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redocity · 21 days

Note

ooo what about buck & reader at maddie and chimney's wedding and buck's trying to coax reader into dancing but they're a lil shy and it's soft and cute and you can decide whether they're already together or not!!

TAKE MY HAND - E.BUCKLEY

buck has an inherent knack for involving you in absolutely everything even if you’re happy to sit on the sidelines, and sometimes you question whether it’s just coming from a place of friendship.

WARNINGS: alcohol, swearing

evan buckley x gn!reader || fluff || 1.7k || requests open!

a/n: now this is what i’m talking about 🤭 thanks for the request ml <33

₊ ⊹ masterlist!!

The porch light you’re sat under serves as both your respite and your downfall.

It’s strong enough to light your phone screen and make your prosecco glitter in a way that makes your tipsy brain extremely satisfied, but it also lights you up like a glowstick as you avoid the terrace turned dance-floor like the plague.

You’re more than content to sit with your sparkly drink and watch as the rest of the team joke and dance under Maddie and Chimney’s lead, their house transformed into the perfect reception party venue with the help of Hen and Buck’s manual labour.

It really was something to celebrate, two people you’d come to consider as family being joint together under an eternal promise of love and sole devotion to each other.

But apparently your form of celebrating wasn’t ‘celebratory’ enough for a certain someone.

“Come on, time to dance,” Buck plucks the flute glass from your palm, replacing it with his left hand instead to pull you to your feet.

“Oh no I’m good-” You shake your head with a small laugh as you tug a resistance against his hand, intent on remaining firmly sat in your chair.

It did not matter how much you’d had to drink, the idea of dancing in front of a group of people, your honorary family or not, made you want to dig yourself an early grave.

“Come on, we’re at a wedding reception, we’ve gotta dance,” Buck had decidedly had at least a few more drinks than you had, although you’re sure you’d be in a similar situation even if he was stone cold sober.

He always made an effort to include absolutely everyone, which mostly meant you.

Actually it always meant you.

It wasn’t like you were being left out or anything, you just didn’t have the outgoing nature of the rest of your team when it came to being out of the fire station, which often left you in your own little bubble off to the sidelines.

It wasn’t like you weren’t content with that either, and that was something that Buck knew.

But he still made an effort to get you directly involved anyway.

Buck’s gotta Buck you suppose.

He gives a soft tug on your hand to try and prompt you to stand again, and you give it another bout of resistance with your lips pressed into an awkward line. “You can go and dance if you want,”

“No no,” Buck takes it upon himself to finish your glass by tipping the whole thing into his mouth, to which to gesture outwards in mild exasperation. “We are going to dance,”

“I am not drunk enough to dance in front of a group of people, and you just downed the possibility of that happening,” You shake your head in feigned disapproval as he puts the glass back down on the table, and he mirrors it himself, completely undeterred.

“We can get you another drink,” He gives your hand another tug, a little harder this time, his usual boisterous behaviour only amplified under the low buzz from his alcohol consumption. “You gotta have fun,”

“I am having fun,” You allow him to pull you to your feet this time, making a show of exaggeratedly sighing as you meet his eyes with your own.

“Not enough fun in my opinion,” Once you’re standing upright, he takes it as an open invitation to pull you onto the makeshift dance-floor, taking both of your hands in his own to ensure that you don’t try to slip away on the way there.

It’s innocent enough, and not exactly revolutionary in the land of Evan Buckley’s casual affection, but under your slightly alcohol-induced haze, the brushing of his fingers against your palms makes a warm feeling shoot up your arms and settle in your chest.

“I don’t even know how to dance-” Your tone comes off as mildly self-deprecating, something that Buck does not take lightly as he wedges the two of you into a small area that hasn’t yet been taken over by your drunken coworkers as they sway and jump around to the pop-rock song playing in the background.

“Dancing is subjective,” The way he furrows his eyebrows suggests that he’s offended at you even suggesting that you’re not good at something like being able to dance, and he tugs and pushes at your arms gently in alternation to put the two of you into a rhythm that matches the beat of the song. “As long as you are having fun, it doesn’t matter what you look like,”

The motion is enough to break a small smile onto your face, a short chuckle escaping your mouth as you entertain his musings by returning the push and pull motion of his arms with your own.

“Plus,” He bends his elbows to bring himself a little closer to you, leaning to speak against your ear over the music. “I think everyone’s too drunk to tell you have sloppy dance moves,”

“Hey-” You open your mouth in feigned astoundment, a sharp laugh joining the gasp that leaves your mouth.

“You’re so stiff,” Buck finds great enjoyment in laughing at your inherent lack of ‘grace’ when it comes to dancing, his hands sliding up your forearms to hold your elbows and try to loosen up your joints by massaging his fingers into your skin. “Relax,”

“You are way too excited,”

“My sister just got married to one of my closest friends, of course I’m excited,” Buck tilts his head to the side slightly, the warm overhead lighting hitting his eyes in a way that makes them look like he’s standing in front of a sunset.

“And you’re also completely shitfaced,” You can’t say much considering the four glasses of prosecco you’d had yourself, but you could just tell that Buck was going to have a hangover tomorrow.

“So?” He tilts his head downwards ever so slightly. “I’m having fun, drinking, eating good food, dancing with my best friend, just— soaking up the good vibes you know?”

You can’t really argue with that.

“Uh huh, right,”

“I am right,” Buck gives you that over-confident smirk, the one that’s become his trademark, and the one that has so much more of an effect on you right now than it ever has before this moment in time*. “All just good vibes*,”

You can hear the song fade out underneath Buck’s rebuttal, with the next song being remarkably more calm although still just as bright as the one before it.

“Here’s what I’m talking about,” Buck gives a nod in satisfaction at the new tune. “Let’s teach you how to dance,”

“What?” The word leaves your mouth more as a laugh than a question, and it’s like Buck ignores you completely as he lays your hands onto his shoulders and slides his down to rest gently against your sides, right over your ribcage.

It truly was remarkable how he was always so gentle despite himself, and it was not helping the way you were already perceiving him tonight.

“Now, dancing is really just swaying if you think about it,” He uses his hands like an example for his conclusion as he guides your movements with them, literally swaying your weight between your feet as he mirrors you in doing the same. “That simple,”

He chuckles like he’s just told you some revolutionary secret. and you honestly can’t be sure whether it’s the alcohol talking or just Buck being himself.

Either way, it’s enough for him to break out into a soft smile, one that washes over his features like waves on the shore and settle into his muscles like water into sand. “See? You’re doing great,”

“I’m not doing anything,”

“Sure you are, you’re letting me push you out of your comfort zone,” He tilts his head forward towards you a little, smile ever present on his face. “That’s something,”

You let out a small breath, lowering your head to rest it against his shoulder momentarily. “Whatever you say,”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying,” His eyes chase yours for contact once you pull back enough that he can see your whole face again. “You should let me do this more often,”

“How about no?”

“You know you can’t resist me,” Buck chuckles at your denial. “I always get you in the end,”

“I suppose you do,” You let your head tilt to the side as your expression slowly mirrors his in the content smile you have washing over your face. “Maybe I’m just a pushover,”

“Or maybe,” He leans forward a little, halting your swaying for a second so he can put emphasis on his words. “You just like spending time with me like this,”

“That too I guess,”

Buck chuckles at your response, something you reciprocate yourself as you rest your head against the curve of his shoulder once more with a sigh.

He was right. Dancing is fun. Although probably only because he was the one you were dancing with.

Either way, you knew you were going to be leaving this reception party wondering exactly what you meant to Buck, and more importantly, what he meant to you.

But right now, all you needed to focus on was the gentle pressure of his fingertips against your sides and the gratified look in his eyes.

Everything else could wait until tomorrow.

#9 1 1 #9 1 1 fanfiction #buck x reader #evan buckley #evan buckley x reader #evan buckley fluff #oliver stark #asks 🚒

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tyblackthornsheadphones · 5 months

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Hiya! Maybe some hurt and comfort fic with the moon boys after the reader got hurt in a street scuffle thing? :)

i reread this only once and yes, i did notice the inconsistent verb tenses but honestly i don’t have the energy to go back and change it. i tried to keep physical descriptions of the reader to a minimum so it should be gender neutral and any race. if not, please let me know so i can fix it.

i also kind of forgot the reader was supposed to be hurt and wrote it more emotional but i hope it’s fine anyway. (i’m so bad at following requests i’m so sorry)

if you wanna support me you can buy me a ko-fi.

the two men had come out of nowhere, forcing you into an alleyway under the dark cover of the night. your only comfort was the thought that your boys were watching the city for these exact types of people, maybe they would come save you. and if you managed to hold off the two men for just long enough, you could get out of this alive.

you weren’t a fighter. marc had taught you basic self-defence, but even so you wouldn’t have been able to take on two big, buff men with guns and eyes that spoke of deranged thoughts and lack of care for any life but their own.

the rest was a blur. a white caped hero throwing punches, a body jumping in front of your own, blood on the concrete and on gloved hands.

“let’s get you home, amor.”

jake was angry, you could hear it in his tone, but you were still frozen in fear from the encounter, your mind buzzing yet simultaneously unable to string together any coherent thoughts. so you didn’t respond, and he carried you home in his arms, jumping into the loft through the window you always kept open for him on nights like these, the one you’d forgotten to close before leaving.

you have a routine for when your boys come back from their duties as moonknight. the suit heals their wounds, but it doesn’t wash away the blood. you run a warm cloth over their skin until the blood and grime is all washed off, a slow repetitive process that gives their mind the time to deal with the violence they committed and store away the memories somewhere far back.

it’s easy to let your muscle memory take over.

“you don’t have to do that tonight,” jake says, “let us take care of you. we want to make sure you’re alright after that.”

you shake your head. there’s still a part of you that’s numb, and you don’t think you could put your feelings into words, you don’t think there’s any real way to voice the way you were convinced you were going to die, the way your brain flashed through everything you regret and your friends you haven’t seen in a while and the goals you’d never accomplish.

the suit falls away and it’s just your jake. not the hero of london or the fist of vengeance, just your worried boyfriend.

you clean his knuckles of the blood that always somehow manages to seep through the bandages that make up their suit. his body tenses, and when you look up, you meet marc’s eyes. his jaw is clenched in a way that you recognise, he wants to speak but doesn’t quite know how to say it, he’s worried talking about it might not be what you need right now.

“i’m sorry,” you say finally, “for going out. a friend needed my help and i thought i could walk back home after. i didn’t think…”

“not your fault,” marc replies, “we should’ve gotten them before they even had the chance to touch you.”

“it’s not your fault either, you know,” you put the dirty cloth down.

he shakes his head. there’s no point in having this argument, it’s the same every time. you argue that it’s impossible to save everyone, that london is a huge city and they’re just one body that can only accomplish so much. marc’s dumb guilty conscience convinces him that any person he can’t save in time is blood on his hands, not the fault of the criminals who committed the act, but his for not being able to save them.

you understand why, and the fights always come back to the same thing.

the last remnants of adrenaline are fading and your hands grow shaky. marc leads you to bed, but you know this is the part where he leaves, back into the headspace while one of the others (usually steven) hold you under the safety of the blankets. he likes to take care of you, to provide, but he still struggles to be soft.

“i was so scared,” you finally admit when the lights are turned off and the room is dark and the boys can’t see your face. it’s easier to admit when you don’t have to look into the eyes of the men who act as london’s protectors, constantly in dangerous situations. you don’t have to deal with the feelings of inferiority, like comparing yourself to marc’s strong and brave ex-wife who would surely have been able to defend herself.

you don’t even know which one is fronting. maybe they all are. when the tears start to fall, all you care about is the comforting familiarity of the strong arms around you and the scent of the men you love.

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ghostlykeyes · 10 months

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I'm feeling so totally normal about Denji so like denji with reader who both are hella virgins trying to have sex for the first time

virgin Denji so sweet LOVE him

Warnings: 18+ Denji, explicit sex, AFAB pronouns/anatomy, Denji's POV.

dare et accipere.

Denji knows there’s not much he can give you.

He’s supposed to be listening to you, and he really, really wants to. Your voice is coming out in a low, gentle hum. It’s buzzing around his head like a late-night summer moth tempted by a flickering streetlight, but never quite landing. But your hand, your hand has landed. It’s resting on his knee and he thinks the warmth that’s seeping into his skin through his pants might set him on fire. Blistering, intense, somehow not unpleasant. But it’s enough to scramble his brain, to cross the wires a little.

So he’s supposed to be looking at you, listening to you, but he can’t stop thinking about how his room looks. His room, of all things. There was a time when he would have been so glad to have a girl in his room, he wouldn’t have thought about anything except girl and room and ohmygod ohmygod ohmygod and no amount of dirty laundry would poke through her feminine smokescreen. But you, you’re different.

His eyes flicker around the room: underneath you both, a mattress, the sheets just washed but freckled with permanent stains. On his nightstand a candle Nayuta made at school, allegedly smelling like warm vanilla (really, it just stinks like somebody forgot cookies in the oven). There’s a curtain, bought second-hand, fixed over his bedroom window with thumbtacks. Over everything a dusting of dog hair. And it’s enough for him, really, it is.

But he can’t stop thinking that you, you deserve new clean sheets, romantic music filling the air instead of the hum of an air conditioner, a whole damn department-store-section of candles. The weight of everything he doesn’t have presses into his bones. It digs its thumbs into his chest. He starts to think, what the hell, you deserve more than him—

And then your soft hand rubs against his cheek. His thoughts evaporate. Poof.

“Denji? What are you thinking about, honey?”

“Um,” he says, very eloquently. Denji goes completely pink. His hands won’t stop moving in his lap. He rips off a sharp corner of fingernail, lets it tumble out of his fingers and onto the floor. If he keeps picking at his fingernails, he’s going to start bleeding. That thought doesn’t save his cuticles. Denji squishes a loose tag on his index finger. He pulls.

You giggle. Your soft hands close over his, prying his fingers apart. Denji’s lips quirk. You squeeze him in your grip, and sigh.

“It’s okay to be nervous,” you tell him. You squeeze his chin between your soft, soft fingers and lift his chin until your cool breath fans his burning cheeks. The smile you give him is gentle, delicate, like a flower blooming. And god, his chest tightens. His heart hums in his chest, growling chainsaw-loud. The buzzing in his ears threatens to swallow him whole. “I’m nervous too,” you admit. “But I want it to be you.”

“I want it to be you, too,” he blurts out. Thank god his brain can go on autopilot sometimes because he feels so pleasantly tangled up, he has no idea how to form words right now. But, well, who needs words, anyway. Your eyes flutter shut, and you keep his chin trapped between your fingers. You blow a sigh out of your mouth, like somehow maybe your nerves will go out with it.

He knows he’s supposed to close his eyes to kiss—he knows that’s a rule that someone somewhere made up, and everyone is supposed to follow. But he can’t help it. He wants to watch you as long as he can. You’re starting to lean in. He catches the softest hint of your shampoo. Again, on autopilot, his hand finds your cheek. Denji’s rough thumb skims over your cheekbone. You smile then, so bright, and you timidly catch your bottom lip between your teeth, and holy, holy, holy shit, Denji thinks. A shiver shakes down his spine.

“You’re so pretty,” he murmurs. And you deserve everything, absolutely everything, but you’re here with him. Denji. With his chainsaw heart and his bare-walled room and his hands that don’t know how to touch a woman (yet). His hand trembles a little against your warm cheek. His throat’s dry, and so is his mouth, dry like cotton. He’s nervous, yes, because it’s you, and because it’s sex. He’s nervous but dear god he’s ready, the way his pants are too tight, almost choking him and the pounding in his chest all shout ready, ready, never been so ready. So it kills him to stop but ugh, you’re such a nice pretty girl. You really do deserve at least one candle.

“Wait wait wait,” he chokes. Your eyes fly open. Your spine straightens as you pull back, so fast and half-frantic you could almost call it ‘recoiling’.

“Did I do something wrong…?” There’s nervousness sticking to your voice.

“No,” Denji assures quickly, squeezing your hand. “Just hold on a second, okay? And close yer eyes again.” Your shoulders relax. The gentle, timid smile blooms back across your face.

Denji scrambles up from the bed. There’s a fluorescent pink lighter lounging next to Nayuta’s candle and he snatches it up. Flicking it quickly, he holds the flame to the wick and smiles lopsided as the flame catches. He lets the lighter clatter out of his hand back onto the desk. Denji plops back onto the bed beside you, catching one of your hands in his.

“Ta-da,” he announces. You open your eyes and he presents the lit candle with an enthusiastic wiggle of his fingers. You make a showy gasp and cover your open mouth.

“Wow! All for me?” You tease, and bump his shoulder with yours. He grins. Tease all you like, but you can’t hide how hard you’re blushing or the way that just one candle makes your eyes light up like a whole damn Christmas tree. Denji feels a warmth start in the center of his chest and spread out, all gentle-like. It pools in his stomach, his fingers, his cheeks.

“Well, yeah,” he says. “Anything for my girl.”

‘My girl’ makes you melt into him. You rest your head on his shoulder and sigh, looking up at him with those pretty-pretty eyes. He brushes a kiss right between your eyebrows, and lingers there a moment. Because yes he wants to sleep with you, and yes maybe he imagined losing his virginity as something sloppy, sweaty, pulled away from him quick and unceremoniously like a band-aid. But Nayuta is at a sleepover and you have nothing but time tonight, so why rush? Why not savor it?

(No. He’s not stalling because he’s nervous. No way.)

“This feels kinda sappy,” you laugh, rippling through the silence. Denji squishes your hand.

“Yeah,” he agrees, smiling lopsided. “It kinda does, doesn’t it? Who woulda thought I could be so romantic?”

“I like it, though,” you assure.

“Good,” he says.

“But I wanna have sex with you now. If that’s okay.”

“Oh,” he says. A beat passes. His brain is in total-meltdown mode. Not a single coherent thought to speak of. Autopilot takes control again and makes him inch closer to you on the mattress. You both ignore the squeaking. “Yeah, that would be awesome.”

You take his face in your hands, holding him still, and lean forward to gently push your lips together. It’s a quiet, sweet peck before you pull away. Once. Twice. On kiss three Denji flicks his tongue out to push against your lips and relishes in your quiet gasp. He’s kissed a handful of girls and he’s definitely read his fair share of dirty manga, enough to have good instincts. He lifts a palm to caress your babysoft face before dragging it back to tangle in your hair. His other hand finds your left breast and camps out there.

“Denji,” you sigh into his open mouth, in an airy kind of voice that goes straight to his dick. His fist tightens in your hair and he’s desperate, he’s got to taste you. He slips his tongue inside your mouth and curls it along the roof of your mouth. Denji licks a shuddering stripe across you. Your back arches, mashing your tit into his hand. He whines.

You chew on his bottom lip, timid enough that he barely feels your teeth. But it’s enough to make his hands tremble against you.

“Mmmmm,” he hums, deep and dark and low. The prick is enough to remind him he’s got hands and, oh shit, he should probably be doing something with them. He unwinds his fist from your hair, trails it slowly down your neck until you shudder into his touch. Denji’s hand cups your other breast. Experimental, he squishes them, savors how they mold to his hands.

“That’s…” you’re stammering, breathing your unsteady words into the inch of space between your mouth and his.

“Good, baby?” Denji double checks.

You nod before slamming your mouth back against his, almost splitting his lip on his needlepoint teeth. The sting makes him palm your chest again, probably harder than he should. But you make a sweet little desperate sound that he swallows whole, a keening note that he takes as encouragement. Timid, he runs his fingers along the firm shell of your bra, feeling where the material starts and ends under the thin fabric of your shirt.

“You can take it off,” you pull away from his mouth to whisper in the shell of his ear. And then, more firmly, “I want you to take it off”

Denji doesn’t need to be told twice. He snatches the loose hem of your shirt and pulls, yanking it off you so quickly it almost gets stuck on your arms. You splutter, teasingly.

“Can you take it off faster?” You giggle, helping him unsnare the fabric from your armpit.

“Can always try!” He says brightly, offering you a wide, cheesy grin. You roll your eyes. He finally gets the damn shirt loose and slides it quickly off your arm, tossing it over his shoulder.

“No thanks, I don’t need you to rip all my shirts to shreds.”

“Mmmmm,” he bumps his nose against yours, rubs against you affectionately. Denji’s calloused palms skim down your arms. His fingers tingle like electricity, like TV static. “I dunno, it seems like a good idea to me.”

You don’t answer. Instead, you grip his shoulders, steadying yourself before swinging a leg over his waist. Your knee brushes against his dick and he whines, full on whines, and he doesn’t even have it in him to be embarrassed. Denji sinks one hand into your soft thigh. His other spreads out over your spine, helping you balance until you’re comfortably straddling him. Your thighs, god, your soft, squishy, wonderful thighs, how did he get so lucky, squeeze against his legs, and the heat explodes across him like a wildfire. Tender, you press a light kiss to the top of his head and sigh. The inhale pushes your tits right into his face. He almost cums right then and there.

“Fuck,” he breathes. The word fans hot air across your collarbone and your skin explodes into goosebumps. Denji’s hands scramble across your back, looking for your bra clasp. You arch into his touch.

“Up,” you murmur into his ear, earning a shudder. “And to the left.”

He follows your instructions well and hones in on the snaps. Denji’s fingers tremble but it doesn’t stop him from unclasping your bra. His fingernails scrap lightly against your skin and right there, he’s got it. The bra snaps open, and you slip the straps off.

Denji’s seen your boobs twice. The first time, when you’d broken into an apartment-complex swimming pool and lost your bikini top trying to dunk his head underwater. The second time, you’d been sharing the bathroom, changing clothes. He’d made to (reluctantly) slip out as soon as you’d started unzipping your shorts but you’d given him a wink, squeezed past him, and locked the bathroom door. “I don’t mind if you stay,” you’d whispered against the shell of his ear.

He’s jerked off to both events multiple times but holy shit, this? With you breathing heavy, topless, and straddling him? Your hard nipples just inches from his face, your cheeks warm and blushing, you biting your lip as if to say I hope you like them? This takes the absolute fucking cake. He’s gonna be touching himself to this for months.

Denji’s hands shoot to your breasts. For a moment, he just holds them gently, still, his eyes wide and cheeks cherry-red.

“Um,” he chokes out. “Baby, I dunno if I’m gonna last long enough to…”

You giggle all sweet, taking his face in your hands.

“It’s okay if you don’t,” you reassure. “We have time, right? I just want to make you feel good.”

Okay, you’re a certified fucking angel. It’s not the first time he’s thought that. But it is the first time he’s thought that while you’re half-naked on top of him, letting him feel up your chest. And despite the fact that oh, the way you said that just made him so painfully rock hard he thinks he could cum right then and there if his boxers shift the right way, he plans on showing you. That you’re an angel. That he needs you. That he loves you.

With a jerky motion, Denji maneuvers his hands back to your thighs and pivots you. You fall back onto the mattress with a squeal. Denji quickly scrambles over top of you, until his knees settle next to your thighs and his hands press into the mattress, just above your shoulders. Your doe eyes blink up at him. For a second he looms over you, committing the sight of you all laid out—all for him—to memory.

He leans in until his nose brushes against yours, offers you a butterfly-light kiss.

“C’mon, baby,” he breathes. “Wouldn’t be fair if I just laid back n’ let you make me feel good…”

He attacks your neck like he’s starving. The wet suck of his lips trailing down along your jugular tugs a moan out of your mouth and fuck, you’ve gotta stop making noises like that or he really is going to cum in his pants. Denji nips your skin, gently, of course. The sharp edge of his shark-teeth is enough to make you bleed. He doesn’t want that—a hickey or two, though? That could be nice, he thinks as he sucks the dip between your collarbones. Something dark purple, something in the shape of his lips that reminds you of him.

“Lemme make you feel good, too,” he rumbles against your skin. You squirm up against him, your thigh brushing his cock. He sucks in a breath and drops his forehead to the dip between your tits. His fucking nerves are on fire. Denji lingers there for a moment, waits for the heartbeat-throbbing in his dick to calm down.

He tries to think of the unsexiest thing he can, just to hold on. Paying taxes, bringing the dogs to the vet, pulling hair out of the shower drain. It only half-works because no matter how much he tries to think about something else, the smell of your body wash, the music of your heavy breathing, and the heat radiating from your naked tits coalesces into a mind-bending smokescreen. Fuck, you’re so sexy.

Denji fills his hands with your chest and licks a lazy stripe down the center of your torso. Your back arches into him. As he gets lower you tremble, quaking and moaning and oh, Denji thinks, I could do this all freakin’ day. His tongue stills against the barrier of your shorts (still on, unfortunately). He looks up at you. Denji raises an eyebrow, questioning, but your head is thrown back and you’re moaning his name—won’t stop moaning it between heavy breaths—so he takes that as an okay to pop the button.

Your shorts slide off you easily, and you lift your legs to help him tug the fabric off. Denji’s hit with the sudden scent of ‘girl’. He can’t describe it, but it’s a little musky, a little sweet. A little wet spot seeps through the thin fabric of your underwear. The sight of you in your panties generates a shiver that reverberates from the top of his spine, down through every nerve in his crotch.

He breathes out, shaky. Denji gulps. He’s not afraid, really, or even nervous anymore. His raging hormones vaporized every single feeling except the need to be inside you. It’s just that he’s dreamed of having you like this so long, ever since the first time he saw you, and he’s half afraid that any second he’s going to wake up in a tangle of sticky sheets. Still single, still a hopeless virgin, still no ‘you’ to give himself to. He could weep at the thought.

Denji shakes the thoughts out of his head. He leans towards your core, until he can feel and smell and holy shit, almost taste you. Carefully, he hooks his index finger in the bridge of your panties. You whimper as his finger brushes the hot skin beneath, skimming over your lips. He swallows a moan at the sound.

“Can I—”

“Yes, Den, please, just touch me,” you whine, lifting your hips toward him. He bites his lip at your desperate attempt for more friction. Just for a second he reflects on how lucky he is, on how badly you want him. But he’s not going to keep you waiting.

Denji tugs your panties down. He doesn’t bother to slip them off your legs. They hang crooked off your left ankle and you open your mouth, probably to tease him. You don’t get the chance—his warm mouth is on you before you can speak. Your quip melts into a deep moan.

Denji shudders between your legs. Your thighs bracket his head, squeezing tightly. He doesn’t mind the pressure. It keeps him grounded, a little, because holyfuck his head is spinning. Nothing in the world could glue back all the little pieces your pussy’s taste has broken him into. Perfectperfectperfect. His rough hands keep your legs lifted, trapping you at an angle that lets him lick you unrestricted. Experimentally, he slides his tongue from the top to the bottom. He tries to note which places make you squirm hardest. He tries, but fuck, he can’t make anything stick in his brain. So he lets his tongue take over.

It’s sloppy at first. Not that it matters much. Everywhere he licks and sucks turns you into a trembling mess, whining and fisting the sheets. He dips his tongue inside. Denji’s eyes roll back. Holy. Shit. You’re so warm he could just fucking live down here, pushing his tongue into you all day.

A few weeks ago you’d mentioned sex and Denji, determined not to fuck it up with his inexperience, clumsy hands, had called Kishibe. (Yes, Kishibe, and yes, ew. Asking for sex tips from that man was the weirdest conversation he’d ever had.) Despite the fact Denji doesn’t remember much of what the old man said (how is he supposed to think with his tongue in your cunt), he distinctly remembers this; pay attention to your clitoris.

Denji’s tongue maps the wet skin. In the back of his mind, he’s half-concerned he won’t find it. Gentle, hungry, he licks towards the top of your pussy, higher, higher, until—fucking ow. If the way you just pulled his hair says anything, he found it.

“Relaaaaaax,” he breathes against your hot pussy. You whine from above him. “I’m gonna go slow, okay? Lemme know if it’s too much.”

Closing his eyes, Denji says a silent prayer you won’t ever tell him to stop, because this may be his new favorite place on earth. Then he timidly closes his mouth around your sensitive knot. Encouraging, you gasp his name.

Denji takes his time, sucking softly. (It’s not a doorbell, kid, Kishibe’s voice rattles through his brain. When you’re eating a lady out you need to be gentle.) He savors the little whines his tongue shakes out of you. You’re writhing around his mouth like a live wire.

Timid, Denji removes a hand from your thigh and spreads your lips. If you’re going to take his dick (supposing he even makes it that long) he needs to stretch you out. Slowly, he presses his index finger into your pussy. He sucks in a breath as your muscles clench around him. The wetness, the pressure. Denji imagines the heat and the softness closing around his cock. He groans from somewhere deep, deep in his lungs. His nerves are spitting electricity.

“This okay?” He asks, mouth still flush to your cunt. You take a second to breathe and adjust around his finger before blowing out a breath.

“Yeah, it’s good. It feels tight but…it’s not bad.”

“M gonna put another finger in, ‘kay?”

You nod. His middle finger prods your entrance, stilling against the hot flesh for a second. Denji works it in, and yeah, he thought it was tight before, but now? The pressure against his fingers is almost unreal. A shiver tumbles down his spine. His skin explodes in goosebumps.

The last tidbit of information Kishibe gave him burns through his brain—make her cum before you get in, alright? Once you’re really fucking you’re not going to last long enough to make her feel anything. Denji needs to be in you soon or he’s going to be sitting there, sheepish , cum staining the front of his pants.

So he picks up his pace. He works his fingers in and out, gentle, but still fast enough that it makes you whine and clench around him. He moves around you clockwise and counter-clockwise, then his tongue starts spelling out the alphabet. And then once he’s through that and you’re yelling his name at the ceiling, but you’re not quite there, he starts his grocery list. He’s halfway through ‘seaweed nori’ before you unleash this noise, this deep, dark call that’s almost scary (but definitely sexy) and squeeze your thighs around his head so tight it makes his neck hurt.

“Denjidenjidenden, holyshit, that’s so good, Denji,” you scramble strings of curse words and his name. It’s an angel’s choir to his ears. Your body shakes like you’re about to fly apart. He can’t see much of you from where he’s trapped against your pussy but he doesn’t care, this is the best view he could ask for anyway. You’re perfect no matter what angle he’s viewing you from. He lets you ride the orgasm out, lets your breath start to steady and your thighs gradually un-vice from his head.

“Babyyyyy,” you whine. Your voice is so cute and sweet. It drags him from between your legs. He just has to look at those big, worshiping doe eyes you’re giving him. He presses a kiss to your lips and tingles at the way you lap up your own wetness off his mouth. For a virgin, you’re not shy.

“I…I wanna go down on you, now,” You whisper to him. Denji’s jaw tightens, and his eyes roll back in his head. His hips jerk, completely involuntarily, dragging his throbbing cock against your leg. Electricity surges through his limbs. It’s almost over, right then and there. You move to undo his pants and he lets you, but he grinds a warning through his still-clenched teeth.

“Baby, if you do that, I’m not gonna be able to uh, last long enough to…” You giggle and shimmy both his pants and boxers off in one smooth pull. The air hits his sensitive dick and he whines your name. Half-a-prayer, half-a-plea. Your name sounds so good in his mouth, he thinks through the haze.

“Okay,” you say lightly. “Next time?”

“Next time,” he says. Or at least he wants to say that, but then your hand closes around his cock and he can’t speak. He groans instead, shoving his head into the crook of your neck.

You breathe, deep, but your words quiver.

“I think I’m ready, Denji.”

And in his fantasies that’s the moment he sinks into you—the moment he fills you up, the moment that you become his and he becomes yours.

But he knows that tremble in your voice. It’s the one that haunted you when you asked him out for smoothies, (as a date, you’d squeaked after a second of silence). The one that colored your tone when you called him once, panicked, whispering that a guy might be following you home. You’re scared.

So he slows down, and he presses all his love into a kiss on the tip of your nose.

“Hey,” he says, taking your face in his hands. “It’s me, okay? Your Denji. Everything’s gonna be okay. If it’s too much we can stop right then ‘n there. Okay, peachy?”

And you giggle, because he only calls you ‘peachy’ when he’s trying to make you laugh. And suddenly, he makes everything okay again.

“Okay, love,” you nod your head. You reach down between his legs. When your hand finds his dick you give him a loose stroke before lining him up at your wet, soft entrance. The head of his dick brushes against your heat. Denji bites his lip so hard he almost draws blood. He makes a fist in your hair, careful not to pull, and you drop a feather-light kiss to the inside of his wrist. “I’m ready,” you say. This time your voice is steady. He knows you mean it. You’re ready.

Slowly, so slowly, Denji eases his hips forward. You suck in a breath as he just barely pushes in. He knows he needs to be gentle but holy shit. The head of his cock works into your core. It’s so warm and so, so tight. Denji’s head falls forward, his messy hair dragging over your face. The sensation is overwhelming, unbearable almost. Every single one of his nerves is in overdrive. It feels like they’re all poking into each other with a million needles but somehow it’s hot and it’s electric and it’s absolute bliss.

You’re vice-tight around him and Denji doesn’t even think he’s going to fit. Carefully, he inches it in, panting. Your pussy’s squeezing him tighter than he’s ever squeezed himself jerking off. Is this what it’s going to feel like every time? The thought sends a pins-and-needles shock through his entire groin and he moans, half a grunt, half your name.

“I—fuck—I don’ wanna hurt you,” he breathes, his fists white-knuckling the sheets. “Is this okay?”

“Yeah,” you keen back, almost breathless, boneless. “It’s okay, Den. I can take you.”

He gulps at that, and pushes his cock in. It takes every fucking ounce of restraint in his body not to start humping you like an animal because god. above. This is the best he’s felt, ever, in his life. And it’s better than he could ever have imagined, it’s better than any dirty magazine could make it look and sound. If this is sex then he’s never putting his life in danger again. He’s got to keep living on no matter what just so that he can come home at the end of the day and fuck you.

You’re mind-numbingly tight. Denji grits his teeth around your name and eases his hips back. It’s hard for girls, sometimes, he remembers, and there’s no way he’s going to let himself fuck you, hard, unrestrained, squash his virginity into nothingness. Not if it hurts you.

“This is good,” you breathe airily, and press your fingernails into his back.

“Mmmmmmm,” Denji moans, pushing back into you. Words are impossible. He rocks his hips back-and-forth, back-and-forth. The way it’s tugging pretty little noises out of you is divine and shit, he can’t help thrusting into you a little faster, a little more greedy. You feed his passion by screaming his name. Your pussy squeezes around him. Denji gulps. The tightness is bunching up in his abdomen, deep and low inside him. It’s coming—what, it's been like a minute, tops?—but he can’t stop it, the pleasure’s fucking smashing through him. It’s tidal-waving through his limbs, rippling everywhere but collecting in his groin. Denji moans your name, tries to warn you, “baby, baby I’m gonna—” and then he’s jerking out of you, sudden and almost severe. His fist closes around his dick, pumping, and he’s cumming. Hard and fast and thick and all over your pretty tummy.

He can’t even be embarrassed because what the fuck this feels sosososo good, it’s fucking unimaginable and he is never, ever, ever going to jerk off again. It’s sex, with you, only sex all sex forever and ever sex. Denji whimpers your name, clinging on to you like you’re the only thing that might stop him from exploding right out of his body. Everything’s all tingly and his nerves are static and his vision’s white and, just, fuuuuuuuck. There’s no words to describe this. But he hopes the way he’s whining into your neck and his whole body’s writing tells you plain and clear how good you make him feel.

After the lightbulb-flash of that orgasm, he’s completely jellybones. Denji collapses, thankfully, far enough to your left that he only flops on your arm and doesn’t crush all of you. You giggle, giddy with sex and love. You snag his boxers from the corner of the bed and wipe the cum off your tummy with them, and shit, he really should’ve gotten you a towel but he literally cannot fucking move. You snuggle up underneath his arm and he accepts you, pulling you into his chest. Despite the dusting of sweat, despite the smell of sex, despite your wetness slicking both your thighs, he can’t get close enough to you. He squeezes you, plants a kiss to the top of your head. You both settle in, tangled in his bedsheet, and let your breathing even out.

“Thank you,” you hum after a while, nuzzling him. You’re so sincere it makes his heart melt in his chest a little. Because, what could you ever thank him for? You, sweet you, beautiful you, angelic you? He should bow at your feet just for letting him breathe the same air as you, let alone touch you. He’s about to say that, but you sigh and he knows you’re not done speaking yet so he waits. You walk your fingers along his naked collarbone, just basking in the warmth. “For making that so good for me.” He squeezes you tighter to him, nuzzles into your neck affectionately. “And for, um. For giving me your first time. I know it’s not a big deal for a lot of people, but it felt really special. This, I mean,” and you sigh, and he presses a kiss to the warm, inviting skin of your neck. “...us.” You finish. Denji couldn’t agree more. He’s glad you’re good with words, because him…not so much. But it feels good to hear the way you feel, spoken plainly, put out on display. He feels the same.

“Aw, baby,” he murmurs, and pulls you into him. He wriggles up, maneuvering until his nose presses into the skin of your temple, and his words breeze gently over your ear. “I’m glad I got to do it with you,” he says, and seals his words with a kiss. “Forget my first time, y’know? I’ll give you every single thing I have.”Denji knows he can’t give you much—not everything you deserve, at least. But giving you all of himself seems like a good place to start.

#chainsaw man/reader #chainsaw man x reader #chainsaw man #chainsaw man headcanons #denji x reader #denji/reader #nsft #denji chainsaw man #csm #denji #you know what? they did pretty good for their first time #I'm proud of them

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beechersnope · 10 months

Text

loscar sexting

trans oscar, fwb, mild feminization, 1284 words

(very open to continuing this if people want!)

***

“I hate this.”

“What?” Logan asks, sounding just as smiley as ever, though there’s no way for Oscar to know for sure over the phone.

Oscar flops onto his back and sighs up at the ceiling of his corporate flat. “Not having a girlfriend.”

“I thought you liked being single.”

“I do,” Oscar replies. He’s already regretting bringing this up, knows Logan will poke and prod until his curiosity is satisfied. “But….”

“But what?” Logan asks, right on cue.

“I dunno. I guess it was just nice knowing I could get laid whenever I wanted.” He mumbles through the last bit, a flush coming to his cheeks. He hides his face in the pillow instinctively, even though Logan isn’t there to see it.

“So you don’t need a girlfriend. You need a fuckbuddy.”

Logan’s voice is muffled now, and Oscar has to roll back over to reply.

“Kind of difficult to do something like that now that we’re like, on TV and shit,” Oscar points out. “I don’t want some random girl—or bloke—posting my nudes online.”

He’d had fevered nightmares about that exact scenario on occasion, though he knows it isn’t the sort of thing his ex would do. At the same time, there was a part of him that found the idea kind of exciting, his body becoming jerkoff material for strangers, being desired because of his body rather than despite it.

Logan just laughs. “What’s wrong with hooking up with someone you already know?”

“Like who?” Oscar wracks his brain trying to think of who is even available at the moment. The Venn diagram between his single friends and the ones he thinks would actually want to fuck him is narrower than he would like.

“Like me,” Logan says, and all the breath whooshes out of Oscar’s lungs like he’s been punched in the gut.

It takes him a few seconds to compose himself. “What?” Oscar says, voice shooting up an octave higher than normal.

“What?” Logan parrots back. “I’m single, you’re single. We both have busy schedules. We can just…sext each other or something when we’re horny. It doesn’t have to be a big deal.”

Oscar doesn’t know what to say. He doesn’t want to admit that he’s horny now, that this conversation has already gotten him wet and wanting, that he’s weighing the feasibility of getting a hand between his thighs and inside himself without alerting Logan to what he’s doing. But maybe Logan wants to know. Why else would he suggest something like that?

“Okay,” Oscar says at last.

“Cool,” Logan replies, sounding perfectly nonchalant about it, as though they’re just making plans to hit up a pub or something the next time he’s in England. “Anyway, I like, totally need to make dinner still and get some sleep, but I’ll text you, okay?”

“Okay,” Oscar says again, the words ‘I’ll text you’ rattling around in his brain like a bag of marbles. Does he mean texting like, texting? Or something more?

Oscar doesn’t get his answer until the following morning, while he’s in the gym with his trainer. His phone buzzes against his thigh; he ignores it until he’s finished with his reps and then pulls it out of his gym shorts under the baleful glare of his trainer, who would definitely ban Oscar from having his phone on him at all during their workouts if he could.

Oscar sees Logan’s name and nearly drops his phone. “I, um, need to get this,” he says before sprinting out of the gym and into the hallway, where he makes a sharp right and beelines straight into the nearest toilet.

It’s a gender-neutral toilet with a lock on the door. Oscar ducks inside and plants himself firmly on the seat before pulling his phone back out to read Logan’s text. He’s going to feel like a chump if it ends up being something stupid, like a screenshot of Logan’s K/D ratio in Call of Duty or something.

It’s not.

i really need to cum

hey u busy?

Oscar’s hands are shaking as he types out his reply.

no i’m not busy

He waits a minute or two, not sure what he’s supposed to do next. Finally, Logan replies.

can u send me something

A few seconds later, a picture comes through. It’s nothing particularly artistic, just a slightly out-of-focus photo of Logan’s hand framing the very obvious tent in his gym shorts. Oscar is doubly appreciative of the fact that they’re white, affording him a better view than if Logan had gone with a darker color. He wonders if Logan had picked them on purpose.

im already hard

Oscar gawps at the photo for a minute, basking in the warmth seeping down from his head to his toes, a pleasant throb making itself known between his thighs the longer he looks. Then he finally remembers that he needs to send something back.

And Oscar doesn’t really know what to send. He’s never sexted before, not even with his ex-girlfriend. She’d been content to follow him around everywhere during the F2 series, so they’d had sex whenever one of them was in the mood for it, and that was about it. Before her, Oscar had been a virgin, too afraid of being vulnerable to sleep around with anyone like all the other boys on the grid.

Oscar pulls his shorts down and stares at the wiry hair covering his crotch. He doesn’t think Logan would say anything bad about it, but it doesn’t feel like there’s much fanfare in sending someone a picture of just your pubes. He takes off his shirt instead, conscious of the softness of his pecs, his wide pink nipples, the gentle swell of his tummy where he should be flat, like Logan. Oscar doesn’t know if Logan will think he’s sexy; he doesn’t even know if he finds himself sexy, but he angles the phone camera down towards himself as he shoves a free hand past the waistband of his shorts and snaps a pic just as he strokes a finger down the hard ridge of his clit.

Oscar is too afraid to look at the photo before he sends it. He immediately goes back to the home screen as soon as the text goes through, and then he shoves his phone down between his thighs and closes his eyes.

It’s at least a minute before Oscar feels it vibrate again, the sensation coursing through him thanks to his phone’s proximity to his cunt—though he hadn’t intended for that in the moment. His breathing comes out in short bursts as he opens the newest message from Logan.

It’s a voice note.

Oscar takes one look at the door separating him from a gym full of professional athletes and makes a split-second decision. He turns the volume down on his phone almost all the way and hits play before quickly jamming the phone against his ear to hear whatever Logan had sent.

A hot thrill sizzles down his spine at the harsh breathing crackling over his phone’s speaker. There’s a hushed ‘fuck’ exhaled through a heavy sigh, then the unmistakable sound of Logan’s hand, slick with something, sliding over his cock, rough and fast.

“Fuck, your tits,” Logan groans into Oscar’s ear, and Oscar nearly drops the phone on the floor. “God, I wish I could come all over you. Fuck.”

It only takes two fingers roughly shoved inside himself under his shorts before Oscar is coming with a choking sob, and it’s only afterwards, as he slumps back against the wall and shudders through the aftershocks of his orgasm that he realizes he probably should have recorded a voice note for Logan, too.

#f1 smut #f1 rpf #loscar #my fic #this concept gave me brainworms all of a sudden so i needed to write it

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oleander-nin · 8 months

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The Weight of a Letter(10)

A/N: I'm so sorry this one's so short. I'll make the next chapter upwards of 3000 words as consolation. Thank you dearly to @faetaiity and @astral--horrorshow for beta reading. I'm brain dead and can't look at this any more or I'll explode. Any criticism is welcome, constructive or not. This is supposed to be a gender neutral reader, so if I screwed up somewhere, please tell me.

Taglist? If you want to be added or removed, just say so: @ssak-i @sinister-things @ancreativename @t0ta11y-n0t-cup1d @idiotreblogger @whygz @lexiechr@10yagurlchip01 @rex-ray @sunsersilversky @theavianlady

Part 1 - Previous - Next

Words: 900

Content warnings: not much, dark themes, yan themes

Chapter 10: A Hidden Fracture

I carefully close the door to the guest room, shuffling over to the bed. I glance at the door, biting my lip. I couldn’t imagine how Irma would react to my phone suddenly being back. As far as she knew, I gave it to a normal human kid who would drop it off in person, not toss it on the fire escape. I needed to make up an excuse.

Maybe tomorrow I’ll say they dropped it off at school? No, that wouldn’t work. Irma’s with me most of the day. Maybe I’ll just say I ran into them at some point. I didn’t need to worry about an excuse until tomorrow anyway. I have all night to come up with one. I lay on my stomach as I plop onto the bed, holding my phone in front of me. I power it on, watching the phone slowly come back to life. It was like brand new.

I couldn’t help but feel a surge of relief when the company screen passed and my familiar wallpaper shone bright in the dim light of the room. My phone was fixed. Donatello actually fixed my phone. I hold my hand over my mouth, biting back a squeal of delight. For once in the months of paranoia and torment, something was truly going right. Even the letters, which I admit I had gotten emotionally dependent on, weren’t as exciting as they used to be. Especially with everything happening. Irma’s theories were convincing, sure, but it still didn’t make sense. I shake the thoughts of the letters out of my head. Maybe Donatello and his brothers were the friends I needed. I hope I can introduce them to Irma soon.

My eyes drift over to the vase on the nightstand. I had moved it to stay here with me in the days I’ve spent with Irma. I tap the side of my still locked phone, contemplating. Technically, the police cleared my apartment and it was safe to move back in. But did I trust them? What if they missed something important? What if my apartment got broken into again?

What if they were already there, waiting for me to return?

I shudder, trying to shake off the thoughts that had dug their claws into my brain. I couldn’t go back. Not yet. I quickly reopen my phone, pulling up different articles on locks and security systems. If I was going to move back in anytime soon, I needed to be safe. They wouldn’t be getting away this easily. My eyes skim the words on the page as I read comparisons for different locks. I chew on my lip, barely noticing the sharp sting or the sudden taste of copper.

A sudden buzz from the device in my hands accompanied by a small pop up notification startles me out of my thoughts. I stare at the alert for a moment before pressing on the notification to view it in full. I just received a text from Donatello. The name stands proud at the top of the messaging screen, a bright purple and magenta D logo set as his profile. I’m a bit surprised to see it, but shrug. It makes sense he added his number, he was the one to fix my phone anyway. My eyes drop to read his message, wondering what it contains. I needed to thank him for my phone anyway, might as well do it now.

Donatello: Is your phone treating you well? I mean, of course it is, I fixed it.

I snicker at the text, rolling my eyes. Sure, the happenstance meeting on the fire escape was a bit weird, but Donatello and his brothers were endearing in an odd way. Especially Donatello’s small quips and ego. It was entertaining.

I send a quick confirmation of my happiness with the phone, as well as a thank you. I don’t want him to think I was rude. If all goes well, we can be good friends. I close the message thread before looking through my phone to see if he added or changed anything else. My settings are still the same, as are all my previous apps and conversations. The only thing he added was his and his brothers number, four small little contacts added to my already small list.

I open up Mikey’s contact, my thumbs hovering over the keys. He was the one who seemed most excited to see me, so he would be my best bet in making plans. Hopefully.

I send him a quick text, hoping he’d see it soon. A few moments pass and I grin as my phone lets off another quiet buzz. I watch Mikey’s ecstatic messages roll in, my mood improving even more. It was nice to talk to him, considering what seemed to be the oldest brother insisted they leave so soon yesterday.

I feel a warm buzz in my chest as he invites me to dinner the next day, each text of his more bold and ecstatic than the last. I chew on my lip, wondering how I’d tell Irma. She knew I didn’t have any other friends. Maybe I can tell her this was how I was picking up my phone. Yeah, that was a good idea.

I send back a short text, accepting his invitation to dinner. I couldn’t wait, he claimed to be quite the master chef after all.

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thyla · 1 year

Text

@machine-slays-dragons asked for a steddie fic rec. thought it might be easier to do a post and share. on request there will be no vampire!eddie fics on this list. and also i’m fairly new to steddie so i’m sure a lot of these fics have been read by lots of people. But I will try to stay clear of adding very popular ones to this list. so anz, hopefully there’s at least one fic on this list you haven’t read!! this isn’t even close to everything i’ve read just ones i’ve recently read. so here’s a short fic rec! Also! it’ll be a mixture of fics i’ve read on here and also fics i’ve read over on ao3.

Eddie’s Memory Log or read it here (starting here because I just finished this fic and it’s amazing 😘 go read!) 38,523 words

The only reason Steve volunteers to keep a journal to track Eddie Munson’s skim-milk memories, is because of the twerps. They have school, they can’t commute to the government-protected hospital that’s all the way in the city. That, and they gave Steve this well-rehearsed, tearjerker performance about how grateful they would be. About how grateful Eddie would be. Pfft like shit on a stick, he’ll be grateful. The dude doesn’t even remember how old he is, how the hell is supposed to be grateful for Steve Harrington jotting down notes in binder? But those kids have been through Spielberg-level disaster shit. Steve has too, but they’re just kids. So he’ll do it. He’ll do it for them and only them.

never been kissed (26,726 words)

Someone should... definitely check on how his brain is doing, after Eddie’s confession. Virginity is bullshit anyway, right? Robin told him about it, how it’s a completely made-up societal construct that invalidates a lot of queer people’s sexual experiences, and how toxic it can be to straight relationships too, so he can take her lesson to heart and be normal about it. Totally. “That’s so fucking hot,” he blurts out. Okay Harrington, way to be normal about it!Or, Steve is experienced, and Eddie is a virgin.

in breakable heaven (23,724 words)

"Dustin…” Nancy asks slowly. “Do they know we know?”

“No?” Dustin tries, but the way his voice goes up an octave or two betrays him.

“Dustin.” The girls say in unison.

“Okay, yes, they know you know!” Dustin finally gives in, throwing his hands in the air in defeat. It’s been one long summer and he just wants this thing to be over with already.

"Wait." Robin says. "They don't know that we know they know."

OR: Steve and Eddie are trying to hide their budding relationship, but their friends keep finding out anyway. Things take a turn for the worse when their friends try to mess with them to get revenge (based on Friends s5ep14 The One Where Everyone Finds Out)

slowly learning that life is okay series (35,112 words)

Under a much different circumstance, Eddie would have loved to have Steve’s eyes looking over him like that, would love to have that determination focused on him, but Eddie is very much dying, he knows it, so he smiles at Steve’s misplaced confidence instead, “High expectations, Stevie. Where’d you learn to swing like that anyway?”

“I’ll tell you,” Steve’s voice is a bit shaky, his tone wavering, even as he puts on a brave face, “but you have to stay alive, Munson.”

If he had more strength, he’d consider testing his luck one last time, tease Steve by asking if he swings for Eddie’s team, but- he’s tired.

Dying young. What a fucking nightmare.

Or, what if the Party defeats Vecna in time, and Eddie lives?

There id a Light That Never Goes Out series (73,886 words)

It’s not even the nightmares most of the time. At this point, Steve would totally settle for some up close and personal time in his brainpan with the Upside Down if it meant he could actually fucking sleep.

Crimson and Clover verse (20,685 words)

“There’s no immediate supernatural danger to our universe currently, not at this exact moment. I’ll be sure to let you know if there is. I’m just trying to get a little buzzed and have a good night, okay? Not everyone has to be perpetually horny all the time.” “It’s like I don’t even know you anymore!” Robin says, mock-hurt.

Or, Steve has a bisexual identity crisis and Eddie just wants to make him feel good.

or or or I saw a post about Eddie having a black hankie in his back pocket which in gay hankie code in the eighties meant that you were into S&M.

don’t ruin this on me (2,298 words)

Steve had always loved making his partners feel good. Watching people cum just from his mouth, their legs clamped around his ears–it was his favourite thing.

Or it was, before Eddie Munson ruined it for him. Ruined him..

(Or: Eddie sets out to Destroy Steve in the best way.)

Seems to Satisfy (5,348 words)

“I can’t like… get hard. At all. Since, uhhh -” he trailed off awkwardly.

There was silence, for a second. Steve’s fingers dug into his thighs.

“You… what?” said Eddie, finally.

love is like ghosts (7,780 words)

They stand at the base of a short flight of stairs leading up to the old university library. From everything Steve’s read, it’s one of the most haunted places in Indiana… within a tank of gas’ drive… that would let them in after hours.

“It’s the witching hour,” Eddie says spookily. He’s come up behind Steve, pressing close and wiggling his fingers on Steve’s shoulders.

Steve huffs a laugh and starts double checking his pockets for his share of the gear. Something to focus on that’s not the way Eddie’s breath ruffles his hair and skims over his cheek, raising goosebumps in its wake.

It’s not like he doesn’t like the attention, the closeness, the physicality of Eddie. He does. Probably too much. Especially since they’re just friends. Steve knows he’s not special to be on the receiving end, it’s how Eddie is with everyone.

the lathe (82,547 words)

"This time, do it right. This time Eddie won’t bleed out in his arms, in anyone’s arms. This time, Steve will do it right."

— or, steve relives the day they try to kill vecna over and over, and eddie just can't seem to stop dying. steve finds this totally unacceptable.

flight risk (81,321 words)

Eddie Munson is famous for giving his bodyguards the slip. Enter Steve Harrington. Has this bratty rock star finally met a babysitter that can keep up with him?

Rock My World (23,160 words)

After a lot of nagging from Dustin, Steve agrees to take him to see Eddie’s band, Corroded Coffin, play at the Hideout. He finds himself focused on more than just the music…

—

Or, Steve has a hell of a revelation.

In Your Eyes series (48,965 words)

It was decided then and there in the Buckley residence’s lounge, on their weird Persian carpet while staring up at the off-white ceiling and Robin giggling at his side. He was going to rock Steve Harrington’s platonic world, man. And nothing was going to get in his way.

Or... Eddie notices Steve struggles with touch and in trying to help his new friend, develops feelings along the way.

i don’t ask much (i just want you) (8,224 words)

"The fuck are you doing, Harrington?"

"Getting comfortable." Is the only response Eddie receives before Steve's head lands on his shoulder, half on his chest as he scoots up in the bed. Eddie freezes, mid air guitar solo, and frowns.

"Personal space, dude." He's so proud of his voice for not cracking when he says it, "Heard of it?"

Steve snorts and takes a puff, smoke clouding around his mouth before he blows it away, lips pursed in the air. "Don't think you're one to talk about personal space but I'll move if you want."

the affliction of the feelings (27,203 words)

“Hold on,” Robin interrupts. “Hold on, is this— are you, like. Do you know what masochism is?”

“I know I act like it sometimes, Robin, but I’m not actually fucking twelve,” Steve says.

OR: Eddie has a black hanky in his back pocket.

Steve and Eddie: Alternative ‘First’ meeting (read here on tumblr)

The Shire is NOT on Fire (54,148 words)

The kids convince Steve to take them all to a Renaissance Faire and LARP event. Steve has more fun than he admits. And then Steve has a LOT more fun than he admits.

November Paramedic (read here on tumblr) or on ao3 (25,662 words)

Eddie has had his fair share of fantasies, but none of them involved fucking a paramedic.

Until two years ago.

That's when the "sexy men at work"-calendar got added to his porn stash and orgasms as he knew them changed forever. All the men in the calendar are hot, but none of them hold a candle to the paramedic. He's got this look in his eyes, this slant to his mouth. Like he knows he's the hottest guy in it.

And everything is fine. Everything is great. Eddie's been single forever and he has no idea where he's headed in life, but he's fine.

At least until he's collateral damage in a bar fight after a gig, and none other than his sexy November-paramedic arrives to treat his wounds.

#steddie #steddie fics #steddie fic rec #anztag #*ficrecs

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ageofhearingloss · 11 months

Text

Pick Yourself Up Pt. 1 | Jake Kiszka

a/n: fiction! this is FICTION! y’all hear me? FICTION FICTION FICTION! none of it’s real! i know y'all know this but just in case anybody gets it twisted🤨i’m just writing what is hammering around in my brain (and also projecting cause that's how i write!)

that being said, welcome to the next installment of Angst with Iz. buckle up, and my apologies in advance heh. no y/n in this chapter (she'll be here soon, don't worry), just jakey and the boys

summary: after years of trying to make his dream of being a musician a reality, jake continues to fall short. on the brink of giving up, can his passion alone keep him afloat, or will he need help from others?

warnings: language, angst, mild violence (some shoving but no blood or injury), alcohol consumption, themes of depression

word count: ~4.7k

Is this really what my life is supposed to be? Am I fated to continue this way?

He pulled out his phone as he exited through the backdoor of the bar, seeing no texts, no calls. Reading 1:11am. The sigh he let out was one that came from deep within his chest, one that was filled with despair, regret, hopelessness. He strolled towards his barely-functioning car, shoving his phone back in his pocket in exchange for his keys, clutching his guitar case in his other hand. Throwing his trunk open, he tossed his guitar inside with a tad of aggression, frustration running through his system from the crown of his head to the tips of his toes.

The interior of the car was cold and silent, two things he was immensely grateful for as he rested his forehead against the leather steering wheel. He clenched his eyes shut, trying to settle his emotions with a couple breaths even though he was trembling, causing his exhales to come out shaky. He was pulled from his forced meditative state by the buzzing of his phone, but he couldn’t bring himself to answer. Only after three missed calls did he dig his phone out when it began to ring once again, not lifting his head as he brought his phone to his ear.

“What.”

“Jake, buddy, how’d the gig go?” Danny knew the answer already just based on Jake’s lack of greeting, but he figured he’d ask anyway.

Jake could hear music and boisterous laughter in the background of wherever Danny was calling him from, and for whatever reason, it pissed him off further. He wanted to be alone, to sulk in his anger and not be reminded of the joy he could be having.

“It went just how you think it went.” He had no reason to be short with his brother; Danny always called to check in with him out of the kindness of his heart, but these days it was starting to feel like pity.

“I’m sorry man,” he detected a bit of defensiveness in Danny’s tone, “maybe a drink would help. Why don’t you meet me and your brothers at-”

“Daniel,” he sighed, trying hard to right his attitude and not snap at the man offering him a lifeline. “I just need to go home. Maybe I’ll see you later this week.”

“Okay, I just think-”

“I’ll see you later, bro,” and disconnected the line. In truth, he didn’t want to see his brothers for a long time. He did not want them to see his failure, to observe the way he was living or how he carried himself these days. The gig he had that night hadn’t been horrible, but it was not great either. Hardly anyone was in attendance besides the old boozers who drank themselves stupid every night. There had been no money to be made, the bar owner patting him on the back sympathetically after continuously calling him ‘Jack’.

Although he wasn’t in it for the money or the fame, he would like to be able to pay his rent and afford some groceries. Growing up, he’s always been told he was destined for greatness, and that success would come easily to him and his guitar because of how hardworking he was. But boy, were his family and friends wrong about that. He was desperate to keep his career hidden, to conceal his failure and feelings towards such.

Jake drove home in silence, knuckles sheet white as he gripped the wheel. He let the sound of the road beneath him lull his thoughts, focusing on the dotted yellow line and streetlamps passing by. He wasn’t aware that he had been holding back tears until he was storming up the stairs to his studio apartment, throat bobbing as he slammed the door behind him, his vision blurry. Only once safely inside did he allow himself to feel the full range of his emotions.

Is this really how I’m expected to carry on?

He tossed his guitar down on the couch and stomped into the kitchen, eyes hot with searing tears as he blindly grabbed a glass and a bottle of whiskey that he had left out on the counter for easy access. Admittedly, he felt a little childish for letting his emotions run out of control, but if he was being honest, he was teetering over the edge of giving up. Music was his whole world; he loved nothing more than his guitar, and he was determined to move to this city to turn his passion into a career. Little did he know that it would feel like throwing paint at a wall, watching defeatedly how absolutely nothing stuck.

He tried to quell the tiny spot in the back of his brain that was jealous of his brothers. They all were heavy hitters in their respective industries: Josh was an Oscar nominated director, Sam owned his own restaurant, and Danny was constantly traveling around as a professional golfer. They had protested Jake’s idea of giving up and trying to find something else to do, all giving example after example as to why he should stick with it just a little bit longer. They assured him his ‘big break’ was just around the corner, but they’d been saying that for five years now.

Fuck them.

He threw back his glass, gladly welcoming the burn of amber liquid down his throat. He was mildly shocked that he didn’t crack the glass when he slammed it back down on the counter, knowing his anger was getting the better of him. Bracing his calloused hands on the cool marble, he let his head finally fall to his chest, squeezing his eyes shut as he felt the tears fall freely, noting that his muscles were trembling. How long had he been shaking?

Jake…. Jake!

He had gotten used to the ringing in his ears, only intensified when his anger peaked, which was more frequent than not these days. He clenched his eyes tighter still as he balled his fingers into two fists.

“Jake! Dude, hello?”

A hand on his shoulder startled him, jumping slightly before whipping around to see who could be intruding in his home, especially considering what time it was.

“Shit, relax!” A wide-eyed Josh stood behind him in the kitchen, watching his twin with concern written all over his face. Jake braced himself on the counter again, this time facing his brother, one hand grabbed at his chest and the other busied itself with trying to wipe the tears that he couldn’t stop. Only until he glanced at Josh did he notice two more bodies in his presence, Sam and Danny standing in the doorway.

Josh had backed away from him, inquisitively studying Jake’s face, taking inventory of the puffy eyes, runny nose, and overall disheveled look his brother now donned. The two twins stared at each other, discussing silently in their twin-talk before Jake finally broke the silence, having mustered up a facade to try to fool the others that he was, in fact, much more collected than he truly was.

“What are you guys doing here? It’s late, go home.” His voice came out gravelly and watery, and he prayed that no one would comment on it.

“Jake,” Sam called over Josh’s shoulder, “it’s been weeks since we’ve seen you. Where the hell have you been?”

His tone wasn’t pushy like the classic, usual cadence of his voice, but rather laced with the same concern that was evident on Josh’s face. Jake clenched his jaw, his lips tightening into a thin line. Had it really been that long since he’d seen his brothers? He chewed the inside of his cheek as he glanced from Josh to Sam and finally Danny, not being able to look at the latter for too long knowing how he had just hung up on him not even an hour prior. Danny saw the guilt flash through Jake’s eyes for a millisecond before Jake dropped his chin to his chest, relinquishing contact.

“Just… listen, I’ve been around, okay?” He offered quietly, still not having the courage to brave his brothers. “Sorry, but you guys should leave. Please.” And with that, Jake turned back to face the counter, pouring himself another glass of whiskey in hopes that his point would be made. He couldn’t tell his brothers what was going on, not yet, for that meant that he would have to fully admit it to himself, too.

Another hand from Josh on his shoulder pulled him back around.

“Don’t fucking give me that bullshit, Jake. You’ve been missing in action for weeks, hardly return our calls, we don’t know where the fuck you are and you’re just kicking us out?” He spat at his twin, ever frustrated for continuously reaching out his hand only to have Jake swat it away.

He began shaking Jake by both his shoulders, “Look at me, come on, look at me.”

Jake had already begun to dissociate; he was anywhere but in the kitchen with his brothers. His head felt miles away, thoughts buzzing in his ears making it nearly impossible to make out what Josh was saying to him let alone the sensation of his hands gripping his shoulders for dear life.

“We’re worried about you.”

Those four words brought him back to reality.

Jake’s head snapped up, burning his eyes into the culprit of those words. Danny had made his way into the kitchen just a few paces behind Josh, but halted in his tracks as the words tumbled from his mouth. Jake’s lips peeled back to reveal an anger-ridden snarl, already cursing his brother for even thinking those words.

“Don’t you dare say that to me, Daniel,” he pushed past Josh easily and made his way to stand in front of the man who still towered over him, laying a hand flat on his chest and shoving Danny back a couple of feet.

“You fucking morons,” another shove, “come into my place and act like this is some sort of intervention?” He was walking Danny back into a wall, pushing him hard enough to get the man to move but not strong enough to inflict real harm.

Danny put up no fight; for whatever reason, he knew Jake needed this. He stood with his hands at his sides, a somber look on his face as his eyes burned down into his older brother. He kept silent, knowing that any further words from him would ignite Jake’s anger tenfold.

Josh was glued to his spot by the counter, watching his twin’s assault on their friend, jaw hanging slack. He couldn’t believe his eyes. He was used to Jake picking fights with him, even occasionally brawling with their baby brother, but Jake adored Danny. Anything Danny said, Jake listened, no questions asked. He’d never heard Jake speak such foul words to the gentle giant let alone lay a finger on him.

It was Sam who finally broke through, jumping Josh out of his trance, running into the kitchen.

“Jake, Jesus Christ, stop!” Sam shouted, holding his older brother back from his charge on Danny, but to little avail. He forcefully shrugged Sam off, giving one more push to Danny as his voice rose louder, “I’m not your fucking charity case.”

Sam lunged for Jake again, grabbing him with more force than the previous time, holding Jake back as his breathing increased, anger not only present in his features, but palpable in the heavy air of the apartment. Sam, much taller than Jake and with longer arms, spun his brother around to face him, and in a gesture that shocked Josh and Danny, pulled Jake into his arms, holding him in a tight hug.

Jake’s chest was still heaving but his eyes were blown wide, resting his chin on Sam’s shoulder and making brief eye contact with Josh who stood behind their baby brother. He didn’t fight the embrace; he couldn’t remember the last time somebody had held him. It felt nice, but he couldn’t bring himself to reciprocate the hug, leaving his arms at his sides as he tried to quell his anger. His eyes slipped shut, not bearing to look at Josh in his dimly lit kitchen; when he closed his eyes, all he saw was red. His head was pounding and his ears resumed their ringing, and only when Sam's hold on him grew tighter did Jake realize he was trembling once again.

His brother's voice cut through, barely above a whisper in hopes that Josh and Danny wouldn’t hear.

“Hey Jake?”

Jake kept silent, not confirming that he heard Sam but listening all the same. Sam knew he wouldn’t answer, but he continued on.

“Be the hero you’ve always been to me.”

Jake’s breath caught in his chest as he heard those words. Sam hadn’t told him that he was his hero since they were kids; he never took it to heart, always thought his little brother was just kidding around. But now, feeling like a complete failure, like he’s let his entire family down, he needed to hear something that would give him an ounce of hope. They still believed in him, after all this time of running into wall after wall.

Jake let his tears fall silently behind his closed eyes and stream down his cheeks, knowing that Josh would be able to see them but he couldn’t bring himself to care. Only when Sam felt his brothers breathing even out did he let him go, giving him one more squeeze on his shoulders before retreating next to Danny.

Jake wiped his chin on the back of his hand as he stood in the middle of the kitchen, not exactly knowing what to say. He knew he needed to apologize to Danny for two things he had done that night, but the guilt and his own pride halted him from doing so. He knew that he should thank his brothers for coming to his rescue, but again found himself biting his tongue. Instead, he glanced between all three of them, their eyes expecting and patiently waiting for what he would say.

“I think you guys should go.”

Idiot, stop pushing them away.

“We can stay, maybe order a pizza from one of those shitty 24 hour places-” Sam pleaded, even though he knew Jake was stubborn and wouldn’t change his mind.

“No, it’s late. Please, I really need to be alone.”

He caught Danny’s eyes as he said those words, seeing how Danny’s face fell even more. Jake knew he was disappointing him a little more each day, and he quickly averted his gaze, not being able to bear the sentiment that was easily readable on Danny’s face.

The three of them knew it was a losing battle, so they turned to leave, Danny leading the way with a reluctant Sam on his heels. Josh lingered, pressing a hand to Jake’s back as they stared at each other once more, the words Jake wanted to say radiating off him for Josh to gather. Josh gave his twin a slight nod before withdrawing his hand, joining the others by the front door.

Danny pulled the door open, glancing over his shoulder to Jake who was standing in the doorway of the kitchen, watching his brothers leave. With a faint smile, he turned back forward, walking into the hallway and down the stairs of the apartment complex. Sam followed, throwing him a reluctant “Bye, Jake,” and finally Josh, who didn’t speak another word before he shut the door behind them.

Jake listened to them make their descent, the faint slamming of the heavy front door of the complex evidence enough that his brothers were officially gone. He sauntered over to the door, deadbolting it before returning to the kitchen. He grabbed the neck of the whiskey bottle off the counter and slid down to sit on the floor, his back up against the cabinets as he brought his knees to his chest, the bottle sitting beside him.

He let out a sigh, resting his head in his palms as his tears began to flow again.

“Why do I keep doing that?” he whispered only to himself, feeling even more hopeless than he had previously that night. Why was he being such an asshole? These were his brothers, his best friends, and he knew that they were genuinely worried about him. Hell, if any of them were acting like how he was, he’d be incredibly concerned, too. So why couldn’t he let them in? They so clearly wanted to help, so why not let them?

He took a long pull from the glass bottle, keeping his head resting against the cabinet as he stared up at the hanging light that only had one of three functioning bulbs in it.

You’re such a piece of shit that you can’t even change the lightbulbs.

He smirked to himself before bringing the bottle to his lips again, thinking about the possible lightbulb joke he could make.

How long had he been sitting on the kitchen floor, he wasn't sure; the only marker of passing time was the now empty bottle of whiskey. He groaned, shifting himself to stand and only when he steadied himself with his hands on the counter did he realize that he was truly drunk. He wrenched his head to look at the clock on the wall: 3:10am. Rubbing his temples, he left the glass bottle on the floor, stumbling out of the kitchen after flicking the light off, and trudging to his bedroom. He couldn’t be bothered with washing up, only knowing that his bed was calling him and he had to sleep before the room began spinning too much.

He flopped onto his bed, burying his face in the pillows and letting out a short, muffled scream. Another thing he hadn’t done since he was much younger. His voice course, he flipped onto his back, hands behind his head as he glared at the ceiling. The alcohol had numbed his mind, thankfully, but he could still feel the adrenaline-fueled anger coursing through his body. He let his eyes fall, trying to count his breaths like Josh taught him once upon a time, and soon he was lulled into a fitful sleep.

~~~~~~

Jake was pulled from his slumber by the pool of sweat collecting on his back, the world already spinning behind his eyelids. He could tell he was still being dragged down by the alcohol in his system, so he knew that he couldn’t have been asleep for long. As he came to, his breathing picked up, wincing at the already evident headache he knew he would be dealing with all day.

His hand. There was something in his left hand. No, something holding his hand. As he awoke fully, he opened his eyes and looked at the ceiling. Jake didn't need to see what it was, he already knew.

Josh.

Sometime in the night, Josh had snuck back to Jake’s apartment, using the key his twin gave him when he moved in, and found Jake passed out in his bed. He pulled the covers atop his brother, then crawled onto the bed next to him, laying on his back to mirror Jake. He found Jake’s hand and cradled it in his; this was their source of comfort for each other whenever something terrible happened, especially when they were little. This was how Josh comforted Jake when their dad cut all his hair off. This was how they comforted each other through bad thunderstorms. And now, this was how he would comfort his twin through whatever was weighing him down so severely.

Jake stared at the ceiling knowing Josh was still awake due to his bouts of insomnia. Josh noted the change in his brother's breathing, but opted not to say anything, only giving Jake’s hand a gentle squeeze in acknowledgment.

Neither of them knew how long they laid there, side by side in the darkness of Jake’s bedroom, but the silence was welcome. Jake let the comfort of his twin wash over him, slowly closing his eyes before he breathed out,

“When did you come back?”

“About an hour after you kicked us out.”

That must’ve been only a couple minutes after I fell asleep.

Jake whispered out, “You didn’t have to come back, you know.”

Then Josh turned his head, looking at Jake’s side profile and taking in the details of his brother while his eyes were closed. His cheekbones looked sharper and the skin stretched over his jawline just a little tighter. Josh scowled, please tell me this fucker has been eating.

“Yes, I did.”

There was another beat of silence, and Josh could tell that Jake was gearing up the courage to be vulnerable with him, he just had to be patient. Minutes ticked by, and Josh thought Jake might’ve fallen back asleep, before he heard his brother continue,

“Josh… I don’t think I can keep doing this.”

“Doing what?”

Jake took a sharp inhale through his nose, his emotions already making their way to the forefront of his mind.

“Music,” he answered in a watery voice, “I’m… it’s killing me.”

Josh had a feeling that this was what was weighing on his mind, but it still shattered his heart into a million fractions to hear Jake admit it. By the tone of Jake’s voice, he knew that he had more to say, so he held his tongue.

“I know you all keep telling me to keep going, that I’m gifted or talented or whatever, but it’s not working. I don’t know if it’s because I don’t believe it, or just because I’m not as good as you all think I am.”

He opened his eyes again, watching the ceiling fan make its rounds.

“Mom and Dad always told me I’d be destined for greatness; hell, I’ve been holding that damn guitar since I’ve been in diapers,” he chuckled, bringing his empty hand to his forehead, “but I just don’t know if I love it anymore.” Jake was silent for another moment, trying to string together his thoughts to make them coherent for his brother, although he knew Josh would understand no matter what.

“It sounds like a fucking pity party now that I’m saying it out loud, but doing something creative and putting it out for the world to see and hear is exhausting. I’m playing to people who don’t give two shits. I’m tired of being vulnerable. I’m tired of writing these songs that mean so much to me only for them to mean jack shit to everybody else.”

He instinctively gripped Josh’s hand tighter. Josh continued to listen, shocked by what Jake was revealing. He hadn’t opened up to him like this in a long while, and his heart jumped that Jake felt comfortable enough again to let him see his struggles.

“I feel like a selfish jackass for saying that. I know I should be playing my music for me because it makes me happy,” his words began to crack as the tears formed in his eyes, “but how am I supposed to live my dream when no one will take the bait? Let alone pay my bills.”

“Jake, you gotta-”

He cut Josh off before he could finish his thought.

“Don’t tell me I have to keep going, that’s so easy for you to say. You, Sam, Danny, you guys are successful. Working hard paid off for you, and you're living your dreams. If I’m being honest, sometimes it’s hard to watch.”

The tears began rolling down his cheeks again.

“You all believe in me too much, you think I can do this. But what if I can’t? What if I actually am a failure and let you and our entire family down? Everyone who has rooted for me, who has helped me get to Nashville so I could live out my passion, I’m letting them all down. I don’t know what else to do. I don’t think I have it in me anymore.”

“Well you’re gonna let more people down if you give up,” Josh countered in a matter-of-fact tone.

“What a comforting sentiment.”

“No, Jake, I’m serious. We all believe in you for good reason: you’re talented, you’re intelligent, you put yourself out there and you don’t take shit that you don’t deserve. Nobody works harder than you and I know you don’t see it, but it will pay off. It always does. If you give up, of course the people who have your back would understand, but I think they’d be disappointed. Shit, nobody can play like you can and if I’m telling the truth, I’d be disappointed too ‘cause that would mean nobody would get to hear your music. It’d be a real shame.”

Jake knew Josh was right; he had never thought of it that way before.

Josh continued, “You’ve been in your head, isolating yourself away from everyone. I haven’t seen you like this since you found out Grace was cheating on you all those years ago. You need to get out again, spend some time with us. Remember last year when you would come over with your guitar and the four of us would goof off and sing together? The smile on your face spoke a thousand words. You just gotta get back to that. Maybe really think about what made you want to play in the first place. If you can find the source, you can reconnect with it.”

Classic Josh. He always knew how to calm Jake down while still talking to him straight. Of course they understood each other inside and out, and what Josh was advising was a surefire way for Jake to feel better, even if it wasn’t going to guarantee his career would take off. But right now, he wanted more than anything to feel the passion for his guitar again.

“I love you man, but you gotta stop pushing us away. We want to see you, it’s not the same without you. Sam is worried sick as you can see, and Danny’s not much better either,” Josh slid his eyes over to Jake. “You know, you were a real dick to him.”

Jake groaned, screwing his eyes shut.

“I know, I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

“You’re angry, frustrated. At the end of your rope," Josh said with a shrug. "I just always expected you’d take it out on me instead of our poor sweet Daniel."

Josh noticed a thin smile appear on Jake’s lips and he knew the pep talk was finally getting through.

“Listen, I’m in between shoots right now and I’ve got a couple months off. You are going to have lunch with me once a week, got it?”

A slight nod of agreement from Jake.

“And when Sam and Danny invite you out, you say yes unless you have a gig. I’m gonna try to come to as many of your gigs as I can, but you have to tell me when they are.”

“Are you supervising me?” Jake asked with a sarcasm laden voice.

“Yes! I’m helping you pull your shit together!” Josh laughed out, waving his unoccupied hand in the air. “I hate seeing you like this, it really concerns me. You and I have to stick together, and that means I’ve gotta pick you up when you faceplant and you do the same for me.”

He squeezed Jake’s hand again, emphasizing his point. They stayed silent for a while, Jake letting Josh’s words sink in.

Connect back to the source, huh.

He’d lost sight of that. He knew he loved his guitar more than anything, and he played it as his prominent source of self expression. Jake always found it hard to speak his emotions to others, but with his guitar, he felt like he could bare his soul to the world. It gave him power, confidence. His songs used to build him up, ever enthusiastic to share them with others. He had to get back to that.

“Thanks Josh,” he finally whispered as his eyes slipped shut again, the exhaustion beginning to pull him under.

“Nothing to thank me for, but I did have to resort to extreme measures.” Josh let out another chuckle, “Just don’t give up on me or I’ll kick your ass.”

“I won’t.”

"And apologize to Daniel."

"I will."

And with that, Jake was ushered back into rest, this time a peaceful sleep enveloping him. Josh listened to his twin snore lightly, deciding that he would wait just a while longer before he headed back home. It pained him to see Jake suffering like this; his twin had always been deeply sensitive, but never allowed many into his heart. Only Josh and his brothers were the ones to see the real Jake, and right now the real Jake was hurting immensely. Josh let his eyes slip shut, silently thanking Jake for being so vulnerable with him, letting out a deep sigh as he thought about what Jake had confessed.

To be continued...

taglist: @joopsworld @gold-mines-melting @shutupdevvie @indigostreakmorgan @sacredjake @malany-gvf @writingcold @mountain-in-springtime @anthemofgvf @ohgodthefeeling-gvf @songbirds-sweet

#surprise heheheh!#jake kiszka #jake kiszka gvf #jake kiszka fanfic #greta van fleet #greta van fleet fic #gvf #danny wagner #sam kiszka #josh kiszka #iz fics

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stars-and-birds · 1 year

Text

Hiii wenclair nation i miss you

Getting some nostalgia so here’s a scrapped wip I’m not sure I ever posted

Enid dangled upside down on her bed, watching Wednesday pack her black flashlight and black rope and black knife into her black backpack. It was past curfew, but Wednesday was up and dressed, planning to go stake out a house she thought might be related to the monster. Enid wrinkled her nose.

“Why can’t I go with youuuuuuuuuu?”

“For the last time. You need to be here in case Thornhill and Weems come poking around, which they have an unfortunate habit of doing.” Thing hopped on her shoulder, his fresh coat of black nail polish perfectly matching Wednesday’s stubbornly goth aesthetic. Enid let out an exaggerated sigh that dragged on and on and on and on and—

“Shut up.” Wednesday grimaced, glancing down at Enid with a glare she had become all too familiar with. If looks really could kill everyone would be dead.

“Whatever. You still owe me. For the bee thing.” Her and Eugene were on better terms now, but she could still remember the terrifying buzz that had seemingly closed in on her the moment Eugene let the bees out. For whatever reason, Eugene had stopped hitting on her as well. Enid assumed this was because Wednesday had made him, but he would sometimes glance over and giggle at them whenever Wednesday dragged Enid into the shed for some likely illegal scheming. It annoyed Enid to no end, especially when he would just shake his head and grin that weird little grin of his whenever asked about it.

Wednesday paused packing her particularly shiny medieval mace (black of course) and turned back down to stare derogatorily at Enid.

“I suppose an Addams always keeps her word. What do you want?” She turned back to her backpack.

“You’ll give me anything?” Enid rolled over onto her stomach, hair flying around her head like a tornado.

“Anything reasonable and within my power, yes.”

Huh.

“Like… a unicorn?” She challenged playfully

“Difficult and disgusting but not impossible.” Wednesday said without missing a beat. Enid rolled her eyes.

“Yeah, no way.”

“I could.”

“Knowing you, you probably could.” Enid relented. Knowing Wednesday, she would stop at nothing to get it should Enid dance with disbelief any longer.

“Okay. How about… the Mona Lisa.”

“You want me to break into one of the most famed museums of all time to steal one of the most prized artworks in history. As a favor for spending an hours worth of time with some bees.”

“No, just wondering if you could.” Enid said, gazing up at Wednesday still packing her things. Gosh, she was so pretty. The way the fading moonlight caught on her midnight hair, glimmered in her eyes, danced across her lips, dusted her eyelashes. She really was beautiful. Objectively, that is. A friend could think a friend was beautiful. Obviously. And anyways, anyone would think the same. Most people did, after all. Wednesday seemed to have boys falling over themselves and tripping for a half hearted smile never to be earned.

“There has to be something you can’t give me.”

“Try me.” The words were a challenge, an invitation. Okay then.

“An iPhone 13 Pro”

“Security would be laughable”

“A sarcophagus. A gold one.”

“My family stores some in our basement.”

“Water from the fountain of youth.”

“I have some on meat the moment”

“Wait really?” Enid raised her eyebrows in disbelief. Wednesday ignored her, continuing to pack. Enid shook her head. Of course Wednesday did.

“What aboutttttttttttttt.” Enid racked her brain, trying to think of every myth and legend she had heard of that could stump the unstumpable Wednesday Addams. Maybe not an object, then.

“What about a kiss.” The words crawled out of her mouth unexpectedly, without an coherent thought or reason. Wednesday stayed silent, and Enid laughed nervously. Yeah no. She wasn’t sure what she’d been thinking. It’s not like she wanted Wednesday to kiss her. Though… hypothetically would she hate it? Like maybe a friendly peck on the cheek… but then an all too vivid image Wednesday and her kissing on the lips imprinted itself into Enid’s mind, and she could feel her cheeks turn redder than tomato.

“Well,” she laughed nervously again.

“Guess I stumped you.” She straightend on her bed as Wednesday shouldered her backpack onto her left shoulder, and turned to face Enid. Enid looked to the ground, trying not to show how much red had bloomed on her cheeks, or worse, have Wednesday somehow peer into her mind with her penatrating gaze and see every thought that had sneaked its way through the cracks into Enid’s mind. A shadow cast over her, and Enid glanced up to see Wednesday… eye to eye with her, so close Enid could see the brown specks in her seemingly void black eyes. Wednesday’s eyelids narrowed, her eyebrows furrowing together like rabbits cuddling for warmth. Like she was thinking, considering.

“Wha-”

Without warning, suddenly and unexpectedly, Wednesday leaned in and kissed her. It was like the first snowflake, cold to the touch but then melting on her skin as Wednesday pulled away before Enid could even consider kissing her back. Shock spread through Enid, pushing her back onto her bed and tripping her words.

“I… uh. Um. Uh.”

“We’re even.” Wednesday’s words were a careful knife cutting through Enids careless own, as she pushed herself to her feet and walked out of the room. Enid watched her leave, hand covering her mouth.

Holy shit

Wednesday Addams had kissed her. And the real stumper? Enid had enjoyed it.

#wenclair #esme writes #wednesday #wednesday x enid #eniday #wenclair fic

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gopped · 5 months

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so… remember when I said I wanted to create the most 2015 out of character most cringe fanfic about durgetash and I had that pole asking if I should actually write it (as well as some actual serious durgetash which I will.) well…. I did it. Any bad use of grammar/ spelling are 100% on purpose, this is not a serious fic aka please don’t think this is how I actually write.

enjoy 984 words of pure torture.

Hey my name is The Dark Urge but everyone calls me Durge for short. I’m really poggers and epic because I was born from the blood of Bhaal, yeah Bhaals my dad, suck on that posers. I have ivory-white scales and eyes the color of blood being splashed on the deepest of rubies. And I’m a storm sorcerer, studying to do magic is for losers! Plus I have this super cool slayer form that literally makes me so badass. As the true spawn of Bhaal you could say I have it all, I have a whole cult at my beck and call, all the different corpses I can eat… but there’s one thing I don’t have yet. There’s this one guy….. The chosen of Bane, we made like this pact thing that says I can’t harm him but it never said I couldn’t fuck him. And by the gods I will. I want him to be my shmoopie snuggluffagus cutie pookie patootie pudding muffin, but my dad is like a total buzz kill so I have to apologize for even thinking about putting a ring on that. Anyways his names Enver Gortash but he prefers for me to call him Enver because we’re close like that and I’m special and all that fun stuff. Plus I’m so much better that the depressed pile of dust and bones we also have to work with, ugh he’s such a boomer.

So here I am walking into Moonrise Towers so we can start discussing our super foolproof evil plans for how to take over the world. My super platform docs stomp against the stone steps to enter the tower, I glare at a few of the various subjects of other cults, idk which ones though, all I know is they’re not as cool as I am. Their probably posers and preps for all I know. But again, I don’t care. I make my grand entrance into the throne like room, doves flying behind me as light shines behind me, I’m just that important to like the world and stuff. I whip off my super cool angular anime sunglasses and I look around the room I see my pookie schmookie goth fantasy man boo-boo bear sugar goober standing off to the side and I see the old decaying grandpa corpse sitting on the big chair at the end of the room. Ugh, he’s the worst, and not even in a fun way, he won’t shut up about how his daughter doesn’t want to talk to him anymore and how he’s literally only here because of her, like how boring can a backstory get? He begins to speak. “Ah how nice of you to finally join us, you’re over an hour late.” He grumbles out, I swear theres like a moth living where his brain should be doesn’t he know that you have to be fashionably late? “Umm yeah.” I say, “that’s the point, what kind of nerd actually shows up on time.” I say rolling my perfect blood red eyes, making sure I show my sharp teeth as I scoff at him for extra effect. “Whatever, let’s just start the meeting already.” The reanimated corpse groans out, bones cracking as he repositions himself in his high chair. I cross my arms over my chest because I’m mysterious and awesome as the guy begins to speak, I don’t pay attention my sister is probably around here somewhere I’ll just ask her for the spark notes version. Gods I want to kill someone. Like I don’t have to, but I’m bored and it’s something I enjoy doing. Then I notice something in the corner of the room, while the old man goes on and on I go and investigate, the something I noticed was a cultist, not one of mine of course, they knew better. Upon further inspection, they don’t even seem to be a cultist, their robes look homemade with no reference to what they’re even supposed to be wearing. And they seem to be snooping around too, ugh it’s probably some Harper spy or something. Well, might as well get my kill count up while I’m here I guess… I approach them and before they could even begin to utter an excuse I shove my dagger in their mouth, dragging it against the roof of their mouth and tongue and pushing it down their throat. I watch with glee as the fear in their eyes gets worse as they start to choke on their own blood. I wiggle my blade, making the gashes in their mouth wider as I do so. I could stop there, but where’s the fun in that? I pull my dagger out to watch them cough and sputter out their own blood, uselessly clawing at their throat. Ugh, what a poser, I bet that even before I did that they wouldn’t be able to name 3 MCR songs.. I shove the spy onto the ground as they look up at me almost pleading with their eyes. Ugh it’s disgusting. So I take my dagger and I begin to hit them, it’s at this point I notice that the boring guy stopped speaking and the room was silent except for the occasional blood gurgle. I pull out the persons intestines and that’s when Gorts and my eyes meet across the room. It’s like so romantic like I swear someone casted like stop time or something… him and his pepsi dark eyes… I tuck some of the blood around my tympanum, gods he’s like so hot. Like the hottest I’ve seen in my 40 years of dreadful existence. Then he walks over to me and my heart goes doki doki he knees beside me on the other side of the now corpse and we start making out. No lips no tongue, all teeth. And then we took control of the netherbrain and got married.

The end.

#durgetash #durge x gortash #I don’t want this on my ao3 account so I’m only posting it here #A tumblr exclusive if you will.#It was just as painful to write as it is to read.#I had to make it 2 paragraphs bc tumblr yelled at me.

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uniquevoidflowers · 8 months

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Raised by a blade

The full thing is on AO3: Raised by a Blade

Just thought I’d send a bit of my fic here.

Legend/Link’s POV

I was six when my childhood was pulled away from me. Six years, one month, three days. I had no idea what I was doing, but when I wanted to go see if my Uncle was okay, he wasn’t. He very much wasn’t. I remember the sight vividly, blood gushing out of a huge hole in the middle of Uncle’s chest as I sobbed and begged for him to stay alive. He was crying as well, telling me I have to try and go rescue the princess, also telling me that he didn’t want me to. Once the light faded from Uncle’s eyes, I hugged him one last time before running away with his sword and shield. The sword and shield didn’t fit me, but my determination got me through. My six year old mind said to be a hero for Uncle. Previously, I had learned of heroes such as the Fallen Hero, the Heroes of the Four Sword and so on, so I took my courage from them. Eventually I found Fi, after many hardships, tears and near death experiences no child should face. I leaned towards the dim blade in curiosity.

“What are you doing young one?”

I startled at the voice that seemed to be coming from the hum of the blade. “I’m saving the pwincess.” I responded.

“This is terrible…There’s a 90% chance of him being my new master…Young one tell me your name.”

At the time I didn’t know what she meant by ‘my new master’ but I told her my name anyways. “Link.”

“Interesting. Do you wish to pull me in the 95% chance that you will succeed?”

I tilted my head. My six year old brain didn’t know what Fi was talking about. “Er…Do you want to pull the sword in front of you?”

I nodded eagerly and leapt up to the pedestal. I grasped the hilt of Fi and yanked her out ignoring the distressed buzzes of the sword. I looked at the blade in awe. “Young Master, have some patience. Anyway I am Fi, wield me in the following battles you will face. I will protect you.” Fi promised.

“M’kay! Awe you my momma?” I assumed, my Uncle didn’t have the heart to tell me my parents were dead at the time.

Looking back on that question, it was kinda embarrassing. “…I am not a Hylian mother. But if you like, I shall act in her stead.” Fi told me.

“Yay! Let’s go save the pwincess!” I cheered as Fi hummed with something I couldn’t read.

It was almost bitter. “Yes.”

So, Fi was my overall companion and she taught me the ways of the world, while learning things herself. The blade would burn me, gently, if I was about to do something I wasn’t supposed to. She spoke statistics over plants and seasons and monsters, supplying me with the information I needed. One time Fi asked me if I liked being a hero, and even then I had the same answer. “No.”

Fi hummed against my back sadly. Eventually I ended up spilling to her about my Uncle and his death as the blade remained silent. Tears had leaked out of my eyes and I was wishing so badly, my Uncle could be there to reassure me that everything was going to be okay. “You have my condolences Young Master. Everything will end up successful.” Fi’s warmth radiated on my cold back.

I sniffled and nodded. A day later I turned seven years old but I was stuck fighting and solving puzzles the entire day. When sunset came I started sobbing, knowing Uncle wouldn’t be there to celebrate with me. “What’s wrong Young Master?” Fi asked me.

Her voice was robotic, but somehow also motherly. “It’s my biwthday today.” I answered her, hiccuping.

“If my data is correct, Hylian birthdays are cheerful events in which Hylians celebrate someone’s day of birth. What is so upsetting about that?” Fi wondered.

“Nobody’s hewe to celebwate with me. Not even Uncle.” I informed her.

“…I am here Young Master. What do you do on a birthday?” Fi hesitated but asked anyway.

I brightened and blabbed about what happens on birthdays and Fi listened intently. Then she told me we would have to celebrate it after Ganon was defeated. I deflated a little, considering I didn’t know how long that would be, but Fi promised it would come sooner than later. Another evening, I had told Fi I felt really guilty about killing all these monsters so she assured me I was doing the right thing. When the final battle approached, Fi and I fought relentlessly, eventually succeeding. Fi was exhausted and the blade was dimmer than usual, I was injured and eventually just layed on the ground next to Fi who was making weak buzzes. Zelda had rushed to me and even though she didn’t know me that well, she was begging for medics. I didn’t mention this before but, before I had met Fi, I was being blamed for kidnapping Zelda. The knights refused to get help, but Fi and Zelda as a team managed to force the medics to heal me. “Young Master, stay awake for me and the princess. I beg of you.” Fi urged.

My eyes slipped close against my will and Fi buzzed with distress and alarm.

When I opened my eyes next, I saw Zelda standing over me. “Are you with me Link?” Zelda asked softly.

I nodded slightly and Zelda made a sound of relief. “Whewe’s Fi?” I slurred.

For some reason my now seven year old mind was set on the promise Fi made, that we would celebrate my birthday once I defeated Ganon. “Shhhhh she’s resting at the pedestal. She was battered down.” Zelda informed me, smiling sadly.

“B-But she pwomised.” I whimpered.

Zelda furrowed her eyebrows and I had just noticed the dark circles under her eyes. “What did she promise?”

“That we’d celebwate my biwthday once I saved you.” I replied.

Zelda gasped and looked at me, downcast. “But wasn’t your birthday days ago?” I nodded. “Link…look…I found out we are siblings after all the chaos…So I’m your older sister.” Zelda revealed.

My eyes widened and I looked at the princess to see if she was being serious. She was. At the time, Zelda was sixteen, she was much older than me. “And…I just want you to know that I’m here and I will protect you.” She squeezed my hand firmly.

“M’kay.” I yawned and then closed my eyes once more.

Then more adventures were thrown my way. My second and third adventures I travelled to Labrynna and Holodrum. Fi was now dormant, only the blade and it’s strength remained. In Holodrum, Impa always made sure I had enough to eat and drink. Din dancing and playing with the seasons to make me entertained. In Labrynna, Ralph was harsh but always made sure I wasn’t crying, what a softie. When I met my ancestor Raven, he looked heartbroken when I told him I was a hero in the future.

I turned eight when I went to Koholint. When I met Marin, she was my age and we became really good friends. Marin would take me to the beach and we would make sand castles and look at the vast ocean. When I found out the island was just a dream, I couldn’t bring myself to gather the instruments. I stayed with Marin, but the Nightmares polluted the paradise and killed Tarin, and then I knew I couldn’t stay. So I woke the Wind Fish and woke up cradling a board and sobbing.

When I came back to Hyrule, Zelda was in tears and nursing me back to health because apparently I was struck by lightning. I was inconsolable the entire time, and Zelda was able to get the story out of me. She held me in her arms and apologized profusely for not being there. I missed Fi and Uncle and Marin so so bad. Two more adventures and I was ten. When I had met Ravio he took me in willingly and gave me some of his items for free. It was nice and I felt appreciated. He called me Mr. Hero which was obviously a tease but I didn’t mind at the time. Hilda…once she had realized she was fighting a literal nine year old for the Triforce, she had a mental breakdown. But Yuga and Ganon did not care that they were battling a child. Hytopia was…weird but a sort of vacation. Now at the time I was ten and talking to Ravio. “My Uncle raised me til’ I was six and then Fi raised me.” I told the merchant.

“Fi? Is she a friend?” Ravio asked.

“Yeah.”

I didn’t want Ravio to think I was insane or more weird for being raised by a blade. I looked at the time and realized I was due for a visit with Zelda. Zelda got fussy if I was late, so I said farewell to the purple merchant and left. Both Ravio and Zelda had put in a lot of effort into helping me feel better with the loss of a few people. Whenever I saw a hibiscus, I thought of Marin and couldn’t stop the tears. Whenever I saw an apple or someone that looked like Uncle I had to stop and sob. Whenever I heard distant chimes that sounded similar to Fi’s my mind raced and my heart pounded until I realized Fi was still dormant. On my travels to the castle I came upon a growing hibiscus and floods of memories with Marin came back to me.

“I want to be a seagull, so I can fly the world and sing to all the other kids out there.”

I’m sorry Marin. I’m so sorry, so so very sorry.

#linked universe #lu legend #fi #angst #legend is a kid #unique writes

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realmackross · 2 months

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PARTIES: @loftylockjaw, @realmackross TIMING: Mid-February outside of Hallow Eats SUMMARY: When Wyatt decides to try and take care of a bug problem, with Mack offering him a helping hand, the two are caught in the crossfire of some very strong pollen. CONTENT WARNINGS: Drug manipulation tw (Bumblekára pollen), drool tw (very brief mention)

“Okay, seriously, how does no one else hear that?” His coworkers just looked at each other and shrugged, and Wyatt huffed. Obviously none of them had his fantastic sense of hearing, which was only working overtime right now because he was partially shifted. He worked among other supernatural townsfolk and a handful of humans that were quite aware, but cool about it. His golden eyes flashed as he moved away from his workstation in the kitchen, slitted pupils searching for the heat signature to accompany the buzzing, scratching sound he was hearing. Moving out of the kitchen and into the main dining room (they hadn’t yet opened), Wyatt felt a tiny vibration start to kick up. He moved along the interior walls of the building, but it was proving fruitless. Also it kind of sounded like it was coming from… higher up?

Heading outside, Wyatt circled the building, his reptilian gaze turned toward the awning above him. Ah! There. A mass of warmth up higher on the structure, just beyond the fire escape that came down from the second floor. The lamia took a running jump at the ladder to grab it and drag it down, nearly losing his grip as it jerked to a sudden stop far sooner than it should’ve.

Dangling there, the lamia squinted up at the ladder and growled, thrashing his body around to try and knock it loose. That’s when he heard footsteps and felt eyes on him—quickly blinking his eyes back to their more human blue and hoping that whatever scales had been peeking out from beneath his hairline weren’t noticed (probably not, from this distance), he twisted around to look at the person standing at the mouth of the alleyway.

“Salutations,” he laughed. “Don’t, uh… don’t suppose you’d be willin’ to give the ol’ feet there a tug n’ help me get this ladder down, wouldja?”

—

There had been a lot running through Mackenzie’s mind lately. Situations that continued to replay over and over again haunting her, but also frustrating her. It had been around two months since she had lost control and raged through town, and it seemed like ever since, she had been living in a whirlwind of emotions. Her attempts to move forward and get on with her life was like an ebb and flow and some days were better than others. And of course, the best thing being her new relationship that was forming with Elora. But there were still moments when she felt as though she just wanted to let go. Let loose and not worry. And today was one of those days.

Venturing out earlier than normal, Mackenzie decided that maybe rising with the sun, would lift her spirits some, especially with the days getting shorter. It had been a while since she had made the choice to go eat at a restaurant for breakfast. Most mornings consisted of staying at home and having a smoothie of various body parts (unless it was brain day) followed by a few pancakes doused in cinnamon as a treat. But today, she had decided to go for something different.

As she made her way down the quiet sidewalks of the small town with the few early risers that were already out and about, she had almost made it to her destination when she heard a voice from…up above?

Mackenzie, with one half-raised eyebrow in confusion, cocked her head to the side as she looked up to see a man hanging from a ladder, “Uh…salutations? I’m sorry, the last time I heard that word was when I was like eight after watching Charlotte’s Web…” Blinking a few times, she sighed and walked towards him, “How did you get up there anyways? And what are you doing?” Reaching up, she grabbed onto his shoes and began to tug as hard as she could.

—

“Guess I’m old fashioned like that,” Wyatt mused, adjusting his grip on the ladder with a grunt. “Oh, well, I jumped! I was tryin’ to get the escape ladder down, so I can get up there and see what the heck is livin’ in our wall. But it uh, got stuck.” Feeling her pulling on his feet, he adjusted his grip again and squinted his eyes up at the ladder, willing it to release. Something started to grind, and he could have sworn he was moving very slowly. “Ah! Yeah! Just like that! C’mon, nearly there—” The ladder gave and they were suddenly falling very rapidly, and without much thought, Wyatt let go of the ladder with one arm to instead grab onto the stranger and stop her from cracking her head on the pavement from the sudden inertia of the not-so-little man dangling above her. They hung there for a moment before Wyatt heaved her up so she could regain her footing, then let her go and grabbed the ladder with both hands to start hauling himself up it to get his feet on the first rung. “Many thanks!” he called down to her, a bit out of breath by the time he got his feet on the ladder and could take a short break.

He leaned back, staring up at the spot where the sound was coming from, blinking again and shifting his eyes back to their reptilian state. The heat signature was there, clear as day, and it looked… yeah, this was a bug problem. What kind of bugs was the question, but whatever they were, they had to go. Wyatt just wanted to know what to tell the exterminator. He was… going to have to get into the wall, probably. Something he’d not considered until now. Damnit. Shifting back to blue and looking down at the girl, his gaze then scanned the alley. Ah.

“Uh… one more favor, if you don’t mind? Can you hand me that cinderblock over there by the dumpster, ma chérie?” He squatted back down and held a hand out toward her. “I’m Wyatt, by the by. So you know who to warn your friends away from,” he added with a chuckle.

—

Mackenzie listened as she continued to tug, until she felt a slight shift. Her mind had been on not getting squished by the man hanging just above her head, but when the ladder started to drop, the zombie realized she needed to move. However, down they went together — her, the ladder, and the man casually hanging from it. Luckily, like a true southern gentleman, she felt her fall being broken by him, before he was helping her back up. It had all happened so fast that Mackenzie didn’t have time to think, but once she had regained her composure, she was watching him attempt to move up the ladder once again, “You’re welcome…I think. But you said there was something living in your walls? Any idea what it might be?”

Stepping back, she looked upwards with a squint as the sun peered down into her eyes, “Is it even safe to be climbing up there? I mean you are going in without any ideas of what might be lurking.” And with this town, it could have been anything. “I’d just be cautious if I were you.” Letting her eyes fall from the brightness and the pain it was causing, Mackenzie heard him ask for the cinderblock. Now, what is this man up to?

“I don’t know what you’ve got in mind, but sure. Hold on.” Going over to the dumpster, she picked up the cement block and carried it back over to the man still standing on the ladder, “Mackenzie. And honestly, right now, it feels like friends are few and far between, so I don’t think you have anything to worry about.” Raising the block up with both hands, she passed it off to him, “What do you plan on doing with that?”

—

“Pests, probably. As for what I’m gonna do with this…” he took it from her, grinning at it in his own hands for a beat. “Why, gonna put a hole in the wall with it, what else!” Wyatt answered Mack as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. He approached the spot and, rearing his hand back, prepared to strike with the cinderblock, hoping to break through whatever cheap siding this place had been built with.

What the shifter couldn’t know was that these were no ordinary bugs. In fact, they weren’t bugs at all. They were bees, but not your average honeymakers. And they weren’t supposed to be here, of all places, noticed only thanks to the lamia’s heat vision, since they had been otherwise dormant. It was getting colder out, so that made sense. But dormant or not, the moment the wall came exploding inward right next to their hive, they were awake. And mad.

The raucous buzzing could be heard even from where Mackenzie stood as the hive thrummed to life, slipping out of their hibernation to defend their home. Residual pollen from the springtime feeding still clung to the Bumblekára’s little fuzzy bodies, and as they flapped their tiny wings an an angry, threatening sort of way, a cloud of that pollen came billowing out of the hole Wyatt had made. The hole he was now pressing his face up to to try and see if it was wasps or what. (No one ever said he had a healthy sense of self-preservation—he was a ring fighter, after all.)

He coughed, pulling back from the cloud, eyes wide. “What the fuck?” The coughing continued, the pollen irritating his lungs and making him feel dizzy as he stumbled back from the wall, grabbing onto the railing of the fire escape to steady himself.

The cloud sank low into the alley, engulfing the whole area in a thick, colorful, dizzying haze.

—

“Right? So you’re gonna break a wall and anger whatever’s in there. This should be interesting.” Mackenzie wasn’t worried. She was dead after all. If anything had decided to come out of the hole she watched the man now busting into the siding of the older building, it wasn’t like it could hurt her right? So she stood by with her face aimed upwards watching as he made an effort to beat an opening. It was only then, when he was successful, that Mackenzie could hear what sounded like buzzing. Her ears hadn’t been the absolute best, but she knew bees buzzing, and it was only confirmed when she watched them zip out of the hole bringing a cloud of dust with them.

With the plume of pollen surrounding Wyatt, Mackenzie watched as he stumbled, reacting on instinct ready to catch him if he were to fall, but there was some relief when she noticed him catch the ledge and hang on. However, it wasn’t pleasant seeing the haze seeping downward soon to engulf her in it, only to leave her coughing and trying to fan it away. Great. Something that apparently could affect her. Pollen. But it didn’t take long for her to stumble forward looking for something to grip while the world started to spin around her, “What the fuck?”

Closing her eyes and trying to steady herself was proving to be unsuccessful, “Wyatt! What did you unleash!?! She had been waiting for the stings, but they never came. Instead her mind started to race as if she were under the influence of something unpleasant at first, but oddly turning into something more enjoyable. At least for the moment in time while she leaned up again the building the man had just knocked a hole into.

—

“I dunno…! Bees?!” The lamia tried to take a deep breath to settle the dizziness in his head, but breathing was hard in this damned cloud. He ought to get out, really, but… he was distracted by the way he realized his hands were changing. The fingers grew longer, the skin began to turn a sickly green, and… and… oh. Oh.

Wyatt gave a small start as he realized he was slipping into an involuntary shift, alligator scales sprouting on his arms, neck, and face, his pupils thinning into slits while the irises turned a golden yellow. But even worse than that, there was something going on with the girl—something weird. Weirder than him? Hard to say. He leaned over the railing, his concern for dropping from such a height gone as the hallucinogenic rampaged through his system. The girl, Mackenzie, was growing horns. Or was it antlers? He didn’t know, didn’t care, except that it was fuckin’ wild and he wanted a closer look.

Allowing the shift to continue, putting an unfortunate strain on his clothes, the lamia scampered down the steps to the landing where the ladder was connected, staring at her.

“What’s with the head decorations?” he called, not realizing that he was fully imagining all of it. He climbed up onto the railing, heaving a sigh as the shift rapidly accelerated and left no trace of a human behind, just a reptilian monster that resembled a bipedal alligator, draped in what had once been Wyatt’s work attire. He dropped from the fire escape, landing in the alley with a thud that rattled the nearby windows before standing upright again and reaching for her imagined antlers that were sprouting higher and higher from her head. A quick glance down also revealed to him (or so he thought) that her face was… growing fur? Like his scales, but very much not like his scales.

Wait a minute. Was she like, a deer person? What the fuck?

It was then that the lamia felt his stomach growl.

—

Mackenzie closed her eyes trying to find balance, but the smells…Oh mylanta, the smells of fresh cooked meat had her mouth watering. And as she opened her eyes again, she let her gaze shift until she noticed the alligator plopping down to the ground with a hard thud. Mackenzie startled at first, but suddenly more curious than anything. And as he moved in closer to her, his large gatory arm extending out towards her, she couldn’t help but see it as something battered and deep fried, the tiniest bit of drool seeping from the side of her mouth, until he said something about head decorations, “What? I don’t have anything on my head. Do you always walk around looking like a snack?”

The young zombie had managed to push herself off of the wall as she inched closer, her eyes glazing over to pure white nothingness, but her brain and ability to talk still there. If she had caught sight of herself in a mirror, she would have seen nothing but rot and decay, but apparently her gator friend was seeing something else, “Hey! We should go get hot sauce. Like the hottest sauce known to man. Some of that Carolina Reaper shit that everyone talks about. That long, freshly battered tail you’re sportin’ right now isn’t going to marinate itself.” She wandered over to it and slowly leaned down to lift it up and observe it, “You know…this would totes make a super cute purse too and boots…You could make a lot of money, man.”

—

“I mean… nice of you to notice, but I think I’d count myself as a whole damn meal. Five courses n’ all,” Wyatt countered with a laugh. The deer-girl’s interest in his tail was, mm… hard to describe. Not threatening, because he was big and had lots of teeth, and she was small. And had… probably flat teeth, or whatever deer have. Not a threat. Not a problem. Kinda weird, though. She would make a decent meal…

Pulled from his thoughts as Mackenzie picked his tail up from the ground, the lamia let out a crocodilian hiss of breath, then followed it with a snort. “Yeah, well, I need that tail for things. Things that don’t involve purses, boots, or hot sauce. Ain’t you like a vegetarian, anyway? I know gator is the most scrumptious of the meats, but I never seen a deer eat meat before.” He turned to face her, pulling his tail free of her grip. “Me though… I eat lots of meat. Hell, I live on it. N’ you…” He dropped down onto all fours, ready to lunge at her with massive, gaping jaws. “You’re the one lookin’ mighty tasty right about now.” He recoiled and then sprang, far more agile than a real alligator would’ve been on land, and therefore, far more deadly. Not that he realized his chosen prey was already dead—might not have been interested, if he knew that.

—

“I bet you would.” Mackenzie licked her lips. Forget the tail, there was a lot Mack could feed on. From his hind quarters to his cute little prehistoric looking arms and of course that funny little brain that kept telling him she was a deer. But her trance was broken, when he ripped his tail away from her and out of her grip. Instead of dwelling, she shook her head a little and looked back at the gator man as a whole, “Too bad, you’re a walking high end designer bag that could fetch a lot of money.” She shrugged.

Turning around, not paying any attention to him down and ready to lunge, Mackenzie started to walk forward and just in time too, because if she had stayed in the same spot, she surely would have been gator food. It was the Bumblekára pollen that had her so carefree and nonchalant about things. So much so that it almost gave her an air of coolness that she only turned on when she was acting for the camera, “And why do you keep calling me a deer?” She narrowed her eyes thinking about the question, before turning back around, “I guess if you like your meat dead and rotting. I mean, I would say I’m more roadkill than Bambi.” She started laughing at her own joke as she turned back around to face him.

—

His jaws snapped shut and caught nothing but air, and he grumbled. That should’ve been… a lot easier. He felt weird. Confused, almost. Obviously it was affecting his ability to hunt. “Because you are a deer—what you mean, dead and rotting? You don’t look dead to me.” Wyatt paused, narrowing his eyes at her and craning his neck forward to give her a good, long sniff.

Okay, so she didn’t smell like the dead things he normally came across in the woods, but she definitely had some kind of… aura about her. The lamia stopped for a moment, thinking hard about what Owen had said. There were more than just vampires. And—duh! Caleb was dead, too! And he didn’t smell dead. Was this deer girl like—

Oh, wait. She wasn’t a deer. The fur and the antlers were suddenly gone, leaving in their place one very normal looking girl. The lamia huffed out a breath and lifted his head again, rising up onto two feet. “You’re… not a deer. And you’re dead, like my—like a guy I know. Okay. I’m—” God, stringing together a coherent sentence was hard. He glanced up at the hole in the wall where the bees had retreated, and the sky still glittered and sparkled with the haze of pollen they’d blasted out at him. “I think… maybe… we shouldn’t be in this cloud,” he thought aloud. “But… um. I can’t… someone might see.” And if he shifted back, he’d be naked. And he really didn’t want this random person seeing him naked.

—

“No, I am not a deer. And yes, I am dead.” Normally Mackenzie wasn’t so carefree with who she revealed her true identity with, but this guy was a huge humanoid alligator that looked like he came straight out of the Peter Pan cartoon that she had seen many, many years ago as a child. “And you’re a walking-talking alligator.” Mack looked him over once more, until he mentioned the pollen cloud. Letting her eyes glance up, she noticed it was still lingering.

Mackenzie had only ever been high once in her life, and it had been enough for her. Not something she had ever desired to feel again, but here she was, except this time, it was totally different, “I think you’re right.” With the realization of what was causing their hallucinations, life seemed to suddenly start to cut back through and… “Oh…uh. Yeah, I mean, I can offer you my hoodie, but that’s about it.” She looked over to see his other clothes in shreds on the ground. Man this guy must have had a closet full of clothes. And then some.

Quickly glancing around, she spotted a small souvenir shop across the street. Why anyone would want Wicked Rest souvenir’s she’d never know. It seemed like leaving with the scars of what this town could do to you was enough, “I have an idea! Go hide somewhere…like over there in the shadows. And don’t breathe.” Easier said than done, at least for a walking dead person. “I’ll be right back!”

—

“Don’t breathe? You—” But she was off, and Wyatt was left to mutter to himself, hunkering down and hoping he was low enough to keep his head clear before scurrying off to the darkest corner of the alley, side pressed against a smelly dumpster. Clawed hands reached out to cover his nostrils and he begged the woman to hurry, growing antsier by the second.

His eyes were tightly clamped shut when she returned, afraid of what he might see and how he might react if he opened them. He felt something soft dumped onto his snout and he peeked with one yellow, slitted eye.

This was far and away from his first choice when it came to fashion, but what other alternative was there? Ugh. The lamia lifted his head and gathered the clothing in his reptilian hands, offering Mack a nod in thanks. “Turn around,” he huffed, wasting no more time in reversing the shift and hurriedly pulling the clothes on—the sweatpants and sweatshirt were ugly as sin, but at least they were comfortable and fit okay. The sandals, while not right for the season, were probably the only footwear available in that place, so he tried not to complain too much about the horrific combination of Wicked’s Rest socks and sandals adorning his human feet as he slipped them on and stood up. As he moved past Mack, he urged her forward with a touch to her shoulder, and the pair quickly left the alley and rounded the front of the building. Along the way, he bent down to snatch up his phone that’d clattered to the pavement after his gator body had ripped through his clothes, annoyed but not surprised to see that the screen had cracked.

Calling up the coworkers he’d abandoned in the building to finish prep on their own, he informed them he was actually taking the day off as something unexpected had come up. Not really caring if that was about to cost him his job, he hung up and looked down at Mack again.

“Well… thanks for the help, even though that all went to shit.” He paused, considering the girl’s undeadness. “Hey, you like spicy food? I hear that’s the closest folk like you can get to tastin’ anythin’. Got a few recipes I’ve tried out on my undead friend, n’ he seemed to enjoy ‘em. Can make you some, as proper thanks for the…” He glanced down at himself, letting out a laugh. “... incredible ensemble you threw together for me.”

—

Mackenzie had tried to pick out something resembling a decent outfit, but it was no avail, and the frustration that lingered with the options made her want to have a talk with the owner, but she didn’t have time. Besides, it’s not like she had to shop for a naked gator man on a regular basis. Well that was a thought I never imagined would pop into my head. Which led to “3 AM” by Eminem cycling through her brain and was stuck there until she returned to Wyatt, where she successfully dumped the clothes on him.

Doing as he requested, Mackenzie turned her back to him while he got dressed, and by the time she turned back around, what she saw made her burst out into a somewhat ugly laugh, “Oh shit…that’s worse than I thought it would be!” Stifling her continued laughter, she followed him quietly as he retrieved his phone and the pair left the cloud of pollen once and for all. She had felt bad he was going to miss a day's work over this, but it wasn’t often you were in the presence of hallucinogenic bee butt dust. Besides, Mack was also pretty sure he didn’t want to be caught coming back to work dressed like Wicked’s Rest’s biggest fan. How would that conversation go?

“Uh, yeah. No problem. And thanks for not eating me. I don’t think I’d taste very good.” She laughed softly, but her ears perked at the mention of spicy food. “You have spoken the magic words. I, unfortunately, love spicy food!�� Mack looked up at him with a grin, “I would very much appreciate that, and uh, you can keep the clothes. Maybe use it as a Halloween costume sometime if the overgrown Alligator costume bit gets old.” She resumed walking, “You been in Wicked’s Rest long?”

—

“Wow, thanks, your generosity astounds,” he laughed in turn, always able to find the humor in a situation… he just hoped he didn’t run into anyone he knew looking like this. “But no… just a few months. Was in Boston for some years before that, though, so it’s not that different… just smaller. And with more… dead people.” He glanced at her. “No offense. Some of my favorite people are dead!”

The trip to his waiting car wasn’t an especially long one, and once they’d reached it, Wyatt asked Mack to hold there for a second while he reached into his glove box and pulled out a scrap of paper.

“Here,” he said, writing down his name and phone number. “Hit me up when you got a hankerin’, girl. I’ll make sure you can taste your dinner. And… hey, I’ll even cook it up usin’ that offal I hear your kind needs to stay limber, eh? Wouldn’t want you goin’ hungry.” Leaning over the car door to hand it to her, Wyatt offered a charming smile. “Now I gotta get the fuck outta here before someone I know sees me. Thanks again for the assist. Be hearin’ from you soon!”

#para: designer handbags & fresh deer #para: wyatt #loftylockjaw #drug manipulation tw #drool tw #wickedswriting

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neowinestainedress · 1 year

Text

christmas lights | nakamoto yuta

title: christmas lights | part of christmas must be something more

pairing: nakamoto yuta x oc

summary: there’s nothing better than romantic sex under Christmas lights.

genre: smut, non-idol au, established relationship, (implied) polyamorous relationship, smutmas

warnings: shibari / shibari with Christmas lights (just for a few snaps and then the lights were out, DON’T do it, especially if they’re not led lights and if they are connected with the elecritc current. In the story is specified better but I still think it’s necessary to explain that aesthetics =/= safety) | taking pics (does this have a name??), fingering, one orgasm denial, multiple orgasms, romantic sex, minor nipple play, minor dirty talk, sub/dom, dom!yuta, sub!oc

words: 3.426k

taglist: @webscreams @multislut @roxyvogue @dullparadisewithtxt @yutas-princess02 @seongwhaffels @cosmiczen @adorejhyun | couldn't tag: @yutascoffee127

a/n: i hate this but I'm going through life and writer's block so that's all I can put out. I hate even more that this is the last thing I'll post before disappearing, but here it is, so enjoy it anyway, I guess??? Let's pretend it came out when it was supposed to so before Christmas

This wasn’t the first time Jade found herself in that position; tied up with her knees bent and her thighs pressed to her chest in a fetal position, her hands tied on her front bound with her legs while Yuta stared at her with need. Yuta was the only one she trusted with ropes or any other type of tying up that wasn’t a bland tie or handcuffs, he was also the first one that introduced her to this world. At first, she was taken aback, afraid of not being flexible enough, and even scared of everything, but Yuta was trustworthy, and he knew what he was doing. So after the first hesitant steps with the easiest and less complex positions, they explored that world further.

Jade understood swiftly that it wasn’t only a purely sex-related thing, shibari was about the beauty of the body, and for as uncomfortable as it looked, she loved it because she learned how to appreciate her self-image more. The tons of compliments coming from Yuta’s mouth were an excellent plus to boost her confidence.

But a few days before Yuta brought something else up, something not only they never tried before but something she never thought about.

“You want to hang me with the lights?” She asked, staring at her boyfriend while she cuddled up in the corner of the couch and he leaned close to the fireplace.

“I can’t hang you with them, do you want me to kill you or something?”

She shook her head, munching the biscuits and swallowing the bite before talking again. “No, none of you would survive without me.”

Yuta huffed, rolling his eyes before reaching her and sitting at her side. “We would do as usual. I’ve got special lights that work with batteries and the wire is a bit larger, but we will still use the ropes. I will wrap them on you just for a few shots and then will try something else.”

“Oh, those lights,” her eyes lit up, the blanket falling off her body, the box of biscuits almost spilling over on the sofa.

“Yeah, what lights were you thinking?”

The truth was that she wasn’t thinking a lot lately, and even now that Yuta walked around her on the bed, fixing the last details, her brain was already lost, buzzing in anticipation.

“Okay, the lights should be detangled. Are the ropes okay?”

“They’re good.”

“Are they rubbing on your skin? Itching? Is the position comfortable?”

She rolled her eyes, she appreciated that Yuta always checked in but sometimes he used to worry too much. “I’m fine, you know these are my favourites, and my body can take this position.”

Yuta glared at her. “You know your safety comes first, don’t be a brat about it,” he ordered. “I’ll start wrapping them around you, if it’s fine for you, I won’t follow the same exact path of the ropes since there are more and they are for decoration.”

“Fine by me, just do it.”

“You don’t have a bit of patience in you,” he murmured, grabbing the lights and starting to place them around her. He partly followed the path of the ropes, wrapping the lights around her, he couldn’t tie them like a knot, but just placing them on her and securing them for what he could, was more than enough to set a fire in him.

Jade on the other end was watching him patiently, or so, for some reason more excited than she thought she would be. If Yuta loved the art of it, she loved how concentrated he was with everything, the care of tying her up, and securing her in place was an act she loved so much, probably even more than the sex that came after. Even in this position, the ball tie — it took her a while but she actually got a few names here and there — where she was very restricted, she trusted him completely and felt safe.

Once he was sure everything was perfect, lights turned on, together with other ones scattered around the room, and she was relaxed, he grabbed the camera.

“Can I take a picture of you?”

“Is that one of Johnny’s cameras?”

Yuta hummed, “he told me it’s an old one he doesn’t use anymore.”

Jade smiled at the memories; that was Johnny’s college years camera, the one that went through hell and back and paid much of their first rents. “Yeah, you can. Make me look good, though,” she winked, beaming at her boyfriend that was staring at her with anticipation.

Yuta chuckled, bringing his eye to the viewfinder before taking a few snaps. “Do you know how to pose?”

“You got the wrong partner, honey,” she joked, shaking her head.

“Come on, just be seductive.”

“I can only move my head, though,” she said, trying to think of a way she could make it hotter.

“That’s fine, just look at me,” he reassured, leaning down to get a better angle, “I’ll do the magic.”

She suppressed a smile, trying to look at him with an intense gaze, angling her neck to the side to stare at the camera.

“Perfect,” he hummed before standing up on the bed, his feet planted at her side as he took a shoot from above her.

“Do I look good?” She asked, suddenly feeling shy.

“You’re perfect,” he replied. “Look up here,” he ordered before snapping another photo, a close-up of her face, lightened up by the lights on her chest and the ones that ran on the bed frame and around the room.

“Should’ve called Johnny for this,” he chuckled, but another idea made its way into his mind, making his lips curl in a smirk, “maybe next time we can invite him and give you a proper shoot.”

Her skin heated up just at the idea, and Yuta snickered. “You like that? Or does it scare you? Maybe we should go to his studio with proper lighting. I could wrap you up and he will make you look so good.”

“I — I like that.”

“Of course you do,” he teased, moving back before sitting on the mattress another time, he grazed her legs and caressed the exposed skin of her ass, feeling the shivers form on her skin, and then moved his fingers between her legs. “You’re so wet, already. What’s turning you on so much?”

Jade felt embarrassed when she whispered, “everything.” Shame creeping up even more when Yuta snorted.

“Everything?” He asked, tilting his head, camera hanging around his neck, and fingers pushing past her entrance, while his eyes focused on her face.

She hummed. “It’s exciting. You are — uhm — exciting.”

A small smile crept on his face as he pulled his fingers out, hearing a disappointed sound. He would’ve messed around more, too, but he didn’t want to keep the lights on her body any longer, so he grabbed the camera again before taking some more pictures; they weren’t dirty, surely explicit but they leaned closer to nude photography than pornography and he loved how they came out, intimate, mysterious and provoking at the same time.

“Are you taking them off?” Jade asked when he placed the camera on the other side and moved closer to her.

“Yes, don’t you want me to fuck you, honey? Can’t do that with these on.”

“Yeah, want you,” she replied, following his moves. Yuta was always calm in everything he did, never rushing things. There was something incredibly charming and attractive in the way he moved, so delicately and yet so fiercely and confident of himself. And she was so lost in him that it took her a while to realize he was undoing the ropes too. She wanted to ask why, fearing he was going to fuck her normally and not tied up, but then remembered that wasn’t a practical position for sex so she waited for his next move.

“Stretch your limbs, babe,” he said, placing the ropes to the side and rubbing her skin. “Yes, I will tie you again,” he chuckled when he met her questioning eyes. “You know I keep promises.”

And it was true, Yuta always kept his promises, and once she was comfortable again, he didn’t waste time putting her into a new position; calves pressed against the back of her spread-open thighs.

“Do you want me to tie your arms or leave them free?”

“Are we doing the, what is it called? Frog tie?”

Yuta nodded, hand caressing her thighs as he waited.

“I, uhm, you know I like that but can’t you tie me in another way? Like for my arms.” She didn’t mind having her arms tied behind her back, but the position could get tiring soon, and she didn’t want this to end quickly.

“Against the frame is fine?”

“Yes, yes, is fine,” she hummed, nodding swiftly, patience wearing thin as she just wanted things to spark up.

“Give me your hands then,” he ordered, voice firm but gentle. “Let me know if it’s too tight.” He passed the rope around her wrists and then around the frame, locking her there. “And now your legs, want you all spread for me.”

When after a few minutes Yuta was done, he simply stared at her for a while, admiring the way the ropes were sinking into her skin and how exposed she was, looking up at him with eager eyes, silently begging him to pay her attention. He didn’t need her words, he could see how wet she was under the dazzling colourful lights, the cum dripping out of her cunt glistening while her clit throbbed ever so often, asking to be taken care of. And Yuta wasn’t in the mood to play games, so he leaned forward, resting his hand on the pillow next to her, kissing her passionately while his fingers teased her entrance before pushing in, finally filling her with something.

“Yuta,” she breathed out through the kiss, hips barely moving up to meet him halfway.

“Shh, be patient,” he whispered, trailing his lips down her neck, “I’ll take good care of you.”

Jade only hummed in response, shivers running through her back as he kept moving his fingers inside and kept kissing her skin until his lips wrapped around her hard nipples. The contrast between the chilly air of the room and his warm mouth made her hips roll up against his palm while her lips parted to leave out a shaky breath.

“You sound so pretty for me,” Yuta mumbled barely pulling back from her hard nipple, his breath hitting her hot skin. “Can you hear yourself? Your body speaking to me, your cunt so wet it’s squelching around my fingers.” He snickered when she didn’t answer and only rolled her head back, parting her lips to let out louder sounds of pleasure. He moved back, placing his free hand on her knees and pushing her legs more apart, making her look up in surprise, but without answering her silent questions. There wasn’t a specific reason why he did that, other than wanting to look at her better. He also found it kinda funny how silent she would get when they did bondage, Yuta never set any different rules, unless he didn’t specify on the moment, she could talk — unless she wasn’t gagged, of course — but it was like she fell into a different space and full obedience. And she was so immersed in it that she didn’t even complain when he pulled his fingers out. Jade only stared at him, eyes widening and body squirming in embarrassment when he brought his cum stained fingers to his lips and sucked them clean.

“Sorry, kitten, can’t hold it back any longer,” he smirked before wrapping the wet hand on his cock and giving it a few tugs, moving closer on his knees to align on her wet entrance. “Want my cock?”

She gulped and ran her tongue on her dry lips, pupils wide as she nodded, thrilled with anticipation.

“Use your words, kitten.”

“Yes, want your cock,” she replied, voice coming out in a whisper.

Yuta smirked and then started to push in, taking his time to feel her welcome him, tight walls wrapping around him until he bottomed in. “Fuck,” he groaned, letting his head fall forward for a second, “feel so good every time.”

She hummed in response, trying not to desperately roll her hips back to fuck into him, but it was hard when she still didn’t come and was denied an orgasm just a few seconds before. Luckily for her, Yuta got it, or maybe he was just as needy, and started moving in and out right after. Hips snapping against her body with a steady rhythm, not too fast and not too slow, it would’ve been perfect if only she didn’t crave the release more than anything else.

“Want to come already?” He asked, wrapping his hands around her waist.

“Yes.”

“Then do it,” he replied. “I want to take it slow, babe. Fuck you nice and slow under the Christmas lights while you’re wrapped up,” he sighed, eyes squeezing when her pussy clenched around him, “don’t care about anything else. You can come all the times you want. Just be pretty for me and take me, alright?”

“Yes, yeah, fuck,” she answered, eyes closing when his fingers moved to play with her clit and his lips wrapped around her nipple again, and everything was enough to send her over the edge in a second.

“Just like this, babe. Take it all,” he hummed before he kissed her, muffling the moans. His hips started moving just a bit faster, he wanted to take this slow, savour the moment, watch as the colourful lights lighted up her blissful face and beautiful body, and created beautiful shadows on the hollows caused by the ropes. But she was warm and wet and her pussy clenched perfectly around his cock, so it was hard to don’t get lost in the pleasure.

“You’re so beautiful, babe. You know that, right?”

She hummed, feeling shy at the compliment, her whole body on fire as he kept hitting her sweet spot that made her tremble.

“Yes, my good girl. Following my orders so well. Taking all of me.” His head rolled back when she squeezed harder around him, and as a reaction he gripped her waist tighter, angling her to reach deeper.

“Fuck,” she spat out, breath faltering and heart beating fast as another orgasm approached.

“Is it too much for you, babe?” Yuta teased, starting to rub her clit, watching a flame flicker in her eyes as they made eye contact.

“No — no,” she rasped, “I can take it.” Pride, that surely was it, because Yuta could see she was fighting with herself to hold it in just a bit longer and it wasn’t working really well.

“Then be my good girl and take it, alright? You’re doing — fuck — so good.”

She mumbled something under her breath, words choking in her throat as another orgasm washed over, too strong to hold it in now that he was also paying attention to her clit. Also, the position made her feel everything more, and being so exposed and vulnerable at his mercy made her heart, and pussy, throb.

Yuta came too a few moments after, grunting and moaning as he leaned closer to kiss her while his hips kept slamming against her.

“That’s it, fuck,” he groaned against her ear, causing her head to roll back as his sexy voice got to her brain, thinking he was done, but when after a small pause his hips picked up the speed again her breath got stuck.

“Again?” She asked with curiosity and incredulity in her voice.

Yuta lifted his head a bit and smirked cockily, “I promised you I was going to fuck you over and over. Any complaints?”

Jade shook her head, shivers running down her body and skin burning up. “Want you.”

“I know, I’m right here, to give you an early Christmas present. Do you want that?”

She nodded, biting her lips to hold back the moans.

“Oh, wait, you are the gift. Look at how pretty you are, the only thing missing is a — fuck — a ribbon.”

Her hips rolled up, legs pushing further down for what she could, the movements that the ropes allowed were very limited, but she still wanted to feel more. And Yuta got it, he leaned in again, his chest pressing against hers, and started kissing her, hips moving faster in and out of her soaked cunt, filling the room with lewd sounds of cum and skin.

It went on for a while, with sweet words whispered, hands wrapping tightly around the frame and bodies rocking together under the dazzling lights he put up in the room, colouring it with different shades.

“I’m — fuck — I’m, uhm, gonna come again,” she breathed out, eyes opening and meeting his, filled with lust and love.

“Come with me, come on,” he urged, voice thinner as the orgasm was about to break out. “Squeeze my cock, babe.”

“Mhh,” she hummed.

“Look at me,” he ordered, grabbing her chin and keeping her in place but the hold was gentle, nothing harsh about the way his hand cupped her face. “Want you to look at me while I fill you up, got it?”

“Yes, yes,” she mumbled, nodding in his grip and forcing her eyes open, “please.”

“Fuck,” he groaned, closing his eyes only for a second before he met hers again, “come.”

It didn’t take much more for both of them to come, just a few more messy thrusts and sloppy kisses as the orgasm washed over with force, leaving them gasping against each other while more moans and sloppy sounds filled the room.

“Fuck,” Yuta slurred, “you did so well, kitten.” He kissed her one more time before he pulled up to stare at her, admiring her body, watching the cum drip out of her, overflowing even if his cock was still buried deep inside. “Should I untie you?” He chuckled, running his hand over the ropes while he pulled out of her, making her whine at the loss.

“Well, unless you want to put me under the Christmas tree like this,” she replied, laughing.

Ten minutes later they were in bed again, ropes put back in place and skin hydrated with the cream that Yuta thoroughly applied on her body as he kept praising her for how good she had been.

“Why couldn’t you fuck me in them?” Jade asked, referring to the lights, the curiosity was killing her, and also she was a bit disappointed because she thought she looked so pretty with them on.

“I preferred not to, those led lights shouldn’t heat up, and not being attached to the current they shouldn’t electrify you, but I don’t even want to risk it. It was good anyway, right? The mood was the same, just not on your body.”

She gasped, “oh, that makes sense. The risks didn’t even cross my mind,” she admitted shyly. Once again it was very clear why he was the only one she did certain things with.

Yuta chuckled, caressing a strand of hair back and tugging it behind her ear. “That’s why you have me,” he whispered with a tender smile on his lips. “Also I guess the thousands of photos on the internet every year can mislead you.”

“Well, yes, I’ve seen pictures of people having them wrapped around their necks.” Yuta’s expression, a mix between worried and weirded-out, made her laugh loudly, shaking her head.

“I will shut up or else I will judge hard,” he confessed, rolling his eyes.

Jade frowned, turning around to lay on her front, supporting her body with her elbows, and Yuta quickly adjusted the sheets to cover her body again. “Wait, isn’t there a thing such as electric play?”

Yuta nodded. “Yes, but it’s done with specific toys, you can’t just play with electricity randomly and hope nothing happens.”

She hummed, “make sense.” Then she leaned closer to leave a small peck on his lips, and nose, making him chuckle. “Anyway, thank you for this.”

“For not electrifying you?”

A loud laugh rolled from her lips. “Also. But mostly for this aesthetically pleasing fuck under Christmas lights.”

“It’s Christmas, we should all be more generous, shouldn’t we?”

“Oh, if you’re this generous every time, I wish for Christmas to last all year.”

Don’t think a lot of you saw the updates so I wanted to inform you even here, I won’t post the last two (one, actually) stories of this Christmas series so this is the last one. Hope you enjoyed it!

#nct fanfiction #yuta smut #yuta nakamoto smut #yuta scenarios #yuta fanfic #nct 127 smut #nct smut #nct 127 scenarios #smutmas #all's well that ends well to end up with you

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wesperbrekkered · 8 months

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hi!! wesper 25 and/or 50 for the kiss prompt🫶🏻🥰

Sorry this is so late! It took a lil while to muster up the motivation to finish this lol.

But anyway: 50. A kiss out of love

This is the most self indulgent thing ever oh my

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His Ma used to call them ‘bad head days.’

When his mind used to work itself up and out of control, buzzing far too quickly for his body to catch up to. It was like his senses were on overdrive, and every sound, every touch felt like nails being hammered into his skull. When it felt like ants were crawling just under his skin and he wanted nothing more then to rip it apart to relieve the itch.

So yeah, suffice to say, Jesper never liked these days.

He’d gotten better at predicting when they might come. It would start with the thoughts. Wylan would be slow to answer his question and Jesper would find himself questioning if his boyfriend hated him. Then he’d realise Marya hadn’t spoken to him in a few days for more then just a passing greeting, or that Kaz had ignored his last letter. He’d start questioning what was he even doing here, that he was only annoying these people by forcing his presence on them.

Then Wylan would put his cup down on the counter with a clatter and Jesper would wince. The birds would be slightly louder then normal, grating on the inside of his ears. The sound of the maid bustling around in the next room would have him resisting the urge to clap his hands over his ears.

The light would start getting too bright, too sharp. His clothes too itchy, the molecules in the table too loud, too aware, too alive and demanding his attention.

And it would all start building and building until Jesper found himself teetering on the edge of an invisible precipice, hopelessly delicate. Hopeless to do anything but tip off the other side and crumple into a sobbing ball.

Jesper’s hands shook where he cradled his cup of coffee. The bitter scent that normally eased his mind made his stomach turn, and it was all he could do to not wrinkle his nose as it stabbed its way into his brain. He’d recognised the signs long before now, when the buzzing had started in his ears not long after he woke up. Tonight was supposed to be their night though. Since being voted to the Merchant Council they found that they barely had time to even look at each other most nights, so Wylan had cleared his schedule for just one night in their hectic week.

And Jesper was not going to ruin it all because his head was being silly.

“I was thinking,” Wylan began, fingers tapping the rim of his mug, “it’s been far too long since we invited Kaz round for dinner.”

Jesper nodded slowly, feeling like the world was spinning around too fast, “I thought I wasn’t allowed to let him in?”

“That’s just when he shows up unannounced, it’s different when we have to drag him round.”

Jesper hummed non committedly. He wanted desperately to curl up into himself and escape from the outside world for just a little bit.

The sound of a mug being placed down in the table caught his attention and he glanced up, in time to see Wylan watching him worriedly. “You’re very quiet,” he said with a frown, “everything alright Jes?”

Jesper forced a smile onto his face. Wylan had been working flat out these past few weeks, he didn’t need to worry about him, “I’m perfectly fine Wy, don’t worry.”

Wylan didn’t seem convinced, but after shooting Jesper another concerned look he began speaking again, telling him about the new Opera House opening up just on the outskirts of the Zelvar District. Jesper did try to listen, honestly! But he felt like everything around him was starting to strip itself of all meaning. It was like the world was turning up the dial, setting all his senses and nerves alight.

His gaze zeroed in on a whirl on the coffee table, desperately aware of the way his breaths were coming shorter and shorter.

Inhale.

The smell of his coffee wound its way through his nostrils and he wanted to throw up.

Exhale.

He could feel the seams of his pants scratching against his thighs.

Inhale.

The low candlelight was piercing his skull like a jagged knife.

Exhale.

“Jesper?”

Inhale.

He squeezed his eyes shut, even as he heard Wylan’s chair being pushed back.

His next exhale left his chest with a broken sob.

“Jes?”

Wylan’s hands were gently placed on the tops of his shoulders, not holding him or squeezing just... there. Jesper brought his own hands up to his face, digging the heels of his palms into his eyes as his whole body started to shudder.

“You alright Jes?” Wylan asked softly, ever so slightly rubbing tiny circles on Jesper’s shoulders.

“I’m fine Wylan,” Jesper tried hopelessly, voice muffled by his hands.

Wylan scoffed lightly, stilling the movement of his hands. “I might not be as good at reading people as Kaz, but you don’t look very fine to me.”

Jesper snorted despite himself.

“Talk to me Jes, what’s up?”

Soft hands wrapped around Jesper’s wrists, gently prying them away from his face before he could gouge his own eyes out. Wylan’s own face filled his vision, a blur of smattered freckles and wide blue eyes and curly red hair that could never be tamed. He smiled softly to himself.

“It’s... its complicated,” he said lamely, dropping his gaze to focus on his purple trousers. The colour was slightly more muted then his usual clothes, and he was glad for it, it didn’t hurt his eyes at this moment. He could feel his mind whirring at a speed that was uncontrollable to even him, but from the moment Wylan’s soft voice had cut through the whirlwind of thoughts, they had slowed just a fraction.

It wasn’t much, but it was enough that he could think. Just a little bit.

Wylan’s smile was lopsided, his brows furrowed in worry, “try me?”

Taking a breath that was probably far deeper then the situation required, his knee bouncing up and down, Jesper tried. “My head is being a bit...” he blew out a breath, waving one hand in the air, “its a bit funky today.”

Wylan’s brows furrowed even more and Jesper huffed slightly, “Yeah I’m sorry that was a bad description. Its like, my head is always very fast and very loud, but sometimes it gets a bit too much. Like I’m doped up on Jurda and running from here to Belendt in the space of two bells. I don’t really know how to cope with it so...” he trailed off, looking off to the side, “I kind of just... shut down I guess.”

When he looked away from the wall again, Wylan was nodding in understand, a small, reassuring smile playing on his lips. “I see.” Jesper tried to smile back, but it was tight and wobbly and eventually he gave up, dropping his head forward and squeezing his eyes shut. Wylan was still holding Jesper’s wrists, and he gave them a small squeeze. “What helps?” he asked carefully.

Jesper thought about it for a moment. Usually what he did was curl up in a ball in his room, hiding under the blankets until he either fell asleep or the lack of sensation tricked his mind into slowing down again. “Dark,” he croaked, “and quiet. And you.”

Wylan pressed a gentle kiss to the inside of his wrist, where his pulse was fluttering wildly out of control. “Me?”

Jesper nodded, still with his eyes closed, still looking down. “You make me feel still. I feel safe around you, peaceful.” It was an understatement. Wylan was his tether, the one thing keeping his head out of the clouds, his mind under control. Wylan soothed the restless thrum of energy under his skin, cooled the raging fire within him, calmed his wild thoughts. Wylan was the ground beneath his feet, a solid weight for him to cling to, and the thought scared him quite a bit.

Wylan kissed his pulse again, thumb rubbing quiet circles against the bony jut of his wrist. “Alright,” he murmured, his voice gentle and low, like music spilling from behind a closed door. “We’ll go upstairs.”

Jesper nodded mutely, allowing Wylan to pull him to his feet. He kept his head lowered as they ascended the stairs, his eyes squinted to prevent as much light from piercing his fragile mind as possible.

The journey to their bedroom didn’t take long. It never did. It was the room closest to where the stairs opened up to the second floor. To everyone else, they said it was for ease of access, so that they could reach downstairs quicker in case of an emergency.

The real reason was because everytime their desire burned too hot to handle, Wylan always shoved him into the first bedroom he could find, and eventually they just stayed there.

And, well, Jesper wasn’t going to complain.

He barely registered Wylan plopping him down onto the bed until the rough, scraping noise of the curtains being pulled yanked him out of his own head. He winced.

“Sorry,” Wylan murmured gently, already making his way back to the bed, the room blissfully shrouded in darkness. Those blackout curtains were finally coming in handy.

Jesper lay back, pulling the covers up over his eyes for no reason other then for comfort, curling into a ball. His head was still pounding, his heart racing at a speed that used to scare him but he was used it now.

The bed dipped slightly when Wylan snuck in beside him. He hesitated for a moment, before snaking one arm around his waist, placing the palm of his hand over Jesper’s racing heart.

Jesper was already falling fast asleep before he registered the gentle brush of lips against his shoulder.

Jesper woke with a start far later that night. The room was still dark, the sky outside hidden behind the pair of blackout curtains. He blinked, slightly disoriented at the pitch black surrounding him. For a brief moment, he couldn’t quite remember how he’d ended up in bed and when had it gotten dark?

Then Wylan shifted from behind him, arm tightening around his waist momentarily before relaxing again.

Jesper smiled, without really meaning to.

Right.

His head had slowed, a little bit foggy from tiredness and the aftermath, but he found he could think a lot clearer. He turned in Wylan’s arms, careful not to disturb him, and settled down again, burying his nose in Wylan’s unruly curls. Jesper let out a breath, relaxing fully into Wylan’s hold.

It had been a long, long time since someone had comforted him through his ‘bad head days’ and it threatened to terrify Jesper just how much he didn’t mind that Wylan was the one to be there. The time for being scared about new developments in his relationship wasn’t... gone... exactly. More that he was used to this feeling, to showing his vulnerability instead of hiding it behind cheap smiles and dirty jokes.

Jesper pressed a gentle, loving kiss to Wylan’s forehead, smiling against freckled skin. “I love you,” he murmured softly, snuggling further into Wylan’s protective grip.

It had been a long time since he’d ever felt so loved, and Jesper wasn’t so scared of it anymore. Not really.

Now, Jesper just loved Wylan, with all of his lying, thieving heart and complicated brain.

#jesper fahey #wesper fanfic #wesper #six of crows #crooked kingdom #send anons #writing prompts #wylan x jesper #six of crows jesper #jesper x wylan #jesper fahey fanfiction #wylan van eck fanfiction #wylan van eck #domestic fluff

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nanidoesthings · 6 days

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Thaw With Me

A Prince Hans x OC Fanfic

Chapter 1 2 - The Morning Paper

Linnea was not the Duke’s firstborn- oh no- that achievement went to her darling brother Erik. Nor was she the second, or the third. Not even the sixth. Yet with how she behaved one would assume she was meant to be the next Duchess of Weselton. She presented herself as a competitive, poised, business minded woman with a stride in her step that demanded power.

It had been at the breakfast table when she had heard the news. Linnea had bustled into the dining hall, her tone changed the moment she walked in. Two of her brothers- the twins Niklaus and Johann- had been whispering amongst themselves. The elder of the two giving Linnea a look she could only tell meant trouble.

She also ended up more often than not being the one to clean up after the family mistakes.

“What did you do?” The red headed woman crossed her arms, her brow arching. She carried the tone of an annoyed parent who had just caught their child in the act. Johann- the younger twin- raised his arms to the air, shaking his head with ferocity. Linnea then tilted her head and looked at Niklaus.

“Don’t look at us! Honestly,” Niklaus’s tone grew defensive, tossing the paper that had been in his hand onto the table before his baby sister. Linnea scooped it up quickly. “Something weird happened over in Arendelle. Apparently the fjord got frozen. No one could get in or out!”

Linnea took her seat at the table, fixated on the printed text. With the paper in one hand she supported her chin with the other.

“That explains why they haven't been back. They would have arrived days ago,” she puts the paper down. Arendelle had been only a 3 day trip from Weselton and the Duke had already confided in his children he would stay there an extra day to consult the queen on old and new business. Linnea’s brain started whirring. Arrangements needed to be made, events rescheduled or reassigned.

“I’m sure you’re already buzzing with ideas on how to fix things.” Johann snatched a piece of bacon from her plate. Linnea used to this behavior from him by now started to tap her cheek with her fingers, still looking pensive. Her brow was furrowed as she switched to the next page of the paper. An article on business catching her eye.

“Believe it or not, she can’t fix the weather. She’s not a witch.” Niklaus teased, procuring a wicked cackle.

“No, clearly that’s the new queen of Arendelle. Suddenly those rumors that she had been born green make sense.” Linnea spoke with a deadpan. She had heard rumors of Arendelle’s royal family, especially after the incident a few years back involving Queen Idunna and King Agnarr. Their cryptic ways of business had always interested her and father had insisted he would get down to the brunt of just why.

“There can be two witches. Arendelle is to the east of us.” Johann reached for Linnea’s breakfast again. The woman who had kept her eyes on the paper grabbed his hand mid action. “That would make you the Wicked Witch of the West.” He winces, feeling his sister grip a little tighter. “Okay. Okay. I fold.” Linnea released him, and in turn reached for the food he attempted to steal.

“Like I was saying,” there was an annoyance in her voice, “I cannot control the weather. How in the Hel did she freeze the Fjord anyways? It’s not like she’s some fairytale character. M-Magic like this isn’t real!” Linnea flipped back to the report on the coronation and read it again. going to heavily affect our engagement schedule until they’re home. Dad was supposed to handle the-.”

“Yes, yes. He was going to have been home yesterday, spend the day catching up, then today be dealing with the business involving the Jensen alliance. We know Lin.” Johann interrupted. “Since Dad isn’t here I’m sure Oslo can handle it.”

“What is it I’m handling?” Speak of the devil. Oslo had been the third eldest son and didn’t take his position as seriously as some thought he should have. The short man pulled back his regular seat and slumped into it.

“The Malstrüm-Jensen alliance. Between Weselton and Barovia.” Linnea repeated, watching her brother throw his feet up on the table.

“Oh yeah. Don’t worry. Took care of it,” Oslo grabbed a strawberry from the table and dipped it into a bowl of cream. “The Marquess was fairly easy to convince. If you get what I mean.” He had a teasing tone to him as he started eating.

“What?” Linnea turned her head quickly towards Oslo. Watching how he suckled the cream off the strawberry a look of realization hit her. “Oh my god. You did not.”

“Oh I did. 3 times.” He held out 3 fingers. “We’ll sign the paperwork and finalize it this afternoon.”

“Well, Well, Well, look at you,” Johann laughed, high-fiving Oslo.

“What can I say, I love to entertain.” Linnea groaned, folded the paper and rolled her eyes at her brother’s notcomments.

“I suppose that’s one way to get things done. But until any of them are back, Oslo is regrettably the stand in.” Annoyance dripped from her voice as she stood from her chair.

“And yet you’re the one giving the orders,” Niklaus returned her glare. His tone changed as he watched his sister roll up the paper and raise it above her head, preparing a good smack. “Linny. Lin. Linnea Agneta Malstrüm don’t you da- ow!” At this point he was getting smacked over multiple times with the paper. He laughed a little as he rose his hands in defense.

“Yes. Because dad let anyone he had past Erik and Francis just live off the family money. You think you can sleep your way through any problem,” Linnea pointed the rolled up paper at Oslo, “and you two act like children,” she pointed at the twins.

“Honestly, would it kill you to turn off your brain for a moment?” Johann used two fingers to push the newspaper away from his face. “You’re always so wrapped up in everything. Acting like if you put all this effort in dad’s going to put you above us in the hierarchy. Oslo may not have done something how you would but he settled our problem with Barovia! Without having to take orders from you for once.”

Linnea sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. Would she admit that Johann made a good point? No. Instead she tucked the paper under her arm and stood from her seat.

“Fine. Fine. If that’s what you insist,” she grumbled, walking out of the room. “I’ll leave you to it.”

It was a few seconds later when a shout could be heard from the hallway.

“AND WHERE THE HELL IS ALEXANDER?”

#Nani does writing #frozen fanfic #prince hans #Prince Hans x OC #Weselton #Duke of Weselton #post frozen 1 #frozen OCs #disney fanfiction

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delulumc · 20 days

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Secret bonus thing

Here's a thing I did that I'll post only here because I don't have any followers anyway! I did it only to get it out of my system

Her fingerprints stung; hot, slightly swollen and itchy, as the sharp corner of another Lego piece angrily dug into her flesh.

Mina wasn’t mad. She was happy, in fact. So happy that she decided to celebrate by tearing open the cardboard box that had been sitting under her bed for a few months. Another Lego flower bouquet. She already had one, but someone -couldn’t remember who- had gifted her the same set without knowing.

But what the hell, let’s celebrate, she thought. The occasion deserved it.

“Really?” She remembered asking her, incredulous. “Not even back in middle school? It hardly counts, but still.”

“Nah, not even then,” Chaeyoung had answered with a shy smile and a hint of embarrassment tinting her dimpled cheeks. “It’s not that hard to believe, is it? I’m not exactly approachable, so I guess it’s only natural that nobody has ever asked me out.”

“I think you’re right. You’re straight up scary.” Dahyun teased. Everyone laughed. And that was the end of it.

The conversation, like so many others, had kept replaying every so often for months when her mind was idle. As soon as she heard the news her brain sprung back to that memory. That’s good for her, isn’t it? It’s great, even. She got asked out finally, and the guy’s just her type, to boot. Yay for Chaeng.

Yay.

She sighed, then grunted while trying to force two pieces together. They didn’t budge.

He’s probably decent, right? She’s not known for being a great judge of character, but she wouldn’t say yes to the first guy that comes knocking…

Right?

Mina dropped the pieces on the table and moved on to a different flower, frustrated.

Her phone buzzed.

🍓👸💕: going out

🍓👸💕: u?

Mina’s chest tightened. Chaeyoung had finally answered the text she had sent her three hours ago.

ミナリ: Going out too.

🍓👸💕: whaaaat

🍓👸💕: minari going out? thought only i could make that happen

Her face felt heavy, hanging onto her skull against the pull of gravity. She locked her phone. Chaeyoung wasn’t wrong.

You got to be honest about your feelings, Mina. Old therapy kicked in like a robot’s programming. She went through the steps from the start.

First, name your feelings. It’s… the feeling of being left out. Of being forgotten. Fear.

Then try to find the source. It’s okay if you don’t manage at first, but try. The source? It’s been several little things. It’s been…

She paused. What was it that she felt, really? She unconsciously held on to the pendant of her necklace. A silver teddy bear split in half, their matching best friends necklace.

She’s my best friend, and I love her so much, and want her to be happy. But I’m supposed to be her best friend too, right? And she didn’t tell me.

The root of the issue was that she didn’t tell her first, though. Somi had known before. Introduced them, actually. Somi was her best friend, after all.

Then Dahyun had been the first to know among the nine of them. They’d been two peas in a pod since their trainee days. Dahyun was also her best friend, too.

How many “best friends” can someone have? Doesn’t that defeat the purpose?

She reached behind her head to undo the thin chain and take off her necklace. She hadn’t seen Chaeyoung wear her matching one in a while, in fact she’d only used it two or three times since they bought them… How long ago..?

Mina froze for a moment, staring vacantly at the little bear cut in half. She stopped her brain from doing math. After a minute, her vision refocused and she exhaled slowly.

ends

Said the etching on the bear’s chest.

“Why��d you buy this stupid thing if it was gonna end anyway?” Mina murmured to herself. “I bet you did it on purpose. Stupid. So corny.”

She dropped the necklace onto the table next to her phone and the half-assembled flower, then dropped her head too, into her own arms. Her hair made a tent that protected her from the world’s light.

“Why is it so hard to just… talk, like normal?”

Her phone buzzed again, screen lit up letting her know that the group chat was going insane. Twelve unreads in a fraction of a second.

The first new message was from Jeongyeon; a screenshot of Chaeyoung’s photo for her ‘close friends’. It was a mirror selfie, she had a facefull of makeup and a black satin crop top with spaghetti straps that showed off her tattoos. Her kissy face was cute. A nice contrast with the risque outfit.

Yoobeep: Care to explain this scandalous look, missy??????

The rest of the messages were the members teasing, praising and freaking out in equal parts. It was extremely annoying. For a split second she gathered the impulse to type something snarky, almost mean, but she stopped herself immediately.

Okay. From the start again.

She breathed in and out slowly.

First, name your feelings. Jealousy. Petty, pathetic, useless jealousy.

Then try to find the source. It’s okay if you don’t manage at first, but try. Somi. Dahyun. That man…

Mina closed her eyes.

Chaeyoung.

She hated being honest with her feelings, but understood why it was necessary.

It’s because I’m pretty sure I’m no longer her best friend. Actually, I’m not sure I ever was.

But Chaeyoung *was* Mina’s best friend. And had been for a long time. A few times she was tempted to name it something else. It was deeper, more special, more intense. She could’ve sworn it was there, that something was there between them. Apparently not. You don’t cast aside something so special.

She sighed, so deep and heavy that she briefly lost control of her lungs and emptied them entirely. She gasped sharply, pain stabbing behind her sternum as air rushed back inside her without any regard for the fragile, brittle tissue of a feeling that she held inside her chest.

It was an immature overreaction, all this. Chaeyoung had told her, after all, though she wasn’t the first or second or even third person in the list. Haesol, was it? Something like that.

“He’s… your type!” Mina had said. For a brief moment she considered saying ‘cute’, but couldn’t push herself into such a canyon of a lie.

“Right?” Chaeyoung smiled. A disarming, bright smile, full of tiny little teeth bookended by sharp fangs, pointed and painful like a thorn in the crook of your knuckle. Mina’s eyes almost hurt, and could’ve even watered. She was looking at the sun.

So many times had Mina’s smile been planted into her own face like a seedling by Chaeyoung’s mere existence, by just being next to her, and bloomed into the gummy smile she had hated so much when younger. She didn’t mind it if it was for her. She had come to like smiling, even. For her.

Was it asking for too much, then, to have the chance to do the same? Of course it was. A mere mortal, a little girl like her can’t pull the sun out of the ocean, can’t coerce dawn to break. She was powerless.

Her phone buzzed away. Mina ignored it.

One of three roses of her set were complete. By now she could put together the last one by memory. She grabbed a green plastic stem and started working, selecting all the pieces she needed. The petals were a strange color - kind of… yellow?

Mina thought back to a flower arrangement workshop she had gone to once. The instructor had talked at length about the meaning of flowers, specifically their color.

Yellow was friendship. Friendship and joy. Mina scoffed.

Honest with your feelings, Mina.

She was hurting. She had no right to, yet she was hurting. Selfishly, pathetically, she felt like something was being taken away from her.

“You’re being a kid. This is kiddie stuff, jealous because your little friend got a boyfriend and won’t play with you anymore.” Mina’s mind scolded itself.

Her phone buzzed for the millionth time and she finally snapped, grabbing it violently to see what the racket was all about. The group chat was still at it, but she had another notification for her direct messages.

🍓👸💕: where u going?

🍓👸💕: alone?

🍓👸💕: of course not, duh

🍓👸💕: sorry for prying

🍓👸💕: have fun tho!

🍓👸💕: maybe we run into eachother thatd be awkward as hell lol

Mina’s heart crumpled, conflicted. Suddenly Chaeyoung cared that much? She grunted, then lied through shaky fingers.

ミナリ: Sorry, I’m on my way already. Hadn’t seen this.

🍓👸💕: have fun!!

🍓👸💕: dunno if u saw me all dressed up lol im nervous

🍓👸💕: but its fun

🍓👸💕: tho if by chance we go to the same place youd make me look like shit haha

🍓👸💕: u probably look super pretty u always do when u go out

🍓👸💕: thats why it only happens every 1000

🍓👸💕: so outfit check?

ミナリ: What?

Why did she care so much to look at her? Mina panicked slightly, she couldn’t send her the photo she was asking for. She was in sweats, her hair was a mess -a bun atop her head that looked like a gull’s nest- and her eyes were probably swollen from being on the verge of tears for hours.

🍓👸💕: yeah pic of ur fit!

🍓👸💕: if u wanna

ミナリ: Sorry. I’m in the car already.

ミナリ: Talk later.

She pressed the side button, turning her phone off, then flung it across the bedroom. It bounced on her bed, then fell on the floor with a pathetic thud. Mina let out a muffled, low roar of frustration through clenched teeth.

Mina pushed aside everything on her desk, loose lego pieces rolling off and falling on the floor with high, plastic clinking sounds. Mina didn’t cry. The tears just fell out by themselves, but she didn’t allow herself to break into a full sob. Mina was good at numbing herself.

With a shaky sigh, she found herself thinking back to the first few days after she returned to Korea from her hiatus, her raw, tender heart newly prescribed with a cocktail of anxiety medicine.

“Don’t numb yourself anymore, Minari. If you gotta cry, then cry. If you have to scream then do it. If you feel like smiling then please smile.” Chaeyoung held both of her hands and gave Mina a smile of her own. In turn, she felt her cheeks tense with a faltering smile.

“Good enough for me. Thanks, Minari. I’m glad you’re back. Love you.”

Mina opened her eyes. The only things that remained on her desk were the tangled necklace, a puddle of silent tears and the half-assembled Lego rose. Now that she looked at it closely, it wasn’t really yellow. More of a peach-like color.

Peach is sincerity, truthfulness.

She sighed, letting out an additional stream of measured, muted tears.

Honest with your feelings, Mina.

The silver bear mocked her with its “st ends”. In truth it never even started. She was feeling a grief that wasn’t hers to feel. An envy that was unearned.

One more time, one last time. From the start.

First, name your feelings.

Love.

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