pelt, through bone and blood to the thing that she was born as, the thing that stays with her through all her many changes, and the name sinks into the heart of it and stays. It is right. It is hers.

She does not settle, because that is against her nature. Her nature is one of constant change, of shedding the old and becoming anew and always moving. Not necessarily forwards, but moving all the same. She does not settle, but she is soothed.

Potential, she thinks, and that is a great power to have, a dangerous one, though few may think it, but she does not want to be dangerous.

Potential pulls herself up and stretches herself out and stands beside Justice with hands and feet and a perfectly normal face with features that eluded all who looked upon it. “Would you like to build a farm with me?”

“I would like nothing more.”

#cuptoast #crumb #captain sparklez #syndicate #synhd #gods au #divinity hidden from the stars

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marcobedseki · 4 years

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below the cut is a completely self indulgent football fic written champagne drunk in the middle of the night. you probably don’t want to read it, but if you’re grace, you need to read it <3

title: confusion

aka in which aubameyang and lacazette have a real hard time understanding how a certain relationship between their teammates works

kieran steps into the dressing room after he’s finally done talking with mikel on the side of the pitch. mikel’s wanted to talk a lot with him recently, and kieran gets it, mikel’s concerned about him now that he’s back training with everyone. mikel wants to make sure he’s doing it safely and that he won’t work himself too hard and risk getting injured again, and kieran appreciates it, even if it’s sometimes annoying to go through the same stuff after pretty much every training session.

when kieran looks around in the dressing room, he can immediately see that most of the guys have already left. the only remaining ones are hector, auba and willian. willian is ready to leave though, and he only nods at kieran before he throws his bag over his shoulder and leaves with his phone in hand. auba’s also looking ready to leave, but he’s still sitting down, completely enthralled with his phone. he’s got his headphones on and he’s frantically texting someone, and kieran’s pretty sure auba hasn’t even noticed his arrival. hector on the other hand isn’t on his phone, instead he looks like he’s sleeping. he’s lying down on the dressing room bench, using his bag as a rather uncomfortable looking pillow. he doesn’t open his eyes even when kieran gets closer, and for a second kieran thinks that maybe this idiot really has decided to take a nap in their dressing room against better judgement. but then kieran pokes at his knee ever so lightly, and hector’s face immediately breaks into a smile and he peers up at kieran.

”’ey, get up from t’ere, old man”, kieran tells hector, smile playing on his lips as well.

”bro, you’re like 2 years younger than me, stop calling me an old man”, hector pouts. ”i don’t wanna get up, i’m sleepy, you know. sit somewhere else since you took so long to get here.”

kieran raises his eyebrows. “it’s not like you had to wait here for me to finish my daily ‘we need to talk’ -session with mikel. right now i’m starting to feel like that even auba was more eager about me getting ‘ere, even though he didn’t even notice my whole existence…”

hector’s pout deepens. he’s quickly getting up from his horizontal position, because even though he knows that kieran’s probably just messing around with him, he’s not willing to take a risk that kieran is actually about to start ignoring him and being pissy for the entire day. he mumbles a sorry to his boyfriend, who’s looking down at him with his eyebrows still raised, a slightly amused look on his face.

kieran’s mentally rolling his eyebrows at hector. his boyfriend is being an idiot, but then again, it’s nothing kieran should be surprised about. hector can be a handful, and kieran knows he’s easily irritated, but he wouldn’t have it any other way. he loves hector unconditionally.

kieran turns around and he’s about to sit on the bench now that hector’s finally sat up himself, but his attempt is cut short by strong arms coming around his waist, pulling him down to sit on a warm lap instead of the bench. kieran lets out a surprised sound, and he’s turning around faster than lightning to scowl at hector. is it already too late to take back that he loves heccy unconditionally?

kieran looks at hector and the amusement on his face from a few moments back is gone. but before he has time to replace it with the scowl he was planning on casting at hector, his heart’s being taken over by a warmth that can’t be characterized as anything else than adoration. and the unconditional love that kieran suddenly does not want to take back. hector’s smiling up at him with his eyes almost closed, his teeth showing and he’s hugging kieran’s twisted torso with a steady grasp. kieran’s staring at him with his mouth open, and hector knows an opportunity when he sees one, so he leans up to kiss kieran softly. it’s sweet but quick, and they both pull away after a moment.

“hi”, hector says to him.

“hey”, replies kieran.

they look each other in the eyes for a while before they start laughing. neither of them remembers that auba’s still in the dressing room with them. auba’s gaze is no longer locked onto his phone, but instead he is unabashedly staring at his two teammates on the other side of the room. he’s just witnessed hector pulling kieran to sit on his lap, watched them kiss and stare into each other’s eyes like there exists nothing else in the whole wide world. and now he’s figuring it’s best to leave, before he’ll get caught staring. he slips out of the dressing room as quickly and silently as he can, and when he’s out, he immediately takes out his phone again. he needs to tell alex about this.

---

laca is looking at his phone in confusion.

“just saw something absolutely shocking in the dressing room!!!!!!!! :000 need 2 process this for a while, i’ll tell u what it is 2morrow @ practice!!!!”, reads the message from aubameyang. laca’s not sure what the hell his friend has been smoking, but he’s definitely more than a little concerned over this kind of behaviour. he tries asking what the hell could possibly be so “absolutely shocking” that it would cause such a reaction from auba, but the only thing he gets in return is more exclamation points and reassuring that he’ll be given more information on the matter come tomorrow. he’s half sure that auba’s just fucking with him, that this absolutely shocking thing in the dressing room will literally be auba’s own used and sweaty socks on lying on the floor, but when he goes to bed at night, he can’t help but feel a little anxious.

---

despite his nightly anxiety, laca sleeps surprisingly well. he’s glad about it, since he would never admit that he’d actually lost sleep over his friend sending crackhead level messages to him during the previous day. after he gets out of bed, he makes a cup of coffee and eats a bowl of cereal - yes, he knows, it’s not a fitting breakfast for a professional footballer, but he’s allowed to be a little lazy now and then – gets dressed and gathers up his stuff before driving to their stadium. he’s running early, for once, but he’s sure he won’t be the first one warming up on the pitch anyway.

laca’s walking calmly towards their dressing room, and he can hear kieran and martin’s voices echoing in the hallway. it sounds like they’re laughing over something that laca couldn’t understand even if he tried. laca doesn’t think of himself as being too old, he’s less than 10 years older than tierney and ødegaard, but damn… he’s sure he wasn’t as loud as those two when he was their age. and he sure as hell wasn’t looking at memes or tiktoks, or whatever the hell the kids were into these days.

when laca gets closer to the dressing room, the sounds of his younger teammates have suspiciously quieted down. he slows down his pace and sneaks up to the dressing room’s door. he peeks in, and boy, there’s nothing that could have prepared him for what he sees inside the room. suddenly auba’s cryptic messages make sense, and he feels his soul ascend to an entirely different plane of existence. kieran’s holding martin against the wall in a way that laca’s sure he’s only seen in hollywood movies, and the boys are kissing so that laca feels a need to check his phone, just to make sure that the time’s still 9am instead of 9pm. he steps away from the doorframe and takes a deep breath. he looks back to the direction from which he just came, and to his luck he sees david in the distance. he shouts a good morning to his other teammate way louder than is necessary, earns a happy smile and a good morning to you too in return, and he hopes it’s enough to get the younger guys step away from each other in the dressing room.

---

laca sees auba 15 minutes later on the pitch. he all but runs to his friend, not bothering to greet him, but instead gesturing him to start telling about his mysterious messages from the day before. he knows now what auba’s about to tell him, he’s seen it himself too, but he wants, no, he needs to hear auba say it out loud.

auba knows instantly what laca’s getting at with his frantic gestures. he places a hand on laca’s shoulder and starts with a serious tone.

“i need you to promise you won’t freak the fuck out when i tell you what it is that i saw”, he begins. “it’s about kieran.”

laca nods impatiently.

“yesterday after practice, i was chilling in the dressing room, listening to some beats and texting friends and stuff. you had left already, and so had most of the others as well. but there i was, with a few other guys still, and then kieran comes into the room. i don’t know, but i’m pretty sure he didn’t even notice me, because bro…”, auba’s taking a dramatic pause, he’s looking down at the ground and shaking his head, as if he’s gathering himself up to tell the rest of his story.

laca can’t take it. auba’s being a dick. it’s not *that* dramatic, and laca absolutely just wants auba to get it over with, so he can confirm that he wasn’t actually hallucinating the scene that he saw before his eyes just now.

“yeah yeah yeah, you were there in the dressing room being addicted to your phone like a 15 year old is, and then kieran comes in there and martin’s there too and then they start making out and then you’re shocked and then you decide to send me the most ominous messages in the history of the world, is that what you’re trying to say here?!”, laca helpfully finishes auba’s story.

auba looks up at him with wide eyes, and he’s just about to start nodding, when he realizes something is definitely off about what laca just told him.

“wait what? what’s martin got to do with any of this?”, he asks confusedly.

“wait what yourself? what’s martin NOT got to do with all of this?”, asks laca back, even more confused than his friend.

auba’s squinting at him now, he’s tilting his head to the side and he looks like laca’s just told him that he doesn’t think that auba’s the best forward in the history of football – which would be a terribly wrong and a horribly atrocious claim.

“bro, i don’t know what the hell you’re on about, but yesterday in the dressing room, there was me, hector and kieran. and also willian but he left when kieran came in so he doesn’t count. and hector made kieran sit in his lap and then they kissed. and i think that’s pretty fucking shocking!”, auba finally finishes his story.

now laca’s definitely not sure if he actually saw what he thinks he saw when he came to the stadium.

“bro”, he starts as well. “this morning i came here and i’m here pretty much all alone, but then i hear shouting from our dressing room, and it’s kieran and martin’s voices that i hear, right? and then i go closer, and i see them making out there like there’s no tomorrow! and you’re telling me that you’ve also seen kieran being way more than friendly with hector just yesterday?!?”

auba’s jaw has just dropped down so hard, that if they were in a comic, it would be on the floor right now. laca continues talking.

“ok so now that i think about it, what you just told me makes sense. i mean, you’ve got to be lying to me if you try to tell me you haven’t thought about hector and kieran being together at least once. they’ve always been… like… that, you know”, laca’s frantically gesturing with his hands again. “but does this mean that kieran’s cheating on him with martin?”

“or is he cheating on martin with hector?”, adds auba.

laca shakes his head. he doesn’t know anything right now, except that he and auba really need to start investigating.

---

they practice. they run around on the pitch, they kick some balls, they have a few laughs, and while they do all this, they keep a steady eye on all three of the younger men, who have managed to raise a legion of questions in both lacazette and aubameyang. none of them act in ways that differ from the norm, and laca and auba aren’t sure how they should feel about it. they make a deal to stay at the stadium for as long as possible, just for a chance to see if there’s anything else of importance happening that could help them draw some conclusions on what the hell is going on with their teammates.

they change their clothes, joke around with pepe and david, share some music recommendations with the other guys, and watch as the players start to leave. soon enough, there’s only them, hector, martin and kieran left. they’re all engaged in a chill conversation, but laca and auba are both mentally on their toes, and they’re staring at the younger boys so intently that they must feel a little uneasy. none of them says anything though. all of them are acting pretty normally, although seeing hector not be able to keep his hands away from kieran definitely comes with some extra connotations now. only when kieran excuses himself and heads for the door, do laca and auba relax for a bit. martin and hector aren’t acting weird towards each other, which is probably a good thing. that must mean that neither of them knows that kieran has also been with the other one, right?

laca nudges auba’s shoulder and asks in french if they should leave. auba answers yes. they bid their goodbyes to hector and martin, and they head out the door. auba’s actually ready to leave, he’s starting to head down the hallway, but laca stops him with his arm. auba looks at him questioningly, and laca just nods towards the dressing room. they need to see what the two will do now that they’re being left alone.

laca does the same he did in the morning. he sneaks up to the doorframe, and peeks ever so carefully in. auba does the same. they’re both completely aware of how suspicious they must look, but they pray that if someone were to see them, they would just think that the men were trying to pull a weird prank on their teammates or something similar to that.

they can’t see much from their lurking angle besides martin’s side, but at least it’s better than nothing. luckily they can also hear whatever it is that might be said between martin and hector. hector is unsurprisingly the one whose voice they get to listen to. auba and laca have theorized many times in the past that hector probably has a gene that prevents him from shutting up for more than 3 minutes at a time. he’s always talking to someone, and if there’s no one to talk to, he talks to himself. laca thinks it would be scary, if it wasn’t also pretty damn impressive at the same time. laca’s more of the type to have difficulties in finding words to say whenever he’s talking to someone else than auba, but hector’s the polar opposite of that.

today’s, or more like this minute’s, topic for hector seems to be food. he’s going on and on about some new amazing low carb vegan food that he just recently discovered, and neither laca nor auba is sure whether or not martin’s listening to a word he’s saying, deducing by how quiet he’s being. hector doesn’t seem to mind.

so far it would seem that nothing is out of the ordinary between the two inside the room, and auba’s about to suggest that they could actually leave now, but just then they hear hector saying “come here” to martin. auba can literally feel how laca starts thinking about the context in which this is meant. is it “come here” as in a) hector’s going to show martin an epic meme, or “come here” as in b) hector’s going to fucking murder martin for making out with his boyfriend?

soon it appears that this come here was neither of these things, unless memes and murders have changed form since the time when laca and auba last saw them in action (legal note: laca and auba have not seen murders in action. but they feel like they have a pretty good grasp on what they do look and sound like). auba can’t fucking believe his ears when he hears the unmistakable sound of kissing in the air. laca’s in the same boat with him. they look at each other for a second, and they don’t need to exchange words to decide that they’re going to look a little further into the room and risk getting caught lurking.

the fear of getting caught lurking turns out to be an irrational one, because both hector and martin have got their eyes closed and yeah – they’re kissing each other. auba sees immediately that hector’s kissing martin the same way he was kissing kieran yesterday, and now he’s more confused than he’s ever been before. he looks at laca and he knows that once again, laca’s in the same boat with him again. they look at each other and agree wordlessly that now it is finally time to leave this building.

---

“i can’t fucking believe that kieran’s cheating on hector with martin but that hector’s also cheating on kieran with martin!”, auba almost shouts with desperation in his voice.

“me neither! but we still don’t even know if kieran’s cheating on hector or if he’s cheating on martin!”, continues laca.

“what the fuck are they doing?!?”

“do i look like i know what they’re doing?! the only thing i know is that these boys have gotten themselves tangled in something that’s literally the most fucking complicated love triangle ever”, laca sighs in exasperation. he’s pretty sure that there’s a logical explanation to all this, somewhere, but he and auba just really can’t seem to find it.

“bro, i’m so confused right now”, groans auba. “like, i’m confused for personal reasons, but should i start to worry about the team dynamics and ethics and shit like that now too?”

“i don’t know man, i really don’t. go ask mikel about that.”

“like hell i’ll talk to him about this! what would i tell him? yeah me and alex have been invading our teammates’ privacy and now we’re pretty sure they’re all cheating on each other, *with* each other but we don’t even know how it’s possible, so what does that mean in terms of our team’s ethical ground?”

“man, shut up! you’re making it sound way worse than it is!”

auba groans again. “you know what? we’re going to find out just how bad this is. and we’re gonna find out what the hell is really going on.”

laca nods.

“ok, we’ve got a match tomorrow. i’m now gonna send them all a message to come meet up with us after it. we can meet here at your house. it’s easiest.”

laca’s about to protest, but then he decides against it.

“ok so… hi, me and laca… have… something… that we really… need to… talk about… to you… guys…”, auba narrates out loud the message he’s now writing to send kieran, hector and martin.

“do you really think they’ll come? like, isn’t that literally *the* most ominous thing you could send them? if i got a message like that from you, i-“, laca gets cut off by auba.

 “if you got a message like this from me, you’d immediately arrange the rest of your life so that you would have a completely free spot in your day for you to meet me”, auba says.

and laca can’t really argue, because even though it sounds bad, it’s entirely true.

---

come tomorrow, and auba’s received concerned messages from the younger men agreeing to meet him and lacazette at the latter man’s house after the match. auba realizes that they must actually be confused about the message he’s sent to them, and they’re probably expecting something else entirely than aubameyang straight up asking them who’s cheating on who and why.

when the team gets together for the match, all of the three guys come up to him individually and ask if everything’s ok. he just pretty much dismisses them and tells them that “we’ll talk about it later tonight”. in hindsight, that’s really not something that would make any of them feel like everything’s ok.

come night, and the match is over. auba and laca have beelined their way to laca’s house as fast as it’s been possible for them to leave the stadium, and now they’re just waiting for the culprits of this confusing situation to arrive. just as laca’s about to start complaining about how they’re never going to show up, there’s a knock on the door. laca’s not sure if he’s the one who should open the door, because even though this is his house, it’s aubameyang who wanted to arrange this meeting of the century. (laca ends up being the one who does open the door.)

kieran, hector and martin are all looking quite miserable and tired behind the door. it’s understandable: the match wasn’t their best, it’s getting late, and they have no actual idea on why they’ve been summoned here today. laca’s feeling a little bad for them, but he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t interested in the outcome of this evening.

laca and auba both tell them to get in, tell them to sit down wherever they want to. they all navigate towards laca’s sofa. they sit down in literal unison, and they sit in the same formation as they do in the dressing room. hector on the right, kieran in the middle, martin on the left. laca and auba stand in front of them. they’re both looking a little scary, and the atmosphere in the house is anxiety-inducing. even hector’s quiet.

the silence in the house is broken down by kieran. “so, why are we ‘ere? what’s it that you’ve done now, don’t tell me you’ve gone get yerselves mixed up in organized crime or some other shite like that.”

everyone chuckles a bit at that. but auba quickly recovers. “no, i think it’s time for you to tell me what it is it that *you* have done now.”

kieran’s looking quite a bit confused, and so are hector and martin as well.

“yeah, we’ve seen you together with both of your friends there!”, laca continues.

“actually, we’ve seen all of you being way more than friends together these past few days, every time in different pairings. and to be honest, we’re fucking concerned over this whole team! it can’t work with you all cheating on each other with each other, that’s not good for our morale”, auba starts explaining.

both laca and auba expect some frantic reactions from the guys in front of them, but what they get instead are three of the blankest stares they’ve ever had the (dis)pleasure of seeing in their lives. martin’s blushing a little though, he might be a little embarrassed, but hector and kieran look like they could be straight from ‘the office’ with the way they’re staring at laca and auba like they’re cameras.

“alright… so is there any other breaking news you two might want to share with us?”, asks hector.

the seriousness of auba and laca is quickly turning back into a confusion powered by a thousand suns.

“it’s never crossed yer big brains that maybe t’ere’s no-one cheating on anyone, that this is just a completely consensual threeway relationship?”, inquires kieran.

it’s martin’s turn to open his mouth as well. “yeah, i mean… kieran and hector have been together like ages already but… i’m here too now.”

laca and auba are now staring at each other, in search of some emotional support. this is not going the way they expected. not that they were really sure what it is that they were expecting in the first place.

“oh”, starts auba.

“yeah”, continues laca.

“uh.”

“i mean.”

“i guess we’re…”

“we’re sorry”, both of them say in unison. that seems like a lame thing to say, but they don’t have a lot of options currently, do they.

there’s this heavy silence hanging in the air again, until hector starts laughing, and soon it’s joined by both kieran and martin as well. laca and auba can’t bring themselves to join in, they’re too dumbfounded and maybe a little embarrassed as well. they just alternate between staring at each other and the three men on the sofa.

after hector’s stopped laughing for the most part, he puts one of his hand’s on kieran’s thigh. “i’m sorry guys, but i’ve honestly got to ask you… are you for real, that you’ve really seen me and kieran being more than just friendly for the first time only a few days ago?”

”yeah, i mean... we get that you might not have seen either of us be with martin before… but are you dimwits honestly suggesting that you literally saw me ‘nd heccy kissing for the first time like two days ago?”, kieran joins in on the questioning.

martin’s laughing next to them.

laca and auba are too scared to confirm or deny these questions. they just turn to look at each other yet again.

“uh so.. how long is it that you two have been together? no offense to martin but… you and hector? how long have you been… involved… with each other?”, auba manages to ask after a while.

“since 2019”, answers kieran.

“yeah, august 2019, to be more specific”, adds hector, turning to smile at kieran.

laca feels a bit like fainting. how is it possible that both him and auba have been so blind for so long? by the looks of whatever is it that’s going on before his eyes, it’s not like they have been trying to hide their relationship either.

“and martin here, he’s been with us… well, not too long actually. but we would do anything for him, wouldn’t we?”, hector continues. kieran nods in agreement, and martin’s blushing again.

auba is nodding slowly, clearly trying to come to terms with all this new information that’s being presented to him.

“so… are we the only ones who didn’t know that you were having this… triangular relationship going on?”, laca asks after yet another moment of silence has passed.

“you were not merely the only ones who didn’t know about this relationship, but you were also the only ones who couldn’t ‘ave just asked about this stuff normally – instead you had to summon us all into laca’s house for a meeting that sounded more serious than getting individually called to have a conversation with mikel”, kieran elaborates to his teammate.

laca facepalms.

auba just keeps on nodding.

and for the next few weeks, there’s no one at arsenal fc who wouldn’t want to make a joke about either aubameyang’s or lacazette’s observational skills at any given time.

#my writing

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creepy-spooghetti · 4 years

Text

A Hapless Endearment [Creepypasta x F. Reader]

Yayyy, the second chapter is done! Enjoy~

Chapter 2- Sweet Dreams Are Made of This

It's hard to make sense of anything around her. The static making itself ever-present in her mind is almost crippling. It blocks out all of her thoughts. Distant whispers erupt throughout the endless grays and blacks. It's like she's fallen into a void. Like she can't escape.

A breeze suddenly blows past her. It's burning hot but somehow icy-cold at the same time. It gives her a feeling of terror, utter, raw fear that grips at her heart and squeezes her lungs. She finds it hard to breathe. She looks around frantically. It's the same. Everything is the same. She can't even see a floor beneath her feet, but she knows it's there. It has to be there. What else would she be standing on?

The static grows stronger, louder, overwhelming her senses and making her grab at her head in a desperate effort to make it stop. The breeze billows and the voices become more distinct. But she still can't hear what they're saying. Are they even saying anything? Or are they just murmurs of agony riding the wind and reaching her ears?

"Y\n..."

That voice. Something about that voice sends shivers down her spine, makes her heart speed up to an unhealthy rate. Her gaze averts around, trying to find a source, but she ultimately fails.

"Child... come."

'Come'? Come where? The static in her mind seems to thicken and still at the same time, greatly confusing her, and she furrows her eyebrows. A fog graces her feet as it rolls across the seemingly invisible ground, bringing a sensation of dread and impending doom with it. She backs away, though finds it does nothing, as the area surrounding her goes nowhere.

"Come to us..."

"Who are you?!" she yells, but immediately tenses. She can't hear herself. Her voice has been... muted. The static continues to get stronger, and she hits the side of her head, trying to stop it. It cancels out her thoughts, makes her feel helpless. All while a suffocating feeling settles in her chest and it becomes more and more difficult to collect oxygen.

"Join me... Come..."

***

Her grip on the sheets covering her torso tightens as she shoots up in bed, instantly being greeted by light from the morning sun shining in through the window and making her squint her eyes and turn her head. She takes deep breaths, savoring the air finally invading her lungs as she tries to calm her rapid heartbeat.

She has had a lot of weird dreams before, but none compare to the one she just woke up from. She stares at nothing, in particular, blinking away the tears that formed in her eyes and refusing to cry. Taking notice of the fluffy feline curled up on her thighs and looking up at her with startled eyes, clearly not happy about being woken up, she lets out a soft sigh and strokes his back, finally able to steady her nerves and focus on more positive things.

"Sorry I disturbed your precious beauty sleep," she mutters sarcastically, wiping her eyes to get herself awake. She tries to brush the dream off as nothing, just stress creeping its way into her head and giving her freaky thoughts. But something about it just... unnerves her. Like it is much more serious than what she wants herself to think.

Leaning her back against the wall of her bed, she runs her hands through her messy hair and releases a yawn, rubbing her eyes before grabbing her phone off of the stool that she had pushed up beside her bed the previous night and turning it on, curious to see if anybody sent her a message and wanting to get her mind off of the nightmare.

None. She drops her phone by her side and slumps down, disheartened. I guess nobody cares, anymore. Then again, who can blame them? I'm just an inconvenience, anyway.

She managed to catch a glimpse of the time in the top right corner of her phone before she turned it off, discovering it's around 9:40 in the morning. "Sorry, buddy. I've gotta get up," she says, looking down at the cat in her lap that just got settled and is now trying to go back to sleep. His ear twitches in recognition, and she runs her fingers through his thick fur before gently sliding him off of her and standing up.

When her bare feet touch the chilled, hard-wood floor, she flinches and jumps onto the fluffy rug in the room's center, trying to get used to the surface in her mind's still hazy state. She glances back at the bed, and her e\c orbs land on Marshmallow, who is looking at her in obvious distaste. She narrows her eyes.

"Oh, don't look at me like that. It's not like you can't sleep any other time of the day." He blinks and stands, stretching for a moment before turning away from her and lying back down. "Okay, fine, be that way. I bet you won't be mad when I give you some beef jerky later."

With that, she looks at the closet, then down at the floor, knowing what needs to be done and mentally preparing herself for it. C'mon Y\n, it's just a floor. A floor made of ice... but a floor, nonetheless. Quit being a pansy and go.

Sucking in a breath of encouragement, she steps onto the wood and lets out a squeak, her pace quickening the closer she gets to the closed door. "Right about now would be a good time to have slippers," she murmurs to herself, opening the door and stepping inside. She sifts through the different clothes, deciding what she wants to wear though not having to look for long.

She throws on some shorts and a t-shirt, socks, and a pair of tennis shoes before stepping back out and heading toward the bathroom, hoping that nobody else is occupying it at the moment. To her luck, once she's out of her room, she finds it empty and strolls inside, closing the door behind her and flicking the light switch up.

After flushing the toilet and washing her hands, she does everything in her morning routine before walking out into the hall and heading down the stairs, instantly catching the whiff of a pleasant scent wafting from the kitchen. Farrah takes notice of her granddaughter entering the doorway and sends her a welcoming smile as she takes a pan of biscuits out of the oven.

"Good morning, hun," she chirps, removing her oven mitts and turning to face her. "How did you sleep?" Y\n walks closer and shrugs, remembering the endless, dull scenery and the eerie voice whispering those words to her in her head.

"I mean... I had a pretty unsettling dream but, other than that, I slept fine." Farrah hums and tilts her head slightly. "What about you, Nana?"

"A lot more peacefully now that I know you're here under the same roof," she replies, giving her a brief hug, which Y\n gladly returns. "So, you hungry? I made breakfast!" Y\n glances over at the stovetop and nearly drools when she sees freshly-cooked bacon resting on a plate, scrambled eggs in a skillet, and the same pan of biscuits placed beside them. She can feel her stomach start to rumble the more she stares at it, so she just nods over-enthusiastically and goes to retrieve a plate and fork from where they were set on the island in preparation.

"This all looks delicious, Nana," she comments, scooping some eggs onto her plate after getting several pieces of fried pork. Her eyes meet Farrah's, and she sends her a grateful look. "Thanks for making it all."

"Oh, it was no trouble at all, just like you, my dear, are no trouble at all." She pats her affectionately on the head before sliding her hand down to cup her cheek and smiling. "Now go eat your food and enjoy it." Y\n nods, taking a step back and laying the plate full of food on the counter, aiming to get butter and jelly out of the fridge. She also grabs a spoon and butter knife afterward, using them to smear the two substances across the soft inside of her biscuits before grabbing her plate once again and strolling through the living area and into the dining room.

She pulls a chair out from under the table and takes her seat, anxious to get some food in her stomach and finally start her day. Farrah soon appears with her own platter of breakfast and sits beside her, the two chatting about various things as they eat, and time seems to fly by. At around 10:25, Y\n rises from the chair and heads back to the kitchen, feeling properly filled-up as she rinses her dishes.

Her gaze averts to the window behind the sink, being greeted by the bright morning sunlight and the colorful scenery that she doesn’t get the advantage of seeing in the city, where she, unfortunately, was born and raised. She spots her grandfather, sitting in an old chair out on the lawn and admiring nature at its finest, seemingly lost in thought.

Allowing a fond smile to stretch across her face, she dries her hands on a towel hanging from a rack before poking her head back into the living room. “Hey, Nana…”

“Yes, hun?” She twists her body around slightly to meet Y\n’s eyes in curiosity, and Y\n grips the door frame with her hand and leans forward, letting her arm keep her stabilized so she doesn’t fall over.

“I think I’m gonna go outside for a while if you don’t need me here for anything.” Farrah nods.

“That’s a good idea, Marshmallow needs to be let out, anyway.” As if on cue, the fluffy feline walks down the stairs, tail high in the air and head raised as he jumps to the floor and stops in front of the closed door, sitting down and looking at Y\n expectantly. “Where are you gonna go?”

“I dunno.” She shrugs, glancing down at Marshmallow and meeting his bright blue orbs. “I was just thinking about going on a walk, or something.”

“Yes, some fresh air will do you good after breathing all of that polluted city stuff.” She takes a sip of her coffee thoughtfully. "Just be careful and keep an eye out for bears. Or anything dangerous, for that matter."

"Yes, ma'am." She nods in understanding and steps over to the door, opening both it and the screen and allowing Marshmallow to prance through and onto the porch, likely eager to go about his daily hunt and roam. Following behind him and shutting the door behind her, a warm, familiar breeze hits her in the face as she does so, and she once again averts her eyes over to Phil. "Good morning, Pops." Her voice raises just enough to get his attention, and sure enough, his head turns her direction before the corner of his lips quirk upward in a cheery smile.

"Hey, hummingbird! Did you sleep okay?" She bites the inside of her cheek and leisurely makes her way down the stone path leading toward the gate. Thinking back to her eldritch dream, she stuffs her hands in her pockets and answers quietly.

"As well as I could, I guess..." Though when he doesn't seem to hear her, she rewords her sentence and speaks up. "I slept fine. What about you?"

"Ah, well. You know how it is with all these old joints and bones. They never give you a break."

"Sorry." She breathes a sympathetic laugh. "But I can't say I have any experience in that field." He releases a snort in response and leans back in the old patio chair, raising a thick, bushy eyebrow.

"Yeah, that's 'cause you're a spring chicken. Trust me darlin', the years'll catch up to you eventually. And then you'll look like me." He pats his rotund belly for emphasis, and she rolls her eyes playfully and can't stop the amused huff from exiting her lips.

"I'm sure I will, Pops."

"Where are ya going?" She unlatches the gate and glances at him before nodding her head in the direction of the opaque forest surrounding the quaint property.

"Walking. I thought I'd try to... get a better feel for this place, again." She notices his face seems to soften ever so slightly, and he briefly looks past the many tall trees, into the shaded woods, and lets a breath out of his nose before meeting her gaze once more.

"I'm sorry you haven't been here to visit, Y\n." Her chest constricts and she shifts her eyes down to the ground uncomfortably. "It's not right for your dad- your parents- to put themselves before you. They shouldn't treat you the way they do. I wish you'd let me do something about it." She only shrugs solemnly, her mood doing a one-eighty and dropping to the floor, though she tries to mask it and instead forces a smile on her face that she hopes is reassuring.

"It's isn't your fault. Dad's just... just a jerk and Mom is..." She sees it's difficult to find correct words to describe her mother, and after a moment to think, shakes her head dismissively. "They-they have issues. But yeah, don't be sorry, I'm okay. Two more years and I'll be outta there, anyway."

"Well... you're more than welcome to stay here, for as long as you need. It gets lonely around here without anyone visiting us." She brushes a strand of h\c hair out of her eyes and tilts her head curiously.

"Nobody visits you? Not even Aunt Darcy?" Her stomach does a concerned flip when she sees his facial expression turn from mildly sympathetic to alarmed in an instant, and her eyebrows furrow, questions zipping through her mind at lightning speed. His hands, she notices, clench the arms of the chair and his breathing seems to have quickened, if only slightly. "Pops...?"

"I-I, uh..." He lets an anxious breath flow out of his mouth as he runs his wrinkled fingers through his hair. "Yeah, no, your aunt doesn't come. She hasn't, not in a while..." Y\n can sense the tension in this conversation, and how strange Phil's sudden change in behavior is. Hesitantly, she speaks, her voice low.

"Wh-why? Did you guys fight or something?" Although she hasn't seen her aunt in over five years, she still remembers her clearly, and she knows that she wouldn't ever willingly avoid Phil and Farrah. Unlike Darcy's brother, she isn't a sour person and wouldn't let something as ridiculous as a disagreement get in the way of their relationship, especially since her son Wyatt always loved hanging around here.

"No." He shakes his head lightly and refuses to meet the e\c eyes of the girl as he collects his thoughts and puts them into words. "Look... we'll talk about it later, alright? You just go and enjoy your walk." He dismisses her with a wave of his hand, though she doesn't move, and instead stares at him with an obscure expression painted across her face.

"What's wrong, Pops? Did something bad happen?"

"It's fine, sweetheart," he reassures, his tone vagarious. "Be careful out there. Don't want to get mauled by a wild dog, do ya?"

"Gee, what a pleasant thought," she mutters sarcastically, but figures that he isn't going to give her the answers that she so desperately craves at this point. I'll try my luck with Nana when I get back, she thinks, letting out a dismayed sigh before stepping through the gate and locking it back. "No, sir. I'll be careful."

When she receives no response, she turns on her heel and heads toward where she remembers the old trail used to be, the previous subject heavy on her mind. That was weird. Has Darcy really not come to visit her parents at all? For how long? She supposes that she has been gone for a very prolonged amount of time and she's sure to have missed some things, but just how important are these things? Something obviously happened between her grandparents and her aunt. But what? Hopefully, she'll get a reasonable answer when she comes back.

She walks under the willow tree beside the cottage and is unable to stop herself from glancing down the road, where her mom and dad disappeared a mere day ago and left her behind with the parents that her father absolutely refuses to talk to, reconnect with in any way, all because of a petty argument.

Nah. She narrows her eyes in indignation. He's just always been selfish. And unfair. And a terrible person. That 'argument' was just what pushed him over the edge. What even was their argument about? She wracks her mind but can't seem to recall any moment where her dad actually explained what was going on, not to her, anyway. In fact, the only time he graced her with an answer at all was when she gathered up the courage to ask him why they haven't visited Nana and Pops in so long. She believes that she had just turned twelve a few weeks prior when she became curious about it and walked up to him one day in the living room.

"Hey, Dad?" He hadn't even looked up at her. Didn't give any attention to his only child. "Daddy?"

"What do you want." It came out as more of a demand than it was an actual question. Still, he didn't look up at her, and she had taken a seat beside him on the couch.

"Um, I was just wondering... we haven't seen Nana and Pops in a while-" She cut herself off when she was met with the sharp, threatening glare of her father, becoming instantly uncomfortable as she stared back uncertainly. It had taken her off-guard, as she had never seen her dad's eyes as cold as they were at that moment. Especially when they were looking at her.

"I don't want to hear anything about them." The way he had said that sentence made her heart drop in concern, and she flashed him a bewildered look.

"...What? Wh-why?"

"Don't ask questions. Just don't mention them." Puzzled would have been a good word for how Y\n was feeling at that moment. Thoughts were swarming her mind, and despite the hard, final tone of voice her father had, she continued.

"But... they're your parents? A-and I miss them. Don't you miss them, too? It's been almost a year-"

"What'd I say?" He snapped at her, his lips pressed together into a firm, angered line. "Don't. Mention. Them."

"Dad-"

"My God, you're more persistent than your mother." He shot her a disappointed look, though she only craned her neck to the side.

"What's wrong...?"

"Arguments, Y\n. Arguments about crap that doesn't concern you." She couldn't stop herself from flinching slightly at the harshness of his words.

"Dad..."

"Stop talking and go to your room." When she stayed still, looking at him with wide, questioning eyes, he released a huff of irritation. "Now."

Shaking her head disapprovingly at the distant memory, she eventually rediscovers the path that she traversed down so many times, back when she was merely a child, before she had so many problems in her life. It appears to have not been used in quite a while, as there are weeds growing up from the ground, low-hanging branches swooping down and entangling together, making a sort of archway. The grass is extremely overgrown, and just by looking at it, she would guess that each blade would have to be around three feet high.

She suddenly looks down at her bare legs, a little nervous about stepping through the tall grass likely housing ticks and traced with thorns. Maybe I should've worn jeans instead... Letting out a defeated sigh, she cautiously steps through the tall, twisty foliage, trying her best to avoid getting scratched by a brier or catching her foot in a weed and tripping.

She glances up and ahead of her, feeling relieved that the shrubbery thins out just a few feet down the path and should be easily manageable. She just has to get there in one piece. Carefully, she takes several slow steps forward, the grass tickling her legs each time she moves, though she brushes it off and focuses on making it through.

Should’ve brought some branch cutters or something. After a couple of minutes, she arrives in a less hazardous area, and instinctively reaches down to brush her legs and feet off, just in case there are some bugs that may have been taking refuge on them, though to her ease, finds none. She places her hands into her pockets and continues her stroll through the peaceful forest, savoring the natural sounds erupting from all around her.

The chirps of the birds and rustling of leaves create a relaxing cadence; a sound that she rarely ever gets the pleasure of hearing. She only just realizes how much she missed being here, able to roam around, enjoy the area without the interruption of her parents, city life, or just drama in general. Letting out a tranquil sigh, she wonders how long she can stay here. How long will her parents be gone? It isn't like they care about her absence anyway, that much is apparent. The only reason they'd come back is because of their work, their fancy jobs working for some billionaire company that Y\n could care less about. Sure, they make a pretty good living off of it, and it isn't the worst job in the world, but it takes up all of their life. At least when she was little they made time for her, but now? They don't even bat an eye in her direction.

Do they even still love me? It's a question she's asked herself a multitude of times throughout the last few months, but the answer was always too painful to accept. They haven't said it since... since I was fourteen. She remembers it clearly. It was her fourteenth birthday, they had a cool party, her best friends came, back when she still had some, and her parents took a little time to make her feel special, which, even at that point, was a rare trait to exhibit. But they did it.

Her father had hugged her and told her that she's beautiful, her mother had stroked her hair, explaining to her how much she meant to her. That she loved her. It was the last wholesome moment they ever shared together, and thinking about that makes her chest ache with loneliness. Although she wants to think that she still holds a special place in their hearts, she knows that the odds aren't in her favor.

She allows a sad chuckle to exit her l\c lips as she shakes her head. Oh, well. A girl can dream, right?

___

The masked male walks swiftly through the dense forest, staying attentive as he listens to everything around him. The quiet tweets of blue jays, the rustling of leaves, the flow of a nearby stream- all normal. Which is good. That means nothing out-of-the-ordinary is lurking around, following him. At least, nothing that isn't remaining silent. But he's grown accustomed to his surroundings, and he's confident that he'd be able to recognize a threat, whatever form it may take, from wherever it may have been hiding at.

He feels his phone vibrate from within the confines of his pocket and inwardly rolls his eyes. That's the fifth time in the last three minutes that Ben has texted him. He's sure that he's still going on about how something is "urgent" and that he has to "get here ASAP". What does he think he's doing? Moving at a snail's pace? Ben's house is over half a mile away from his own, and he's only been walking for about five minutes. No matter how speedy and agile he can be, he still isn't Superman. Shouldn't Ben know that? Moving from one place to another takes time.

After around two more minutes, he finally sees the old cabin come into view, shrouded by vines, weeds, and various other greenery. To oblivious, inexperienced eyes, it's nearly undetectable, which is perfect. It doesn't draw attention, which is something that Hoody, among others, greatly prefer. Any poor soul that may wander this far into the woods and see it, or any of the others, will be taken care of. Immediately. They can't take a risk. It would be too dangerous.

By the time the phone buzzes a sixth time, Hoody is already coming to a stop in front of the rustic-looking door that's made of the same taupe ash wood as the rest of the house, with some minor improvements to better ensure safety. The whole place, whether one's standing from afar or looking at it close-up, seems like it would be very insubstantial and a hazard to be around, much less live in. But in all reality, it makes quite a good home for the two that take residence there, and it's most definitely safer than it may first appear to be, thanks to a few key individuals and their useful carpenter abilities.

He knocks quietly on the hard surface, stuffing his hands inside of his pockets and waiting patiently for Ben to stop hounding him with text messages, notice that he's right outside, and allow him in. Shouldn't he already know where he is? That's why he installed one hundred cameras around the area, right? To observe what's happening without having to leave the comfort of his chair? Or perhaps that's what he wants to see Hoody about; complain that his cameras are malfunctioning and ask for assistance. Though he doesn't know how much he'll be able to assist him because he doesn't have half the knowledge that Ben has regarding electronics. But he'll do what he can if it means getting one of their main lines of defense up and running again.

He's pulled out of his thoughts when yet another message comes through his phone and makes it vibrate against his leg, a feeling he's really beginning to get irritated by. Releasing a muffled sigh and deciding it would be better to just check whatever text he just received instead of ignoring it altogether, he pulls out the small device, and swipes down on the notification tab, seeing not six, but ten unread messages from the teenager himself, all of which consist of either "where are you?", "you gotta get here quickly", or "hurry your butt up, you depressed son of a cracker".

"Ah, screw you, too," he mutters to the screen, knowing full well that its target won't be able to hear him. Unless he has the audio turned on and is secretly listening to him talk. The little creep, he can't help but think before he finally reaches the last and most recent message.

Just come in, the door's unlocked

Obeying the message, he grips the knob of the door with his gloved hand and gives it one swift turn, pushing once he hears a small 'click' and entering the cozy-looking household while shoving his phone into the back pocket of his jeans where it rightfully belongs. The interior is nothing special; a kitchen with a small bar and plenty of counter space to spare to the right, a living room with an old, dingy-looking sofa, a couple of chairs, and a coffee table to the left, and a narrow hallway straight ahead, which has five different doors leading to five different places. Two of them lead to bedrooms, one a bathroom, one a laundry room, and the one at the very end is an entrance into the basement, also known as Ben's office.

Shutting the door behind him, he ventures farther into the familiar area, counting on the sunbeams currently shining through the dirty windows to light his path and take him to his destination. Where is his destination? Not able to see Ben nor his roommate anywhere, he assumes that either one or both have to be in the basement, so he begins his trek through the darkened hall until he reaches the closed door, once again wrapping his hand around the metal knob and giving it a firm twist before it creaks open, giving him access into the electronically-lit room below.

He can hear faint voices getting louder as he calmly walks down the staircase, one reasonably deep and the other about a pitch or so higher. He descends downward until reaching the ground, glancing to his left and being met with two easily-recognizable figures due to their odd features.

One of them is sat rather comfortably in a computer chair that he no doubt stole from Amazon, his blond hair swept to the side in a messy, boyish style. He sports a pair of converse, black skinny jeans, a dark green Halo 5 t-shirt, and a beanie. His appearance would be startlingly normal if he lacked the glowing, red eyes and the tears of blood that slowly cascade down his deathly pale cheeks.

Standing leaned against the wall next to him is someone nearly three feet taller, body clothed in all black save for the navy blue mask that covers his face and the strands of copper-brown hair sticking out from under his hood. His eyes are nothing but soulless, empty pits that replace where his once chestnut ones used to be, the sockets constantly leaking a thick black substance similar to that of tar and leaving sticky trails down his mask.

Both heads turn to look at Hoody when he appears behind them, and Ben instantly jumps up, his shorter-than-average height noticeable, especially when compared to taller people, like Hoody and Jack. "It's about time you get here, slowpoke!"

Ignoring the comment, the man clad in a mustard-yellow hoodie crosses his arms impatiently and eyes the one in the corner of the room for a moment before turning his attention back on the blond in front of him. "Now, what exactly was so important that it couldn't wait a couple of hours?" His voice is low and calm, but authoritative, and Ben glances at Jack anxiously.

"We think that egg head is going after someone else to make his slave." Hoody raises a brow beneath his ski mask and gazes down at the boy curiously.

"How do you know?"

"Cause Jack's been getting these-these, um, feelings? For a while. I don't know, wh-what kind of feelings, like-like bad kind of, weird and freaky feelings, maybe since a week or so ago, then he walked by somebody after, y'know, stocking up on his, uhm, diet... and he said they emitted a really strong, like, odor? Or something? And then-"

"Ben," Hoody speaks, cutting the boy off in the middle of his sentence and ultimately silencing him. "Just let Jack explain it." His lips part to say something, though he only lets out a quiet huff after a moment before plopping back down in front of the multiple monitors of different areas in the forest and leaning backward in a sulking manner. "Right." He sighs and signals for Jack to begin speaking, to which he nods and complies.

"I've been feeling... strange, lately," he starts, his voice deep and muffled though decipherable nonetheless. His hands are stuffed into his hoodie pockets as he lightly boosts himself off of the wall with his foot and stands at his full height. "A kind of... tingling, in my chest and mind, but not a good one. More of a... ominous kinda tingling, like something bad is about to happen, or someone's fixing to get hurt. But I don't know who."

Hoody processes this newly-received information and listens with keen ears, inquisitively waiting for the eyeless man to continue.

"But earlier today, after leaving a house, this feeling got a lot stronger. And it was really sudden, like, it just hit me. I couldn't figure out what was happening until after I looked around a bit and noticed someone walking down some grown-out path. And somehow, immediately after I saw her, I knew that she was in danger."

"Wait, wait, wait," Ben interrupts, holding out his hands in a silencing gesture. "It was a girl? You didn't tell me that."

"Because I was waiting to inform the more mature ones who actually focus on the situation rather than something as ridiculous as gender," he remarks, making Ben scoff. Hoody, ignoring Ben altogether, turns to completely face Jack in order to further question him about the somewhat surprising matter, neck craned to the side slightly.

"Okay, but why does this mean that it's connected somehow to him? Did she cough? Did you hear any static?" He merely shakes his head in the negative.

"No. I just know that something sinister is going on and that feeling I've been getting the past couple of days is definitely coming from her. Just an evil, dangerous aura surrounded her, which is why I'm sure that he's involved." Hoody rubs at his head, finding it hard to doubt a word that Jack's saying. He's never been one to lie, after all, and being a reincarnated version of his former self gives him certain... supernatural abilities, that others don't have. Not even the two ghosts of their group.

He stands there a moment, still and quiet as his mind swarms with questions, before looking at the navy blue mask but having to avoid direct eye-contact with the empty sockets in his face due to making him feel uncomfortable. Not that it can be seen, anyway. "Um... alright, well. What do you suggest we do about it?" He earns an unsure shrug in response.

"I guess we could just eliminate her. It would throw off whatever his plan is and get her out of the cycle before she inevitably gets hurt."

"Unless he brings her back," he points out. "Then she'd be more powerful and we'd have another one to fight against."

"That... does make sense. But we can't just leave her there to become a victim. Either she'll accept him or he kills her. Which would just be one more innocent wiped out by his hands."

"We could bring her back here!" Ben suddenly speaks up, once again rising out of his seat and painting a confident look across his ghostly features. "I mean, she wouldn't be in immediate danger and we could tell her what's going on so she knows what to do and what to avoid."

"But then she'd be endangering us." He shoves his hands back into his pockets and takes a step closer. “And what if she’s already under his influence, huh? We’d be leading him straight toward us and there’s no way we’re strong enough nor do we have the numbers to fight him and his group of freaks.”

“Yeah, but what if she’s not? I mean, we need the extra set of hands, anyway. She could be useful!”

“At what cost? The lives and freedom of everyone here? It would be stupid to bring her here, especially since we don’t know anything about her.”

“Jack!” Ben turns his attention to the tall, lanky man standing silent, hoping to get somewhere with him. “You’re the demon here, so is she dangerous?” He plants his masked face in the palm of his hand in the universal sign of ‘oh my God, you’re an idiot’ before answering, his voice low.

“I don’t know, Ben. She seemed totally normal, but I didn’t get a very good look.”

“There ya go, boomer.” His red pupils shift back up to look at Hoody, his eyebrows raised. “She’s not dangerous. We can bring her.”

“For the record, I’m only six years older than you,” he starts, attempting to bite down his exasperation with the teenager and speaking with a level tone, to which he receives an eye roll. “And Jack didn’t say she wasn’t dangerous, he just said she looked normal. They’re two totally different things.”

“Whatever.” He places his hands behind his head carelessly. “I still vote that we bring her here.”

“We’ll ask the others and get their opinions. Jack,” His head turns to look at the mentioned boy, “is there anything else I should know about these ‘feelings’ or the girl you saw?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Okay then. Ben, call everyone and tell them to meet up at my place within the next thirty minutes.” The tone of his voice leaves no room for argument, and without question, Ben whips out his, now slightly outdated, cellphone and begins to text each person in his contacts exactly what Hoody told him to say.

“Oh, by the way, I fixed your phone.” He pulls out a small flip-phone from his pocket and tosses it to Jack, and he effortlessly catches it and slides it into his pocket, muttering a ‘thanks’ while he does so. Hoody turns to leave, though before he starts climbing the stairs he speaks once more.

“You both need to come, too. We all need to discuss this and figure something out before tomorrow.” They nod in reply, and he disappears from their sight.

#Creepypasta #Creepypasta x Reader #Female Reader #Y\n L\n #X Reader #Creepypasta Fanfic #Fanfiction #Hoody #Brian Thomas #BEN Drowned #Benjamin Jacobs #Eyeless Jack #Jack Nichols #Slenderman #Marble Hornets #x Reader Fanfic

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curlystom · 5 years

Text

next to you — tom holland

{ in which you’re not the only one that likes to hang out on the fire escape }

a/n: this is dedicated to my best friend bre @stealthspideys who is the reason why i pushed myself to finish this. i love you endlessly. and i hope you enjoy this

word count: 2.4k

warnings: angst, fluff, mentions of drugs and overdosing!

MASTERLIST

Your lips trembled as you climbed through your bedroom window, sock-covered feet touching the freezing cold metal stairs. With your favorite blanket hanging from your shoulders, you quietly climbed toward the chair you’ve spent countless nights in to consume all your thoughts.

Living in the city had its ups and downs. Although the sound of cars honking and random people yelling in the middle of the night drove you crazy, the view of lights illuminating the dark sky was something you could never get tired of. You think you’ve spent more time out on your fire escape than your actual living area, but you didn’t care.

You sat down, bare thighs growing used to the temperature of the metal before you criss-crossed your legs. Letting out a big sigh, tears started welling up in your eyes for what seemed like the millionth time that day as you thought back to earlier.

“Why do you always have to be so fucking dramatic?! Just for once in your life, can you CALM down?”

The yelling had been going on for at least an hour at this point; and you had tugged on the strands of your hair so much, you were sure it was going to fall out soon.

“Calm down? CALM DOWN? I just walked in on you doing drugs and you want me to fucking act like nothing happened!?” You exclaimed, voice becoming rough and hoarse due to all your shouting.

His addiction to drugs was something you knew about long before you were dating. Though you believed you were never the type to love someone who was a drug addict, his charm and charisma pulled you in and you learned to ignore it. Until you couldn’t.

You would find yourself coming home with him passed out on the couch, pulse weakening by the minute. Panicking, you’d call 911 and rush him to the hospital and only pray that nothing seriously bad would happen to him. Luckily, nothing did happen; and each time he’d lay in the hospital bed he’d plead to you that he’d get himself clean and get help. And you believed him.

“Y-you promised me you stopped. I BELIEVED you when you told me you were clean.” Tears were pouring down your red cheeks, nose running—causing you to wipe it with your sweater sleeve every minute or so.

“And I was! F-fuck, I was. I swear babe, I was doing so good I just-” He was scratching at his arms, a habit you had noticed early on when he became fidgety, nervous, and anxious.

You pried his hand away from his arm, pushing him down onto the couch before beginning to pace back and forth in front of him. “I don’t think you understand how life threatening this is everytime you do it. You’ve already been to the hospital once within the past year. When are you EVER going to learn?!”

He rested his elbows against his knees, hands running viciously through his hair that you thought it was going to start falling out. “I-I was getting better. I swear! It’s just that w-work has been so rough and I’m just so stressed and this makes everything go away! It’s just a one time thing I promi-”

“NO! No it’s not. God, can’t you see that this stuff is literally killing you! Everyday I wonder if today is going to be it, where you don’t wake up anymore and I have to-”

The room fell silent. He looked up at you with bloodshot eyes, a mixture from crying and drugs. A single tear fell down your cheek again and you rushed to wipe it away before sighing in defeat. The constant fear and pain you felt daily wasn’t worth it anymore and it was weighing on you more than before.

“I-, I’m sorry. I can’t do this anymore.”

He had begged not to leave, dropping to his knees with tears welling up, telling you he’ll fix himself and go back to rehab. But you shook your head no, saying that he needed to get help for himself and not for someone else. He packed his things and left not much longer after that, leaving you alone in the apartment for the first time in years. It was like a piece of your heart had been ripped out and you flopped down on the couch clutching your chest in pain.

Breathing became more shaky as the never-ending tears seemed to fall onto your reddening cheeks. The constant ache you felt in your chest, like your ribs were suffocating your heart and a thousand needles had sank into it, was slightly interrupted when a gust of wind blew a few strands of hair in front of your face. Then all of a sudden, you heard the sound of metal clashing on the fire escape next to yours and your body flinched at the noise.

Wiping the remaining tears from your face, you turned your head to see what the commotion was all about only to see your next door neighbor with his hands covering his face.

“S-sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.” Tom picked up the foldable chair that had fallen over when he was climbing out of his window and rested it against the railing.

You gave a small smile. “It’s no worries.”

“What’s someone like you doing out here at this hour?” He sat down against his window sill, back against the edge of the frame with his knees brought up to his chest. “It’s a little bit late and cold to be having a midnight crisis.”

Biting your lip to suppress a laugh from escaping, you shook your head. “I’m always having a midnight crisis.”

Tom was about to respond before he paused, taking a moment to examine your face that was being illuminated by the moon just right. It didn’t take much to realize that you had been crying out here, now noticing the dried tear stains you had failed to wipe away and the swollen eyes you were going to cry more about later. He could recognize a broken heart when he saw one, and although he didn’t know you too well--a casual run in here and there--it pained him to see you hurt.

“Are you okay?” He frowned, twiddling with his fingers as he leaned forward a bit.

Your fingers fiddled with the loose string on your blanket, wrapping it a little bit too tight around your pointer finger before unravelling it. Glossy eyes locking with his, you took the moment to take a good look at him for the first time that night. His curls were tousled and fell perfectly in front of his face, but luckily not blocking the view of his chocolate orbs that were staring at you in concern. His black t-shirt was wrinkled and looked like they had some fresh coffee stains on the front while his basketball shorts had some obvious fraying at the ends. He looked like a total mess, but it was comforting.

“I-um, it’s nothing.”

“Hey…” Tom planted his feet onto the fire escape, scooting along his window sill to sit closer to you. “It’s not nothing… I know a broken heart when I see one.”

More tears seemed to gloss over your eyes, and you desperately tried to not let them fall in front of him. The last thing you needed was to have a neighbor witness your heartbreak. You couldn’t help but let out a laugh, quickly wiping remnants of the failed tears along your lower lash line with your sweater. “You got me there Tom, I’ll admit.”

He chewed on his bottom lip, eyes softening as he watched you collect yourself and your thoughts. It was obvious that there was a lot on your mind.

“I um…” You let out a shaky breath. “I broke up with my boyfriend today.”

His saddening expression grew, eyes darting towards the ground in sympathy. “I’m sorry-”

You held your hand out to interrupt him. “No. No, don’t apologize. I-, I stayed with him as long as I could but it just got to be too much.”

The tightness grew inside your chest, wanting nothing but to release that pain you had been feeling all day by letting those desperate sobs slip through. The silence that surrounded the two of you grew, and you knew he was letting you finish before intervening.

“We were best friends all throughout school and then once we got into college he just-, changed? He got addicted to drugs and I just.. let it happen. I tried and begged for him to stop and he would for the most part. But…” You took a second to pause, taking deep breaths to soothe your growing hyperventilation. It was bubbling inside of you and you could feel it, scratching at the inside of your throat as more tears welled up in your eyes.

“He overdosed 10 months ago. I came h-home from work and he was just lying on the couch.. helpless. It was like my whole body shut down. I-, I couldn’t even move. It felt like forever before I eventually called 911 and tried to find his pulse.”

Tom felt his chest tighten the more your words fell past your trembling lips. Shivers traveled all throughout your body even though you had your blanket draped around your shoulders, but it wasn’t because you were cold. You didn’t even realize you were shaking until you noticed your figure was being wrapped in Tom’s arms, who had walked over from his side of the fire escape to yours. His body broke your fall as you slipped off your chair, unable to control the unsteady breathing and cries you tried so desperately to keep in. It was no use anymore.

You took this opportunity to bury your face into his chest, finding purchase on the end seam of his shirt and feeling the foreign tough of his fingertips trace along your skin. Fluttering your eyes closed, you focused on the way he traced endless circles and lines on the back of your arm and small of your back. He kept a consistent pace, knowing you were steadying your breathing with his movements and made sure to switch up the mindless shapes every once in a while.

Tom rested his chin on top of your head, taking in the scent of lavender and honey from your freshly washed hair. He had come out to ease his mind off the ongoing anxiety he had for his audition that morning. It had been 6 months of endless work—memorizing lines and doing unnecessary backflips with the hopes of impressing the higher ups—and it was seemingly getting nowhere. Pacing back and forth in his living room, he rubbed his face in frustration when he couldn’t remember the scene he had been working on all day, before ultimately deciding it was enough and to get some fresh air. He didn’t expect to have you in his arms, desperately trying to calm down, but your presence was just what he needed to relieve his mind off of his insecurities.

The both of you sat in silence, except for the occasional hiccup from you here and there, and appreciated each others company. Tom carefully lifted his left wrist, trying not to break the position you were in, and checked the time. 3:18am. He snuck a peek at your face to see if you were still awake as he hadn’t felt any movement from you in a while. You sat there, cheek against his damp shirt with a small smile of your face.

“You’re smiling…” He said softly, twirling strands of your hair between his fingers.

“I just-, thank you.” Sitting up straight, allowing Tom’s hands to ghost around your waist, not wanting to make you uncomfortable. “You didn’t have to stay out here and do all this..”

Eyebrows furrowed, he shook his head while his lips tugged a soft smile. “You don’t need to thank me.. it hurt to see you that upset and I wouldn’t be able to forgive myself if I left you alone.”

Your fingers left his shirt, a habit you had forgotten about midway through, and made their way towards the nape of his neck. Playing with the little curls, you twirled the short hairs around your finger—copying his actions from earlier—before wrapping your arms around him and bringing him in for a hug. His arms snaked around your waist, face burying in the crook of your neck and it was then when you realized how close you two were.

He smelt of a light vanilla, one familiar with the candle you bought him for Christmas. Another smile made its way to your face at the thought of him still having it and clearly using it.

You were the first to pull away, retracting your arms from your shoulders as you moved to stand up. Tom’s look of disappointment was overlooked by you, too focused on regaining feeling in your legs to see the way his eyes saddened and lips slightly pouted. “I should, uh, go to sleep. It’s probably like 4am now.”

He nodded, wiping his clammy hands on his shorts before resting his palm on the window sill, steadying himself as he began to stand up on his own. Your back was towards him, grabbing the forgotten blanket and fixing the pillow and chair that had fallen over. Tom pursed his lips, tip toeing back to his own window, believing that was the end of the night.

“Tom?”

He turned around with one foot already inside of his apartment. Eyes wide—filled with hope—Tom stood there waiting as you looked at him with happiness glossing over your eyes. The crinkles near them simply made his heart flutter and he couldn’t help but show his own, which made you smile even more.

“Thank you.”

“Anything for you.” Teeth biting back a grin, he looked at you once more before you opened your window and headed back inside.

Wrapping the cold blanket around your shoulders once more, you padded your way towards the bedroom, passing the living room where the earlier events took place and ignored the invisible memories that tried to replay again. All you could do was gently close your swollen eyes and be grateful that you have someone like Tom in your life to pick you up when you fall down.

And you would suddenly be okay again.

#tom holland #tom holland fic #tom holland x reader #tom holland fluff #tom holland one shot #tom holland angst #peter parker #peter parker one shot #peter parker fluff #peter parker x reader #peter parker fic #peter parker angst

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smallwomanlongstory · 3 years

Text

Our Lady of Czestochowa

My memory once contextualized major events using seasons, or tenure at a certain job or school. At some point, though, I began to mark time according to traumas. I knew we sold a property right before the second big relapse. Our daughter's baptism happened a week or so after the first night S slammed my body into furniture.

When it all started, it was October. I took T on a trip to a field across the Hudson River to pick pumpkins. At the farm stand, I picked up a jar of four berry jelly. Waiting in line, I stared at the jar lid and counted the little red, pink and white checks, arriving at an even number. I smiled, thinking there was a potion sealed beneath the gingham. Magic that would vanquish those little drug baggies that tumbled from S's jean pockets into my washing machine. The jelly would show him that I’d thought of him. Foolishly, back then, I still hoped things could be fixed with kind gestures, or the right string of words.

That October was defined by my bare feet slapping cold hard pavement as I chased after S; by tears streaming down my face as I grabbed him and begged him to go to the hospital. October was my mother’s hand moving back and forth between my shoulder blades as I struggled to fall asleep in my childhood bed. My own bed was uninhabitable because it was where I held my husband and felt his heart beat so hard and so fast, I thought he would die. October was fear; fear that the handful of diet pills S took would give him a heart attack; fear when he called from a far-away city, paranoid and crying; even greater fear when my phone wasn’t ringing.

S moved to the United States, to a middle state, without knowing a word of English, when he was seven. His father took him to a park where S saw kids his age playing soccer. Wanting to join, S asked his dad for an English lesson. His dad told him to just stretch out the Portuguese word for sock, Meia (pronounced "May-Uh"), and taught S a new word, “play.” S sprinted across the grass, repeating his line, “Meia play, Meia play, Meia play,” in his head. When he finally reached the children and asked the rehearsed question, they said, “no”, and ran away.

In the emergency room that October, S squeezed my hand, turning my knuckles white, begging me to tell the doctors he was ok to be released. I knew he wasn’t. I knew he would get out and use again, but I looked at the other people in the psychiatric emergency room; a man in hospital scrubs pacing up and down the hall, spitting into a cup; a women on a gurney, the fluorescent ceiling lights highlighting something brown smeared across her pant leg; a teenage boy behind plexiglass and wires, his knees drawn up to his chest, rocking and sobbing. On drugs, S terrified me, I didn’t want him home, but I could also see the little boy in him, scared himself, running across the park wondering if his shy “May I Play” would be understood, and I couldn’t leave him alone with all that filth and sorrow.

That night, from the depths of my jewelry box, I resurrected the Our Lady of Czestochowa medallion that my grandmother gave me and I started wearing it daily. Every night I told Our Lady my fears, took the necklace off, and placed it under my pillow. Through spiritual osmosis, I hoped, The Black Madonna would take my worries.

The real Our Lady is a wooden icon, an image of The Virgin mother and her child that was painted by Saint Luke onto a table-top. Said to be fortified by the tears Mary shed ceaselessly following her son’s death, many miracles are attributed to the relic.

During a fourteenth century war with the Tartars, Our Lady’s wooden throat was struck by an arrow. A mark was left. That time period was a bloody one for Poland, and just a few decades later a Hussite pillager added two gashes to her cheek. When the pillager lifted his sword to make a fourth scar, he dropped to the ground and died in agony. Restoration attempts have tried to smooth the icon’s face and neck, but the stigmata always reappear.

Our Lady of Czestochowa is nicknamed The Black Madonna. Theologians speculate that her face was tinted by soot, centuries of candle offerings. I knew smoke had nothing to do with her coloring. There is no point in consecrating one’s suffering to something blithe.

When S was healthy, we had a favorite skit. Whenever T woke up wet or hungry, we went together into her room and lifted her from the crib. S would voice-over T’s crying, pretending to be a disgruntled hotel guest. In a pinched English accent, S would say something like: “The service around here is outrageously slow. It took three whole seconds for you people to get here.”

Then I would go, “So sorry sir, I came as soon as you rang. Can I get you a fresh Elmo diaper?”

In the fussy indignation common to infants and crusty old men, S would continue, “What must I do for some warm milk? Need I write a letter to management? Notify my grandmother perhaps?”

T would see her parents laughing and tending to her. Her tears would dry up and she’d smile or coo. I loved our little act. In it, we were our own little universe, a normal family.

Except we weren't, and I became obsessed with Our Lady of Czestochowa. I bought a thick book, a collection of the miracles attributed to the icon: men at war made safe though the odds were against them; blind women made to see; ships manned by devout sailors, righted after being flipped. My favorite was about a little boy who, not understanding the damage it would cause, placed his baby sister in a warming hearth. The mother returned from some chore to find that her baby was charred, and immediately carried the little burnt body up the hill and into the monastery where our Lady presides. The child was healed and the story wrapped neatly with the family reunited, no questions raised about the brother’s intentions, or the mother’s distraction.

The Black Madonna has two elaborately decorated dresses; one adorned with jewels and one that was hand-sewn with gold thread and beads by peasant women. As liturgical seasons pass, the monks change her. I liked to picture them preparing for the ceremony like school girls given new ornaments for an exceptionally pretty paper doll, competing for a chance to fuss over the amber and embroidery. In my mind, the brothers would become fresh, exchanging snubs and lightly slapping the back of one another’s hands. I wanted to believe that the Black Madonna made them devolve into pettiness, because I wanted Our Lady to be powerful.

Somewhere, I read that I should picture the person I was worried for wrapped in a warm blanket, protected. Desperate for a tool, some nights I put S in every blanket, sheet, and towel in our linen closet. I’d put him in God’s palm, next to Jesus, on a radiant cloud with my dead grandparents. I would feel stupid, childish, still worried.

It wasn't until the week or so before I left S that, suddenly, finally, I recognized why the blanket imagery never worked. The warm places I'd managed to create weren’t meant for S, they belonged to me. I still love to lift the Black Madonna medallion to my lips and kiss its scars. She reminds me that I can always access faith and safety; it's in my experience, in all the ways that I've survived.

#saints #icons #hope #black madonna #alanon #addiction #families of addicts #children of addicts #prayer #codependency

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soranihimawari · 4 years

Text

running at 6a.m.

word count: 3.5k

random, but can you believe i haven’t written for hanamaki yet, @oikawa-obvs? tagging: @m0nstergeneration20xx [youse all gotta thank them for this one, fr fr]

warnings: new neighbor x makki// seijoh 3rd years x baffoonery// slightly suggestive scenes [pg 13 recommended] // rated W for woo!

<< |masterlist| >>

Of all the times in your high school career, you did not think you’d find yourself waking up before the sun when your neighbor called you at 5:45a.m. one weekend. Your neighbor, time and time again, has been trying your patience recently seeing that his sports club was asking for extra volunteers around this time of year for the conditioning exercises. Granted, your school was considered a powerhouse all because of one high caliber setter, and now you found yourself fumbling around your bed trying to ignore the chiming ringtone of your phone. Your eyes squint to readjust for the brightness of your Do Not Disturb setting to see the fourth missed call from him. You slide your finger in an attempt to unlock your phone the second time and redial the number.

“Morning ichigo no kori,” you state rather flatly. You knew the Hanamakis ever since you moved to this neighborhood to be closer to your high school after you had convinced your uncle and aunt to let them use their spare bedroom in the loft attachment of their town house. Your father was not shocked by this development in the slightest since he did lay out some ground rules between all parties involved. You did come from a single parent household, but given the fact the company your father worked for had a position opening up overseas in the Hong Kong office, you spoke at length about how you didn’t want to move right away due to your third year at aoba josai was about to begin again.Thus here you were, three months later, laying down in a comfortable full bed hoping neither of your guardians stirred from their slumber.

“Strawberry ice?” hanamaki was amused by this development.

He remembered the day you moved because the moving truck was pretty hard to miss; his friends from the volleyball club were walking back from the convenience store with snacks only stopping briefly to ask if he knew about the family that lived there:

“You mean Kurarun-san?” hanamaki asked. He shrugged his shoulder explaining shortly thereafter he didn’t know them very well, but maybe his mom did. She was always seen talking about her day (the daily gossip) with the wife of the homeowner. “I don’t think they had kids.”

“You might be wrong about that,” his friend in arms, mattsukawa, mentions as his eyes wondered to where you were standing. Your arms folded over your chest observing the movers lower the ramp to the pavement. Now considering you were raised by your father, it didn’t surprise your uncle and aunt to say the very least, you grew up learning how to fix dirtbikes one summer with him. Your father taught you everything there was to known about rebuilding a motorcycle from spare parts, which to be fair, was a huge bonus to the quartet of volleyball boys across the way.

“Be careful with that! I built that bike from the ground up, ok?” you instructed sternly, lending a hand to the movers who nodded grateful you were there to help them when the bike teetered too far to one side. Your aunt came out of the garage clasping your shoulder when the bike was securely out and off the ramp.

“Oh wow, that’s a gorgeous bike dear,” your aunt smiled. “You going to take it out for a spin later?”

“Yep! Right after the movers leave for the day,” you said. Your smile did not go unnoticed by the boys who not only stopped to look, but now were staring at you. It was 16:24 (4:24p.m.) when Hanamaki Takahiro first fell in love with you.

True to your word you went out the rest of the week running errands for your hosts (did a little grocery shopping while wearing your favorite backpack) on Monday, then on Tuesday you took a little joyride to the library to familiarize yourself with the layout of the neighborhood, by Thursday you already knew the earliest and latest time you should be out the door to make it to campus, so by Saturday, you were free to help with the chores around the house. It was the same day your aunt had planned a special dinner with her neighborhood best girl friend, Hanamaki-sama, as you affectionately called her. You aunt reminded you to go start cleaning up after your uncle returned from buying the last of the ice cream pops at the store down the block. You took a quick shower and changed into a pair of jean shorts paired with a royal blue loose fitting dri-fit longsleeve v-neck. You wandered into the kitchen wearing ankle socks covered by your house slippers. You were tasked with setting the table trying to get a sneak peak at the hot pot dinner your aunt was stirring. After shooing you away with a short laugh, you took a glass out of the dishwasher drying rack and poured yourself some water.

“Hanamaki-sama is bringing her son along too,” your aunt said, silently gauging how you’d react. You just sipped your water with a curt nod pretending to simmer down your nerves. Was her son older than you? Younger? Was he nice? Etc.

“Apparently you’re going to be in the same year when the school year starts,” your uncle’s voice echoed from the living room. He shut off the television to join you two in the kitchen.

“Oh, that’s nice.”

DING DONG DING

“Looks like they’re here,” your uncle said, holding on to your glass for you. “Why don’t you let them in.”

You nodded, brushing your stray bangs behind your ear. With a soft sigh escaping your lips, you opened the door with a swift turn of the nob.

“My my, dearie, aren’t you gorgeous,” hanamaki’s mother greeted you tapping your arm gently. Hanamaki on the other hand, for as tall and lanky as he seemed, he seemed a bit lackadaisical upon seeing your bright smile greet them at the door. He held a small bowl that was filled with tri colored popcorn with a thin cellophane cover on top. The snack was his idea because he had heard his mother speak to your aunt at length candidly mentioning how you would watch home movies with your father’s family every weekend until you started primary school.

“Hello to you too hana-sama,” you reply motioning her to come in. Then you notice her son with strawberry blond hair walking in behind her. He had dressed a little bit more formal like how he would on days leading up to an official match (solid color slacks and relaxed-fit printed shirt with a small moogen [infinity symbol] embroidered on the left sleeve) “And you must be…”

“Hanamaki Takahiro, but you can call me Makki,” he says when you close the door behind them.

“I saw you at the store the other day buying some popcorn,“ Hanamaki-san mentions when she hands you her light jacket to hang. “You know how we talk, anyways, your aunt told me how much you like bite size chocolate squares in your popcorn I heard.”

Makki says nothing when your eyes glance toward the bowl. You had a full conversation with him when you two kept looking at each other. Your aunt had washed her hands and joined you as she and Hanamaki’s mother exchanged casual greetings as they headed to the dining area; your uncle was giving the curry a final stir. You and Makki were thankfully, left to your own devices and my gods did you two relish in it.

Earlier that afternoon, he was speaking at length about his mother had been invited over to their neighbor’s house. It wasn’t the first time Makki had come over before, yet he had trouble easing his nerves because you were also going to be there. Makki paced back and forth trying “to get his shit together” while the company he kept on call was chuckling in what would certainly be an entertaining story for future reference.

“Makki, if you don’t date her at some point in the first quarter of the year, i will gladly dote on her out of my own free will,” Mattsun meant well, but at the same time, Makki knew the threat was an empty one. He was on a video call with his friends who shared the same sentiment as Mattsun. Soon the time approached for when his mother told him about the dinner party at your place.

“Listen Takahiro, take it from me,” Oikawa says. “Treat Mattsun’s words as not necessarily a threat, but more of a firestarter.”

“Makki!” his mother’s voice calls from the otherside of his closed door. “C’mon, let’s go.”

He ends the call after his teammates hang up.

The cold piece of technological glass rubbed against your warm cheek. With your eyes closed, you recalled hearing OIkawa and Iwazumi remind the other two to spread the word to their juniors to start their conditioning regiment this upcoming weekend. Be it as it may, Makki took this opportunity to ask you if you wanted to be his running partner (this was a trap his other friends laid out for him since they’re trying their best not to meddle too much in your private affairs).

You grumbled into your receiver imploring your neighbor to reconsider waking you up this early for a morning run. You left a note on the kitchen counter next to the landline in case your guardians woke up ahead of you to discover your now empty bed. Stifling a yawn, you meet Makki at your front door, dressed in a light jacket and a pair of running shorts. Your shoes weren’t in the best condition for running, rather, they were an old pair you didn’t mind using for this house call.

“Who runs at 6a.m. on a regular basis?” you ask him with a coy smile.

“Psychopaths and,” he holds your hand to steady yourself when you step down from the ledge of your short walkway. Makki lets go of your hand for a second to whisper an alternative answer. “Lovers.”

“Oh,” you tease, poking his cheek. An amused smile tugged your lips upward which you did not bother hiding. “Of course.”

“You don’t have to sound so annoyed by it, chisana josei.”

Makki had since insisted on giving you the nickname because it was what his other three cohorts dubbed you one evening when you came over to return something your aunt borrowed from Hanamaki’s mother.

“Makki, who’s at the--oh hello there chisana josei,” the charming boy wearing an alien lime colored shirt and pearl sweatpants peered around the corner of the living room. You were reluctantly (read as invited inside) to disrupt the boys only sleepover being conducted at the Hanamaki household.

“She’s cute Makki,” another disembodied voice, this time it was much deeper, spoke up this time. His curious eyes wandered up and down, yet although you were fully clothed, you felt entirely skyclad by the giant. You laughed a little bit at the compliment.

“I wouldn’t say I’m cute,” you said when you ceased laughing, handing Makki the bowl and other tupperware you aunt borrowed from his mother a few nights ago. Makki quirked his brow at his two friends, sighing at their comments and for a split second, you saw his bottom lip jut out in a slight pout.

“Oikawa, Mattsun, shut up,” he stated praying Iwazumi would at least straighten them out later. Unfortunately for Makki, Iwazumi was game in making his friend sweat a little bit because so far, you were able to refuse both Oikawa and Mattsukawa’s praises/favors.

“Oh ho ho,” you observed the last member of the trio to speak up. “And what would you describe yourself as anyway? It’s not like Makki to keep such a pretty secret from his friends.”

“Not you too Iwa-chan,” lime green sweater guy whined.

“Are you three always like this to every girl or is it just the ones that don’t like you?” your eyes glazed over and Makki didn’t want to admit it, but you definitely telegraphed that you were angry. Iwazumi realized this as soon as he found himself face to face with your shorter stature defiantly staring up at him. The other boys watching the silent argument continue before Makki calmly told you they were just messing with you. Introductions and apologies were exchanged as soon as your stubbornness subsided when the four boys surrounded you rather quickly at the hallway of Makki’s front door. If it weren’t for the fact that each of them had a qualm of serenity, charisma, and stealth boosted up by plus 10, you would have challenged them to a simple game of chess. Then again, they were literal pillars loyal to the princely type who bestowed upon you your nickname.

“If they really wanted to ruffle my feathers,” you begin to say, crossing your arms over your chest opening. “They’d form a reverse harem and vie for my attention. You included Makki. I’ll see myself out.”

“I-wait, what?!” Makki finally had heard enough.

“I have spoken,” you mentioned over your shoulder looking at his confused expression. “I’ll let you know when I’m back home. Have fun boys.”

You shut the front behind you, shaking your head whilst casting a glance to the heavens above, grinning like a wild cat.

“That went well, don’t you think?” OIkawa said, returning to his spot on the couch. “Makki, what’s with that look?”

Mattsun and Iwazumi both shrugged when dragging their host back toward the kitchen area to gage how their friend suddenly realized something right then and there. It was 21:07 when Mattsun and Iwazumi realized their friend was in like with someone a month before their third year would commence.

“I like her,” Makki found his voice suddenly and Oikawa had a large smile on his face.

“Stage five, acceptance,” Mattsun states before he blocks a throw pillow aimed at his direction. Iwazumi shakes his head before laughing at the strawberry blonde’s luck.

When you two round the corner of your block for the fourth time, you slowed your pace while Makki turned around and began running backwards facing you. Sweat covered both of you in a glowing sheer shine as the sun was ever presently rising.

“Slowing down already?” Makki taunted.

“I’m not the one on the school’s volleyball team,” you explained in between your short breaths. “You submit your body to this kind of torture willingly and call it conditioning training?”

He stopped jogging backwards for a second, instead opting to walk briskly toward you when he noticed your breathing becoming more steady. Makki might always be the first to challenge Iwazumi to an arm wrestling match and really gets along well with reading Mattsun’s expressions, but he was always reliable in helping keep Oikawa’s personality in check right behind the aforementioned.

“Pretty much, chisana josei. C’mon,” he knelt down with his back toward you signaling to get on. You gladly accepted the piggy back ride on these mornings. It was the top reason why you didn’t mind the morning calls as much anymore.

“I’m not too heavy for you?” you ask sheepishly, wrapping your arms around Makki’s shoulders when he stood up.

“For the nth time, y/n, you’re not.” He shifted his arms underneath your knees, locking you in place after allowing you to shift your weight a little bit for comfort.

“Ready when you are,” your breath fans across the back of his neck, causing his usually smooth spun cotton candy colored baby hairs to spike up. You pretended to not notice how pink his cheek was when you raised your head a short distance while he began his cooldown lap.

“Thank you Takahiro,” you say in a hazy tone, resting your head against his shoulder once again. He muttered a quiet “no problem,” internally screaming at himself for trying to not to die from the way he fell harder for you with every step he took.

Makki glanced down a few minutes later, being greeted by your peaceful sleeping expression when he woke you up again arriving at his place once again; he was too proud to admit you were rather clingy as you got more drowsy during the third time you were invited to a film night.

By this point, you had been living with your aunt and uncle for a week and a half, which in of itself was a delight for them. Yet it was rather treacherous for you because since the night you returned Makki’s bowls, you were often found crossing paths with either Oikawa, Mattsukawa, and/or Iwazumi. Sometimes Makki was with them or more often than nought, the boys were alone. Considering that the market was exactly in the center part of all your places of residence, the probability was rather high.

However, as a sign of good faith, OIkawa, with Makki’s blessing apparently a detail you were not aware of at the time, invited you to come along for a movie marathon the week before his birthday. Unbeknownst to you, as your eyes continued to droop during movie five of the line up, Makki froze when you decided to snatch one of the spare pillows from Oikawa’s sofa and used it as a buffer to rest your weary head on your neighbor’s lap. The boys were howling behind their eyes as they watched their friend finally succumb to the one time their newly appointed token girl friend had Makki wrapped around her finger by the simplest gesture the minute he started running his fingers through your hair.

“Aaand here I thought Makki wasn’t going to get any sort of affection from a girl this year,” Oikawa teased.

“Shut up and let me enjoy the movie,” Makki retorted. The other two in the living room sharing the couch with you and Makki noticed your childlike grin fade the deeper you fell asleep to the soundtrack of the movie.

Now you were sleeping again, tugging on Makki’s shirt instead, burrowing your head in between his shoulder blades causing his heart to jump to his throat.

“Mmm, don’t want to go,” you mumbled. “Too early.” He found the spare key where his mom usually left it (in the rain gutter above the door frame) and opened his front door with ease; he coughed to clear his throat.

“OK,” was all Makki could say in the front of his peaceful hallway, kicking off his running shoes before entering the rest of his house. Upon reaching his room, he left the door slightly ajar as he laid your groggy self down on his bed. He was about to tuck you in after tracing your prominent features with his index finger, leaving a message on your cheek: “I like you my chisana josei.”

“Me too, ichigo no kori,” you murmur as you stifle a yawn, prying one eye opened allowing your selfish need to see Makki’s face turn to stone.

You pull yourself high enough to bump the tip of your nose with his, causing your lips to briefly brush past his own. Immediately upon receiving said peck, Makki regained his composure rather quickly allowing his hands to find their way on to your shoulders pulling your lips back on to his again. Her lips always looked so inviting, plump and deliciously filled with the right amount of venom and sugar, Makki thought. You inhaled a sharp breath. There was a growing rhythm between you two within the fleeting seconds you counted in your head.

“Mmph~!” you nodded in a miniscule way to keep Makki setting the pace your body reacting to the way Makki’s hand openly traced over the exposed parts of you; you cautiously looping your arms propelling him forward. Makki crawled back onto his bed the moment he guided you back down amongst the wrinkling sea of the bedding; his body now hovered above you with knees on either side of you, thus caging you beneath him. You pulled away first, revealing a hauntingly entancing smile.

Makki’s face seemed a bit more flushed than when you started running your regular route less than forty-five minutes ago.

“Now look who’s the breathless one,” you chastised your host in a cheeky manner.

For the first time since July, Makki really studied your features, trying to commit every imperfection to memory tethering it to this love-drum beating in his chest. You laid there surrounded by the dark gray and black undertones of the surrounding pillows, your attire cascading a holographic reflection of the ever rising sun, illuminating your figure. Makki was the only one who got to baskin your natural face with the lack of makeup; your heaving chest; your scar above the bridge of your nose from when a crab nicked you with its claw as a child in the market. Despite your insecurities you told him about one day, returning from the store with him together, Makki saw only beauty.

He could tell behind the way your pupils were focused on his own, the sun’s rays enhancing his reflection in them that caused his heart to bask in the light of a new day. Makki liked the way your hair was frizzy and tangled from the way his hands tousled it in his hands when he laid you down beneath him. Her hands were strong yet at the same time gentle. And her sweetened lips tasted like spun sugar fresh from the fair. Makki bent down toward your left side and whispered something before he continued to kiss you senseless.

The way I know you relented as Makki played with you hair and held you tighter and tighter, was something you craved, even if you weren’t pondering it before, you returned the seemingly unspoken gesture with a similar kindness.

You cradled Makki’s face in your hands, pushing back his saccharinely hued textured hair again, asking him to catch his breath for a moment, synching his breathing with yours.

“C’mon Takahiro, b r e a t h e,” you advise, your eyebrows added to your pleading, moving one of your hands to rest against the middle of his chest tapping your fingertips lightly against his chest. You took advantage of this tonal shift; using your lower body to coerce his in switching positions with him. You were now the one hovering him, your hair undone, snuffing out the morning’s rays eagerly trying to sneak their way through the blinds of Makki’s room. This was not how either of you thought running at six in the morning would have ended, yet here you both were caught in the throes of your own summer enquinoxal love. Whether you two would want this to continue was entirely up to the two of you.

As Makki’s breathing finally returned to his resting rhythym, you allowed his hand to caress the side of your face, tucking a few long strands of hair behind your ear.

“My pretty chisana josei,” he said in the lowest register of his voice. “Finally.”

“...call me that again,” your voice has a slight lilt in it when you sigh. “I need to get used to it.”

Your natural smile could rattle the stars and Makki was determined to make sure not only knew that, his friends in arms also knew it too.

“Mine,” Makki said looking away like a child about to get scolded.

“Uh-huh,” your retort mixed wonderfully with a chuckle harmonizing the two. You release him from your hold, checking the time on the analog clock when you quietly lept off his bed. “Get some sleep dear one; you earned your keep.”

You tapped your fingers over your lips glancing at Makki long enough to watch him bring an arm over his eyes. Literal steam could have been escaping his ears with how your taunts drove him mad.

It was 06:59 when y/n and Hanamaki decided this was when you truly loved another.

--weekend messaging rates apply--

Suffice to say you made a mental note to make good on your word, but opted to maintain the peace seeing him outside with said dessert with a grin.

#running at 6a.m.#hanamaki takahiro x y/n #5W's miniseries #who what when where and why #mini series event

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jj-lynn21 · 4 years

Text

Party At Greenwald’s ch 4

Warnings: Angst,

Images courtesy of @dearcardan on twitter, @billofourtime,imdb, mood board my creation

ch 1 ch 2 ch 3 ch 5 ch 6 ch 7

{flash back continued}

Marks Mother and Father were outside to greet the two of you, kind of. They donned masked and told Mark to park by the guest house. They had already stocked the place with his favorite foods and snacks. His Mother would walk you through cooking some of his favorite meals by video if you wanted or walk you through how the place should be cleaned daily.

“I’m sorry to put all this on you dear,” She assured you, “but even the help are quarantined at their homes. Our Marky said you take care of him very well so I’m sure you will continue to do so in these trying times. Us woman have to make sure our men are as comfortable and entertained as possible.”

“Of course,” you hold back laughter and the urge to run.

You are completely stuck in this life now. You think maybe Mark will help with the daily running of the household. Then on second thought he always has the frat guys to clean the place and you cooked for him unless he ordered out. So, this will be like a test marriage. The kind of marriage you never thought you would be in.

The first fight happened about a week into the quarantine or shelter in place or social distancing or whatever you want to call it that makes you stuck with a person in a home with no other social interaction. You where exhausted from a morning of laundry, cleaning and scrubbing. After you were done vacuuming you could rest. You glared at Mark as he sat on the couch with a bag of potato chips crumbing on the floor you just went over.

“What?” He asked like he had no clue why you would look so angry.

You roared the vacuum over the crumbs.

“come here,” He pulled you on to his lap. “Does my Princess need attention?”

You struggled to get out of his grip, “Let me the fuck go. I don’t want to have sex with you right now or maybe for the rest of the time we are in here together. I have been cooking and cleaning and banging you when ever you see fit since we got here and you don’t do shit!”

Mark glared coldly back at you pushing you off his lap on to the floor. He gets up starting to pace back and forth, “What the fuck. I make sure you come every time. I even go down on you when you ask. I satisfy you all the time. Why would you not want to fuck? There is nothing else to fucking do.”

“You don’t fucking get it,” You stand looking up at him confrontationally. “I didn’t sign on here to be your maid and your fuck toy. All you want to watch is porn and sports. You can’t even manage to toss your underwear and socks into the laundry basket. Why don’t you do the fucking laundry for a change or make our bed or anything to help keep this place in order?”

“You want me to do the fucking laundry?” Mark screamed. “I never have done any of those things you woman are made for doing. Hell, I sent my laundry home weekly for the maids to do here while I was at the University.”

“I was not made for doing this Mark,” You scream. “I fucking hate cleaning. I hate doing all the laundry. I fucking want a maid, not be one for you.”

“You are not my fucking maid.” His voice not so loud, cracking a little as he breaks down. “I thought you were my fucking girlfriend and wanted to fucking take care of me.”

“And all I want to be is your girlfriend,” tears form in your eyes. “Can you just help me with all this new shit I never did before.”

“I can hire someone to do it,” he suggests.

“You are going to have someone from out in that world that possible carries the virus to come in this house?” You shake your head, “Do you know how stupid that is Mark?”

“I was just trying to help you,” He cries. “I don’t…fuck I need some air. I have to go talk to some friends. This shit isn’t working.”

“If you go out that door to socialize with friends, I’ll lock your ass out and your parents won’t fault me for it.” You warn him.

“Fuck you all,” He slams the door behind him.

You breakdown crying on the living room couch. Mark sits on the last step with his head in his hands.

His Father clears his throat standing more than six feet away from Mark, “I was walking the ground and saw you here son. Trouble in paradise?”

Mark looks up with red eyes from crying. He straightens up, “It just…” Mark shakes his head. “She not used to some things and I don’t know how to do shit to help her. I thought woman just knew how to clean and liked it.”

His Dad laughed, “You didn’t tell her that, did you?”

“yeah, well kind of,” Mark looked puzzled. “She was cleaning and just I thought she wanted one thing but instead she was pissed about everything. She was pissed she had to take care of me or some shit. Pissed she had to do all the cooking and cleaning. She threatens not to have sex with me the rest of the time we are here. How fucked up is that?”

“Well, there is only one thing you can do,” his father told him.

“Yeah?” Mark looked at the door and back at his Father. “What’s that?”

“Get your ass back in there and apologize,” He pointed to the guest house door. “Beg for forgiveness if you love her as much you seem to. No sex tonight. Just hold her. Tomorrow you learn to help her clean the house. I need to go do the same damn thing. Your Mother isn’t used to cleaning the whole house either. So, she is off the rails as much as or more than your girl. I prey for us both. Good luck.”

Mark’s Father walks away back to the main house. Mark gets up, takes a deep breath and walks back in the house. You are on the couch in the fetal position whimpering. Your eyes closed still leaking tears. He kneels in front of you.

“I’m Sorry, Princess.” Mark whispered as he brushed hair from your face. “I’m going to help you from now on. I’m sorry I let you do so much without helping. I fucked up. I’m an asshole. Can you forgive me?”

#mark assassination nation #mark and princess #assassination nation #fanfic #fan fiction #au #angst #fantasy #fiction #quarentine #quarantine #quarantine story #creative writing

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drowseoftaylor · 5 years

Note

Hello! I just found your blog thanks to a friend and was wondering if you could write something with a size kink? It doesn’t matter who you write it for, I’m just short and want a big man to hold me (and in this case, more ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) ). I appreciate it 💙🖤

ooo thanks for the request, honey. lets go with the biggest member of them all, my baby Brian. smut under the cut, style (its a bit more filthy than I originally intended but, oh well)

so you and Brian have been together for just under a year now

you recently moved in together, and meant to do it sooner but you both had to wait until Brian was on break from tour and recording so you didn’t have to rush

on this particular morning you woke up to an empty bed and rubbed your sleepy eyes as you wondered where he could be

you pushed yourself out of bed and wandered into the bathroom to brush your teeth and pull up your hair

you were only wearing one of Brian’s old tee shirts (because of last nights endeavors) and decided to put on some shorts and fuzzy socks before making your way downstairs

when you padded into the kitchen you saw Brian hunched over the island counter, coffee cup in one hand, and the newspaper in the other

“I love how you still read newspapers, lovey.” you say crossing your arms and leaning against the door frame before flashing him a sweet smile

“mmm, yeah. think it keeps me grounded.” he says putting down the objects in his hands, placing them on the countertop.

He walks over to where you're standing and wraps his arms around your shoulders and pulls you in close while you wrap your arms around his waist and breathe in his scent

“and I love how you still wear fuzzy socks” he says laughing slightly

“hey! my mum gave me these, you know.” you say pulling back from him a little and looking up at him giggling slightly

you always had to look up at Brian or get on your tip toes to kiss him since you were so tiny compared to him, which you were just now starting to realize

“wow” you say suddenly, pulling back from him

“what is it, love?”

I just now realized how small I am compared to you, its wild.”

you take his wrist and hold his hand up against yours so you both could see the considerable size difference

“yeah, love. guess you are pretty tiny.” he says smiling before lacing his fingers with yours and then planting a tiny kiss on your forehead before walking over to his coffee cup again

he placed his other hand on the counter leaning into it slightly causing his already too short shirt to ride up a little

“yeah. so tiny in fact, that you could just whip me around however you like, right? I mean, just think of all the power you could have over me..” you said sauntering over to him and batting your eyelashes trying to look innocent

Brian almost chokes on his drink before he places the mug down and gives you a stern look as you stand in front of him

“y/n, are you honestly trying to get me all riled up already? its only half past seven.”

“welllllll, is it working?” you say taking a step closer to him

all he does is glance down at his bulge in his grey sweatpants that was getting more and more noticeable by the second.

“I'd say so, baby.”

you blushed at the sight of his hard-on

“did just my words really make you that hard, Bri?” you ask innocently looking up at him

he pauses then lightly takes your wrist in his hand, then he starts to toy with your fingers lightly as he speaks

“I don't know, kitten. its just...it amazes me how someone so small can make me feel so...”

as he speaks, he slowly runs your small hand down his chest all the way down to his bulge where he places your hand over it and then squeezes your hand and his cock as he breathes out and lets his head fall back from the feeling

“...good”

“fuck, Brian.”

even after almost a year you're still so shocked and turned on whenever you and Brian do something like this. spontaneous sexy times and flirting with each other was always part of yours and his daily schedules and you loved it

he starts to massage your hand over his hard cock and he groans. he always makes the most beautiful noises, even just from your hand touching him over his pants

“does it make you hard when my tiny hand touches your huge cock?” you say quiet enough just for him to hear as he rocks his hips into your hand at a slightly faster pace. his right hand over your hand on his cock and his other hand has now moved under your shirt and is massing your breast

“f-fuck, y/n. it makes me so, so hard. can barely take it.”

you smirk up at him and then stand up on your tip toes to start licking and sucking his neck causing him to moan out even more

“more, baby please.” he says

you just loved it when that beautiful man would beg

you decided to slip your hand into the waistband of his sweatpants and boxers and spread all the pre cum around his rock hard cock before starting to pump him gently

“feel that? my hand is so tiny it can barely fit around your cock.” you say against his throat and his hands fly to your waist to steady himself as he lets out a long groan and whimper as he takes his lip between his teeth

“baby, you gotta stop. I’m so fucking turned on. I-i’m gonna cum”

you smirk against him and lean back to take in his beautiful features.

“then fucking cum”

you start to jack him off as fast as you can, pushing Brian to the absolute edge. his pants are slid down around his thighs now, just enough so his cock is out, and he's brutally rocking his hips into your hand and is a moaning mess as you jack him off and praise him to cum

soon enough he's spurting all over your hand and his lower stomach and his head falls against your shoulder

he is panting and trying to catch his breath and then suddenly lets out a breathless giggle as he stands back up to look at you, his face completely flushed

“what?” you say confused as to why what just happened is funny

“absolutely nothing, angel. just makes me laugh at how the fact that you're so tiny, basically makes me cum in my jocks.”

his post-orgasmic comment makes you slightly chuckle as you lick some of his cum off your finger, causing his cock to jump against your hand

“well, for the record, I did pull them down bit.”

#queen #brian may #queen band #brian fucking may i please have your babies #brian may x reader #brian harold may #this is dirty #but someone needed to produce some brian smut so here i am #feel free to request #brain definitly does have a sizs kink irl i mean look at the size of anita and chrissy compared to him

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marsupials-of-mars · 5 years

Text

It Surfaces on the First Freeze of Winter (Pt 2)

"Stop here!" Roman broke the silence. Logan tightened his grip on the wheel. "What do you mean 'stop here'?! we're on the highway!" "This exit! Right here!" Logan yanked the wheel to the right, just barely making it onto the ramp. He caught his breath as he slowed down. "A little warning next time?!" "Sorry, theres not really a good way to set your destination as the middle of a forest..." Logan sighed. "Where do I go now?" "Right in a mile or so." Logan turned off the road into a gravel parking lot, stones crackling under tires as he swung into a space in the otherwise empty lot. He parked and pulled out the key. The moment the rumble of the car died down, Logan was practically assaulted with silence. All the bugs were dead from the chill of the unusual Florida fall, and the loud diurnal creatures were finished with their daily activities, some having retired to hibernation, whether it was common for their species or not. It was, Logan had to admit, quite a fascinating coincidence that Roman's book had predicted such a rare occurrence. The coldness of the air through Roman's open window froze Logan's sinuses and a shiver rippled down his spine. The uncommon dryness produced stillness, where noise fell flat, as if having frozen and fallen to the earth in a puff of frost. The only audible sounds were the occasional crackle of wood freezing and thawing, swaying on the precipice of 32 degrees, and the distant rumble of the highway. As mystifying as it was, Logan was not looking forward to sloshing through newly crisped ice water. His galoshes nearly reached his knees and he had snow pants underneath, but it didnt help his imagining water breaching the lip and soaking into his winter socks and outerwear. Before Logan could even unbuckle, Roman was out of the car and holding the driver's side door open with a flourish. "Out out out, adventure awaits!" He practically tore Logan from his seat and out into the frigid, below-freezing air. Logan coughed as his own breath pierced his throat. "Come on, we've got six hours!" "MAXIMUM." Logan already regretted giving Roman such a wide timeframe. He'd grossly underestimated the potential misery of this excursion, and his Florida-resident intolerance to cold. "Whatever, grab the flashlights!" Logan complied with uncharacteristically dramatized effort. Roman rolled his eyes. "You already agreed to this come on." Logan locked the car and followed Roman into the dark, dank, silent forest. The first hour passed in a relatively focused fashion; Roman was intently searching every inch of bog in the general area, whipping his head around at every sound he heard, and Logan followed a few yards away, glancing around as if he were trying to help. At least the high specific heat of the water meant that it still hadn't cooled far past the relative warmth of the afternoon. His fears of frostbite were quelled, though it still wasn't pleasant. He moved slowly, though while Roman's pace was slowed by his careful observation, Logan was more focused on finding solid swamp floor that set the water level below the lip of his galoshes. By the way Roman was powering through, his socks must have already been soaked. "Lo! Have you been following me this whole time?!" Roman seemed to extend his attention past his bubble of focus long enough to notice Logan. "We have to split up! That was the whole point of getting your help, to cover more ground!" Roman shoved Logan in annoyance, causing him to throw out his arms to steady himself before he could be entirely drenched. "Well I didnt want to leave you to your own devices. I assumed I was here for the buddy system, lending assistance if something were to grab you and such." "So you DO think it's out here!" "I was more referring to alligators and/or snakes considering we're wading through the dangerous Florida swampland at night with no emergency services immediately present." Roman rolled his eyes, difficult to see in the nearly depleted sunlight. "Just go look somewhere else, we're in silence, I'll yell if I need help." Logan hesitantly complied. The thought of Roman being in danger and having to run through knee deep water to assist... it was not a pleasant fantasy. He sloshed his way through the algae, the thin, barely visible layer of ice on the water's surface shattering as he dragged his shins through. He looked back to find he was far enough away that he could no longer see Roman through the trees and darkness. He stilled and listened: He could hear the faint splash of Roman's galoshes in the distance, getting further and further away. He suddenly felt intensely concerned, but continued on nonetheless. The swamp seemed much more sinister without Roman nearby. Maybe it was just the presence of another person that greatly eased the feelings of unsafely, or maybe it was something about Roman's unwavering confidence and bravery in particular. Or maybe something about the environment really did change. Unlikely, Logan reigned himself in, it made much more logical sense that the feeling was related to human psychology considering human evolution's focus on social dependence. Though Logan was too preoccupied in the moment to marvel at the complex social creature he was. He was just plain uneasy, and the feeling continued to grow. He looked back. He could no longer hear Roman's movements. His heart pounded. He decided that despite the fact that he was logically safe, it would be best to turn around and catch up to Roman to slow his rushing adrenaline. He turned back the direction he'd come and began making his very arduous way back. But something struck him. If he went back, Roman would undoubtedly make fun of him for his cowardice, he would never let Logan live down that he truly believed in the beast of the Florida swampland, however false that notion was. So he paused, and the splashes and ripples of his marching stilled. And just in that moment, there was a splash. A loud one, not produced by any movement of Logans making, but unmistakably produced by something large. Logan's heart skipped a beat and he froze. He was thankfully able to swallow a scream before it escaped his throat. Explanations coursed through his mind, maybe a falling branch, maybe an animal of some kind, hopefully not an alligator... he slowly turned around. He was met with innocent ripples, as if whatever it was had come and gone. Yet it was notable that the force was enough to generate small waves, which crested slightly and lapped at the trees nearby. Logan kept his eyes on the origin of the disturbance as he slowly started inching backward, toe to heel, carefully assuring solid ground before shifting his weight. Then something wrapped around his right calf. Even through his boot he could tell that it wasn't a vine, or any form of flora. There was pressure, concious force to it, tightening. Logan barely had the time to process what was happening before it had crested the lip of his galoshes, and something soft and wet had coiled snugly around the back of his knee, immediately soaking through his snowpants and dripping down into his socks. He barely managed a scream before his reflexive pull at the restraint caused the ground under his left foot to give way, sending him plunging into the near-frozen swamp water. The temerature shift stunned his senses, and it was a couple seconds before he started thrashing. Despite logically knowing the water was only a few feet deep, he coudn't find the bottom or surface no matter where he reached, he couldn't judge direction nor distance, all he could sense was the warmth rapidly leaving his body and the breath bursting from his throat in clusters of bubbles despite himself. He could feel the thing wrapping tighter around his leg, coiling higher. Then another on his arm, oozing down and lacing itself around his wrist and through his fingers. Logan thrashed more violently as he realized the thing had suction cups. his mind raced to recall any sort of cephalopod this big that lived in the Florida swampland, something that would be awake and alive in such cold, but it was an utterly ridiculous notion. He thought back to Roman's illustration of the swamp beast, but that was even more inconceivable. With logic failing him, he continued to pull at his restraints. He could feel himself losing consciousness, his movements weakening. Suddenly, he heard a shout muffled from above, somehow audible through the frantic splashing. Within seconds, the creature was gone. Logan's limbs were free and he felt the jet of some sort of siphon whip his hair across his face as the beast retreated. Logan reoriented himself, and his feet found mud. He pushed up, breaching the surface of the water. He gasped in lungfulls of cold, burning winter air, rivulets of ice water pouring down his skin. "LOGAN!" Logan flopped his soaked hair away from his eyes in time to see Roman vainly attempting to run full speed through knee-deep water. He seemed to have just managed to get Logan in his line of sight, and seemed quite worried. "Roman! You won't bel-" Logan stopped himself. Whatever he'd just encountered, it was unknown, unheard of. He thought back to Roman's book, the beautiful sketches with no scientific substance. He thought of Roman's favorite stories, valient quests to slay the beast. If Logan told him what had happened, he wouldn't go into it with an eye for intricacies. He'd make the find into a spectacle, a fantasy adventure. If Logan DIDN'T tell him, he could come back, study the beast, find out what happened in a scientific sense. He could of course tell Roman once he had a better grasp on the situation, and it would be the safer option anyway. At least that's what he told himself. He swallowed his guilty conscience and chuckled sheepishly through his chattering teeth. "I wouldn't have expected that I would be the first to lose my footing..." Roman wasn't laughing. "Are you okay?! Cmon, let's get you to the car!" Logan nearly protested, but his adrenaline-warmed body was beginning to cool, and he started to feel the weight of his soggy coat. "Here." Without a second thought, Roman pulled off his own coat and helped Logan out of his. Logan pulled on the dry coat. Although his shirt underneath was still soaked, it felt much better. "You're sure you aren't too cold with no coat?" "Oh I'm freezing. But you're at a far greater risk of getting hypothermia. I wouldn't be suprised if your core temperature dropped a few degrees." Roman gestured to Logan's dripping hair plastered across his forehead. Logan blinked, suprised. "That's... right." "Cmon, give me some credit, I pick up a few things hanging around a nerd like you all the time. Now cmon." Logan yelped as Roman lifted Logan out of the water. He reflexively wrapped his arms around Roman's neck. "This is a highly inefficient method of carrying a person of my body weight!" Roman shook his head. "This is how the princes do it Lo. I gotta." Logan warmed slightly as he blushed, providing a drop in his risk of hypothermia. Roman was quite helpful. As they began to move toward the car, though, Logan couldn't help but look over Roman's shoulder, back at the water still churned up and muddy. He noticed a glow under the water from the flashlight he'd dropped when he fell. He didn't think it worth it to tell Roman, it was a cheap one anyway. He looked up from the glow. Across the water, a few yards past, He made out a strange glint. Two iridescent dots, seeming to float ominously on the water's surface. Then they were gone. The glow of the flashlight began to dim, before finally succumbing to the water.

#remus sanders #logan sanders #roman sanders #sanders sides #thomas sanders

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long-bodyswap · 5 years

Text

Clothes That Tempt Our Very Skin

By Mark Gordon

It was a hot summer day and I was headed home to see the family. It was the eve of the 4th of July and my mom and brother were anxious to see me, since it had been since Christmas and my brother had a surprise waiting for me. Now the anticipation of what that was helped to keep me focused on the rigorous 4 and a half hour trip from Phoenix to Las Vegas.

I was driving with the air conditioner blasting, as the outside temperature was somewhere in the high 100’s, yet with the sun blazing through the windows, I was still feeling warm, so I removed my tank top as I drove. Whew I thought now that feels better! My muscular chest was tingling, especially my nipples as the cold air blew on them, but I liked the feeling and my pectorals seemed to tighten even harder with the cold air. All was right with the world as I raced along the highway and I sipped my bottled water and played my tunes on the CD player.

After a while, I could feel my cock swelling to release the fluid that was now becoming painfully evident in my over filled kidneys. I had a habit of holding back when I drove long distances, but I had almost peed my pants on occasion and that feeling was less than comfortable.

This time was different, I was in sever pain and I knew I would either have to find a rest stop or try to hide behind a cactus to relieve myself. Luckily there was a rest stop up a head and I forced myself to wait even though I was at the brink of wetting my pants.

In a cloud of dust I pulled into the rest stop and scurried into the men’s room with urgency. Once at the urinal I just dropped my loose fitting cargo shorts to my ankles and pulled the waistband of my boxer briefs down under my ball sacs to get the maximum release.

As I moaned at the pleasure of unloading my kidneys, a man came in to pee and although he might have thought me weird in the state I was in, I cared less about his first impression and more about my relief.

Standing next to me was a taller man who wasn’t as lucky as I was, because his pants had a wet stain around the crotch and he knew it was visible and obvious to my view. As he let loose his thick dark yellow pee stream he was arching his back to make the stream even more pronounced.

“God I never thought I would make it!” he shouted grinning at me.

I giggled and said, “Well I nearly ended up in with a pee stain as well, but I tore off my pants and got my cock out in time” I said as his eyes locked into my crotch area and his pee stream seemed to meander in and out of the urinal.

The man just grinned while the duration of his release seemed never ending.

“Well luckily I have a change of clothes in my car; I don’t like to be messy if you know what I mean.” He said.

“Know exactly what you mean man, my boxer briefs weren’t so lucky as you can see but my shorts survived.” I replied as I tried not to notice his cock.

“Well if I were you, I’d change them before you head out, if you have a spare pair.” He said. “Good idea” I said and we both shook off our cocks and put them away and got our pants straight, then we both went out to our cars for a change of clothing.

As he pulled out a clean pair of shorts and underwear, I pulled a clean pair of boxer briefs from my travel bag and then we both walked back into the men’s room. Racing ahead of me, he took the only stall and began to undress and pile his soiled pants and underwear on the ground next to his feet, kicking them out the side of the stall next to me. By that time I had my shorts and boxer briefs off and totally nude, I could hear him taking a second leak in the toilet. God he must have large kidneys I thought.

I looked down at his pile of soiled clothes and was getting a hard on thinking – how many miles he rode wearing those clothes- hum - it was a kinky thought but I had this desire to put on his soiled underwear and pants. For one minute I wanted to wear his stuff and get a feel for this guy who was much older than me, but to his advantage a very handsome and professional looking man.

Time was running out, so I reached down and pulled on his damp jockey briefs and then his slacks. The waist was a few sizes bigger than mine, but the jockeys seemed to be quite comfortable around my waist. It was evident that these slacks were meant for a taller man as the cuffs of the pants bunched up around my sneakers but the idea of having them on was making me harder.

I had to do the next thing and that was to squeeze his pants crotch and surround my cock and balls in the pee stains for a while to fully achieve what I was after. That desire to make his fluid deposit part of me proved to be a catalyst to an event that would change both our lives for ever.

As I squeezed hard and tight, I could feel the dampness around my genitals and it felt cold for a while, but miraculously the wetness he had deposited magically was absorbed into my groin. What happened next was even more incredible.

Looking down at my hand, I couldn’t help but notice that the bunched up material around my sneakers was disappearing and the length of the slacks was lifting up somehow. Then the extra inches between of my waistband seemed to disappear as his slacks began to fit firmly now.

OH My God I thought, as I witnessed other changes happening as well. My once lean firm stomach and toned chest were gone. I had a slight bulge in the gut and my nipples had widened and there was no more muscle tone and from the look of my hands and arms, they had changed as well. A took a quick look in the mirror had confirmed that I was now inhabiting this mans body and a grin came across my face, because I was sure he would be shocked to see his twin waiting on the other side of the wall when he came out.

While I examined this new body of mine, touching and poking at my new physique, I began to wonder what he was doing so long in that stall.

While releasing the last bits of extra piss he still had in him, his body had gone through a radical transformation of its own. As he stood there pissing, his body changed as soon as I had put his clothes on- as if only one of us could exist at a time and my transformation into him forced him to transform into me.

What was taking him so long, was the fact that once his cock transformed in his hands and his body got younger and tighter, he got so sexually aroused he began to jack off quite instinctively. All this time while he was jacking off in his new physique, I could hear the moans and groans in a voice very familiar to me- MINE!

Then as if a light went off in his head, he took inventory of his body and found out quickly that he had become the young jock on the other side of the stall wall.

He let out a shout of extreme delight as his new cum load shot out of him. I knew immediately that he approved of what had happened to him and that got me tenting instantly. “I think we need to talk” I shouted over the stall wall as I was taller now and could peer in to it. I had never seen my body from this perspective before, especially my body coming off a huge climax.

With a smiling face he acknowledged me, let out the last stream of cum his new body had in him then came of the stall to confirm that I was now the owner of his former body.

Still nude, he walked over and gave me a huge kiss, by pulling my head down to meet his new 5’9” tall body. At that point I was rock hard and tenting my new pants and making a new stain in them.

As he bent down to get my old clothes, he seemed less interested in my erection and more interested in completing his packaged look by wearing my boxer briefs and shorts.

“Hey” he said. “Those Nikes are way too big on you now can you take them off and hand them to me?”

They were much too big for my feet, event though I was taller now my feet weren’t 10 and half anymore, luckily he was wearing sandals or he would have been I real pain when his feet grew. I obliged and even gave him my socks as well, and the slid his sandals over for me to wear.

“Now, I am you completely!” He shouted. “So how old am now?” he demanded.

I think you’ll find that your occupying a 28 year old body, “and what of me?” “How old am I?” I said.

As he modeled in the mirror turning side to side, then flexed a bit then said, “Oh 42 years old will work!”

“I can’t believe this!” “How long did it take you to turn out this muscular?” he said testing the tightness of my pectoral and abdominals. Poking them to see how hard they really were.

I stood there with my hand to my face in amassment, wondering if he was serious and thinking – Doesn’t he get it? We have swapped bodies and all he is interested in his my age and how long I’ve been working out?

“Did you hear what I said”, he went on.

“Well, when the body was mine, it took 4 years to get to that point and daily bow flex work outs to maintain it!” I said with a bewildering face.

“So this bow flex thing will maintain this then?” he said still turning and modeling his new body in the mirror.

I was sexually excited but pissed he hadn’t fully made notice that I was now him and maybe that wasn’t exactly convenient for me.

I walked over to him and grabbed him firmly on both shoulders and looked in straight in the eyes. “So am I now dismissed now?, discarded and forgotten now that you find yourself in a rather young buff body?”

He pushed me off of him saying, “Listen hot shot- it wasn’t me that put on your clothes now was it?!” “I suppose you had some kinky reason and I wont get into that right now but wasn’t it your hope to assume my body or at least feel what it would be like to be in it?” “So now you have it and from that boner in your pants I trust you like it!” He said with an arrogance I could not believe was coming out of that body.

“Well listen here - it may have been a sudden desire, but I think it’s worn off now and I would like to get my body back and continue on my way home!” I with a stern expression on my face.

He began pacing a bit, thinking he could make a deal with me, all the time rubbing his hard chest and feeling his new package between his legs.

“You know possession is 9 tenths of the law” he said like a shroud lawyer. “And well giving this fine specimen of youth back so quickly would be like returning lottery winnings, and I am not going to be such a fool as that!” “What I would propose is this- Let me remain you for a week or so- let me fulfill my fantasies both physically and sexually and then I might consider swapping back again.”

“You are headed for Vegas I presume?”

“Well yes” I said nervously.

“Well that’s where I was headed to, but now there is a twist- I go to Vegas as a 28 year old jock instead of a 42 year old vacationing Nurse and the dynamics of my vacation have now changed, don’t you agree?.”

“But wait, my family is expecting me and this is a time when I spend time with my brother, in fact I was planning a great holiday week with him!” I told him in a sympathetic voice.

“Shit, Shit, Shit- always complications aren’t there?” he said with a smirk on his face and I shook my head yes hoping that was reason enough for him to give in and return my body.

“OK - but this is the plan” he said fiddling his fingers like a high roller would do.

“It was these clothes that made us change and these clothes that will change us back, but once were back in our original bodies, I am taking your soiled clothes I am wearing as collateral- after one week I will put these clothes on and the swap will be permanent!”

All I could think of at the moment is my family and their feelings. So I shook my head yes and he took off my dirty clothes and I took off his and gave them to him. He put on his clothes and I proceeded to put on the clothes I was going to change into in the first place.

Within a few seconds I was experiencing the transformation back to my youth and firm toned body and he was returning to his age of 42 and getting taller – loosing all the tight firm muscle he just had. I was now in my clean boxer briefs and shorts, leaving him with my soiled ones for him to recapture my body when my week was up.

I just wanted to get out of there and head on down the road with even more reason to get to Vegas fast. As I began to leave he gave me his card-

Keith Young

Registered Nurse

With his address and phone number on it also.

I put the card in my shorts pocket and turned to leave and he grabbed my arm.

“Listen, I am really a nice guy as you’ll come to find out, it is just that my desire is to be in a body just like yours!” He said with as serious face.

“Listen man, under different circumstances, maybe a different time and place- maybe this would have been a mutual desire, but I over stepped my better judgment and invaded your privacy by trying on your clothes.” “I had every desire to want to be in your body, but right now was not the right time to experiment.” I said.

I gave him his card back and told him to write down his hotel name and I would try to call him during the week and we could work out the details of the final swap and he smiled and wrote all the information down.

Handing me back the card we both smiled and I walked up to him and gave him a deep kiss on the lips and grabbed his tented pants. “By the way, my name is Mark Gordon and your cock is rock hard!”

“Nice being you Mark” he said and I winked at him and said, “Could you see your way and maybe help me relieve this boner I have?”

I took a good look at his pants and couldn’t say no, so as he unbuckled his pants, I got on my knees and awaited his thick cock. He took it out of his briefs and I grabbed on to his waist to bring his cock deep into my throat. I began sucking him, but he took over and began to fuck my face. All I could hear is the moaning and grunting as he pumped my head with his rock hard cock. But with the furry of his rhythm I could tell he wanted to be me more than anything and when he finally let loose his load, I knew this would be the cream my body would be making in the near future. I swallowed it all and even cleaned off his cock. One more kiss and he sent me off slapping my tight ass as I left the room.

All the way home I could not get Keith’s face and body out of my mind. I knew I had one week left as Mark and I would make it the best I could. My shorts remained tented the rest of the way home.

When I got home finally, it was all hugs and kisses from my mom and a big hug from my 15 year old brother, who was going to pee his pants if he couldn’t share his secret with me. Once things settled down and we had eaten, my brother Kevin and I went up to his room where he was going to reveal is secret to me.

Since we shared rooms this time, I started to get ready for a shower and took off all my clothes. While I was busy doing that, Kevin had done something behind my back and just then the bottom fell out of my stomach and I felt light headed and not quite myself. In fact I was not my self at all because looking down at my chest and stomach, I was flatter than a pancake and my cock was small and my pubic hair seemed to have vanished.

As I glanced his way, I fell back on my bed in shock as standing in front of me was a duplicate of myself in just boxer briefs- in fact the pair I left here at Christmas time.

“Whoa what the fuck!” I shouted.

“I am me Kevin, but in your body- so what do you think bro?” he said with a smile. I stood there shaking in a body that was pushing puberty “What do I think?” “I think I am now my hairless brother!”

I got up and walked around him- looking at an exact clone of myself, and except for the fact I was 6 months younger and had a thicker goatee, it was me alright.

“But how?” I shouted.

“It is the most remarkable thing Mark, after finding your boxer briefs stuffed under the spare bed, I couldn’t help but miss you and put them on late one night early in the morning. I almost instantly began to transform into you and because I not quite through puberty yet, becoming you made me as horny as hell. I took on your hot body and couldn’t control myself. I jacked off really scared but exploded like never before. I took up boxer briefs off and put mine on again and changed back because I wasn’t sure whether you had changed as well. Since I didn’t hear from you and because I did it at 3am in the morning I was sure it happened while you were fast asleep.”

So now that I showed you, I will take them off promptly!” He went on.

“No please leave them on Kevin for a moment I haven’t been 15 in a while.”

So I walked around looking at his body in the mirror and noticing how much smaller his cock was than mine then I turned to Kevin and said, “would you mind if I jacked off in your body- you certainly know what jerking off in mine is like don’t you?”

Kevin began to laugh and said, “Sure Mark, but it wont be like yours I can tell you that and the consistency of my cum isn’t like yours either- kind of watery and not as white as yours!”

While Kevin explained to me what to expect, I began to jack him off right in front of the mirror and right away I knew it was going to be different. I thought of Keith and his thick boner as I made Kevin’s 4 inches rock hard. As I worked it hard, Kevin was watching intensely and I turned to him and said – “jack my body too” and without thinking he whipped out my 7 inches and we were jacking off together.

My build up was not as impressive as my own, but I was able to get a relatively good sensation. His immature ball sacs released what it could and when I was ready I spurted a nice watery load with bits of white streaks in it that quickly made a puddle on the tile floor in front of me.

Kevin was laying down on his bed making the most of his second chance to cum in my body, and was edging himself to make it last longer. It was very erotic watching sweat bead up on my muscular body as he was grinding away at my cock. Soon he couldn’t hold it back any more and it was strange hearing my voice moaning and shouting as it released its cargo. Just like at the rest stop – hearing my voice coming out of someone else seemed very erotic.

Two thick white ropes of creamy cum shot out of him and back down on his chest and then one more spurt took the balance of his sac supply and then he just lay back breathing heavy.

“Holy fuck Mark that was so hot! He said rubbing his hard chest and stomach.

“Nice job, Kevin”, I said as I walked over to slide my boxer briefs off him and proceeded to slide his back on him.

“OH fuck no” he shouted as I forced his on him over his still throbbing cock. In seconds his cock got smaller and his body began its journey back to age 15 and I put the boxer briefs on I had just removed from him and returned to my own body, but this time I was 6 months younger and as I said my goatee was a bit thicker.

“God what a rush that was!” I shouted. Kevin turned and said, “Yeah try coming back the other way!” and started to clean off his cum coated stomach.

The week was very interesting after that and Kevin and I did this swap several times before I had to go home. In fact the week went by so fast I forgot to call Keith and I was sure he was getting pissed at me.

It was the night before I was to leave and I called to try and catch Keith in time before he put my clothes back on. Luckily I caught him and although he was mad I hadn’t called earlier we kind of got through that and made our plans for the future. Little did I know my brother Kevin had plans of his own for the future and that last night as we swapped bodies again, he must have slipped a sleeping pill into my soft drink and I over slept.

While I slept up stairs like a baby in his 15 year old body, he was showering in my body and making plans to sneak out and head back to phoenix as me. OH the excitement of jacking in the shower and feeling the spray of water over his tight muscular body- this is the life he thought to himself. However, while he dried off and was getting ready to sneak into my clothes to get dressed, Keith was in his hotel room preparing to put on my soiled boxer briefs and shorts from the rest stop.

As Kevin flexed in the mirror, Keith was doing that very thing. With in minutes poor Kevin was watching my body age and get taller- skin tone and body features were changing fast and he was about to shit himself as Keith’s final shape to form right in front of him.

“JESUS CHRIST – WHAT THE FUCK HAPPENED” - HE SHOUTED”

I awoke instantly and saw the time and then saw Kevin and I knew exactly what must to have happened.

I jumped up and calmed him down and tried to explain what had happened to me at the rest stop, but the jump from 28 to 42 years was making him psychotic and I quickly slid his original underwear on fast to sooth him. As he transformed back into his 15 year old body I told him he must have had a nightmare. The shock and stress made him tired and he just fell back to sleep. He may have fainted, but I suppose it was best he was out like a light.

Now I was still in Kevin’s body and I grabbed my real underwear and slipped into the bathroom while Kevin went back to sleep.

I got back to my own body and then showered and got ready – kissed my mom and drove off- my plan with Keith was to meet once more at the rest stop, to finalize our plans, but I would have to meet him now regardless to get his clothes and change into him as I was supposed to by now anyway.

When we met I had to make an excuse that I over slept and had to change back so as not to scare my brother and mom- he believed me and gave me a pair of his worn jockeys so that we could finally consummate our deal. I was ready to be Keith and head to his home town in Ohio and let him assume my life in Phoenix. After I had undressed and slid on his soiled briefs, and the transformation into Keith’s body was complete, Keith was totally boned in my clothes at watching me transform into him and I knew what I would be doing next.

He whipped out his new young cock and I went to my knees and began to suck him off, but this time it was reversed as I was him sucking him as me. Again he grabbed my head and fucked my face and at that moment I knew I was going to enjoy this. His firm body was pumping me fast and I grabbed onto his tight bubble butt for some balance. I was getting used to hearing my former voice moaning and it was making me hard like magic.

Soon his rich young cream was pumping down my throat and his moans were so wonderful to hear. With a smiling face and sweaty chest he put his cock back into his boxer briefs and buttoned his shorts.

“You have made me the happiest man alive!” He said. And coming back to my feet I grinned and said, “Enjoy every moment of it young man!” And we kissed our final kiss till we would meet again.

See you here in a year he shouted as he pulled away in my car. And I waved good bye as he headed off and I got back into his car and headed back to live his life in Ohio.

As he pulled away I could hear my favorite tunes blasting out of his open window and smiled. “OH the wonderment of being Young I said.”

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rksakura · 5 years

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🔊: run it ( 1:10~2:49 ) performed by 💖 sakura miyawaki! trigger warnings: some anxiety. mentions: @yuzurk, @rkxkikwang, @rkgray, @yienrk, @rkchoutzuyu, @rkmason, @hyojinrk, @rkyq

sakura likes to start with the good news first, she’s got the call back to make it past the first round. she’s stepped up in another territory, one she thought she wouldn’t come far to at first but she was proven wrong. she shouldn’t be storing disbelief to herself, but fill up with much more confidence if she wants to push through the battle. that’s the hard part though is being separated from some of her friends like tzuyu and kikwang. she didn’t cope up with letting go quite well as shown in her past mannerisms. she wishes that they could be on the same stage as her performing but sometimes, life doesn’t always work that way.

lies didn’t align with the australian gal, she wasn’t one to display her anxiety that’s written all over but she’s practised generating the proper facial expressions when up on the stage. it seems silly but body language was essential when performing on the stage. she couldn’t just be another body count, sakura’s made them believe that she was a vocalist at the start but offered a different dish on the table with some rapping fire! in fact, she was more of a rapper than a high-note belting singer ( she wasn’t at that peak at all ). so she spends most of her days, other than tending to the aquarium and her daily dose of school, she was working on what song she should perform next.

when it comes to rapping in front of a huge stage and the whole world watching then she best prepares to give it all she’s got. most importantly, keep up the same energy and flow when on the stage! she couldn’t break the chain of the words she’s about to memorise, sakura ran trial through the verses a couple of times and tried out styles that complimented her vocal mixture with rapping and how the instrumental went. that’s how her nights pass by until the bright lights and cameras are flashing all over the area. she’s not coming up first in the short line of female rappers, sakura was one of the few last as her last name started with an m. thank god for now, it serves as a good excuse pass but she shouldn’t rely on that too much.

she has to break the bad habits of letting anxiousness overwhelm her, she can’t deliver that on the stage when she’s meant to perform a rap that’s the polar opposite of her physical epitome and markings! sakura wants to break the poor judgments about her, being called too soft and cute to even rap. the only way that she can cut through is by continuing what she loved to do. the assignment, from what she’s been told is to showcase an ( ultimately, dominant ) skillset. sakura’s prepared her resources efficiently. she’s ( somewhat ) ready for the big day!

since facial recognition serves with influences on votes, she can’t look dead. she rises from her bed with a decent amount of energy but it isn’t enough to deliver a good verse. once she sips down her green tea, it’ll wake her up eventually. she doesn’t consume a huge meal in the morning as it takes some energy to muster eating a great portion but she’s good with a blueberry muffin and her everyday tea. it’s time to at least look like a presentable human being, sakura needs to cover her dark circles that are formed over the past few nights as she’s become obsessed with her work. she puts on some bb cream and concealer to cover it, lip gloss at the shade of light pink, natural to her colour. with her choice of attire, she fits something that’s comfortable with the weather today, a light blue denim skirt and some high ankle socks, her top was an off-shoulder pastel purple blouse that was tucked in her denim skirt. she’s wearing a pair of sneakers which won’t be too hard on her feet standing all day in long queues. when she leaves her house, it’s taking the commute down the building! she shoves her earphones gently in her ears and makes it to her desired destination.

after some time, she’s reached the grounds and greets some of the familiar faces she’s spotting right off the bat. hyojin makes her days better when it comes to this setting, sometimes it’s unsettling but she escapes that torment of anxiety when she sees his gorgeous smile. mason’s also there, she greets the older brother figure and stops by for a brief hug ( his presence was surely enlightening as she’s known him for like forever ) before she turns her direction elsewhere then catches yuqi, a fellow rapper and one she doesn’t intend to make an enemy out of. despite the mnet global auditions being regarded as a highly competitive stake, she’s still able to manage the joy she finds in her friends. she’ll never toss anyone over a reality television show. she can only show support and that’s about it!

hope for the best, after all? she pulls yena into a reassuring hug prior to walking out on the stage, the music playing as sakura makes her presence known. “hi guys! sakura again here and today, i’ll be showing you guys something else!” she puts up two fingers, showing off a ‘peace’ sign, winking and holds the mic tightly closer to her mouth to start spitting out her lines. the instrumental plays, she’s rapping over the beat.

ya hold up 구름다리 굴러가듯 무음 걸어 뭐든 힘든 거니까 라고 말한 무책임 성공가는 계속 들어 백기 들어 백길 언제 들어 걸어 야 뺏긴 후에 안 뺏길 걸 ya i know it big boy 얘 앞길에서 비켜 ya i know it big boy 니 이마에 비췄어 뒤쳐 지기도 지쳐서 너는 노를 저었지 각을 재기 전에 각을 잡았지 make it boogie make it boogie switch move it make a movie

the beat was moving at a much faster pace, one that’s at a higher tempo than she usually raps to but she’s learned to adjust to this kind of technique. it’s all about breath control which she’s learned a trick or two from her choir classes. she’s jumping up on the stage, smiling but with a serious expression on her face as she couldn’t be overflowing with aegyo with this kind of theme. sakura has to communicate with her charisma she’s been taught by her mentors, gray. other influences like yien and luna keep her up to become a strong rapper. she only takes a slight break but then hits it back with another verse!

일동 홀렸지 백문이 불여일견 보기 전에 부정이 널 가로막으니까 넌 그걸 부숴 두벌식의 키보드가 만든 편견 check it 누구에겐 폭력이지 쳇바퀴만 도는 하루 어때 너넨 이게 제 자리로 보이니 잿밥에만 고이는 쟤 침이 못 이긴 땀이 너를 바꾸지

she’s led to the path of a singer for a couple of seconds but it’s a nice switch, smooth and the transition clean with her soft vocals complementing the track. before she hits the notes, sakura pulls the microphone away and releases a breath and pulls her control back together. the singing isn’t going to overshadow any of her rap, hopefully. she’s got some of her australian colours unveiling, the english part covered easily.

baby oh the world is yours i'll give it to you can you hear me tell me oh your visions you make them come true you know we run it run it

we run it yah 챙길 건 챙겨 너를 위해 we run it yah 지금부터는 너의 시대 we run it 정상을 향해 boy where we at i just do it i just do it i just do it i just do it

it seems that the last few verses are much easier than the opening, she seems to catch her breath control easier when it comes to this time. she’s not getting all tongue-twisted with the korean lyrics, she’s able to enunciate it correctly along with the occasional english. she isn’t afraid to show any of her foreigner roots off, sakura lets her australian accent emphasize on her rap when it’s switching over to english. it makes it a unique attribute and kind of a signature mark as there weren’t many female australian rappers in south korea.

chasing dreams i got the feel 멈출 순 없어 i love the thrill i'm a beast i got to kill 두렵지 않아 i got the will 내 꿈을 향해 달리고 포기 따윈 없어 never no grind it out just lose control when it all falls down it's dominos you know i'll get up and try again i can see the light again 날개를 펴고 fly again winning is my vitamin yeah run this game i just get it once i got it i don't lose it grinding through these bumps and bruises i'm the best and i just proved it

she wants to end the day with nothing but good vibes. but the last few lines take her back to when her hopeful friends dreams are shattered due to the process of elimination but she’ll strive and fight on for them. sakura can put her name out there on stage and not just be another cute face. once the song ends, the lights dim out and then the light’s on sakura once more and all she can do is smile, “thank you guys for your time! thank you for your support and please support my friends!” she still wants to share generosity by involving the ones she cares for. before she takes the exit door, she bows to the judges and other contestants politely. “have a good day everyone!” the cuteness aura catches up to her, for sakura it’s something she can’t avoid.

#*solo.journey*#*mga.5*#rkmga5skill #rkmga5 #*tw:anxiety*#*mentions*#yuzurk #rkxkikwang #rkchoutzuyu #hyojinrk #rkluna #rkgray #yienrk #rkmason #rkyq #( she's not just trying to be cute but is cute at the end... )#( wc: 1315! )#( interview coming up in the next few days when my back doesn't hurt- )

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paranetics · 6 years

Note

also drarry, 24

24. “You’re the only one I trust to do this.”

Harry’s socked feet slide against the wooden tiles of his kitchen, pace rapid-fire switching from sleepy to hurried as Nimh yowls, tangling her body with his ankles.

“You’re not a famine victim,” he admonishes her even as he pours a little extra into her bowl. Straightening, he casts a Tempus and realises that it is, in fact, just past four p.m. and Draco is late. “Bloody Slytherins,” he mutters. The pettiness of the statement is left unappreciated, alone except for the company of his cat.

He wanders to the front room, stares at the heavy floral drapes and considers drawing them for a moment for no other reason than to look up and down the street for Draco, but he hasn’t drawn his curtains in ages and decides, wand dangling uselessly from his fingertips, that he’d really rather not. This house, the one he’s chosen to lock himself inside, is chock full of ghosts and memories half-buried beneath dust.

Harry spends a lot of time these days going through boxes, piecing together parts of Sirius’ life, collecting little scraps of stories of the other erased Black family members. He’d had Hermione and Ron help remove the portrait in the hall, the stench of Dark magic hasn’t completely deserted that part of the house, an angry black charred mark stained permanently where she had been, then told them to bugger off and live life, he’d do the rest.

He hasn’t done much, these days, mostly spends his nights and days wandering number 12, Nimh trailing him, silent and pale, like a ghost where he’s supposed to be living. Standing morosely, staring at nothing, it takes a couple of minutes for Harry to register the familiar three-part knock.

“You’re late,” Harry accuses crossly when he yanks open the door.

“Sorry, sorry,” he says, shuffling past Harry and undoing his coat at the same time. He genuinely sounds it, too.

Draco dumps his coat and scarf unceremoniously on Harry’s coatrack, beelining for the kitchen, grabbing the gelato container off the counter, knowing without asking that it’s for him, that Hermione brought it over, and knowing that Harry left it to thaw for him. He reaches for Harry’s spoons and digs in, aware that it’s already gone cookie-dough soft.

“Didn’t keep you long, did I?” he asks around the spoon.

Harry sneers at him. “Thought Malfoys were brought up with manners.”

Draco shrugs. “You don’t exactly inspire extreme cleanliness.”

Harry shrugs back, hoping his expression is sharp and mocking, but suspects he only lands somewhere around vaguely fond. Draco’s eyes crinkle at the corners, and he winces, hard, when he leans against the counter. Harry tilts his head at him.

“You okay?” he asks.

He’s never asked before, but they’re friends now, or – sort of. Something. Harry doesn’t trust anyone these days, but eventually, he’d had to give in. Draco used to sit outside on his porch, looking all sorts of miserable, last dredges of February snow settling on his shoulders and melting in his eyelashes. He was the Daily Prophet’s last resort, every other reporter and newswriter thrown firmly away when Harry’s front door had launched fireballs at them. All except Draco, who’d just stepped neatly to the side and gazed long-sufferingly up at Harry’s shuttered windows and yelled that he knew that Potter was hiding, and what, is he a coward now, he who faced the Dark Lord won��t even answer his front door.

Draco was meant to gather material on him for the new wireless show that the Prophet runs on the radio. He hasn’t said anything about Harry. Harry would know, he listens to it, the neat mish-mash of Muggle and Wizard pop, to soothing classical at night. He likes Draco’s morning show the best, he runs it with a muggle-born called Mark with a slow American drawl and wit just as quick as Draco’s, enjoys listening to them sniping at each other while reading the weather and other trashy celebrity stories.

“You should meet him,” Draco had remarked once, in the early days, standing by Harry’s dead fireplace, shivering. “He’d like you, and Mark doesn’t like anybody.”

Harry hadn’t said no way back then, and he won’t say yes now. Since then Ron and Hermione had started building a tentative relationship with Draco, by dropping by and exchanging books and various gossip, mostly about Ministry folk, all of them that Draco remembers. Molly still makes Draco wildly uncomfortable, so does Ginny, but she’s with Blaise now, so Harry suspects he sees her much more than any of the other Weasleys.

He doesn’t think of her much these days, what with almost eight years behind them. She comes by once in awhile, red-cheeked and grinning, and Harry’ll hug her and take the bread from her arms and congratulate her on making her way in the Quidditch world while Hermione eyes him warily over the top of her coffee mug.

They’re worried for him, they don’t say, staying locked up and hating the idea of exposing himself, his screwed up head, to the disappointment of the whole world. Draco has, at least, started to attempt to establish something normal in Harry’s life, dropping by every day and just… talking. It hadn’t been like that after Harry had first let him in, snappish and tense and Harry’s magic had crackled so brightly you could taste it in the air, scrape your fingernails against the wooden boards of the wall and come away feeling electric.

“I’m fine,” Draco says, too late to be convincing.

“Okay,” Harry says slowly, hoisting himself up onto the counter next to the stove. He swings his feet, heels banging against the cupboard. “Tell me what kept you, then.”

“Someone’s stealing from my coffee stash,” Draco answers immediately. “Someone who runs the evening show. I’m investigating,” he adds imperiously, top lip smeared with chocolate.

Harry smiles, indulgent. “I’m sure. Who did you run into on the way here?”

Draco pauses, eyes widening minutely. Harry’s smile stretches into a grin, delighted his guess had been right, probably not doing anything to discourage the suspicion Draco has that Harry might be a Seer.

He looks away, down at Nimh who rubs her tabby-cat hair all over the ankles of Draco’s trousers, wiping the smudge away with his thumb. “Nobody,” he mumbles.

Harry leaves it, deciding he won’t push where he’s not wanted to push. Suggests he’ll read some James Bond aloud, tatty copies Ron left when Harry had first started complaining of boredom and simultaneously expressing worrying amounts of venom towards the telly. Draco says yes, looking relieved.

They curl up in front of Harry’s fireplace, still coated with dark ash. Harry settles on the plush rug, cracks open the spine of Goldfinger, one they’ve read before, and falls into the familiar cadence of the words. Draco’s laying on his back on the sofa, stroking Nimh, who’s lounging on Draco’s stomach. When Harry catches sight of them, Draco’s eyes closed, Nimh purring as he strokes her, the knuckles of his other hand dragging against the carpet, mismatched socked feet tucked against the armrest, Harry’s voice stutters and falls away.

Draco cracks open an eye and catches Harry staring at him, dry-mouthed and heart beating too fast.

“Lord, Potter, you look like you’re having gas,” he says.

Harry pulls a face immediately. “Charming.”

“You think so,” Draco says, turning away and making himself more comfortable. “Come on, then. We’re not even at the good part.”

–

It’s four a.m., five a.m., some undesirable time when Harry wakes, shooting up in bed, heart in his throat, blood rushing in his veins. There are items in his room floating about, magic gone haywire with whatever panic his dream was. It’s pouring outside, he realizes, the heavy torrent-slash-hurricane outside momentarily drowned out by his own panting, and Harry times his breaths with the beat of the wind knocking something around outside.

Distantly, Harry hears Nimh yowl and screech downstairs. He sighs out, savours the warmth of his bed before he gets up and putters down the stairs, sticking his glasses on his face and casting Lumos at the same time.

He freezes, horrified, in the pitch-black of his sitting room when he hears the faint three-part knock Draco uses, and Nimh meows, desperate, in response. Harry almost trips over her and the carpet in the entryway, trying to get the door open. Late night visits have always been bad, and eight years haven’t washed away the memory of living in constant terror. He throws it open and Draco tumbles in, groaning. Harry catches him before he hits the ground.

He’s soaking wet and Harry’s door immediately becomes a puddle, Harry struggling to drag Draco inside and close the door at the same time.

“Ugh,” Draco murmurs, and that’s when Harry sees the blood.

He doesn’t freeze, even though he’s never been good at seeing his friends in pain (Ron, on the ground in the forest, groaning with incoherence, fingers searching blindly for Harry or Hermione or both, skin stark white, freckles a sick, sharp contrast, flashes in his mind). He kicks the door shut and manages, somehow, to drop Draco onto the sofa and peel off his blood-stained, rainwater-soaked coat.

Draco shivers, lips blue, white shirt almost all the way red, hair plastered to his forehead. Harry gives up and finally, after years gone unused, lights a fire in the grate and kneels down in front of Draco, gently casting warming charms.

“What the fuck,” Harry says. “Why aren’t you at Saint Mungo’s?”

“D-d-don’t,” Draco tries and Harry shushes him. “I don’t want,” he says, stubbornly, “a-a-any-anyone but you. You’re the only one I trust to-to-to do this.”

Harry’s hands slow on the buttons of Draco’s shirt, helping him shrug it off so he can see. The skin on his back is the worst, stripped raw, tiny little pinpricks that have blood gathering at their opening. It looks like he was poked all over with a needle, deep enough and hard enough to draw blood, enough to satisfy someone with a problem.

“Okay, okay,” Harry whispers to himself, braces his palm against Draco’s knee and casts all the healing charms Ron taught him, back when Ron started Healer training.

Draco hisses, sharp and painful, digs one of his hands into Harry’s shoulder, like he wants to push him away and pull him closer at the same time, unsure which to pick. Nimh meows, soft and curious, trekking across the back of the sofa.

When Harry finishes, done the best he can, he makes Draco wear one of his too-big Weasely sweaters, puts him in drawstring pants and makes him sleep in Harry’s bed. He’s too wired to sleep, so he stands in his kitchen for hours, sipping the same mug of coffee, watching his Tempus charm tick from the wee hours of the morning to the afternoon, blood gone angry, magic crackling in his hands, flinging all the ceramic pots on his neighbour’s windowsill to the concrete below. Harry times his breaths with the sound of the terracotta hitting the ground. Crack, crack, smash.

–

Draco comes downstairs half-way between noon and afternoon, looking pale and sallow – and that’s saying something. Draco hasn’t eaten much in the years after Hogwarts, gotten notoriously bad at taking care of himself, doesn’t look like a healthy weight.

“You look like shit,” Harry says instead of all the things he wants to say. You’re alive, I’m glad and you have no idea how worried I am and I thought we were friends, what’s going on, please tell me.

Draco says, “Smells like there’s a hypocrite living in your skin, Potter.”

Which, okay, fine, maybe.

Draco’s eyes are cautious, movement slow and careful, like he’s trying not to startle a wild deer. Harry should be treating him like this, Harry ain’t the one that showed up in the middle of the night, half-frozen and soaked in blood and sky-jizz.

Harry pushes a plate of bacon sandwiches toward him, kept under a warming charm, and waits for Draco to finish eating before he asks, “So what happened?”

Draco shrugs.

Harry sighs, looks up at the ceiling. “Look,” Harry says. “I’d really like you to tell me.”

“Okay,” Draco says, slight reluctance at the base of his vocal chords.

“Because, you know, we’re friends now, or–” Harry stops. “Wait. Really? Okay?”

Draco sighs. “I probably should’ve told you sooner.”

Harry keeps his vehement agreement inside, stomps it down with the rest of the speech he’d spent those hours alone rehearsing.

“I mean, there’s this group of guys that loiter in Diagon Ally, just outside where I work, you know. They don’t like me, understandably, I think they were veterans or,” Draco shrugs. “Sometimes they follow me. Cast stinging hexes, calling out rubbish. It’s distasteful, especially since I did, you know, apologize.”

Harry remembers, sometime in March, figuring out the crochet needles, the way his lungs dropped to his knees when Draco, twenty-one, tired and just starting to re-learn who Harry Potter is, went on air and talked about his involvement with Voldemort.

Mark, who hadn’t grown up here, seemed rather surprised at the story, murmuring, “You never had a problem with me.”

Draco, saying, “People grow up, life goes on. Either you accept it or you end up with part of yourself locked up. You get stagnant, fall out of the loop of life.”

They’d fought that day, like they were back at school, hard and childish and Harry’s magic filling the house to the brim with the taste of iron, pissed that Draco would say that on the air, Draco snapping waspishly that neither of them had realized that they were still on the air, that maybe the reason Harry was taking it so personally because it was true.

Almost four years ago now, Harry thinks with some surprise.

“I was heading in early, I was going catch the coffee thief. There were more than usual,” Draco laughs, sardonic. “I didn’t hear them over the sound of the rain.”

–

Harry’s heart stutters painfully, standing in between the door and the concrete steps leading to the sidewalk, reminding himself he doesn’t have to go, he doesn’t have to listen to the fury that sets in his chest.

But Harry’s always wanted to avenge the people he loves, always been stopped by people more sensible than him, forced to let emotion wash over like waves crashing over more waves in an ocean. He thinks of Sirius here, with a pang, then Remus and Dumbledore.

That’s what makes him take his first steps out, flipping the hood of Hermione’s Oxford hoodie over his head, drawing Sirius’ old leather jacket tighter around his shoulders, tucking his hands in the pockets of his denims and quickens his pace. It’s eleven p.m. so Harry passes almost completely unnoticed, and no one who sees him recognizes him or cares.

He draws up to them, four guys leaning against the concrete brick building of the robe dry cleaner’s across from the wireless building where Draco runs his show. Harry recognizes it from Hermione’s description, she’d come in excited the day after guest starring, half-giddy and half-patronizing, saying Harry ought to visit it, isn’t it such a nice place.

Harry takes off the hood and tilts his head. It doesn’t take them long to notice him, takes them a nanosecond to recognize his scar.

“Hi,” Harry says, false cheer, conversationally. “My name’s Harry Potter. From what I understand, there’s a man from over there,” Harry waves vaguely behind him. “He’s got a Death Eater mark. His name is Draco Malfoy.”

The guys glance at each other nervously.

“What’s he gotta do with us?” one of the blokes asks bravely.

Harry flashes a smile that isn’t friendly at all. “You touch him again and you won’t get a second warning. If you fought in the war, if you remember what it felt like,” Harry shakes his head. “I didn’t fight for this, reckon you didn’t really, either. I don’t care about your petty revenge. Voldemort righted wrongs with violence. We don’t do that. He doesn’t deserve to be hurt.

“And besides,” Harry calls over his shoulder as he turns away, “people grow up. Life goes on.”

When he gets home the door is ajar, and he can hear Draco’s voice talking to Nimh, pitched low, and she meows anxiously, reacting to his pacing. Harry pauses in the doorway and stares at him, hand rucking up his perfectly styled hair, waving his wand around. He calls Harry’s name once, into the air, like a hopeful question, like this isn’t the first time he’s asked.

“Yes?” Harry says, from the doorway.

Draco spins to him, wand brandished, then relief breaks the scowl on his face and his eyes widen. “You’re outside,” he says.

“Astute observation skills,” Harry remarks, stepping inside and making sure the door’s locked when he closes it this time. “Those guys won’t bother you anymore.”

Harry watches as Draco rakes his eyes over Harry, cataloguing the dirt on his body, the reddened mark on his jaw, the flecks of blood on his knuckles. He’d punched one of the guys when they’d jeered after him, calling Draco purist scum. Hermione would deny that even now, these days. It’d not been pretty.

Draco meets his eyes again, bright and grateful, and he strides up to Harry, presses him into the doorway and kisses him. Harry makes a surprised sound, brain going offline at the first brush of Draco’s mouth against his. He’s cold from the night air but Draco is a hot, long line against his body. Unsure what to do with his hands, Harry clenches them at his sides, then puts them on Draco’s shoulders, wants to push him away and pull him closer at the same time, unsure which to pick.

Draco’s hand slides along his jaw, fingertips brushing the raw spot that’s sure to bruise later, angling Harry’s head as he kisses back, dizzy.

“Oh, hello,” Harry says, when Draco pulls away, hands sliding down to his waist, keeping him close.

“Hi,” Draco says back, smiling. Harry thinks of chocolate smeared on his top lip, thinks of Draco curled up on his couch, of Draco wearing his jumper.

“What’s this, then?” Harry can’t help but ask, even though he knows he’s smiling big enough to crack his face.

“This is me trusting you,” Draco says very seriously. “Like trusting the big scary world for an hour in order to punch someone.”

Harry nods, deciding to go with it. “I’m familiar with the metaphor.”

Draco laughs, a helpless little goose-honk sound that Harry had never imagined Draco could make when they were at school. Just for that, Harry decides to kiss him again.

(this is. a drabbleFAIL……. i’m so sorry. unashamedly inspired by Natasha’s On a Clear Day – which is such a great fic. check it out.)

send me a prompt and a ship + i’ll write a drabble!

#drarry #answer #harry potter

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dannyphantomisameme · 6 years

Text

Not What I Want

~ Chapter 3 ~

(Click for prologue, chapter 1, chapter 2, and fan fiction link)

Once again he found himself dragging his body through the devoid halls, his clothes drenched in ectoplasm. His head throbbed in agony, pulsating with each step he took. Walking down the halls took all the energy he had. He had mopped up the final remains of Ember, cleansing the the floors and walls till they were spotless. Muscles aching, his stomach grumbled with the realization that he hadn’t eaten lunch. No worries, dinner was in another hour. He could wait.

The image of Ember’s face haunted his soul. Maybe she was in a better place now, hopefully. Although the afterlife was a safe haven from fullon nonexistence, no one knew what happened when a ghosts core was fractured.

Ember knows now.

He regretted his actions dearly. The metaphorical hand of failure wrapped around his neck and squeezed till he could no longer breathe. However, he was half-ghost, so he didn’t need the intake of oxygen. His father would definitely reprimand his antagonistic actions the moment he saw him.

What was he thinking? Playing hero for Ember, ha. He could never abscond from his father without his notice. He really was a fool, instilling hope in the innocent ghost. He began to chuckle at his own stupidity, his voice echoing throughout the deserted hall.

Once he reached his room, he opened the door and slipped in. He continued his daily routine after hurting a ghost. Typically the hunt for the ghost took two or three days max, but Ember was an exception. He knew where to find her, although he wished he didn’t. Removing his clothes, he stepped into the shower.

Usually his showers were relaxing, but this time all he felt was remorse, suffering, heartache, etc. He scrubbed his body, but he felt as if dirt and grit remained. It was attached to him, coating his skin and spreading until it covered every inch. He couldn’t eradicate himself of his behavior, just like the memories he couldn’t expel from his mind.

Drying himself, he wrapped the towel around his waist and shoved his dirty clothes into his laundry hamper. The basket was spilling out with clothes covered in the green substance. He needed to do his laundry soon, before his father came for his weekly room inspection.

Walking out of his bathroom, he dressed himself in his brand-named clothes and made sure to comb his damp hair. He looked at himself in the mirror, grimacing at the scar that ran across the right side of his forehead. Luckily, the wound lay hidden under his bangs.

Next he sat on his couch and polished his shoes. Wiping away the ghostly matter with a towel, he scowled at the lemony scent that tackled his nose. He continued to rub the remains of his only friend away as he tried not to breathe. Finishing, he slipped his socks and shoes on, discarding the now green towel.

Looking up, he noticed the dreariness outside the window. The gray sky was littered with altostratus clouds as the trees swayed through the rigid wind. Bits of snow fell and grazed the yellowing grass. Icicles hung from the bare trunks of the trees, awaiting their moment to descend into the blanket of snow. He always desired to sit in the luscious grass on a warm summer day and read a good book. Maybe a sci-fi. The light from the sun that streamed through the windows always warmed his heart, like a loving family should.

The only view from the windows of the entire mansion were of a forest. No other signs of life could be seen, even the natural wildlife. He never witnessed a squirrel scurry across the snow or a bird fly through the sky. Daniel never understood why his father chose to build his home within a forest, but then again, he never understood his father in general. The man was so vague, only demanding his son to follow his every whim. Finally, he ripped his gaze away from the window and took off to the hall.

Dreading the upcoming encounter with his father, he trekked down the stairs and into the dining hall, sitting down in his spot. His father sat paging through a newspaper, waiting for his son to join him. Lucy entered the room from the kitchen with two full trays of food. The chef had prepared a delicious turkey salisbury steak with broccoli and mashed potatoes on the side. Daniel never had a preference for dinner, he just ate whatever without a complaint. Plus if he made the slightest complaint, he would be terribly injured by the end of his sentence.

Just as he picked up his fork, his father set down his newspaper. Vlad’s mouth, which had previously formed a straight line, began to curl upwards. His demonic grin was enough to make Daniel sick to his stomach.

Daniel felt the urge to run to his room and speed away from his worst nightmare. He gripped the table to avert his attention away from fleeing. His heart palpitated fiercely within his chest, triggering the release of cortisol, a blood-pressure increasing hormone. His breathing began to pick up the pace, rapidly shortening in length.

Vlad placed his hands on the table, curling his fingers together. Eyeing his son, Vlad opened his mouth to speak, only to be intruded by Daniel.

“Why did you do that? She could have been useful.” he interrupted speaking softly. Vlad sat there, gawking at his son.

“Since when did you question my actions?” Vlad replied growling. His fangs started to peak from his frown.

“Everyday.” Daniel’s voice echoed through the room. Fortunately, the kitchen staff couldn’t hear him through the sound proof walls, his father made sure of that when he built the mansion.

Vlad was shocked at his son’s assertion. He never once talked back in his life or looked so confident doing so, until now. “Did you just talk back to me?”

“Yes.” The food was getting colder.

Vlad stood up suddenly, swinging his arm at the table and knocking down a wine glass. The liquid coated the floor like a bloodstain while the glass shattered into a million filaments. Leaning over the table, he whispered “Don’t you ever disobey me again. Understood?”

Daniel stood up; he was going to be in immense trouble for this. “No.” he deadpanned as he starred his father in the eye.

Vlad shook his head in disbelief. His son was in it for now. “How dare you, you son of a bitch! I provide you with this luxury life and this is how you repay me?!” He was shouting now, eyes glinting with hints of blood red. He swung his arm onto the table, striking it hard enough to break the edge in two. His dinner slid down towards the crack, ceramic plates exploding in every direction. Daniel flinched at the sound.

“I don’t need a luxurious life.” he replied sharply. His father began to laugh now, his chuckles ringing through the airy room.

“Don’t need me, ha.” Vlad snickered darkly, “You couldn’t even stand a single day without me.”

“Watch me.” Daniel retorted straight-faced. This time, he didn’t tremble or squeak, he asserted his ground. His hands were balled into fists, glowing ecto energy surrounding them. He stood tall, defending himself for the first time in his life.

“... devil.” the word rolled of Daniel’s tongue effortlessly.

Shit.

Vlad growled and lunged for him, but Daniel anticipated his move. Grabbing a dull silver knife off the table, he plunged it into his father’s right arm. He grunted and fell to the floor, clutching his brachium that was now spewing blood. Daniel took the opportunity to slip away by calling upon his invisibility.

Hardly escaping his father’s claws, Daniel zoomed through the dining room, flying into the main foyer. There he soared past the red curtains, adopting a zig-zag pattern in order to shake off his father, not knowing if he was following him or not. He didn’t risk looking back, in fear of witnessing his father’s devilish glare.

He took the long way to his room. Flying all the way to the other side of the mansion, up the stairs, and back to his room. He didn’t care if the staff saw him zoom past, they would only see a blur. He would have flown directly through the walls, if they weren’t ghost proof. Entering his room, he grabbed his backpack from earlier, which still held weapons, and stuffed in some clothes, snacks, and a bottle of water. He dug through his sock drawer and took out a wad of cash, shoving it into his backpack as well. He had stolen the money from his father years ago, in case of an emergency like this. He grabbed a jacket from his closet and threw it on.

The ghost shield around the mansion made it impossible to leave, so Daniel decided to tear it down. Once again returning to invisibility, he flew through the mansion. Over the years, he kept track of the rooms in the enormous estate. There were a few doors that were password protected, but only one of those doors caught his attention. Flying down the stairs he headed straight ahead into another long hall. He stopped at a black door and began pressing buttons on a keypad resting on the handle.

He typed in his father’s birthday.

Incorrect.

The day his father became a halfa.

Incorrect.

His own birthday.

Yes!

Mentally congratulating himself while simultaneously considering why the password was his birthday, he entered the room without a sound, locking it behind him. Inside were huge silver furnaces, yet the atmosphere reeked of the unforgettable smell of ectoplasm. He turned back to visible and wound his way through the eerie room while concurrently pinching his nose. He came across a silver box on the wall with a large green ‘x’ on it. He opened it swiftly, and was met with a ton of wires. Anxiously anticipating his father’s appearance, he pulled the wires with a grunt. His objective was to destroy anything that brought about suspicion.

He would have guessed that time had slowed down, as that’s what it felt like. Ripping the wires, he felt an invisible weight lift off his shoulder. He smiled; the feeling felt like nothing he had ever felt before. The sparks flew to his right as he was unexpectedly thrown into a giant silver cylinder. He groaned an sat up, only to be enclosed within a circle of fervor.

The green flames roared and scorched against his skin. He struggled to breathe, coughing intensely. This was no ordinary fire, ectoplasmic fire was a danger to all, even half-ghosts like him. Breathing in its fervent smoke could reduce one’s strength significantly. Daniel had only ever encountered the fire once in his life, fortunately escaping before intaking it, but the stories were enough to scare him.

Shuddering to move out of the room, he clutched his shirt. His lungs burned under the intense heat as the lemony aroma attacked his mind. His brain throbbed in his head, skin beginning to char. He couldn’t see through the thick smoke as he dragged himself through. His limbs protested any movement, but he ignored them. He felt defenseless. Even his ghost core felt so far away, although it was situated in his chest. He was also starving. Skipping dinner hadn’t been his brightest idea.

Suddenly he was on the ground. Something sharp clawed across his stomach, shredding his expensive clothes. He shrieked at the pain and squirmed under someone’s grasp. Through the fog he could see two glowing red orbs.

The devil.

He yelped as he forced out a shield of ectoplasm. His father was thrown off of him and into another silver furnace. Steam escaped from the now ruptured cylinder and suffused into the room. Coughing, Daniel grabbed ahold of the nearest object and brought him onto his feet. His legs were shaking, begging him to stop. He heard a groan to his right.

Trudging and clutching his injured stomach, he continued through the room. He couldn’t just walk away from his father, he needed to hide. Before he could ponder anymore, he felt a tug on his hair. His head slammed into the concrete floor below, knocking the breath out of him. His head exploded in agony, as if he was dying all over again. He felt a cold substance trickle through his hair.

Clenching his eyes shut, Daniel felt hot breath on his ear. “You will never escape, you goddamn piece of shit. You don’t understand anything. Even if you leave, you’ll never survive. The world’s too cruel for you.” he paused, catching his breath. “Your safe here.” Vlad gripped his sons hair firmly, twisting to induce more pain.

Daniel couldn’t take it anymore. Quickly opening his eyes he grabbed his father by his forearms and yeeted him across the room. The impact of his father’s body hitting the wall rang through his mind. His entire body was shaking now, but he got up once more.

“I NEVER WANTED ANY OF THIS!!” Daniel shrieked at the top of his lungs. His hands ran through his hair, staining them with his blood red liquid. He needed to gain control once more. Mustering all the strength he could, he soared straight through the wall and out of the house, charred backpack still in hand.

It worked. The shield was gone.

He escaped. He was now outside.

Outside.

Away from the devil.

Zooming under the stars and above the trees, just like his dreams, he felt himself tire. He continued for what felt like an eternity. Finally he lowered himself, but landed roughly, tumbling into the frigid snow. His jacket was ripped into scraps clinging to his body. The rest of his clothes were ripped in various spots and encompassed in black soot. He risked looking back, but was only met with bare trees surrounded by the night sky.

His eyes fluttered to close, but he fought the instinct. With his heightened night vision, he was able to navigate his way through the dark. He took off his destroyed jacket and ripped it into strips of fabric. Lifting his once white shirt now splotched with a large crimson stain, he wrapped the jacket strips around his abdomen and hissed at the sting.

Once he finished, he laid down into the frozen white blanket. It felt so relaxing against his burning skin. The cold didn’t bother him since he had an ice core. He was used to the icy sensation when he mustered up ice shards.

A grin began to spread across his features. He was finally free.

Free.

He never thought he could utter those words through his lips. He sat back up and reached into his backpack, pulling out a packet of Lays chips. He devoured the entire bag under seconds. The little boost of sodium gave him little energy, enough to take a quick flight. He couldn’t stay here long. His father could locate him any moment.

How could I forget?

Searching his backpack, he uncovered a knife. Rolling his left sleeve up, he penetrated the tip into his wrist. Grunting at the impact, he twisted it until he felt something underneath. Blood rushed down his wrist and blotching the pure snow. He gouged a small rectangular chip out of his wrist. Slowly removing the chip, he threw it into the snow and used another jacket strip to apply pressure and prevent any more loseage of blood.

Vlad had input a little chip under Daniel’s skin when he was little, although he never knew where to find it. After injuring his left wrist several times, he could feel something unusual against his muscles. From there he realized the chip was probably located there. Luckily, he didn’t just stab himself for nothing. With the chip, his father could locate him anywhere, except the ghost zone, or so he previously thought.

He struggled to stand up, but finally made his way onto his quivering feet. Transforming invisibly to not attract any attention to himself, he levitated in the air amd zoomed off. He didn’t know where he was going, nor did he care less.

He munched on a granola bar as he soared over the trees, marvelling at the beauty of the outdoors. He observed many critters scattering throughout the night.

As time passed he felt himself become more tired, until he was unable to continue. The forest seemed to continue forever, a sea of bare trees.

Just as Daniel felt like he was about to collapse, he saw a small light ahead. Instilling hope in his little innocent heart, he sped off towards the light. Its illumination grew larger and larger, until he came upon a road. Cars, something he never witnessed before, zoomed past on the road. The luminous glow originated from the streetlamps.

Knowing he couldn’t continue, he dove towards the cars and decided to hop in one. Awaiting for the perfect vehicle he could escape in, he noticed a large moving van driving by. He instantly flew in, removing his backpack and transforming back into his human self.

Before he could lay down on a sofa, he was already knocked out.

~~~~~

In a black office chair, sat a man with a ruffled suit. His silvery hair was tousled in several directions. Bandages were wrapped around his arm and forehead, some parts stained with a wine-red substance. The man swiveled in his chair to face his desk, eyes transfixed in a dissociated state.

“Did you find him?” He growled through his barred teeth. His naturally blue eyes were gleaming with hints of blood red. Two giant, neon green figures, one in the shape of a bear while the other a rabbit, returned a growl. The bear placed its paw on the desk, opening it to reveal a small rectangular object covered in flaky dried blood.

“You incompetent fools! I request of you the simplest of jobs and you return empty handed?!” His voice rang through the office room. His expression displayed pure fury. The ghosts stood in panic, afraid for their afterlives.

Vlad Masters stood up as a white circle of light descended down his body. His silvery hair was now fixed into two horns, its color matching that of the night sky. His wrinkled and worn suit was replaced with a silver long-sleeved top and pants, with a matching cape. A black belt was bound to his waist, containing various buttons with specialized functions. His outfit was complete with red accents, pair of jet black boots, and matching gloves. His skin had a blue tint to it. Hovering over the chair, the devil smirked at the two innocuous entities.

Manifesting his telekinesis, he grabbed ahold of the two specters by their throats, squeezing tautly. “The next time I ask of something, I want it done.” he slammed the two ghosts onto the floor. The entities grunted in response, unable to speak in return.

“Oh wait, there will be no next time.” He once again picked the ghosts clutching their chests, this time with his gloved hands. Crushing their cores, he continued to hold up the ghosts till they began to dissolve into a clump of ectoplasm. The green substance ran down his arms and onto the floor as he grinned diabolically.

He wiped his hands on his silvery cape, calling upon his transformation back into human from. He once again sat down in his office chair, rotating to turn to the bleak window. Leaning forward, he whispered.

“I will find you.”

“And you will want me.”

#long chapter #had to research some of this shit #I don't even eat steak #please tell me what you think #Vlad's a bitch #spent so long drawing a cover pic only for it to suck so bad #I need feedback becuz I'm a dependent bitch who requires affection

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boomboombitches-blog1 · 6 years

Text

Rain

Pairing- Joshua Hong x Fem!Reader, slight Yoon Jeonghan x Reader Genre- Angst, College AU Warnings- Major Character Death, mentions of suicide, one mention of cheating, bad ending because who actually knows how to end things well Word count- 2666 (is that a sign should i be afraid)

A/n- I listened to Rain by Taeyeon the E N T I R E time i was writing this so if you’re wondering what inspired me and u want the full experience go ahead it’s a fucking great song. I meant to make this longer but it just didn’t go that way i guess. One more thing !!!! Kinda spoiler alert but i guess u probably already figured it out so read at your own risk !!!! the vote thing i did yesterday was to decide whether to kill joshua or not because my original idea was to have him and the reader just break up and get back together but then i got ~inspired~ so thank you to everyone who voted yes it actually did help me a lot because i got to write what i was really like seeing for the story there u know but also thank you to everyone who voted no because you almost saved ya boi

Part Two

Rainy days were always your favorite. No claps of thunder, no flashes of lightning, no sunlight warming the ground or streaking through the clouds in charming little pockets of warmth. Just drops of water, slipping weightlessly down from the grey clouds to soak the earth. To slide down your skin, drown away droughts, wash away sorrows with ironic displays of melancholy and pull it right back- make it hurt more and less all at the same time.

You were never the type to run through the rain when you didn't have an umbrella. You liked the feeling of the cool water on your skin, the period of reflection and release it gave as you seemed to be the only one brave enough to walk out in it. Things seemed to slow down for you on a rainy day. Time would set back, the world would move on as usual with you as an exception. As people rushed about to escape the flood, you could take your time and nothing would come from it except a few stares and some heavy clothes. Usually.

You met him on a rainy day.

You were walking through the city vacant of most usual bustle- with far fewer individuals racing around. Most people called it a holiday when the rain started to pour, stayed inside to enjoy their days quietly, but you never did. Even if it meant you were soaked for class, it was worth it. Maybe not the class you were hardly that interested in (and probably wouldn't have bothered attending in the rain if not for your love for the weather,) but the excuse to get out in the rain was more than welcome. He was in your class and rode your bus, and he was walking towards the same class when he spotted you walking slowly, without an umbrella through the rain.

In a warm act of chivalry, he jogged up beside you and held his own umbrella out above your head. You were absorbed in your thoughts- so absorbed that you didn't even notice how the light dulled above you- you only came back to earth when you realized the rain had stopped falling on your skin. You glanced up from the ground and looked around, only to jump in surprise when you saw a dark blue umbrella above your head, and a boy walking in the rain beside you, politely keeping enough distance that not only was he on the opposite side of the umbrella from you, he didn't even get under it. Startled by the presence, you slipped on the wet, smooth concrete. Only then did he get under the umbrella, stepping towards you and grabbing your forearm with his free hand to steady you.

You smiled at the memory.

His hand was cold, large enough to wrap fully around your forearm, for his thumb to touch his fingers when he held you up. He smiled kindly, eyes a warm, welcoming chocolate brown as he met yours through the shade cast by the opaque fabric above your heads.

"Sorry," He said softly, voice smooth and soothing like warm milk and somehow it sent a chill through your body, hair rising on the back of your neck as goosebumps rolled over your skin. "I didn't mean to scare you," He trailed off with a soft chuckle, clearly amused at your reaction. You couldn't help but to laugh a bit in return.

Slowly, the both of you continued walking. Silent and calm and slow, there was somewhat of a mutual agreement between you. You didn't mind having him under the umbrella as well, your shoulders almost brushing but somehow not.

"I'm Y/n." You spoke finally, far past halfway to your building. You could see it by now, were steadily approaching it though your pace was still snail-like. He seemed to be waiting for it, and immediately smiled when he heard you.

"Joshua." He replied.

He was good. You had expected he would be as your first meeting was him going out of his way to keep you dry, even if it meant him getting wet- but good as he was, he was still different from your expectations. He was kind of quiet, but mischievous. He was quick to voice his opinions- but only where he thought they were needed. He teased his friends a lot, and he had a bit of a temper. He was a little jealous, and as hard as he tried, he was bad at hiding it. He was protective, cared about everyone. He was kind to even those who had done him harm, after he had time to calm down about it. He could sing really well and had good music taste- it seemed there was nothing he wasn't good at.

You fell for him hard, and fast. Somehow, he had done the same for you.

He asked you out on a rainy day.

Four months. You had known him four months. It started less friendly- he would walk you to class when it was raining, but only when it was raining. Then one day, he sat with you in the back. You didn't speak, just sat within each other's presence and wrote notes for your class. Then he sat there again. You sat in silence for a week- not an awkward silence, just silence- before he finally asked for your number. It wasn't awkward, it wasn't weird, it just... was.

He invited you to study with him and some friends a few days later, and you accepted. You loved his friends- their whole dynamic together was majorly amusing and welcoming- and they loved you.

You ended up with three more numbers that night. Jeonghan invited you to their next movie night, and you met a few more of their friends. You sat by Joshua, and talked more that night than you had at all previously, which was somewhat ironic considering you were supposed to be quieter during a movie than most of the other times you'd hung out. You spoke about that, too.

He invited you over to study at his house a few days later. That time, you had to postpone because you already had plans, so you went two days later instead. Soon, it was a once a week thing. He started walking you to class every day, whether it was raining or not. You noticed he always had his umbrella in his bag.

Two more weeks went by, and you grew closer and closer. The next time it rained, he asked you to be his girlfriend under his umbrella, on the walk to your school building.

"We've been on friend dates." He hummed when you asked why so sudden. "I want the real, us dates to be like that. Relaxed and familiar. No awkward first dates and being scared of making a bad impression or worrying about what to wear. Just friend dates where we're a little more than friends. I already know i like you a lot, and we get along well so i thought it might be a little less stressful to just... Rip the band-aid off."

You nodded, and he knew that was your yes as well as your 'i understand' by the way you smiled, the way your eyes lit up with warmth and the way you reached for his hand. He took your outstretched hand, smiled, and turned his gaze to the same building yours lingered on.

You both loved rainy days.

You could remember clearly all the days where you had nothing to do but be together, when the rain would fall on the sidewalks and windows of your apartment and distort the world around you so it was only you two together and you would bake and cuddle and dance- even when there was no music playing. It was cheesy and gross and awkward and you stepped on each other's sock clad toes, but you always smiled and times like that were some of your fondest memories.

You were soaked by now, but you guessed that was okay as the smile on your face and the rain dripping down your hair, down your face and smearing your makeup was more than enough to hide your tears as they melded salty, warm water with clean, cold and dripped off your chin. You couldn't stand to look at the street you had walked so many times with him, couldn't stand to imagine how his umbrella blocked the rain from getting you sick, how it distorted the light and kept you warm. It hurt so badly to imagine his footsteps, running up behind you and his warm hand reaching for your cold one as he scolded you, again, for not bringing an umbrella, telling you you would get sick and he wouldn't be able to miss another class so he could take care of you again.

But you did it anyways. You could almost hear him, feel him, smell him. But you didn't want to. Selfishly, you wanted to forget him. You were almost to class, you couldn't be crying. You can't disguise it once you're inside the building and though they've all been through it before, your whole class has seen you break down at the very mention of him, you don't want to do it again.

He left you on a rainy day.

You were arguing. You hardly remembered what about... you didn't want to anyways. Thinking about it would only make it worse. You didn't want to make it worse. He stormed out. You tried to stop him- the worst thing to do is run out at night when you're angry and not paying attention- and your neighborhood isn't exactly the safest, either.

It wasn't too bad, people weren't killed on the daily but there had been a few attempted robberies in the time you lived there. Only at night, though. Nobody in your neighborhood went out alone after dark- except Joshua that night. You started to follow him but he hissed a "it's not safe," and gently shoved you back in your apartment, slamming the door in your face. You wanted to follow him, but he wouldn't let you. You knew he wouldn't let you.

All of the attempted robberies were women, anyways. No one was killed. No-one was even robbed, because whomever was horrible at their job. Joshua would be fine.

Joshua would be fine.

You cried, reassuring yourself of that until you fell asleep.

You stopped walking. Sobs shook your whole body, your hands reached to cover your face. You could hardly hold yourself up. You didn't want to go to class. You knew you were a mess. It had been three weeks since his funeral, you couldn't keep missing. Your knees were weak, you knew they were shaking. Your whole body was shaking. You could feel your lungs getting tighter.

You couldn't see through your tears, so you pushed your hands up a bit further to cover your eyes, only moving them when your legs gave out and you fell to your knees, hands steadying you on the concrete. There was a puddle around you, growing slowly with the rain, but you didn't care. No-one was around to see you. You still wanted to curl up and disappear- you wanted to be wherever he was and apologize and hug him and cry with him- god you hated being alone. You were so used to him holding you whenever you cried, or his soft voice comforting you over the phone, but now he was gone and you were the reason. Your head dropped to let the tears drip straight from your eyes and fall down into the puddle around you.

You shouldn't have let him go.

The phone call woke you up late. Near 2 in the morning, but you didn't mind. It was him- it had to be him. You answered quickly, your stiff muscles crying out at your sudden movement after falling asleep in an awkward position on the couch.

"Hello?" Was all you heard before you gasped, sitting up with your hand over your mouth to hide your sobs. It wasn't him. It wasn't one of his friends. God, you would've rather it had been a girl he went and fucked on the side but no, it wasn't. "Are you Joshua Hong's girlfriend? His parents are in america, you're the closest relative he has. We need you to come down to the hospital. He... Well... I'm sorry miss. Just please come."

You rushed. You didn't want to go at all but the tiniest hope that maybe it wasn't him rung in your head but you knew better. Even so, you so desperately wanted to find out that you were wrong and he was fine. You didn't even change from your pajamas. You didn't care that you shouldn't leave your apartment alone at night- you didn't care if you were robbed or mugged or killed or what- you didn't even remember because your brain was so trained on him. Him, him, him, you had to find him, he had to be okay. You got to your car, soaking wet from the pouring rain. It was supposed to storm that weekend, there was a hurricane nearby and some of the rain traveled. You didn't care if you were soaked.

The hospital looked normal. Somehow, you expected it to be crazy. You expected it to be chaos, tears and sobs and anger and guilt- like you were feeling. But it wasn't. You were the only one, and everyone stared at the crazy woman who was sobbing, dripping rain in her pajamas and flip flops with her hair a mess and makeup staining her cheeks. Your knees almost gave out in fear and guilt and exhaustion when you stumbled up to the counter and choked out his name, stuttering on the words. The lady glanced over at an officer and a doctor who were standing together, and they nodded.

When they took you to the morgue to identify the body, that was when you broke.

It was him.

You didn't stop crying. Not when you heard his footsteps running towards you. Not when you heard him call your name, fear and worry in his voice. Not when he stopped just beside you, when his umbrella covered you and it was the same blue, cast the same shadow you recognized so well. In fact, you only cried harder. When he crouched down beside him and reached for your face, his skin warm and tan and lively unlike how it was when you last saw him. When he tilted your face to look at him, and you recognized him, but was disappointed. When his warm brown eyes met yours and the rough pad of his thumb brushed your tears away but more continued to fall.

"Yn..." He trailed off. You could hardly look at him. "Come here." He mumbled, reaching to pull you into his chest. He knew how you met, he knew what set you off. He knew his matching umbrella stung you more than it helped.

"J-Jeonghan," You stuttered in a weak cry, clinging to his warmth desperately. How could you do it? How could you go on without Joshua?

He understood everything just from how you cried out his name. Jeonghan wrapped his arm tighter around you and gently lifted you. He was trying not to cry as well, truthfully, but he had to be strong for you. You were with him, you blamed yourself even though he was the one who threw himself out in front of the car. You were hurting the most. Jeonghan was careful, he brought you back to his place because he knew you couldn't stand to go to your own, and he took care of you the way Joshua would have. The way Joshua asked him to.

He dried you off, helped you change without looking at your body, made you a warm drink and held you while you cried.

He saved you on a rainy day.

#IM SO NERVOUS TO POST THIS I DIDNT PLAN IT #KSJDHFGJD USUALLY I PLAN THINGS BUT THIS HAD NO PLANNING I JUST TURNED THAT SONG ON AND WAS LIKE OH YES ANGST TIME #I HOPE U LIKED IT THANK U FOR READING HOES I LOVE U ALL #Seventeen #Seventeen imagines #Seventeen Drabble #Joshua Hong #Seventeen joshua #Seventeen fanfic #Joshua Hong drabble #Joshua one shot #Joshua scenario #Seventeen Scenario #hong jisoo #joshua fanfic #Joshua au #hong jisoo scenario

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