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justplainwhump · 3 years

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#9 for Dany 😈😈

9: strangle my muse

This is not going to be what you expected. More action than whump, and of course really high on the angst. (If you ask me, it's really good)

And Dany surprised me in more ways than one.

Content / warnings: Lady whump, failed escape (?), some red flags of abusive relationships in the beginning, gun violence, strangling; references to dubcon, conditioning and pet whump; strong language (Dany gets emotional)

Ridley Lordin, B and referenced Leo Luciano are @what-a-whump 's wonderful characters and used with permission.

Thank you so much for asking this, @distinctlywhumpthing , because wow, character development.

[Dany Masterpost]

[Prompt list (still taking them for all my characters)]

Scene (1,500 words) under the cut

I look fabulous. I don't even need to look at myself in any of the dozens of mirrors decorating the ballroom. He wanted all eyes on me. And he gets what he wants.

Ridley's hand is resting on the back of my neck, fiddling with the thin white leather strap that he has me wear instead of the usual collar. It's somewhat reassuring. It means it's not that kind of a party.

My dress is tasteful, short but not revealing, tailored to fit so perfectly it doesn't matter that it's too white for my pale skin. It's summer. I should be tanned from days spent in the park, on the tennis court, by the sea. That's not what my days are, though. I spend them inside, nowadays, locked up in the bedroom of Ridley's penthouse, and I can earn the privilege of open curtains.

Sometimes, to my own shame, I do.

He presses a kiss against my neck. "Smile, princess", he breathes into my ear, his fingers lingering on my throat for a moment too long. "You know how Daddy likes you."

Pleasant. Pretty. Pliant. Have I ever been anything else, I wonder? Or have I only ever played roles others wanted from me, anyways?

I force my lips to curve into a smile. Of course I do. I'm tired of fighting. Ridley hums contently, before his gaze is caught by something - someone - else, a middle-aged woman in a red pant suit. Governor Hawkins. I know her, I know them all, the rich and powerful, from the events I've attended by my father's side, and I hate how they don't seem to spend a second thought on how I'm suddenly with this man they all must despise.

"I'll be right back, baby girl", Ridley purrs. "Don't move. Bee Bee?" He snaps his fingers. "Come."

B casts me a short glance, as if unwilling to leave me, before his eyes turn flat again and he trots past Ridley, scanning the crowd for potential threats.

I feel oddly uncomfortable around them, alone among hundreds of people. How many of them know? And how many just refuse to see?

A hand on my back makes me flinch. "Danielle", someone says into my hair. "Let's get you out of here."

Instinctively, I pull away and look over the crowd for Ridley. He doesn't like others touching me. Fuck, I don't like anyone touching me.

"Shhh", the man hushes and grabs my arm again, and only now do I turn to look at him. Matthew Carlson. My father's finance guy. There's a deep frown on his face and a pressed urgency in his voice. "We'll get you away from him."

"I-" I am cut off by a hand over my mouth from behind.

"Hurry", Carlson hisses.

An arm closes around me, drags me back through a door to the kitchen. White tiles and metal surfaces, some employees that seem to have been paid to look away. I struggle against the person holding me, try to bite the hand in front of my face, but they seem to know what they're doing, and I don't.

I want to get away from Ridley, I don't want him to see this. I want to be good, and I want to be free.

"Don't fight, Danielle, this is all for your father's best interest", Carlson says behind me. "You're his legacy."

Ridley will kill me for leaving my spot. Somehow Carlson and his man don't make me feel safe at all.

A cool draft brushes past my naked legs, as someone pushes open a door and they guide me outside into some back yard, stumbling down the flight of steps in my high heels. There's another man waiting near some dumpsters, under a flickering lamp. He's dressed entirely in black and looks me down with a cold frown.

Somehow, nobody hurries any more. There's no car waiting to get me away, no explanation, just silence and the damp darkness of a muggy summer night.

I step back towards the back door, but the man behind me doesn't move.

I turn to Carlson and lift my chin. "Please, leave me alone", I say firmly. "I don't know what this is, but I don't want it."

"Hmmm", Carlson hums, and there's a coldness to his tone that lets me shiver. "I bet you won't, but it's too late for that. You're a liability, Danielle. Your... involvement with Lordin, with Luciano, these... videos, they don't make you look good. You weaken your father's position. Or rather, ours, trying to save what is left of it."

"I'm a fucking prisoner", I hiss. "You fucking know what happened to me, because you let this shit happen to my father, and now I'm the one being sold and tortured and paraded around and hurt, while you fuckers think about your business? This is my life, you-"

"It won't be any longer", he cuts me off harshly, and nods to the man behind me. "Sorry, Danielle, it's not personal."

Something wraps around my neck from behind. Thin and soft and raw at the same time. I scream, but all that comes from my lips is a garbled whine.

The man pulls the rope tight and yanks me back. I thrash, my limps flailing uselessly. Desperately, I fight for air, but there's nothing. Nothing but pain and dread and a dawning understanding. I will die. These fuckers are killing me. My fingers cramp around my neck, fingertips brushing over rough rope, unable to grasp it, buried too deep into my skin.

A shadow moves in the corner of my eyes, a blur within a larger blur. I hear a sharp snarl, a muffled impact, a scream, as I tumble back, fall, landing on something soft. Air floods my lungs, and I inhale greedily, my breath coming out in ragged huffs.

"Do not touch her", B growls at my side, and lunges at the other men.

He came for me.

Under me, the black-dressed man is struggling, whining as he grips his hurt arm and struggles against my weight on top of him. Fucking asshole. I clench my teeth and steady my hand with my other arm, as I ram my elbow into his throat. He stills once more.

Something solid is pressed into my back. His gun, tucked under his jacket. Still coughing, I roll over to my side to grab it. Should've just shot me, I think grimly. Stupid gangsters, trying to make a show of everything.

I struggle to get to all fours and cast a glance over to B. Carlson's guard is laying on the ground, unmoving. Carlson himself is down as well, B sitting on his back, wrestling back his arm, growling something low and inaudible, until the arm snaps.

He doesn't see the guard move beside him. A knife flashes in the guard's hand.

I shoot. Once, twice, three times, all aimed steadily at his chest, from a close distance.

Never stop after one shot, Dad has taught me, years ago. You shoot to kill. Make sure they stay dead.

This one is.

The silence after the shots is deafening.

"Oh, princess!", Ridley exclaims behind me, from the kitchen door, his voice perplexed, almost delighted.

Another fit of coughing shakes me, before I turn around, weakly. Ridley is standing in the doorway, upright, his too familiar silhouette framed by light, arms folded, as he is taking in the scene, smug and confident as always.

My eyes are trained on his chest. Carefully, almost tenderly, I lift the gun once more.

A shadow falls over me, blocking Ridley from my view. B. I haven't even heard him move. But he's standing there now, right between my and my target, wordlessly looking down on me from unreadable eyes.

"Please", I breathe. "Please, B." B knows, knows what Ridley does to me, asks of me, of him. He knows he deserves to die.

He doesn't step aside. Instead, he extends an open hand. I hate him. I hate myself. My stomach drops, as I secure the gun and rest it into his hand.

Wordlessly, B steps back and hands the gun to Ridley. "Nice try, baby girl", Ridley mumbles, as he checks the gun. "Wouldn't hurt Daddy now, would you?"

Casually, he steps down the stairs and considers the two men, groaning on the ground, me, kneeling next to them in my now stained white dress.

With his free hand, Ridley gently brushes over the fresh marks on my neck. "Which one did this?", he asks calmly.

I look aside, at the man in the black clothes, and Ridley steps over, lifts the gun, points it right between his eyes.

Another shot rings through the yard.

A strangled sob escapes me.

"B, tie that other guy up", Ridley says, but his eyes are on me. "Leo will deal with him, later."

He gets to his knees in front of me, pulls me into an embrace, the gun still in his hand. I sink against his chest, trembling with silent sobs, each breath hurting in my throat.

I had almost been free. One way or another.

"Shhh, now, baby girl", he whispers, as he gently cradles me against his body. "You're safe with me. I've got you."

#whump #whump story #lady whump #femwhump #prompt fill #strangling #dany #ridley #b #intimate whumper

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corpsebasil · 3 years

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Hardwood Floors/ A.B.

He doesn’t know I’m alive.

To say I fell in love with Anthony Bridgerton would be a drastic understatement; the mere sight of him leaves me feeling like my chest is caving in, my limbs feel weak, and if he meets my eyes (which he never does) I feel slightly faint. It doesn’t matter that I care for him—I’m a scullery maid, and maids don’t marry rich men like Anthony Bridgerton. Not even if you feel like you might die if you have to live the rest of your measly life in such a low position without him.

“I hope you’re going to do something about that.” Madame Pomphrey says, jostling my side with an elbow, and I almost slip and bust my ass on the hardwood floors I’m currently mopping.

“About what?” I inquire, but my face heats up. She’s caught me staring again—Anthony works in his study for possibly three hours or more a day, and that study’s door is cracked open with a slight view of the man himself hard at work. He doesn’t look up once—he doesn’t need to. If he knows I’ve mopped the same section of hallway twice now, he’s doing a hell of a good job pretending not to notice. Right now he’s bent over his desk writing furiously, brow furrowed, chestnut hair tumbling onto his forehead. He looks busy—he looks devastatingly handsome.

“You know what I’m talking about.” Madame sniffs, her voice a meager whisper as she saunters by me, raising one perfectly groomed eyebrow. Madame Pomphrey, the head of the household only under Lady Bridgerton herself, serves not only as housekeeper, tutor, and friend of Lady Bridgerton, but she also happens to be my adoptive mother. She also happens to be actutely aware of my feelings for Anthony, and seems to be under the impression that he’d somehow love me back. “You have to actually talk to him if you want his attentions.” My mother continues, combing bright ginger-blonde hair up into an easy up-do, which she secures with pins she procured out of nowhere.

“And how do you expect me to do that?” I hiss, leaning against my mop’s handle, and cast my eyes quickly towards the door. The hall is big, but not so big that he couldn’t hear what we’re saying if he listened in hard enough. “He won’t even look at me.”

“I wouldn’t look at you either if I was him, what with you running around like a lovesick puppy and hiding whenever he steps into the room.” Madame scoffs, and pauses to look at me, her vibrant green eyes scanning me with barely hidden amusement. “Talk to him for once. He’s not a rude man. Certainly loves conversation, that’s for sure. Especially from women.” The knowing smirk on her mouth sends my heartbeat into a frenzy, and I feel my face warm at the implication.

“I’m not going to...” I pause, searching for the appropriate words. “...’talk’ to him. Like that, I mean.”

“I’m not sure I get what you’re suggesting.” Madame feigns confusion, but even I can see the obvious laughter shes supressing. “Once you’re done with this hallway, move to a different one. I’m quite sure two times around is enough cleaning for one floor.”

My face reddens and I nod, watching with a sinking stomach as she strides away, off to organize a party or yell at the maids or whatever Madame likes to do in her free time. My sigh is slow and heavy—I’m suddenly tired, and all this talk of Anthony and I and other women is making me queasy. With a resigned sniff I tuck my bright hair behind my ears and set about my task, unsure of how much longer I can keep up the charade before he does notice I’ve mopped this hall twice.

“Haven’t you mopped this hall twice?” An amused male voice calls out, and my entire body goes tense as a wire, my blood chilling to ice inside my veins. I cant move. “Eliza, isn’t it? Are you alright?”

Eliza. I think, tossing my own name around my head like a mental game of tennis. I eye the end of the hallway with a new sense of longing for the kitchens—If I ran now, would he bother to chase me? I’d probably have to fake my own death and run away, but well, I’m sure the circus is still accepting applications or however they accept—

“Miss,” Anthony continues, much closer now, and I almost jump out of my skin when his hand lands on my shoulder. He retracts his arm quickly, raising both eyebrows. “did I startle you?” He asks, and there’s unmistakable amusement dancing in his bright, pine colored eyes. My heart does a stupid whomp, my mouth feels dry, and I’m pretty sure I’m going to pass out.

“I was just—” I begin, and swallow audibly. My cheeks feel hot. Am I sweating? “I wanted to make sure the floor was really clean. I’m—how do you know my name?” I blurt, unable to save my dumb babbling when I voice aloud the question that leaps into the forefront of my thoughts.

“Of course I know your name.” His expression is confused, and he glances around the hallway like someone might come save him from the insane girl standing before him. “We—you’ve lived at the Bridgerton home for a while. You’re Madame Pomphrey’s daughter, yes? Eliza?”

“Yes I’m Eliza.” I say, and as if it couldn’t get weirder, I add, “and you’re Anthony.” My heart must be showing in my eyes, because instead of running away from me, he suddenly smiles. It’s so brilliant, so beautiful, I literally think I might make good on that fainting spell I was promised.

“It’s nice to finally meet you, Eliza.” He says, tilting his head as he looks at me, and I swear his eyes roam up and down my figure from head to toe as if actually assessing my entirety. And as if the ghost of some lady of high society has possessed me in this moment, I actually have the damned audacity to move to hold my hand out like he’s going to kiss it. Immediately I drop my arm back to my side, face reddening anew.

“You too, Anthony. My lord.” Good god, have I been calling him by his first name this whole time?

“Good day, Miss Eliza.” He grins, and to my combined shock and horror, reaches out to take my hand. Holding eye-contact, those dark eyes filled with what can only be mirth, he brushes his lips over my bare knuckles ever so gently before allowing me to take my hand back.

I watch as he nods his head to me, casting me one more agonizing up-down, before turning on his heel and striding away. I stare at the back at my hand, imagining that I can still feel the touch of his lips.

Good god.

No good could possibly come of this, not when Anthony Bridgerton knows I exist.

#anthony bridgerton #imagines #fluff #bridgerton #Anthony Bridgerton imagines #Anthony Bridgerton x reader #Anthony #Jon bailey

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autumnleaves1991-blog · 3 years

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Thirsty Thursday - Teacher is directing the school play, and her student has volunteered her dad Poe's services for set-building - turns out Teacher has a thing for men who are good with their hands! (also got my Writing Wednesday thing in, thanks again for hosting!)

A/N: Oh I love this idea! Thank you!

Pairing: Modern!Poe Dameron x F! Reader

Warnings: 18 + for oral F! Receiving, sexual tension, teacher/single dad relationships.

You nearly tripped over the other women standing in the doorway to the workshop, “what the hell?” you mumble looking over their head and instantly seeing what the issue is. “Holy shit.”

The garage-type door to the woodshop is open, sawdust blowing in every direction from the large fan in the corner. The electric saw is whirling and you see the woodwork through the other end, split in half. But that’s not what has all their attention, it’s the man working the saw, Poe Dameron.

He flicks off the switch and claps his hands together, the sawdust flying through the air, and he takes off the safety glasses turning towards the door with a grin, “Hello ladies.” They all scamper off in different directions with muffled hellos and you giggle behind your clipboard. His smile could light up the entire room, his full bouncy curls a mix of salt and pepper, with the scruff of beard along his jaw. “Hi there,” he gives you a wink and you roll your eyes.

“Hello, Mr. Dameron,” you step further into the room.

“How many times have I had to tell you, call me Poe, please.” He takes a step toward you, and you put down the clipboard closing the space between you.

“What are you working on then, Poe?” He physically shivers when you say his name low and slow like that and you smile at the reaction.

“Well-uhm- I-I was just” he coughs trying to cover the stutter, “working on the set pieces for the Grandmothers's house.” Your students were putting on a production of Into the Woods, and Poe’s daughter Britanny or BB to her friends had volunteered her dad to make the set pieces.

It had been a long few weeks, filled with longing glances, innocent brushes of his fingers against yours, and showers alone with your vibrator. The tension between the two of you was bound to snap, and you looked at him again, the air charged between you as your eyes met. “You’re really skilled with your hands, making the wood bend to your will,” you take a shuddering breath, looking away. “It makes me wonder if your hands have other skills too.”

He takes a step closer and you can feel the warmth of his breath on your cheek, “Do you want to find out?”

You turn your head meeting his eyes and look down at his lips, “yes,” you whisper. It’s all the encouragement he needed as he grabs your hips and pulls you toward him. The room humming with electricity, as he kisses you so deeply your damn toes curl in delight. His tongue a master at bringing you pleasure and you can’t help but whimper his name when he moves that scratchy beard against your neck, placing kisses on your skin, and nipping it with his teeth.

“Where?” he asks quietly and you pull away and take his hand leading him to your office at the back of the theater. You open the door and shuffle inside, him locking the door behind him, “get on the desk,” he’s breathless and you do as he says, watching him as he steps closer. “No,” you freeze, “stand up,” you do and he closes the distance, “can I take them off?” he asks, always the gentlemen.

You nod, and he unbuttons your jeans and pushes them and your panties down your legs, you kick them and your tennis shoes off. “Lay back on the desk,” and you do, feeling exposed the dig of the stapler behind your back, and you toss it to the floor. “Fuck baby,” he sits down in your chair and you lean up on your elbows to watch him.

“What are you doing?” you ask quietly watching him grin and feeling his course fingertips spread open your folds.

“You wanted to know if I was good with my hands, and I intend to show you, baby.” You toss your head back with a gasp as he licks at your clit, moaning against your heat, vibrations shooting up your body. “That’s it kitten, purr for me,” he mumbles, all coherent thought was gone as he brings you pleasure.

His fingers are long and thick buried inside you, as his tongue laps at your pussy. The ex-fighter pilot using his navigation skills to bring you to the brink of orgasm, toying with you as you beg for his cock. He chuckles, “cum for me baby, let me see how beautiful you are when you cum.”

His words leave you unraveled and you have to cover your mouth to prevent the screams, this is still a school after all. Your pussy gushing release on his fingers that you clench tightly around bringing them further inside. He pulls out and you whimper raising your head and watching him suck his fingers into his mouth.

He stands and grabs your neck helping you up and kissing you, tasting the tang of yourself on his tongue. “Come over tonight,” he whispers, “BB will be with her friend at a sleepover, and I want to hear you scream my name when I slide my cock inside that pretty pussy.” Fuck, this man may be the death of you.

“Okay,” you mumble against his lips, “tonight.”

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queenk00k · 4 years

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red wine lips part 4 // rafe cameron

warnings: you know the drill, it’s smut baby.

word count: 1.6k

READ PART 1 HERE

READ PART 2 HERE

READ PART 3 HERE

author’s note: this is the final part of the red wine lips series! thank you so much to everyone who has read, supported and loved this series with me. look out for plenty more rafe content to come.

For two months now, you and Rafe have been enjoying each other’s company in more ways than one. Never one to waste any time, but certainly one to avoid discussing anything remotely serious, you were quick to fall into a rhythm with your best friend/fuck buddy/whatever else he may be. After the incidents at the winery and the tennis club, there was an unspoken agreement between you and the self-professed Kook King that you’ll continue to hang out as friends and sneak off whenever possible to let out that pent up sexual frustration you knew too well.

And, since Rafe seemed to constantly want to get his dick wet, there was rarely an outing or event that went without a sneaky quickie in a hidden corner or locked bathroom.

You recall sneaking up to Topper’s roof during one of his parties, Rafe bending you over the railing that looked over the backyard, answering Rafe’s “wanna fuck u now” texts with a coy smile and raised eyebrow and, more recently, the memory of Rafe pressing you up against the wall in a changing room as you decided on your dress for Midsummers.

What you can’t seem to remember, however, is when your feelings for Rafe extended beyond how much you liked the feeling of his body flush against yours, lips attached to your neck.

Maybe it was when you started talking with one another for longer after having sex instead of just leaving, or maybe that one time when he lifted up your chin with his index finger to kiss you (the cool metal of his ring a stark contrast against your flushed skin), or when seeing him flirting with a Touron made your blood boil.

You’ve found yourself completely and hopelessly falling for Rafe Cameron.

It’s a few hours before the start of Midsummers, a night you’ve been looking forward to for the last few weeks, and yet you can’t seem to get yourself out of bed. You’ve mostly got a handle on your anxiety but on days like this you’re brought right back to square one. It’s a tough job to keep up with Rafe and your extended group of friends and show your face at every event on the Figure 8 social calendar, and right now you can’t think of anything worse than spending hours around other people.

Your stomach twisting in knots, you look at your pale pink tulle gown hanging on your bedroom door (something different, at Rafe’s request) and sigh. Rafe was going to disappointed but there was no way you were going to force yourself to do something you’re completely uncomfortable with.

You roll onto your side and pick up your phone, choosing to ignore the dozen or so text messages from Claire (“where are you? I thought we were pre-gaming? This champagne won’t drink itself!”) and scroll until you find Rafe’s number.

He answers on the second ring. “Y/N, hey! Are you on your way to Topper’s? I don’t want to start without you,” he says.

You gulp before answering him. “Hey Rafe, look, I’m really sorry but I’m not coming to Midsummers-”

“Why not? What’s wrong?”

“I just feel like garbage, I really don’t feel up to partying tonight,” you say.

“Do you need me to come over?” Rafe asks, sounding concerned.

You brush him off. “No, no, it’s okay. You guys go and have fun, I’ll see you later.”

There’s a long pause before Rafe replies. “Okay, if you’re sure.”

“Yeah Rafe, it’s fine. Bye!”

“Bye. Feel better.”

He hangs up and you’re left to stare at your ceiling, feeling deflated, before closing your eyes and falling back asleep.

Not long after, a soft knock on your bedroom door wakes you up. Assuming it’s your mum coming to convince you to come, you don’t bother to raise your head off your plush pillow as you begrudgingly say “come in.”

Rafe Cameron was the last person you expected to walk through your door, much less dressed in grey sweatpants and a black t-shirt instead of his baby blue suit and bowtie.

“Hey, Sleeping Beauty,” he says, smiling fondly. “Feeling a bit better?”

“What are you doing here Rafe?”

He walks across your room and takes a seat gingerly on the edge of your bed, placing his hand on your leg.

“You felt like shit and I wanted to make you feel better. Here I am.”

You’re touched by his sweetness and find yourself at a loss for words.

“Can I get in?”

You nod and Rafe pulls off his t-shirt, before getting into your bed and wrapping his muscled arm around you, pulling you into his chest.

“C’mere,” he says and you snuggle into him, feeling both content and confused.

“I’m sorry,” you mumble against Rafe’s chest.

“For what?”

“I know you wanted to show me off tonight, and we had that plan to sneak off to the locker room-”

Rafe chuckles. “I don’t care about that. I just wanted to make sure you were okay. You’re my best friend first and foremost, Y/N. I gotta look out for you.”

You breathe in shakily. “I know but….you’re not my boyfriend, Rafe. I would have understood if you went to Midsummers and got with Olivia or whoever.”

There’s a painfully long silence and you’re terrified of Rafe’s response.

“I’d like to be,” he finally says quietly.

You lift your head up, heart racing, not entirely sure what you just heard.

“What?”

Rafe looks down at you. “I’d like to be your boyfriend, if you’d let me.”

You grin.

“Of course, Rafe. Of course I’ll ‘let you be my boyfriend.’”

Rafe smiles sweetly and kisses you on the forehead, then the tip of your nose, before finally brushing his lips against yours.

You hum with contentment and shift your position so you’re facing him, your elbows braced on either side of his head as you continue to kiss, his tongue slipping in your mouth as you move together.

Rafe’s hand rests on your waist as the other sneaks up your t-shirt, cupping your right breast and running his thumb over your quickly hardened nipple.

The pace is slow and languid, syrupy sweet and completely different to what you’re used to. There’s no hasty pushing clothes aside or feverish kisses, the two of you are almost lazy, taking your time and taking it all in.

Soon enough, you’re lifting your arms above your head as Rafe slowly pulls your t-shirt over your head and he’s blinking up at you like you’re the most beautiful girl he’s ever seen, his eyes glazed over with complete adoration.

You’re suddenly acutely aware of the fact that this is the first time Rafe has actually seen you naked like this, and you cross your arms over your stomach instinctively. Rafe shakes his head and pulls your arms down, kissing you passionately.

“You’re beautiful,” he says and you smile into the kiss.

Rafe plays with your nipple with one hand as he finds your clit with the other, pressing gently into your heat as you whimper, the rolling pleasure almost becoming too much as he slips his finger inside.

You whimper, rocking against him, asking him for more and moaning louder as he adds another finger, and then another, before he’s slowly pumping three fingers inside your hot centre and you’re cumming around his fingers with a shudder.

There’s a pause as you catch your breath, and you smirk as you feel how hard he is beneath you.

“Feel good babe?” Rafe asks you.

You nod.

“You’re severely overdressed,” you say, rolling off Rafe to give him the space to pull off his sweatpants, his underwear coming with it and his hard cock springing out, a bead of pre-cum glimmering at the tip.

You move to get into position on the bed, lifting your ass up, before Rafe tuts and moves you onto your back.

“I want to look at your pretty face,” he says, pumping his cock with some lube he found in your bedside table.

You nod, almost nervous, as Rafe lines up the head of his cock with your entrance. He pushes into you slowly and you feel your walls tighten around his length.

As if he feels your slight nervousness, Rafe kisses you on the forehead once more and asks “are you okay? We can stop.”

“I’m more than okay,” you reply and you grab his ass with both of your hands, pulling him deeper inside you.

Rafe groans and rocks into you, picking up his pace as you both move together, enjoying this new closeness you’d not experienced with one another before. You make sure to pull your new boyfriend in for a deep kiss intermittently, and he makes a point of staring deeply into your eyes as he whimpers.

After some minutes of him pumping his cock inside you, Rafe’s movements start to sputter and become irregular and you can tell he’s close to finishing.

“Baby, I’m going to cum,” he says and you simply wrap your legs around his waist and your arms around his neck, pulling him into a tight embrace as he moans one final time, pushing his cock into you and spilling his cum inside you.

You can’t quite put your finger on why but this time feels so unbelievably different, and better, than all of the other times.

Rafe stays inside you for a few moments, and then presses his slightly sweaty forehead to yours, his eyes fluttering closed.

“You’re incredible,” he says, and you feel happier in that moment than any other time in your life.

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whythinktoomuch · 4 years

Text

iv. to be as good as dead

(pt. i) (pt. ii) (pt. iii)

tw: gore & death (but only of zombies :D)

Kara’s awareness gradually slips out of the syrupy depths of sleep, the low rumbles of Lena and Alex’s conversation casually filtering into her ears. She starts to stir, jerking fully awake only when she accidentally elbows Lena right in the ribs.

“Oh, shoot, sorry,” Kara says hastily, as Lena clutches at her side with a wheeze. “Oops. I, yeah, sorry.”

Kara inches over in a futile attempt to provide Lena with some more space, but her bed was never really meant to accommodate more than one person at a time.

“It’s fine,” Lena grumbles. “I actually prefer my lungs bruised.”

“I’m sorry…”

Alex just shakes her head as she approaches the bed, and Kara is already averting her eyes with an extended sigh. But Alex crouches down anyway, places a gentle hand atop Kara’s shoulder and squeezes.

“I heard what happened,” she says softly. “It wasn’t your fault.”

“I was leading the group, so of course it was my fault.” Kara directs her words more to her pillow than anyone else. “Like you’ve always said, if you’re the lead—”

“Forget what I said!” Alex snaps. “You’re alive, okay? And you brought everyone else back here, alive. Which means you did the right thing, and that’s all that matters.”

Kara shrugs and just curls up into a smaller ball underneath the sheets. Alex sighs, giving Kara’s shoulder another comforting squeeze before slowly climbing to her feet. But on her way out, Alex takes one last pause by the door. She gestures aimlessly toward Kara’s bed. “So, what’s going on here? You two officially banging, or…?”

“Oh, shut up, Alex, god! It’s not even like—”

“No, Kara was just having trouble falling asleep, so—”

“Mmhm, yeah, I bet,” Alex says, cutting off both their protests as she shuts the door behind her.

“You’re such a fast reader,” Kara comments, as she watches Lena thumbing through her second trashy romance novel of the day. “You must really dig those, huh?”

“I kinda hate them actually,” Lena says with a shrug. “But I’m also kinda into the fact that I hate them, so it all works out.”

“Hm…” Kara nods thoughtfully to herself. Then, “Well, hang on, are they dirty?”

Lena’s pale features are instantly awash in a very conspicuous shade of pink. “No,” she says several beats too late, and Kara practically pounces onto Lena’s side of the bed.

“Oh no, no, wait!” Lena is laughing as she falls backwards, Kara scrambling on top as she grabs for the book. “No, Kara, stop, you’re not allowed to look!”

Kara fumbles with the book, fingertips slipping off the glossy cover as Lena tosses it just out of reach behind her. But persistent as ever, Kara just climbs a bit higher, now practically straddling Lena’s stomach. Her next swipe overshoots by a tad though, and she ends up swatting at Lena’s rucksack instead.

“No—!” Lena says in a sharp inhale, but Kara’s already caught the bag by one of the shoulder straps before it could hit the ground.

Though considerably lighter now, the rucksack seems to still hold quite a few private things that give a distinct clink as Kara gently sets it back on the bed.

They both stare at the bag in silence until Kara springs back into action, snatching up the romance novel with a triumphant Yoink! and jumping onto her own bed. She’s barely flipped through the first few pages when the book’s being ripped out of her hands, and Lena’s climbing into her lap and kissing her.

All of Kara’s grunts of surprise are muffled against Lena’s soft yet sweetly insistent mouth. It’s been a while—much too long of a while, in fact—but Kara’s body eventually remembers what to do, and she’s seizing Lena by the hips and hauling her onto the bed.

Kara’s breaths are ragged as she settles on top, her kisses near frenzied and desperate, and getting messier and messier by the second. But Lena doesn’t seem to be faring much better, with her eyes darkened, hips bucking up against Kara’s, and it’s honestly gratifying enough just to feel this wanted.

But then Kara’s tugging at the hem of Lena’s shirt, dragging it up to expose soft skin, the paleness only marred by a slight blush of desire, when Lena stiffens underneath her.

“Oh, is this… is this all right?” Kara asks, freezing in place. “Because we totally don’t have to.”

Lena’s face screws up, hesitant. “Um.”

The door swings opens, and Kara and Lena scramble off each other, in a hasty attempt to make it somehow seem like they weren’t doing exactly what they were just caught doing.

“Wow,” says Alex, just so utterly bored. “Can’t wait to hear your excuse for this one.”

A couple of weeks later, Kara and Lena are lazing around in the sun—Kara bouncing a tennis ball against a brick wall, Lena reading some two-dollar sci-fi thriller. They still have yet to talk about the kiss.

It’s not that they are avoiding it, per se. It’s just been way easier to talk about all the other things worth discussing.

Like, for example,

“They’re gearing up for a supply run,” Lena says, eyeing the small group forming by the front gate. She watches as they pass out the guns, lace up their boots, and fix up their backpacks, and such.

“Yeah.” Kara doesn’t look over.

“You’re not going with them?”

“No, Alex is gonna go this time,” Kara says shortly, already walking off toward the barracks before Lena could ask why, tennis ball left behind and forgotten.

“Hey,” Lena says, when she eventually finds Kara lying in bed with her dusty boots still on. “Let’s get out of here.”

“What?”

“Let’s leave the camp for a while. Stretch our legs somewhere that’s not packed with all these people,” Lena insists. “Didn’t you say that there’s a lake nearby? Let’s go there.”

“… Why?”

“Why not? It’s a free country.”

Kara actually snorts. “There is no country anymore, Lena.”

“Whatever, let’s just go get some privacy then,” Lena says with a shrug, and Kara perks right up.

“Privacy?” Kara echoes. “With me.”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah.” Kara nods a lot. “Yeah, okay.”

It’s not very hard to sneak out the front gate, and the ease of their escape forces Kara to admit that maybe this is something that she’s done before. “But only like once or twice. And only when I was going absolutely stir-fucking-crazy, I swear.”

The aforementioned lake is a trek of couple of miles, but inherent peace brought on by the very sight of it is well worth the journey. Kara stretches out beneath the shade of her favorite tree, heart and face relaxing as one as she watches Lena dip her toes in the water.

Within minutes, Kara’s on her back with her eyes fluttering shut. And within a few more minutes, Lena is snuggled up to her, head cradled against Kara’s chest, and for a while, everything is good again.

Kara’s just basking in the sun, taking a brief nap in between classes on a grassy hill, and Lena’s her girlfriend who adores her despite all her cheesy puns, and they’ll probably share a tub of ice cream at some point in the night before engaging in lots of sex and way too little sleep, and everything was just good.

Almost good enough to be true

“KARA!”

The panic in Lena’s voice has Kara’s eyes snapping open, and she feels a violent tug on her left foot. A growling zombie, lake water dripping off its disgusting, bloated body as it drags Kara closer to its snapping jaws.

Kara immediately launches her other foot forward, smashing it into the zombie’s face as hard as she can. It gives her the leverage to slip out of her left boot and scramble to her feet.

She shoots point blank right through the top of its head.

But more and more zombies start emerging from the lake, all puffy and rotted, their swollen faces split open in near identical snarls. Kara shoots them down, one by one, but more just keep coming to take their place in an endless swarm.

“Fuck, fuck,” Kara swears, her fingers clumsy as she tries to reload her gun. “Fuck it, run, Lena, run!”

They take off sprinting, and actually manage to outrun most of the zombies that are thankfully still incapacitated by their bloated limbs, waterlogged and somewhat useless.

When Kara throws a glance over her shoulder, just to make sure they’re still in the clear, she misses the dip in terrain, and the pothole sends her sprawling across the dirt.

Kara turns around and a zombie is already almost upon her, its stagger increasing in speed, as if it could already taste the sweet victory of Kara’s flesh. She reaches for her gun, but it’s landed too far away, and the spare bullets even farther. By the time she faces forward again, she’s all out of options.

A single gunshot rings out, and the zombie falls heavily on top of Kara, blood and bile spurting all over her face, mouth, and body. She coughs at the taste of decay and rotting water, clambering out from underneath the zombie, now motionless with a prominent hole through its right eye.

Lena’s standing a couple feet away, Kara’s gun clutched in both hands. She gets the next two zombies between the eyes, then a third right through its cheek.

The first two crumple instantly, but the last doesn’t slow one bit as it charges at Lena.

But she doesn’t flinch, only whips out her hunting knife, leaping forward to meet the zombie head-on, and sticks the blade right through its protruding forehead with a shout.

If Kara didn’t have an entire dollop of zombie goo still dripping from her mouth, she probably would have kissed Lena again right then and there.

Kara’s not too sure on how or when she finds out, but by the time Alex is back from the scavenging mission, she’s stomping toward her and Lena like she already knows.

“Listen, Alex,” Kara starts off right away, swiftly putting herself in front of Lena. “It’s not her fault. I wanted to go too, and, look, we’re fine now, and…”

But Alex shoves right past her and yanks Lena into a violent bear hug that lifts her straight off the ground. “Thank you,” she sobs over and over again into Lena’s hair. “Thank you for keeping her safe.”

(next part here)

#i swEAR to GOD that the next one is the LAST ONE! *skull emoji*#1745 wds; can u believe it #g'night #my words.

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cozycryptidcorner · 4 years

Photo

Fiore the Genderfluid Kelpie

Notes: this is a commission from a user who wishes to remain anonymous, about a curly-haired musician meeting her monster match for the first time.

If your roommates weren’t such absolute twats about the noise, then you really wouldn’t have much of a reason to practice your violin in the outdoors like some kind of lonely vagabond. The day is bright, only a few clouds in the sky, but not specifically warm enough to make you melt into the little dirt path. Nor do you feel much strain in your lungs as you hike around the dirt path. It’s the kind of day that hints of summer, with all the warm, soft sunlight of the day without the same, stifling heat that comes in the deeper throes of those months.

Hauling everything- the violin, the stand, and the sheet music should be more complicated than it seems, but you’re so used to it by now that you don’t really notice the effort. All the better, then, because having an explosive argument with your roommate over staying indoors would be more trouble than it’s worth. The smaller university also locks its practice doors during the summer, so you can’t go there.

So, again, outdoors, it is.

Google maps is very helpful for seeing the dirt trail that weaves its way around the nearby lake, though it doesn’t register it as a viable pathway. You have to eyeball it, which is okay, because you think it would be reasonably simple to make your way back to the high rises of the city, as you can see them once you stand on a hill, right on your tiptoes. There’s a gorgeous, large, and ancient weeping willow that google’s satellites have captured, one that’s large enough to provide shade and shelter from any unruly breeze. Already, you spot it on the other side of the water, so you tuck your phone into your pocket and head in that direction.

Setting everything up is easy, the collapsable stand simple enough to build, the ground flat enough to allow it to stay upright. You trap your sheet music to it with clothing pins, just as a precaution despite the breeze isn’t quite strong enough to blow them to kingdom come, and turn on your metronome app on your phone as you set it right next to the paper. Once everything is set up, albeit with your violin still in its case, you allow yourself to go investigate the edge of the lake itself, just for the sake of looking around.

The lake is large, extensive, and a shimmering, crystalline blue. You remember that a few years ago, some environmentalist people in town managed to get a large clean-up production in order, clearing out the trash and filtering the muddied water until it stopped shining with grease. There’s an ancient, dilapidated dock, the old, rotting wood half-submerged in the reeds and water, though you think that the very center might be able to hold your weight.

Wanting only to get a better look at the lake as a whole, you step onto the dock, wincing as it creaks under a portion of your weight, but it seems to take it well enough. Carefully, you place your other foot down, too, then carefully tiptoe over the part of the wood that looks the most stable, getting about halfway down the dock. The lake itself is supposed to be ridiculously deep, there’s a river that provides freshwater from the melting snow on the nearby mountains, so it also must be rather cold.

Funnily enough, as soon as you think that, there is a violent crack sound from beneath your shoes, and you find out for yourself exactly how cold the water really is. It’s freezing, just as expected, a biting, icy feeling running through your nerves, and you barely even have time to shut your mouth tight to avoid getting a mouthful of water. Your arm smarts as it hits a plank wrong, and there’s a snap that you aren’t sure is from the wood or your arm.

You struggle, arms flailing limply as you try to surface. There’s something on your foot, though, it’s somehow pinned or stuck in a stray part of the dock, and you don’t think you even have the air to deal with it. Letting out a breath of bubbles to help ease the tension in your chest, you bend your knee a bit, dragging yourself down further, and try to feel out what you’re stuck in.

Wood, definitely another part of the dock, and it feels like you just punched your foot clean through, right up to your ankle. You wriggle, trying to shimmy your way out, but there seems to be absolutely no way for you to get out without at least dislocating something. Before you can even process true, absolute panic at the thought of drowning, a pair of arms wrapping around your chest and pulls. A shock of pain runs through your leg, and your struggle, harder, jabbing your elbow against something… rubbery, you think.

The water is too murky for you to see beyond the blob figure that swims gracefully down to your ankle. After just a moment, two arms reach forward, snapping the plank with such ease that you wonder why you weren’t able to pop out of it yourself, but suddenly you’re being pulled up again, though this time, you actually feel the air.

You splutter and gasp, your face probably cherry pink with the violent effort your body makes to resupply oxygen. Once you manage to take in a few, choking gasps, you spin around to see your rescuer, a bit taken back when you notice the lack of clothing on her pale, freckled body. She’s slim in frame, not at all looking anywhere near strong enough to be able to snap a slab of wood like it was nothing more than a twig even if it had been rotting in the water for god knows how long.

“Um, thank you,” you say awkwardly, unsure of what else to do, “for helping me, I mean.”

She eyes you up and down, her eyes glittering in the reflection of the sunlight dancing up from the water. There’s something that’s oddly absent from her gaze, like a slab of blankness beneath the blue irises, and you find yourself unconsciously crossing your arms across your chest in a sort of protective gesture of yourself.

“Of course,” she says finally, after a long, awkward pause, “you were drowning.”

The way she says it makes it sound like she wasn’t entirely sure if that was what really was happening or not, so you wonder if maybe she’s teetering on embarrassment? That might explain her strange behavior.

“My foot was stuck, yeah,” you say. “If you hadn’t freed me, I probably would have.”

“Hm,” she nods sagely, as though that were an answer to another unasked question, “you cannot breathe in the water.”

“No, I can’t.” You are suddenly very aware of your wet socks as you shift your weight, the thick layer of silt squishing down and over the soles of your tennis shoes. “That’s the thing about humans, we can’t breathe underwater.”

“Fascinating,” she mulls the idea over, as though she couldn’t possibly relate.

“Um,” you’re trying very hard not to stare at any other part of her body but her face, “yes, so I was here to practice my violin, but um, I didn’t realize that anyone else was here.”

“Practice the violin?” She echoes.

“My instrument,” you gesture vaguely in the direction of where you set up your temporary haven of music, “I was going to practice out here because my roommates get annoyed by the noise. I didn’t realize that someone was out here, though, I thought I’d be alone.”

She waits for you to elaborate, but when you don’t, she suggests, “if you are worried I might mind a little music while I lounge and swim, you should not. I will somehow survive.”

It takes you a moment to process that she must be joking, so you let out a brief laugh. “I’m sorry for crashing your lounging and swimming. Um, do you happen to have a name?”

“Of course,” she says.

When she doesn’t embellish, you ask, “what is it, if you don’t mind me asking?”

She has to think about it for a moment, you can see her eyes fade as she wanders through the depths of her mind to drudge it up. You wonder how long she might have gone without hearing it because the long silence that follows seems a little too meticulous to be her looking for a fake one to give. “Fiore.”

“Fiore?” You shift again, wincing at the feeling of slime absorbing into your shoes still. “That’s a pretty name.”

“Thank you; it is, isn’t it.”

Slowly but steadily, you manage to get yourself out of the muck, kicking off your shoes and socks once you’re free from the reeds. Bare feet on a dirt path, you think, is preferable to the soggy, squishing feeling of muddied and wet shoes, and when you turn around, you don’t spot your savior anywhere. Shrugging that off, you head back over to your little setup, checking over your phone, thankful that you had the foresight to pull it out of your pocket before you took an impromptu dunk in the lake.

Popping your violin case open, you begin on your scales, just as a brief exercise to warm your fingers up before moving onto more complicated pieces. Pressing against the strings, you quickly draw your bow out to make the notes. C major, then minor, then D major, then minor, and so on until you moved halfway through the scales before glancing self-consciously over to where you last saw Fiore, but there isn’t any sign of her slim figure.

Thinking that she might have just left while you were paying attention to your finger’s positions over the strings, you go back to practicing, finishing your scales, and choosing from your bags which piece to begin working on.

You would say that this is the most peaceful practice session that you’ve had since this whole worldwide ugly situation has started. No roommates come banging on your door to tell you to quiet it down, no angry stomping protests from the neighbors in the above apartments. Just you, the violin, and your music, and you find yourself improving somewhat on one of the more difficult passages in a piece that’s had you stuck for a long while.

In fact, it was so productive that you find yourself returning in a few days, spurred on by the annoyance of your roommates. The weather is beautiful enough, a gentle breeze cooling any sort of heat that may become stifling in the warming spring. You repeat the actions from when you were last at the lakeside, setting everything up, leaving your phone on the stand, then move to investigate the shore.

You are looking to see if Fiore is here, you’re not ashamed to admit it, but as you scope out the edge of the lake, you see no one around. Not even a telltale sign of rippling to suggest that someone is swimming just below the surface, so you suppose that she just isn’t around. Which, you assume, might as well be expected, because it’s not like you know her whole schedule of when she actually goes for a swim.

So you start practicing again, going through your scales, then beginning on your regular pieces. As you pause, maybe a half-hour into working, to turn on the metronome on your phone, you notice a head of black hair poking up from the water. Which is weird, because you didn’t see anyone in your periphery arrive, you think you might have given the circumstances, but maybe you were just so sucked into the music that you weren’t paying attention to anything else.

Thinking it must be Fiore, you walk over, popping up on your tiptoes so that you can get a better view of her head, you almost stop in your tracks when you realize that the body swimming in the pond is, in fact, very masculine. And just as naked, but you digress. Face so red you think you might look more like a tomato than human, you take a step back, your foot catching on some root or twisted patch of grass, and you fall hard on your ass.

He’s looking at you promptly, eyes sharp and hauntingly familiar. You’re even more embarrassed, now, because you thought that you might have been able to make a quiet and unnoticed retreat. Instead, you’re looking at the face of someone who seems to be debating on whether or not to eat you alive. At least, that’s what it feels like from his predatory glare.

“I- I’m sorry, I thought you were someone else.” It dawns on you now that he might think that you were trying to get a sneak peek of the goods, and just the thought of gaining the reputation of a peeping tom makes your face heat up even more. “There was like this girl who was here last time I practiced, I mean, I saw her when I was practicing violin, too, and you two actually look a lot alike, so I thought- I, um, thought you were her because of the black hair.”

The man regards you with no small amount of suspicion, eyes narrow.

Nervous, you try to dig yourself out of the hole you’ve made. “I was practicing violin, she seemed to like the music- I mean, I think she did. I’m really sorry to bother you, and I’ll just go back to practicing, sorry.”

As you get up to leave, the man cocks his head. “Your hair.”

Mindlessly, as if spurred on only by the word, you reach up and pluck one of the coils, pulling it down to its full length if it were straight. “Y-yeah?”

“It didn’t do that, not when you were here last. How did you make it crumple up?”

Was he there, and you just didn’t see him? “I- I don’t know what you mean.” You release the strand, and it pops back into place, frowning. “It’s just curly?”

“It was straight when you fell into the water.”

“Oh,” feeling sheepish to have your past mistake thrown out like that by another stranger makes you want to bury yourself, “that’s what happens when my hair gets wet. It stops being curly.”

The man regards you like he’s never even heard of such a thing before. Ignoring the weird feeling in your chest, you approach the water, cupping your fingers together, and bring a fistful of water up to a strand. True to your word, it straightens out almost instantly, and you allow him to stare at you like a bug under a microscope, comparing the now damp strand with the rest of your hair.

“See?” You offer, hoping the pinkness in your face might have died down by the attempts to satiate his own curiosity.

“So it was you,” he says, nodding sagely as if he figured it out on his own.

“Yeah, yup, that was me.” You take a significant step back, wiping your hand on your shirt. “I don’t remember seeing you, though, so you must have been swimming out on the far side.”

There’s an awkward pause, and just when you’re about to turn around and retreat back to your music stand, the man speaks, “You don’t remember me?”

Immediately, you try to go through your recollection of that day to see if you somehow wholly blocked the presence of the man, as well, but you don’t think you did. “Did you introduce yourself?”

He looks almost hurt. “I’m Fiore, I told you.”

Now it’s your turn for your eyes to bug out of your skull, because no, that’s not Fiore. Fiore is… admittedly, the same size as this man, tall, slim, with black hair that does fall past her shoulders, but come on. Come on! There’s no way the two are the same person, at least, you don’t think so, because you could have remembered everything wrong. You couldn’t have, though, because this really isn’t something you can just mix up.

“You’re confused,” probably-not-Fiore observes, which is most likely an elementary observation on his part.

“Yes.” You admit, not wanting to outright refuse to believe that what probably-not-Fiore’s saying is false.

“I see.” There’s a faraway look in his face, open enough to give you the feeling that he’s trying to put some kind of explanation in words. “It’s like your hair.”

“My hair,” you repeat, unsure.

“Your hair changes. My body changes. It’s… the same, but different.” Maybe-Fiore places a hand on his chest and drags it downwards to his stomach. “Sometimes, I feel better in this body. Sometimes I feel better in other bodies.”

“Oh,” you say, because that makes perfect fucking sense, of course, why didn’t you think of that earlier, “right.”

“The humans have a term for that, I think,” Maybe-Fiore places a hand on his chin as he thinks, “another visitor to my lake told me, but I cannot remember it.”

“Oh, you’re not human,” you say, not believing him in the slightest, “I didn’t realize.”

“Did I not mention it,” Fiore says in a tone that suggests that he very well knows that he never uttered a word about his species, “interesting. Anyway, I enjoyed the music you played earlier, and I would like to hear it again.”

“Alright,” you hesitate, though you know that you might as well comply. Slowly, you head back to where you left your stand and pick up your violin. Trying your best to focus, you begin practicing again, starting with scales and arpeggios as you did the last time you were here. Out of the corner of your eye, you spot him, lounging, still very naked, on the outer banks of the lake, clearly enthralled in your music.

You’re not sure if you can be flattered over that or not, but you continue practicing nonetheless. When you’ve put in some time- about an hour or two, according to your phone, you begin breaking down your practice area, collapsing your music stand, and packing away your books. Maybe-Fiore is lying leisurely on the side of the dilapidated dock, eyes only opening once the music has ceased.

Sometimes, I feel better in this body. Sometimes I feel better in other bodies, he has said, and you try to digest what that means, the humans have a term for that, I think.

“Did you mean genderfluid?” You ask suddenly, popping your case shut.

He sits up as you stand, trying to formulate a sentence. “What?”

“You said you sometimes feel comfortable in other bodies, and that there was a word for it. Did you mean genderfluid?” You clarify, trying to adjust the straps of your myriad of bags, so the weight is evenly distributed on your shoulders.

“Yes- that.” He smiles, and there’s a weird feeling swimming in your stomach when you see it. “Sometimes, I feel like a male. Sometimes I feel like a female… and I have the advantage of being able to change.”

“Okay,” you nod, wondering for the first time if he actually is Fiore, if Fiore could simply switch their sexes the moment they felt different. Which… you think is a tad bit out there, because changing one’s shape so instantaneously and thoroughly isn’t physically possible. That you know of, though.

“Will you play closer to the lake next time you come?” Maybe-Fiore says, laying back down against the half-rotted wood, closing his eyes.

“If you’d like,” you say, warming up to the idea. You would be directly under the sun, but a lot of sunscreen and plenty of water might keep you from dying.

“I would like,” he nods firmly, rolling back over into the water.

Trying to not look below his waist, you say your goodbyes, and turn to leave.

The weather is already warming up, as though spring was nothing more than a few-day blip on the calendar. The humidity doesn’t help matters, either, because your hair has decided to do something very unique with itself, poking out in oddly placed tufts that don’t want to conform to any other look but insane person. When you come back to the lake, you have a water bottle filled to the brim with mostly ice to melt and sip on while you practice.

You hear the horse before you see it, the tromping of hooves against the earth, a loud, resounding whinny as it sees you in the middle of its path. It’s an incredibly large, foreboding creature, pale like a ghost, a myriad of speckles dotting its back half. Immediately, adrenaline bursts into your veins, because random, galloping horses are not good news, especially when it seems to be heading right for you.

Just when you’re about to shed your stuff and dodge, the horse makes a sharp turn, kicking up some dirt as it does so. Even though the immediate danger is over, your heart is still quaking in your chest hard enough to feel the aftershocks in your fingertips. You are far too startled to do much other than watch the admittedly majestic creature with a wary eye as it gallops over to the lake, the white spray of water splashing about as it plunges beneath the surface.

All that happened within the span of a few moments, and you are far too surprised at the… the absurdness of it all to do much more than stand there, mouth agape, as you quietly debate the pros and cons of leaving your things so you could run away faster. Before you come to a conclusion, though, you see a head of black hair pop up from the water, and all you can think of is Fiore and a feral horse getting into a tussle that the creature would not lose.

You drop your things and run, but not away from the lake, towards. Wild horses could easily cave someone’s skull in like a mallet to a melon, and you’re not going to just leave when Fiore- whoever they may be- might end up pummeled to death by hooves. While you try to shout- keyword try here- you find that the ungodly speed you’re running at mixed with your panicking lungs, all you can manage is a weak wheeze until you near the edge of the lake.

When you get that close, you see that it is Fiore, her slim, long hair sticking to her skin from the water. You’re just about to run yourself into the mud, but you manage a screeching halt, gasping for air, a drop of sweat rolling down your temple as you manage to choke out, “horse, there’s a horse-”

“Not anymore,” Fiore chirps, completely unaware of your panic.

“What? No,” you bend over, your lungs desperately trying to compensate for the sudden strain, “there was like a huge-ass horse that almost trampled me earlier, it went into the lake- and-” come to think of it, why haven’t you seen it surface for air? Where did it go?

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Fiore steps closer to the shallows, the water only waist-deep on her. “I was just delighted to see you, I may have gotten a little too excited.”

You shake your head, only half processing the nonsense she’s speaking. “Not you, the horse. There’s a horse!”

“Yes,” Fiore sounds like you, almost exasperated that you do not quite understand what’s going on, “I didn’t mean to startle you, I’m sorry.”

“You didn’t startle me, the horse did!”

Fiore looks at you, her eyes narrowed slightly, making you feel like you’re missing a massive, undeniable piece of some puzzle you didn’t know you were playing. “And I said I was sorry, sweet thing.”

Even though a shiver runs through your back when she calls you that- sweet thing- you have to be misunderstanding something significant here because... is Fiore insinuating that she can turn into a horse? You are going to faceplant onto the ground if the answer is yes. “Fiore.”

“Yes.”

“So, you were a horse just a few minutes ago.”

“Yes?” She sounds almost relieved that you finally understand what’s happening. Like back and forth was exhausting, and she could not understand why you didn’t.

“Ha.” You’re going insane. Or maybe Fiore was trying to pull a fast one, a long drawn out fast one, and this is all some kind of elaborate hoax to mock the girl who hikes half a mile just to play the violin. “No.”

“Ha, yes,” Fiore counters, almost impatiently.

“But-”

“What makes it so difficult to understand?”

You feel like your brain is going to explode. “Um… I need to go fetch my violin.”

She brightens somewhat. “Don’t forget that I want you playing closer this time.”

“R-right.”

Surely you’re teetering on the very edge of sanity because that conversation did not just happen. Slowly, you gather your things, trying to mull the conversation over in your head. Fiore- the woman, the man, the horse, this can’t be happening. But you can’t come up with any sort of more logical explanation, especially since any other alternative seems far wilder than the simplicity of shapeshifter. So as you begin to put everything together to play, you ask, almost timidly, “what are you?”

“What do you mean?” She’s sitting out of the water, naked, only a few arm’s lengths away.

“I mean,” your fingers are shaking too much to actually play, so you pretend to tweak at the strings of the violin to tune it, even though you don’t have the means to properly do so, “if you can change like that, and you even said that you aren’t human, what are you?”

There’s another faraway look in Fiore’s eyes, the same as when you first asked for her name. Like she has to struggle to remember, as though she hasn’t had to explain her existence in a long while. “Your people have many different names for mine,” she says, reminiscing, “but I suppose that you might know the word ‘kelpie,’ hm?”

You are not going to be scared, not yet. Trying to keep your voice calm, you ask, “like the man-eating horse creature?”

Fiore, to her credit, seems to find that description funny, of all things. “I haven’t tasted man in so long, but I can’t say that I find it particularly delicious. I prefer those creatures with the horns, what are they called... cattle.”

At least she doesn’t seem to favor the taste human, so you force your body to relax a little. “And you live in the lake?”

“For as long as this village has existed.” She closes her eyes, you can see a timeline play in her mind. “Though, not so much a little vagabond grouping anymore.”

You think of the high rising skyline and let out a little snort, unbidden, “you can say that again. Have you visited the city square recently?”

“I’ve never visited the square,” she leans back on her elbows, staring up at the sky listlessly, “never needed to, really.”

“Huh,” you’ve finally managed to stop your shaking body, calming down enough to lift your violin to your chin, “maybe we should go together sometime.”

Before you give her time to process the offer, you drag the bow across the G string, letting the note resonate over the landscape, just to make sure you didn’t muck anything up during the impromptu tuning. Satisfied with the outcome, you begin to play, not bothering to set up your stand or bring out any books, sitting cross-legged in the soft grass instead of standing. This isn’t really about practicing, you decide, but about letting the music flow through you naturally.

By the way Fiore’s eyes become half-lidded, then slowly close, you can tell that she’s enjoying your improv. With your focus only on the next several notes, you need your fingers to grasp; you can’t put too much attention in how beautiful she is, sprawled out in the sun like this. Only that she is, but you try to only use your periphery to observe this.

“You said that you could show me the main square?” She asks when the music notes slowly ebb away.

“I mean,” how do you put this delicately, “you might have to put on some clothes, first.”

Her face scrunches up in a slight scowl at the mere thought. “Yes, I’ve noticed that humans are cautious about covering your bodies up. If you’d like, you can take yours off now, I wouldn’t mind.”

You try not to balk at the idea right off the bat because you’re not sure if mutual nakedness means the same thing to her as it does to you. “I’m fine for now, actually. I don’t mind the clothing.”

“If you insist.” She goes back to her leisurely lounging. “But I suppose that I would have to wear… something, if I were to enter the city.”

“Yeah, unfortunately, there are laws about public nudity.”

Fiore lets out a little hmph, “and there are certain rules to the clothing.”

“... Yeah,” you say, trying not to show too much sheepishness.

“But you will help me?”

“Of course.”

Fiore pauses, cocking her head to the side as she thinks. “I believe someone once told me that such an outing would be called a ‘date.’”

You just about crack the wood of your violin in half. Not entirely sure in which direction either of you would like to take, you say, “I mean- yes, it could be, but it doesn’t have to-”

“What do you mean when you say it is, but it doesn’t need to be? Are humans always so very confusing about such matters? Must be exhausting.”

There’s some truth to that statement, your brain is especially ready to explode again, though for a much different reason than before. “I mean… if you’d like it to be a date, it could be a date. But if you didn’t want to go on a date with me, it could be like a platonic get-together.”

Fiore squints, running over her options, then shrugs. “I’m fine with a romantic outing.”

The hairs on your arm stand up. “Really?”

“Yes.”

“Alright.” There’s an odd, explosive sensation in your chest, and you’re not sure what to do about it. “That sounds like a plan.”

#exophilia #kelpie #kelpie/reader #monster lovers #monster/reader #genderfluid monster

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dashhoney25 · 4 years

Text

SB: eight

NATASHA

My eyes fluttered open as they landed on the ceiling. The scent of mahogany filled my nostrils as I took my first breath. To my surprise, my body didn’t feel any discomfort from being on the couch. Confused, I lifted my body and realized that I had ‘teleported’ to the bed. I looked down at myself and examined the remnants of the empty bed. The mahogany scent was coming from King’s pillow, the lingering scent alerted me that he hadn’t been gone for too long. Exhaling, I laid on my side and brushed my hand across his pillow, just staring at his side of the bed for a moment. My mind couldn’t process why King placed me in the bed (despite the discomfort of the couch), nor how long or if we slept in the same bed together (or if he lifted me from the couch and placed me there before leaving me alone).

I never fathomed being a stranger to my own bed. I feel as if I’m having to ask for permission to be here, considering that I’ve shattered our sacred bond. The many mornings King and I shared together in this very bed; it doesn’t amount to the pain I’ve caused. Constant late mornings due to our risqué rendezvous here, late nights spent in here being intimate, not to mention my miscarriage took place in this room… the pain was indescribable. Even with the fond memories in this bed, King and I always took the time to express our love for each other, our troubles, hopes, and dreams for the future; never losing sight of communication. But now, for the first time, (since Malcolm), this room is silent and half empty.

Getting out of my thoughts, I walked into the bathroom and took a long hot shower. Stepping out, I towel dried my hair and threw on some workout gear and tennis shoes. I gave myself a final look in the mirror before heading downstairs to prepare a water bottle. I walked into the kitchen to find a shirtless King making a smoothie. “Good morning” he said gruffly. “Hey” I said nervously grabbing the filtered water pitcher from the fridge. I felt weird being in King’s presence as I filled my water bottle. “Can I ask you something?” I questioned placing the pitcher in the fridge and closing my water bottle, placing it on the island. “What’s up?” King asked leaning against the stove, folding his arms. I leaned against the counter next to the fridge and sighed, “About last night on the couch” my voice trailed off lowly.

“What about it?” King asked seeming irritated. “Well I.. I went to bed on the couch and I woke up in our bed” I said curiously. “You know how you got there, why you asking me?” King replied dismissively. I shook my head and rolled my eyes, “I asked a simple question King, what’s with the hostility?” I questioned. “Let’s not talk about hostility baby girl” King said walking over to me. “I did you a favor and felt sorry for your ass, so I put you in the bed next to me.” He replied in my face. King was entirely too close, his cologne was filling my nose and I could see the faint blonde hairs on his skin. The lower half of his grey joggers were pressing into mine and dammit I just knew I was gonna ruin my fresh pair of panties. I attempted to take a side step away from him, when the left side of my body collided with the fridge. I held my side in embarrassment trying not to show the pain in my face. “Is that what you wanted to hear?” King questioned gruffly, stepping closer to me. He placed his hand on my left shoulder, and I quickly jerked away from him. In this moment it didn’t feel right having King touch me, I still couldn’t understand why he would move me into our bed, and then get smart with me for questioning him about it.

I knew that I was feeling things that I shouldn’t and maybe I was reading too much into this, but 4 years… you can’t just turn the feelings off, and maybe he did feel “sorry” for me. King held my shoulders and moved me away from the fridge, he just stood there staring at me as I stared back at him. I tried looking away but I could still feel him… staring at me. Sighing, I looked up at him as a tear ran down my cheek. “I can’t expect you to stop caring overnight. I shouldn’t have asked and I’m sorry. I can’t be this close to you, not like this” I admit, pulling away. King took my hand and I glared at him with longing eyes. “I’m sorry too.” King said taking a step back, leaning on the island, “I felt bad for how I spoke to you. Even if it was true, I could’ve said it better. We always made a promise not to go to bed upset, and when I saw you come in last night that’s all I thought about, despite the news” King said. I felt a wave of emotions that I knew I couldn’t act on. “Tash it’s hard to not want to touch you. Putting you next to me last night, I couldn’t tell you all the shit I felt. I wanted… “ King’s voice trailed off as he shook his head. King clenched his jaw and I noticed his left hand gripping the edge of the island, “I wanted to talk about everything, us, what went wrong and why. But I couldn’t bring myself to do it. I watched you sleep for a minute, I wrestled with myself all night on if that was a mistake to move you” he said looking away.

“I can respect that. I didn’t think I would be in the same room with you, but I felt that the couch would be a start. Jermaine, I know there’s nothing that I can say to change what happened, but I couldn’t be alone last night. I mean even if it was the floor, I would still be in the same room with you… just on the floor” I said slightly smiling. King’s face was unchanging, and my smile quickly faded, “Communication has always been our thing, and it’s always been in our bed. I’m not talking sexual communication, but us growing, learning, and laughing with one another and working through things. Our bed symbolizes all of that, including comfort for us to recharge.” I replied, really thinking about what I was saying. “I don’t like silent nights like this” I said feeling myself getting choked up.

Though his face expressed a nonchalant demeanor, King placed his arms around me and I couldn’t help but feel lost in his embrace. I didn’t dare touch him, but feeling his warm body next to mine was enough for me to know that there’s hope, somewhere in all of this. I pulled away and grabbed my water bottle from the island, wiping my eyes. “So where you headed?” King asked. “I have an errand to run and probably going to the park later. You?” I asked. “I got some venues to look at for possible listening parties for the upcoming weeks.” He replied tending to his watered-down smoothie, pouring it down the sink, turning on the garbage disposal. The noise let me know that he was over this conversation and we should resume our day, “Well okay. I’ll umm, be back later” I replied. King didn’t say a word.

Grabbing my water bottle and thin dri-fit jacket to fit over my sports bra, I grabbed my purse and keys from the hooks of the wall and headed out the door. Getting in the car I pulled out of the garage and talked to myself, giving myself a run-down of things to do for the day. With the situation at hand, I made an appointment with my gyno to get myself checked. After that, I would pick up some brunch and surprise Audrey, hopefully she isn’t too busy; I really need to talk to her, especially since I’ve been putting this conversation off for far too long. To finish the day off, I’m going to the park to get a good run in to destress before going home; King and I could use the space. My thoughts were interrupted by a facetime call as I drove through the neighborhood. I glared at my phone and saw Adonis’ contact “HIM”. “What could he want?” I said to myself, he never facetimes me. I pulled over next to the stop sign and put my car in park to answer the call.

Adonis appeared on the screen, shirtless with a smug smile on his face. “Tash, where you been ma?” he asked flashing his dimples. I stared back at him trying to keep a straight face as my heart jumped out of my chest, damn those big lips of his. “You know you don’t facetime me, what you doing calling me?” I questioned keeping a tough stance. “I’ve been missing you. I see you haven’t used your key, it’s been too long since I’ve been without you” Adonis admitted, biting his bottom lip. I smiled a little and shook my head, “D….” my voice trailed off. Adonis adjusted the camera and propped it up against the coffee table showing his physique in a pair of black shorts. Adonis got comfortable on the couch and rested his elbows on his knees looking into the camera. “I feel like you’re avoiding me” Adonis teased with a wink. I caught myself blushing, “You don’t look too busy, you’re welcome to stop by the condo. If you don’t have your key I’ll meet you there, you know my door is always open for you” Adonis teased. “Donnie, I can’t. I’m busy today” I responded looking away. He sighed, “Why you playing hard to get? I thought you missed me” Adonis exclaimed. “I do!” I chimed, “I did” I said recanting my statement. Adonis picked up the camera and held it, “What’s really up with you?” he asked examining my face through the screen. “There’s been a lot going on since our last encounter” I replied looking up to see a car behind me. “Hold up” I replied, placing the phone in my lap. I put on my seatbelt and put the car in gear and drove down by the neighborhood lake. “Like what? You know how you get when you overthink” Adonis says jokingly.

Putting the car in park I picked up the phone, “You’re right, but this time I’m not overthinking.” I said feeling myself in a rock in between a hard place. “This conversation is keeping me. I have errands to run D” I say attempting to cut it short. Adonis rolled his eyes, “You playing ma. Drop your pin and I’ll pull up cuz you actin’” he scoffs. As bad as I wanted to, just to see and touch Adonis in person, I knew that I couldn’t. He’s the reason for my first stop of the day and I need to stay away from him. “D, I need to go. I’ll talk to you later” I said quickly hanging up. Sighing, I put my car in gear and headed to the doctors’ office.

ADONIS

“The fuck?” I questioned myself glaring at my phone. Tash got some nerve hanging up on me, thinking she can get away with it. Something about her rushing off the phone, it just doesn’t sit right with me. She was opening to me, amidst other things we’ve already shared, I don’t understand why she’s acting shy with me. I know her body inside and out and all her forbidden desires, why would she fold on me? I only know a little bit about ol’ dude, but I know enough about Natasha to the point that I know that that ain’t where she wanna be. During our last encounter, she admitted to me that she’s feeling something for me, and she’s expressed that her feelings could be developing for me in a way that Mercedes has for me. I know she falling for me, without a doubt; I’m feeling her too, but I’m keeping my promise within the year and I know my actions don’t match my words, but my heart is in the right place… with Mercedes.

I put on a t-shirt and placed my keys in my pocket, heading out the door. Stepping out of my house my body collided with hers accidentally.

MERCEDES

“I’m sorry, I’m rushing” Adonis said to me not looking up. “Excited to see me?” I questioned taking his hand. Adonis looked spooked. “Merc?” he questioned. “Of course baby!” I said pulling him into a quick kiss. I grabbed the keys out of my pocket and Adonis quickly stopped me, he grabbed his keys and opened the door for me. Following me inside Adonis quickly questioned me. “Thought you wouldn’t be home for another week” he said eagerly. I placed my suitcase by the door and plopped on the couch, taking off my shoes to stretch out comfortably. “Come here, Daddy” I cooed. Adonis sighed and walked towards the couch and sat next to me.

“I wanted to surprise you. I got tired of being on the road” I said straddling him. Looking in Adonis’ eyes, he seemed worried. The sad expression and calm demeanor alarmed me a bit, but I didn’t want it to get in the way of my sudden arrival. “I didn’t want to tell you over the phone, but.. I don’t want this part time life on the road directing. We have a wedding to plan, and we both make enough money for me to stay home so that I can wait on you hand and foot when you come home” I said cheerfully. “Wouldn’t you like that?” I questioned kissing and nibbling at his ear. “Of course baby” Adonis replied in a calm tone holding my waist. He sighed, “I’m sorry. I just didn’t think you’d be here so soon.” He admitted hanging his head. I lifted his chin, “It’s been really hard on me, to be quite honest, I’m over this agreement between us.” I admit, caressing his face. “What do you mean?” Adonis furrowed his brow. “I’m over seeing other people. I don’t want a placeholder anymore when I can’t get to you. I want you, and only you Adonis” I confessed.

“You put this ring on my finger for a reason, I know it was crazy of me to agree to something like this, but it’s time for me to take care of business at home and that means that I have to be fully committed to you” Adonis smiled and pulled me into a kiss, caressing my sides, slowly lifting the blouse over my curly hair. “I know it’s been hard on you, and I wanna make up for that” Getting out of Adonis’ lap, I pushed the coffee table back and tugged at Adonis’ black shorts. “Merc come on, you ain’t gotta do all that right now, just relax” he chimed. “No, I want to” I replied fluffing my hair and unclasping my bra revealing myself to him. “Take them off” I commanded. A smirk crept to Adonis’ face revealing his sexy ass dimples. Adonis stood to his feet dropping his shorts to the ground and he quickly picked me up. “You coming with me” he said kissing me. Adonis carried me to our bedroom and he threw me onto the bed playfully. Pulling my jeans down, Adonis wasted no time in placing kisses against my stomach. Giggling at the sensation, I looked down and watched Adonis, damn I missed him so much. It’s been three long weeks and my mind is made up, I can’t ever leave him again. Arching my back, stretching my arms into the pillows, small sweet kisses were planted onto my lower half, trickling down to my inner thighs. With my bottom lip wedged between my teeth, my toes curled at the feeling of Adonis’ warm wet tongue blessing my pink folds. Straining my neck to watch him, I rested on my elbows as he forced my legs by my ears as he sucked on my clit vigorously. “Mhmmm” I let out as my hands found their way to his head pushing him further onto me. “I know you missed me” he breathed. Nodding my head in agreement, my body tensed up as Adonis continued to please my pearl effortlessly, this time teasing my clit while inserting three fingers into me roughly.

My hands entangled into my thick curly hair, I arched my back, swiveling my hips as he continued to pump in and out of me, I just knew I would reach my peak. As my moans filled the room, I couldn’t help but feel powerless to him. Adonis climbed into the bed interlocking his lips with mine as his tongue roamed my mouth. My hands caressed his big strong arms and I placed my ankles on his shoulders swiftly, ready for him to have his way with me. “I’m yours” I replied seductively.

ADONIS

Her beautiful brown skin, and her delicious folds sent me over the edge. Not to mention her body opening for me, ready and willing for the taken. Leaning over, I kissed her passionately, placing kisses down her neck and tweaking at her nipples. Groaning at my touch, my tongue swirled at her nipples playfully, watching her mouth fall agape to my desires. Alternating from the left nipple to the right with my tongue, my hand toyed with her clit, giving her as much sensation as I could to keep her in the moment. Mercedes pulled me into a deep kiss, and I aligned myself at her entrance, slowly entering her, feeling her juicy folds welcome me with ease. Her gasps in between kisses, was music to my ears. I know she missed me, and I can’t lie, I surely did. Her body was tiny, and easy to maneuver. She was quite submissive, and always down to take whatever I give. Picking up the pace, I hooked my hips into her bottoming out. At full length, Mercedes clawed and my back as she looked in my eyes. “Damn I missed you so…” she let out.

Kissing her soft skin, I rested my hands in a handful of her curly hair as her hips bucked against me wanting more. “Deeper” she whimpered. Obliging, I positioned her legs straight up to the ceiling and the balls of her feet rested on my shoulders, no longer at an angle, she took my dick full on with deep strokes. “Just like that baby” I pumped as I watched Mercedes clutch her b cup breasts harshly. Her bottom lip wedged between her teeth, as tight as she held her lip I knew she’d draw blood. “Good ass pussy” I croaked. Bending her leg at the knee, Mercedes failed at her attempt to stop me. “Baby.. baby… let me turn over” she pleaded. Taking one last stroke for good measure, I slowed down and watched as she got on all fours and arched her back.

Mercedes looked back at me with a quick sweep moving her hair from her face revealing her hazel eyes. “Fuck!” I said spreading her ass cheeks, entering her deeply. “Mhmmmm, daddy! Stay right there” she moaned enjoying the pace. Mercedes deepened her arch, grabbing the pillow to bite and I pulled it away from her in haste. “I wanna hear you baby! Tell daddy how you like this shit” I barked with a slap to her ass. Mercedes huffed and threw her small frame back against me attempting for me to catch. I had forgotten how aggressive she can get, matching my fly. Speeding up, her cries could be heard all over the house with our skin clapping loudly, my balls slapping against her clit. “Shit Donnie!! So fucking deep!” she yelled. “Mhmmm, bring that pretty ass here girl” I smirked, smacking her ass one last time and bring her to my lap, looking in her hazel eyes.

Mercedes slid down on my dick, as I held her waist. “Stay just like that” I said to her. “You feel good like this” I said noticing the look in her eyes. She looked concerned. “What’s on your mind?” I asked. Mercedes placed a kiss to my lips and her hands trailed my chest. “You know I love you right?” she asked me. “Of course, baby” I smiled. “I know that we agreed that we would consult each other on big decisions but, I don’t want to be away any longer so I’m no longer directing on the road. I’m 100% fully committed to you, no more placeholders” Mercedes smiled. A smile crept on my face, “I know we’re not perfect, but I wanna be present and fully immersed, and I’ve been thinking, maybe we should move up the wedding” I chuckled, “To when?” I asked.

“I don’t know, six months from now. I don’t want to waste anymore time not being your wife. I want to make this official, I want a family Adonis. Being away made me realize how much I missed you and how important family is. I can’t imagine being away and not knowing where you are anymore. I don’t like being away for weeks and months at a time” I stared back at Mercedes and nodded my head in agreement, feelin my heart pop out of my chest. “okay” was all I could say. “You don’t seem happy” she said searching my face as I looked down, moving my hips to keep myself inside of her. “You just got home, babe we shouldn’t be talking about this right now. Just relax” I said rubbing her shoulders, attempting to calm her nerves. “I know, I just..” Cutting her off with a kiss, I held her waist and plunged deeper into her. “Let’s worry about babies and marriage shit later, lemme finish stretching you out baby” I whispered into her ear as I laid her down.

NATASHA

Nervously leaving the doctors office, I stopped by my favorite brunch restaurant to pick up some food for Audrey and I. Luckily, Audrey wasn’t busy at the moment and said it would be fine if I dropped by. Driving to her house, I couldn’t shake the feeling of what my test results could be. Not to mention, Adonis calling me earlier today it didn’t make me feel any better. I needed to clear my head and get everything out in the open to Audrey, this conversation is well overdue. Pulling into Audrey’s driveway I grabbed our food and drinks and knocked on the door. Audrey helped me inside and greeted me. “Iced coffee?” she questioned me as I took a seat. “Yeah, I got you a lemonade” I replied. “Sis, you only drink coffee when you’re stressed” Audrey replied. I nodded my head in agreement and opened my plate of shrimp and grits.

“About that… is Tae home?” I questioned looking around. “Girl no, he’s out shooting ball with Rich, he won’t be home for a few hours. Thanks for the chicken and waffles, I’m starving!” Audrey admitted digging into her plate. Ten minutes passed as we enjoyed our food, “So, what’s on your mind? I’m sorry we couldn’t have met sooner” “Its okay.” I sighed heavily taking a sip of my iced coffee. “You remember the morning I left you a voicemail saying that we need to talk, and a few days later at Mercedes house I said we’d talk later?” I asked. “Yeah, it’s been about 3 weeks since that happened” Audrey added. “Yeah well…” my voice trailed off as I put my empty box on the table. Audrey raised a brow, “Tash spit it out” Audrey said growing restless. “I called that day because I was leaving Mercedes house and didn’t know it.” I blurted out. Audrey had an inquisitive look on her face. “hold up Tash, explain… something ain’t right” she chimed.

I sighed. “That Friday night when Tae didn’t want you going out with Alana and I, I met some fine ass guy at the club and.. we hooked up. Before I knew it, the next morning I woke up in his bed with a hangover and he offered to take me home and I called an uber. I tried to call you and you didn’t answer. Well, about a week later when we went to Mercedes house for the gathering, remember when I had that panic attack?” I questioned. “Yeah, when we went to the bedr-“ Audrey’s eyes got wide, “BITCH! YOU SLEPT WITH ADONIS?! YOU SLEPT IN THAT ROOM?!” Audrey yelled. I shook my head as my face fell into my hands, ashamed. “Yes!” I added. “Oh my God. Natasha…” Audrey said in complete shock.

“I’ve been seeing him ever since” I let out with tearful eyes. “Audrey you of all people know that we just recovered from Malcolm, and I fucked around and I… I did this! It was one thing to fuck around and be intoxicated, but something about King the morning I came home, it was like he already knew.” I relented. “Does he know now?” Audrey asked. “Yes, and Audrey I don’t know if we’re gonna make it. I couldn’t live a lie anymore. Being with Adonis is totally different than being with Malcolm” “But Malcolm was best friends with King. This is different because Mercedes is a good friend to you. Tash it’s not gonna be easy, but you two will make it” Audrey said with comfort. “Audrey you’re just saying that, don’t lie to me” I rolled my eyes. Audrey sighed taking a sip of her lemonade. “Trust me, Jermaine loves you. If you two made it through Malcolm, you’ll bounce back from Adonis” she coached. “If only you saw the look in his eye when I told him” I whined.

“At least you told him. Tae had to find out the hard way. He walked in on me and Adonis” Audrey admitted. “Excuse me, what?” I asked confused. “Adonis and I had an affair long before he was ever with Mercedes. I never told you but Adonis was the root of Tae and I’s problems.” Audrey confessed. “The affair with Adonis lasted for about a year, and suddenly I just couldn’t take it anymore. I felt drained, I was lashing out at everyone. He was one of the reasons why you and I didn’t talk for a while simply because I couldn’t get control of my emotions. I lost a lot that year, and I thought I would lose Tae as well. Adonis had a way of making me feel like I was the only thing that mattered in this world, but he was so draining and needy and when he didn’t get his way he became possessive, and more aggressive than usual. I never caught him, but I had a gut feeling that he was seeing someone else.” Audrey continued. “I had a feeling that Tae knew but he didn’t want to believe it. Tae came home early one night and caught Adonis and I in bed and …” Audrey paused abruptly reminiscing, “I thought Tae was gonna go to jail that night. Seeing him and Adonis go at it fighting over me I felt terrible. It was like life or death and just seeing both of them in front of me, I couldn’t go against lust over loyalty, so I stood by my man Tae, regardless of being caught red handed. Fortunately for us we went to counseling and eventually worked it out. But you know Tae always kept his ear to the streets so if Adonis ever crossed me again, he knows he’d get dealt with” Audrey said. “Look, it’s best to be transparent as much as possible with King. I know it hurts but how do you think I got through it? Every song on my EP pertained to that tumultuous relationship with Adonis” Audrey said. “I’m sorry King and I couldn’t make it you know we were out of town with his parents in the cabins” I added. “It’s no big deal, but seriously listen to “So Bad, Gold, Lonely Hearts, Think About You, and Comeback. I poured my heart out into those songs just so I could deal with it. Tae was very supportive, but he had a passive way of showing it. Everyday we’re still repairing our relationship but I’m telling you, now that King knows, you have to cut Adonis off before it gets worse” Audrey warned.

“What about Mercedes?” I questioned. “I’ll say this, and forgive me. But fuck her. This is between you and him, I know Mercedes isn’t faithful to him” Audrey urged. “He did tell me that they have an agreement” I added. “And whatever that may be, you get yourself out of it. I know how unforgettable he is, and his touch. But Natasha, he isn’t worth it. I know how much Jermaine loves you, and I don’t want to see Adonis ruin this beautiful bond that you have with Jermaine. You have to figure it out for yourself and just trust the vibe.” Audrey encouraged. Tears filled my eyes as she spoke, “He barely looks at me, I can’t talk to hm even if I tried Audrey” I argued. “And it’s gonna be like that for awhile sis, but while he’s running away you just continue to do you. Continue to separate yourself from Adonis and you take this time to write out how you feel for Jermaine. You go to counseling, and you stay in his face. Even if he doesn’t talk to you, just be present, be in his space and wait on him hand and foot. All you can do is pray and if it’s really not meant anymore, you’ll know. I know its hard sis, but you played your part in it by going back and I’m so sorry. I know how addicting Adonis can be” Audrey symapthized.

“Even Malcolm warned me. He’s friends with Adonis” I added. Audrey sighed, “Malcolm still cares about you, and he doesn’t want you with anyone else but him. Though there may be some truth to his warnings, don’t give privy to his concern either, he still isn’t over you” Audrey says. I sighed heavily wiping my eyes, “You make all of this sound so easy” I replied. “I know it’s not, but it’s something you have to face on your own. Look, I’m having a listening party in the next few weeks. Since you missed the EP release, I’d love for you to come. I know King is gonna have a hand in it” Audrey says. “Yeah, he told me today that he’s gonna be looking at some venues.” I added. “Well, when he gets home tonight, run it by him. By the time I have the listening party, you two should at least be cordial enough to come together and STILL be a couple. I’m not giving up on ya’ll and I’m not gonna allow Adonis to get in between you two. If I have to step in, I will” Audrey warned. “No don’t, I don’t want Tae or anyone else involved in this. I’ll figure it out. Thank you for having my back as always” I said hugging Audrey grabbing my things. “Call me if there’s anything you need” she encouraged.

Leaving Audrey’s house, I felt a crazy urge to call Jermaine just to check in. To my surprise his phone went straight to voicemail, something that never happened. Sighing, I drove to the park to clear my mind and sort some things out before returning home.

@soufcakmistress @liilbougievert @honeyandpeaches @goddessofthundathighs @nahimjustfeelingit-writes @thehomierobbstark @mochaxmars @harleycativy @blackpinup22 @19jammmy @mbjfangirl @killmonger-fics @browngirldominion @woahitslucyylu @loudcowboylawyertree @bigchoose @uzumaki-rebellion @nizzle-mo @luvwitoutlimit1 @honeytoffee @queenflaws @callmemckenzieee @kkrown @madison2035 @illegalxbae @stokeleybabymama @cecereads209 @imanerdychubbyqueen @nyneebey @shaekingshitup @thickemadame @amorestevens @mymeira12universe-blog

#jojo #Erik Killmonger #original story #killmonger smut #killmonger imagine #Erik Stevens #fanfiction #seduction #!oc #adonis creed x reader #ofc #erik oc #rotimi #woc #adonis creed x oc #adonis creed x imagine #adonis creed x smut #dashhoney25

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leviackermanscleaningbuddy · 4 years

Text

BTS DRABBLE

Anon Request: Fit/athletic girlfriend tries to get BTS to exercise/workout with her.

Tags: BTS, Bangtan Boys, Bangtan Seonyendan, Bulletproof Boy scouts, Beyond the Scene, Anon request, Anon Ask, BTS Drabble, BTS x you, Boyfriend AU, Seokjin x you, Yoongi x you, Hoseok x you, Namjoon x you, Jimin x you, Taehyung x you, Jungkook x you, Fluff

Genre: Fluff

Title: Come On, Babe!

KIM SEOKJIN

You focus on breathing out and tightening your core as you lower down onto the mat once more, arms barely, imperceptibly shaking as your muscles work to hold the plank you’re executing.

“Highway to hell…” You sing under your breath, humming along to the song blaring out from the speakers, the same song from the same playlist, that you use every night when you workout.

“Jagi. What does your music being this loud do? Like, I’m genuinely asking.” Your boyfriend speaks up from where he is lying across the sofa, idly flicking his attention between what you’re doing and scrolling mindlessly through his phone.

“It motivates me.” You roll your eyes, as you let your body down from the plank, before crossing your legs and leaning over to turn down the volume of the music, but only slightly. “You know, the volume of my music probably wouldn’t bug you so much if you worked out with me.” You flash him a look of loving exasperation. “You could join me you know.”

Jin snorts as you move to stretch your arms one by one behind your head. “Jagi. Listen, I love that you have something that you enjoy so much. However.” He sits up from his reclined position, waving his phone at you as he tosses it to the side of the couch and watches you stretch, before saying, “I spend my entire day practicing dance and by the time I get home, trust me, the last thing I want to do is have you as a drill coach, shouting at me to ‘get down and work out!’”

“Oh really?” You lean over once more to turn the music off this time, standing up as you put your hands on your hips, bare skin beneath your palms still warm and sweaty from the exertion. “That’s not what I heard from Jimin.”

He perks up, eyes narrowing slightly as he watches you carefully. “What did that bastard tell you?”

“He said that you have push up contests all the time with JK.” You approach him, sticking your tongue out at him as you kick lightly at his bare ankle with your foot. “Scared I’m gonna beat ya, Kim Seokjin?”

“Please.” He scoffs, bounding up from the couch at your challenge, already moving to push you playfully aside as he heads for your sprawled out mat on the floor. “Let’s do this.”

You grin to yourself as you turn to follow him, getting into position beside him on the floor, as he holds his long body up with his arms, and shoots you a glare.

“On the count of three. One….two….”

MIN YOONGI

“Hi, Holly!” You whisper to the small poodle, who jumps down from his curled position on the sofa to weave around your feet, tongue lolling excitedly, as you reach down to pat his head. “Ready for our morning run?”

You cross to the door, crouching down to pull on and lace up your tennis shoes, as Holly shoves his nose in between your fingers, making you laugh quietly, as you finish tying the last knot and stand, reaching up to tie your hair out of the way, before you slip your arms into the sleeves of one of Yoongi’s hoodies that is hanging beside the door.

Speaking of the man himself, just as you are reaching for your phone and earbuds, Yoongi emerges from the hallway, yawning widely as he reaches up to ruffle his dark hair, eyes still squinted and blurry with sleep, as he moves, like a zombie, to start the coffee maker.

“You’re awake?” You ask with slight surprise, as you kneel down once more to fit Holly into his harness. “I thought you’d be asleep for hours with how long you stayed at the studio last night.”

“Me too.” Your boyfriend groans miserably, as he comes around the counter to plop down on one of the stools to wait on his coffee, propping his cheek tiredly on his hand as he watches you lazily. “Couldn’t sleep in for some reason.”

“Sorry, baby.” You get up from the floor, leaning over to kiss his cheek briefly, before you reach for Holly’s leash, the dog practically jumping with excitement as he sees the leash and realizes what is going to happen next. You lean over to clasp the leash to the poodle’s harness, looking up to grin at Yoongi as you say teasingly, “Since you’re up, you could join us on our run.”

“No thank you.” Yoongi scoffs, an unamused laugh breaking through his lips, as he sticks his tongue out at you. “Not everyone is like you. Some of us are sane and want to start our day with a cup of coffee, not a five mile trek through the city.”

“Ah, come on, Yoongs!” You cajole, Holly panting beside the door and watching you expectantly, as you leave the dog unattended for a moment to cross the kitchen to Yoongi once more, taking his hands in yours as you jog in place before him. “Don’t you wanna get your blood pumping? Feel your heart pounding?”

“That sounds bloody awful, (Y/N).” Yoongi groans as he reluctantly allows you to pull him from his seat, hands still clenched between your own, as you shoot him a pleading smile.

“Please, Yoongs! Just this once.” You stop your pounding feet, knowing the downstairs neighbors probably aren’t enjoying your early morning run in place, and push your lips out in an endearing pout. “If you won’t do it for me, do it for Holly.”

He sighs, glancing over your shoulder to where the poodle still waits beside the door, sitting now, looking between the two of you with bright eyes.

“Fine.” Yoongi finally grumbles, and you squeal, throwing your arms around his neck as he begrudgingly hugs you back. “But I’m only doing this for the dog. And you.” He pulls back, shooting you a halfhearted glare. “Because, hell, you’re just as cute as he is.”

“Thank you, baby.” You smack a kiss onto his lips, before heading toward the door once more, grabbing Holly’s leash as you go. “You won’t regret this. Promise!”

“I already do.” Yoongi mutters beneath his breath, as he tugs on his tennis shoes.

JUNG HOSEOK

“Yes, yes, yes, yes!” You chant excitedly beneath your breath, as you hop from foot to foot in place in front of the TV, the controller held in your fist, as the sound of various hip hop songs blasts from the brightly colored waiting screen.

“Jagi, your ramen is especially good tonight.” Hobi enters the room from the kitchen, bowl clutched in his hands, mouthful of noodles filling his cheeks, as he stops, before asking in a muffled tone, “What are you so excited about?”

You glance over your shoulder at him as he slurps up another mouthful of noddles, moving to sit down on the couch, as you turn your attention back to the TV, before saying, “They added some new songs on Just Dance this weekend. And I’m really excited for one in particular.”

“You know, it’s funny.” Hobi observes, pointing at you with his chopsticks as a teasing smirk comes across his full lips. “You never get as excited for my songs as you do for that video game’s.”

“Shut up!” You exclaim with offense, turning to face him with hands on hips as you stick your tongue out at him and he laughs. “It’s not just a video game. You know I use this to workout hard core. And besides.” You shoot him another glare, before you turn back to the screen, and begin to search for the new songs. “New songs make this so much more fun, I’ll have you know, Jung Hoseok.”

“Okay, okay.” He chuckles, setting aside his now empty bowl as he kicks his feet up onto the couch. “What song are you looking for?”

“Ummm....” You hum under your breath, scanning the songs as you search for the one you’re looking for. “Ah ha!” You exclaim in triumph, before clicking on the song. “This one.”

You begin to throw your arms and kick your legs, trying and succeeding in the most awkward, jerky dance moves, and successfully making your boyfriend laugh, as the beginning notes and music of “You Need to Calm Down” by Taylor Swift begins to blare from the TV.

“Jagi, I love you.” Hobi says from his spot on the couch, as you turn back to the TV, ready now to concentrate as you select the ultra extreme mode on the song.

“I know.” You shoot him a grin over your shoulder, as the song begins to start and you say seriously, “You know, if you love me so much, you’d join me.”

“Ah, no.....” Hobi whines, as you pause the music and turn to him expectantly. “Do I have to? I’ve spent all day dancing.”

“Because you love it.” You point out cheekily, starting the song once more and getting into the beginning dance moves.

It’s a moment, before you hear Hobi sigh from behind you, and heaving himself up from the couch, he reaches for another controller, as he mutters under his breath, “Dammit, I love this song.”

KIM NAMJOON

“Okay, ouch. Shit.” Your boyfriend swears beneath his breath, wincing slightly, his body trembling beneath your weight. “This was a terrible idea.”

“How are they doing that??” You yell at the TV in frustration, one of your legs entangled with Namjoon’s, as you shift slightly in his hold, and he groans with the movement, struggling to maintain his balance beneath you. “They said it was easy! For beginners!”

“Baby, can you…” Namjoon sounds breathless, as you lift your arm above your head, and he crouches further into his heels, watching around your shoulder what the couple on the TV is demonstrating now. “Move your elbow please?” “Sorry!” you gasp, realizing your elbow is digging into the firm planes of Namjoon’s stomach, moving it quickly, as you start to apologize once more, “I don’t know what to….” And it is in that moment, that this really turns into a terrible idea.

Because after moving your elbow, you lose all stability, and your lower leg, bearing your weight, finally gives out, sending you toppling into an already struggling Namjoon, who cannot hold the both of you up in the slightest as you tumble to the floor in a heap of flailing limbs and sore muscles and yelled curses.

“Dammit!” You growl, trying to untangle your legs from Namjoon’s much longer ones, as you huff out with irritation, blowing falling hair from your eyes, as you finally manage to get your palms in contact with the floor, pushing yourself up so that you can look down at your boyfriend, who seems to not even be trying to move in the moment. “Sorry, Joonie. It looked easy on the description.”

He breathes out through parted lips, chest still heaving as he tries to get his breath back, looking up at you with slight amusement in his eyes from where he lies beneath you still on the floor. “You thought a couples workout would be easy?”

“I mean.” You shrug slightly, realizing now how silly that sounded, as a small smile broke out across your lips. “Maybe?”

“With me?” A couples workout with me?” Namjoon repeats, a smile creeping across his own lips, as you start to laugh.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” You shriek out, as Namjoon moves to hover over you, his fingers finding the bare skin beneath your tanktop as he tickles mercilessly at your hips and sides as you wriggle beneath him.

Finally he releases you, and you both catch your breath, as you reach for the remote to turn off the offending video still playing on the TV. “Okay, never again.”

“Never again.” Namjoon agrees, flashing you a grin once more. “Let’s just do our workouts separately.”

PARK JIMIN

“Jiminie!” You call from your bedroom down the hallway, as you spread out your large yoga mat beside the bed, waiting for his reply.

Footsteps are heard, and then your boyfriend appears in the doorway, blonde hair messily raked back from his forehead, a spatula held in one hand, covered in some kind of batter, presumably for dinner.

“Did you call me, baby girl?” He asks with a raised brow, leaning against the doorframe as he watches you finish spreading out your mat.

“Yes.” You stand up, blowing some hair from your eyes as you offer him what you hope is your sweetest smile. “I’m doing yoga. Wanna join me?”

“(Y/N).” Jimin sighs at your words with good nature, as he points to the spatula still in his other hand. “I’m in the middle of making dinner.”

“But baby.” You whine, pushing your lips out into a pout, as you cross the room to take his free hand in your own as you widen your eyes to look up at him. “I need you to show me how to do that new move.” You blink at him a few times, hoping he’ll turn to putty in your hands. “Your flexibility is perfect to demonstrate for me.”

“Baby girl. Don’t do that.” Jimin groans, reaching up to rub across his eyes as he lets out a sigh, and you know his will is weakening.

“Do what?” you ask innocently, as you release his hand to step back from him, sitting down cross legged on your mat, as you stretch your legs out. “Ask my boyfriend to workout with me?”

“No.” He sighs again, pointing at you with the spatula accusingly. “Whine and pout and do that thing with your voice that you know I can’t say no to.”

“Thing with my voice?” You repeat back, raising your voice an octave, doing the exact thing he’s talking about. “What thing?” you tilt your head at him, seeing the resolve drain from his eyes. “I just need you to show me that one move, Jimin baby, and then you can go back to cooking.”

He watches you for a moment, and then rolling his eyes, he sets down the dirty spatula on the dresser, before crossing over to you and sitting down beside you on the mat.

“Fine. One move.”

KIM TAEHYUNG

You finish adjusting the weights on your system, and sliding onto the cool leather of the seat, you lay back beneath the bar, positioning your fingers in a firm grip around the cool metal, before you sigh and call out, “Tae. Come on. You need to spot me.”

Footsteps pound across the kitchen floor and into the den, and Tae’s face appears above you as he leans over the bar to stare down at you, familiar boxy grin appearing on his features as his dark hair falls around his face. “Spot you, jagi? I spot you. You’re right here.”

“Ha ha.” You laugh, as you stick your tongue out at him, sliding to adjust the width of your shoulders. “Very funny. My boyfriend’s a comedian.”

He shrugs, before crouching down behind your head. “I think so. And besides, do you really have to work out right now?”

“This is my routine.” You quip back, tensing your muscles as you prepare to lift the weights, pressing them up and away from your chest, pausing as you focus on your breathing, before you let the bar back down into its slots and breathe out. “Besides.” You tilt your head back to look at him upside down. “It’s not like we’re doing anything else.”

“I mean.” Taehyung cocks his head at you, boyish grin once again flashing across his lips as he raises a brow in your direction. “I know another way to get your workout in that would be much more fun, jagi.”

You knew what he was hinting at, but deciding to play dumb, you lift another rep, and then ask innocently, “Oh? Does it involve you?”

You feel him shift slightly behind you as he prepares to spot you for another round. “Sure does.”

“Working out together?” You muse, almost to yourself, trying to hide the grin threatening, as you bite your lip and lift another round. “Wow. Sounds great, baby. What’s this couples workout called?”

“I think it’s by that youtuber you follow.” Taehyung plays along, hands falling to your shoulders as you take a quick breath, fingers tracing patterns on your bare skin. “They guarantee it’s got good results.”

“Really?” You sit up, turning to face him, a look of mock surprise on your face. “Well, let’s look it up right now.” You reach out for the remote, biting back another grin as he stops your hand on the button.

“You’re so mean.” He complains, fingers capturing your own, as he tugs you up from the workout bench.

“I know.” you finally grin at him, before you motion with your head down the hallway. “I know exactly which workout you’re referring to.”

“And?” He asks hopefully, brows raising and disappearing beneath his dark bangs.

“And, I hear it’s great cardio.” You smirk, before tugging him toward the bedroom.

JEON JUNGKOOK

“You bastard!”

Jungkook looks up with wide, startled eyes as you burst into the apartment, door hitting the wall as you sling your bag angrily onto the table, and address him once more, hands on your hips, tone betrayed.

“You went to the gym with Jimin already?” You ask heatedly, brows raising at the look of guilt that suddenly crosses your boyfriend’s face at your accusation. “Kook! How could you?” Your angered tone turns into a whining one, as you plop down beside him on the couch in a gesture of defeat. “You promised you’d go with me today!”

“I know, baby. I’m sorry.” Jungkook finally speaks, turning to face you, as he takes your hands in his own, his voice pleading. “There was just some downtime at the studio today and Jimin was already going to the gym in the building....”

“Stop. I don’t want to hear anymore, you Judas.” You sniffed pettily, pulling your hands from his and turning away from him, as you crossed your arms over your chest. “I can’t believe you cheated on me with Jimin.” You shuffle away from him on the couch, before you glance back over at him and exclaim, “I thought we meant more than that, Jeon Jungkook. We were GYM BUDDIES.”

“We are!” Jungkook scrabbles over to you on hands and knees, forcing you to look at him as he takes your chin in his hand. “We’re gym buddies, baby. Always. I’m sorry about Jimin.” He sounds actually apologetic, and you feel your features soften a bit as he continues. “We can just go again. Come on. I’ll go with you right now.”

He gets up off the couch, hand outstretched, and you sniff once more, before you wave your hand at him, biting back a smile now, as you say, “You don’t need to work out twice, Kook. I Mean, look at you.” You motion to his fit, tall frame, clothed in sweatpants. Hell, no one should look that good in sweatpants. “You’re already built like a Greek god. Just, sit.” You pat the couch beside you and he reluctantly sinks back down beside you.

“Just.” You turn to him, this time taking his hands in yours as you finally grin at him. “Be my boyfriend tonight, okay? You can be my gym buddy tomorrow.”

Jungkook returns your grin, and slinging his arm around your shoulders, you snuggle into his side as he reaches for the TV remote.

“However.” You say, fingers stilling where they were lying on his chest, playing with the strings of his hoodie, and you feel him glance down at you warily. You offer him another smile as you tile back your head to look at him, letting him know he’s no longer in trouble for betraying you. “Park Jimin is neither my boyfriend nor my gym buddy. So the next time I see him, I’m going to beat the shit out of him.”

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heartbreakgrill · 4 years

Text

Circles; Harry Styles Pt. 2

“Remember Frankie? From World History? She has a baby now,” you remarked, voice like lyrics over the rhythm of your white tennis shoes and Harry’s leather boots stepping in time on the concrete bike path.

Leaves occasionally fell, crunching under your feet, sticks and stones on the path being kicked or broken away. The fall wind blew gently, waving strands of your air in front of your face. You had decided against lipgloss, luckily because your hair was so unruly. Harry’s curls, a beautiful feature of his which you always admired, were flopping with each step. You found your eyes trailing from his cheek to his hair consistently, simply admiring. He didn’t catch on much, his own focus glancing between you and the ground beneath his feet.

Lunch had been wonderful. He took to you the local pub, where you sat in the corner, knees bumping against each other after every movement. You shared a basket of fries, ate your own sandwiches and drinks. You caught up on everything: Your studies in London, who your friends were these days, the last boy who broke your heart. He told you about Louis and Niall, and only a little of Liam and Zayn. He explained the sketchiness of his management, the stress of touring, but his excitement on stage. You admitted to have listened to his two albums the night before and told him Little Thins became a quick favorite. You told him about your plan to move to New York when you finished University in order to delve into the world of international journalism.

After lunch, you didn’t want to leave one another, lingering in front of the door, still chatting, when you remembered the local bike trails. (“Gosh, I haven’t been there in forever.” “Same here.”)

So, now, you were strolling along, hands in pockets and elbows bumping somewhat. He replied to your comment about a forgotten classmate with, “God, its strange to think about people we know having children. Were only 19.”

You shrugged, “That’s normal around here, I guess. People settle down straight away, let go of their dreams for simpler, easier things.”

“I could’ve done that,” Harry spoke with a whispery tone. “Sometimes I wish I would’ve.”

You didn’t want to poke and prod at a comment that could turn into something bigger and moved on. “You’ve got money. Be happy.” Of course, this was a joke.

Harry laughed, “Money cant buy happiness.”

“Oh, I’m sure it could buy mine.” He glanced at you inquisitively. “Well, Im constantly stressed in London because of work and school. Its stressful and exhausting paying for my apartment and class and food and life.”

Harry frowned somewhat, “That’s part of the reason I hate it sometimes. I’m so lucky and undeserving of all I get just because I can sing and I’m attractive. You work so hard for what you have and you still struggle. It’s unfair.”

You retrieved your hand from your pocket and pushed him lightly, “I’m just confused as to who said you were attractive.”

He blushed deeply, his eyes downcast and shy. Suddenly he met your eyes and shrugged his shoulders. “You did say I was cute.”

Your own cheeks quickly turned red. “I’m gonna avoid my problems.” Your pace quickened and you began to walk away from Harry.

He giggled, emitting a grin on your face, and walked fast. Harry reached out and grabbed you around the waste, spinning you around in his arms. You caught yourself on his shoulders, feeling his warm breath combat the cold on your cheeks. He grinned cheekily down at you, eyebrows raised.

“I didn’t lie,” you unashamedly spoke. “Ive always thought you were cute. Hell, the only reason I came to the bakery so much was because of you.”

“What about the muffins?” He mused.

“Harry, a girl gets sick of eating muffins every single Saturday for 2 years in a row.”

He chuckled, squeezing your waist gently. But, then, his eyes fell slightly, his lips molding into a frown. His grip loosened and he almost stepped back. But, he didn’t. “Do you wanna go on a date tomorrow? With me?”

“I’d really like it if you could get Niall’s number for me, but I guess you’ll do,” you whipped your head around in exclamation.

He scoffed, laughing loudly, before pulling you against his chest. You just stood there, hugging each other lightly, though you were shivering in the breeze. Soon after, he walked you home and even kissed your cheek prior to leaving. You giddily walked up to your bedroom, bare of much decoration because of your schooling situation. You closed the door and leant against like a heartsick teenager. You felt the same way you did two years ago, head over innocent heels for some stupid boy. You didn’t know if this would work, given your future career and his present one. You didn’t know what his favorite color was, but he did telll you his favorite way to drink tea. You didn’t know who his childhood cartoon crush was, but you knew that when he looked at you, your stomach was in flames.

You didn’t know what you would regret in the future, as no one does. So you decided to jump.

Harry had definitely gone on Pinterest.

When you opened your door (only knowing he would be arriving at the time he did because you spent the entire afternoon, night, and morning texting one another) you immediately smelled the sweet fragrance of men’s cologne. It was nice, slightly overwhelming, but nice nonetheless. He held a bouquet of red roses, your favorite because you told him you were a fan of cliches. He wore a jade green button-up, short-sleeve dress shirt. It was obviously new, given away by the fact that there were creases in his sleeves. (His favorite color was ocean blue, by the way, and yours was the color of his shirt.) In his other hand was a picnic basket, which he held up to you after he handed off the roses.

“It’s freezing outside, Harry,” you giggled whilst motioning him to step inside. He did, following you into the kitchen.

You set the roses up in a vase as he replied, “I know. But its okay because I have a really nice idea.”

“Okay, I trust you,” you spoke reassuringly. You turned towards him from your spot by the counter.

Harry’s eyes trailed over your figure, clad in a long-sleeve, ocean blue wrap top tucked into a pair of blue jeans which stopped just above your black ankle boots. Gold jewelry dangled above the neckline and from your ears, your hair tied up in a low messy bun which took too much effort. “You look lovely, by the way.”

“You, too,” you grinned, meeting his eyes. “Guess we both thought of impressing one another.”

“I went to three different stores to find this,” he spoke as you began to lead him back to the front door.

“Uh, me, too. Don’t act so special,” you grabbed your coat off the rack and slipped your arms through it. Harry laughed.

You bid farewell to your parents, who were watching television in the living room. They gushed over Harry, about to ask him a million questions when you said, “Dinner reservations, sorry, got to go!”

You grabbed his hand and pulled him out the door. You didn’t let go, and neither did he, but he had to in order to open your door. You hadn’t expected this and hesitantly slid into the passenger seat. “Thanks.” You told him once he started the car.

After a few moments of adjustable, comfortable silence, you piped up again, “So, where exactly are we going?”

“You’ll see.”

You arrived to a park two towns over after half an hour. It was massive, with lookout spots all over the hills. He parked in one with the trunk of his mum’s car facing out over the countryside. He opened your door for you, again, and led you to the back of the car.

“Okay, Ted Bundy,” you giggled lightly, walking ahead of him.

“Oh, please, I dont want to kill you,” he scoffed, popping the trunk. “At least not until the nights over.”

“Why not?” You held his eyes, not yet looking to the trunk.

He shrugged, “Because I have to get a goodnight kiss first.”

He left you stunned, cheeks red and eyes wide. Harry sat down in the trunk, leaning back against the pillows and blankets decorating the small space. You grinned at him, as he was awaiting your reaction. He leant a hand and helped you settle next to him. You both crossed your legs in order for him to set the picnic basket down. He shut the trunk, the heater cranked up and the radio playing.

“Were wasting so much gas,” you laughed, shedding your coat.

Harry took it from you, folded it, and set it on the folded down back seats. He took off his own, “Dont worry about it. I’m rich, remember?”

You tossed your head back with a loud laugh. The hours flew by from there on: He had made finger sandwiches, which you ate with liberation, and homemade lemonade packaged in a thermos. His mother helped him melt chocolate and cover strawberries in it. He had even made a mini cake at the bakery and packaged it all nicely for you two to share. You talked about everything you hadn’t already discussed: Music, books, television, his supporting act on tour, your favorite professors. You told him about your dumb job waitressing, about the lady who had tipped you one-hundred euros.

Once you were done, you helped him pack up the trash. He set the picnic basket in the front seat before shutting off the car. The sunroof was closed, but the stars were visible through it. He laid down on the blankets, head smushing the pillows. You sat there for a moment, feeling slightly awkward, before he motioned for you to lay down, too.

You cleared your throat, face hot and body stiff, before doing so. There were barely a few inches between you, but Harry made sure there were none. He wrapped an arm around your shoulders and tugged you into him. You took the liberation to lean your head on his chest and lay your arm across his stomach. No words were exchanged, but they didn’t need to be. Everything that you could learn had probably already been said: Deeper stories, moments, could be exchanged later. A bond was now established and you already knew what was coming.

For now, you could only enjoy the moments that he was here: His hand in yours when he drove you home; hand in yours as you led him to the front door; lazily smiling down at you; a gentle, comforting hug; his eyes flickering between yours, your lips; his breath fanning closer until he stole his goodnight kiss.

“Guess you can kill me now.”

TAG LIST: @mantlereid , @boxofteenageideas , @dinosaursandsocks @ashhdaniellee95 @heartbreakcity @sadhwstudent

#harry styles x y/n #harry styles blurb #harry styles x you #harry styles x reader #harry styles fluff #harry styles imagine #harry 1d #harry styles fanfiction #harry imagine #one direction imagines #one direction

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writethehousedown · 4 years

Text

Trust Fund, Gold Tongue 3/7 (Crygi) - Peridot

A/N: The support for this fic so far has been amazing, and I’m so so grateful! This chapter has got to be one of my favourites, so I hope you guys like it too! Also I know virtually nothing about tennis and basically all of my information is from google, so please feel free to correct me if I’ve got anything wrong! You can find me @artificialperidot as always, and I hope you enjoy!

Crystal had never dated a girl before. Or a boy for that matter. Even though she was eighteen and going to college in a matter of weeks, she had never found time for relationships, or really had any desire to look for one. She had never been on a real date, never kissed someone, and never had a real loving connection outside of her family and her friends and her dog, Disco.

Being invited to play tennis with Gigi Goode was the closest to a date she had ever gotten.

Which is why she was desperately nervous about it the whole day.

She had ended up spilling the information to Jan on their shift that morning.

“Gigi Goode asked you to what?” she exclaimed, her jaw slack.

Crystal shushed her, anxiously looking around to make sure no one had heard. “Keep your voice down! I think she wants to keep it a secret.”

“Oh, so it’s a secret tennis date. I see how it is,” Jan said with a wink.

Crystal hit her on the shoulder playfully. “No! It’s not a date. I mean, I don’t think it’s a date…”

“But you do like her, don’t you?”

“I think so.”

“And she likes you?”

“Maybe. I don’t know,” Crystal whined.

“I guess you’ll know after today,” Jan said, and Crystal hummed in reply.

“I guess.”

“You have to tell me what happens. I feel like I’m in a gay romance novel listening to this shit,” Jan mused.

The two of them erupted with laughter, their job of wiping down the tables long forgotten. It was at that moment, though, when their floor manager Jackie passed through the dining hall.

“I hope you two are working hard,” she said, eyeing up the pair as they giggled.

“We’re working hard, don’t worry Jackie,” Jan chirped, turning back to her task. “Only a few more tables left to wipe down.”

“Atta girl!” Jackie said with a knowing smirk, giving Jan a pat on the shoulder before walking through to the kitchen.

Crystal watched Jan purse her lips and gulp as her eyes followed Jackie out of the room. When she turned back to Crystal, a light pink blush had spread on her cheeks. Crystal wiggled her eyebrows suggestively.

“What? What?” Jan inquired defensively, looking just a tad embarrassed, and Crystal burst out laughing again.

***

Three o’ clock came in no time, and before she had fully comprehended what was about to happen, she was pacing around the tennis court, waiting for Gigi to arrive. She was nervous as all hell - the idea that someone as gorgeous as Gigi had even spoken to her was shocking enough, but the fact that she actually wanted to spend time with her? One on one? Even though she was a millionaire and Crystal most certainly was not? It blew her mind.

After a minute or so of nervously pacing, Gigi came bounding around the corner with a bright smile on her face, swinging two tennis rackets in one hand and bouncing a ball in the other. She was dressed in all white, in a classic tennis outfit that looked as though it was straight from Wimbledon - a white polo shirt, and a white skort, and white tennis shoes, and a white visor on her head. Her hair was tied into a ponytail that bounced when she walked, making her seem energetic and youthful. She looked like she was straight out of some rich teen sports magazine, and Crystal suddenly felt very underdressed in her work clothes.

“Hey!” Crystal called out, her voice shaking slightly, partially in anticipatory anxiety and partially in excitement.

“Hi there, hot stuff,” Gigi said, skipping her way to the other side of the net. “Catch!”

Before Crystal had time to register it, a tennis ball was flying towards her, aimed directly at her face. She stumbled to catch it in a panic, tossing it between her limbs a couple times before she got a hold of it in both hands, looking a little bit like a headless chicken. But, she caught it nonetheless, and she was proud of herself.

“You can have first serve,” Gigi continued, handing Crystal a racket and taking a few steps back from the net, anticipating Crystal’s hit.

Instead, Crystal gripped her racket like a caveman holding a club, and when she threw the ball up the air, she swung with all her might-

-and missed the ball entirely.

The sheer force of Crystal’s mis-swing sent her whole body flying, and she staggered to stop herself from falling over her own feet. Gigi shook her head and chuckled.

“God, we really need to go back to basics, huh?” she said, smirking, her eyes squinting a little in the sunlight.

Crystal simpered. “Please!”

With that, Gigi was bounding over to Crystal, clambering over the net. She bent over slightly to pick up Crystal’s abandoned ball, and Crystal’s stomach definitely did not fill with butterflies at the sight.

“Okay, you know what a serve is, right?” Gigi began, her tone light and chipper. Her cheeks had a rosy tint and her glossy lips formed a smile and Crystal couldn’t help but find her energy infectious.

“You just throw the ball and hit it, right?”

Gigi giggled. “It’s a little more complex than that. I’m no expert, but I’ll try my best to show you.”

“Sounds good!”

“Well, first thing’s first, your stance is all wrong.” Gigi dropped to her knees and started moving Crystal’s feet into the position she wanted, shuffling her shoes across the ground. “This foot should be pointing towards the net post,” she muttered, “and this one should be parallel to the baseline. There!”

Crystal chuckled as Gigi popped back up from the ground. “Where’d you learn all this stuff?”

Gigi scoffed a little, but her face adorned a wide grin. “I was enrolled in tennis lessons since I could walk,” she laughed. “As well as golf, badminton, water polo, and horse riding.”

Crystal gasped. “Horse riding?! You have a horse?!”

“His name is Banjo,” Gigi beamed. “I’ll take you on a ride someday,” she added with a wink.

And Crystal’s heart did a somersault.

“Anyways, the next step is to fix your grip,” she said, taking Crystal’s right arm in her hands. She carefully manoeuvred Crystal’s fingers across the handle of the racket, bending them into the shape that she wanted. Crystal couldn’t take her eyes off of the way her hand moved so intricately, precisely, and the gentle touch of her skin against Gigi’s sent sparks through her veins.

It was such a tiny, insignificant action, and yet Crystal could still feel the tingle of her skin where Gigi’s hands had been, stroking her fingers.

“Perfect,” Gigi said softly, and suddenly Crystal was aware of how close together they were. Gigi’s icy blue eyes glittered in the sunlight, and she beamed at Crystal. Whether it was out of excitement for her sport or because of Crystal, though, was something that was more difficult to tell.

“Now what?” Crystal mumbled.

“Now, you throw up the ball, and hit it when it’s high in the air. I’ll show you,” she said, moving away slightly to give herself some room. Crystal watched as she assumed the position, bouncing her ball on the ground a few times to warm up.

“Now the key to this is timing your swing,” she said, before bending her knees and expertly tossing the tennis ball in the air, bouncing up and thwacking it over the net with a resounding thud as if it was nothing.

Crystal was in awe, in more ways than one.

“Your turn!” Gigi said, as if serving an ace was as simple as she made it look.

Gigi tossed her a spare ball from her pocket and Crystal caught it with less of a struggle this time. She steadied her position and bent her knees as Gigi had done, tossing the ball and springing into the air.

And again, she missed entirely.

Gigi laughed, and whilst she was a little embarrassed, Crystal found herself laughing too. Something about Gigi made her feel welcome. Warm. It almost made her forget about how this girl was a millionaire who probably had more money than she’d earn in her whole life.

Almost, but not quite.

“Here, let me help you,” Gigi suggested, skipping back over to Crystal and whipping yet another tennis ball from her pocket and handing her it.

And then Gigi was holding her: one arm was wrapped around her waist and the other gripped her elbow, and the front of her body was flush to Crystal’s back, and Crystal was having heart palpitations. She wanted nothing more than to lean back into her touch, but being held by her already felt like she was in a fever dream, and her breath hitched in her throat. She could feel Gigi guiding her arm, and her hand on her waist, and her breath by her ear, and her heart raced at a million miles an hour.

“Okay, you need to throw up the ball, and then we’ll hit it together, got it?” she explained. Her voice was soft and hushed against her neck, and the moment felt tender. Crystal simply nodded.

“You ready?”

Crystal was not ready. In fact, Crystal had never been less ready. Not when the girl of her dreams had her arm around her waist, and her mouth was so, so close to her neck, and their bodies were pressed so closely together. Not to mention the fact that said girl of her dreams was the extremely wealthy daughter of the owner of the country club where she worked, and seemed to be throwing out hints that she was into Crystal just as much as Crystal was into her.

No, she absolutely was not ready. Not in the slightest. But she hummed in confirmation regardless.

And then she launched the ball in the air, and with Gigi guiding her arm, her racket actually connected with the ball, sending it soaring over the net to the other side of the court.

Crystal knew that it was almost entirely Gigi’s doing, but she felt proud nevertheless.

“Amazing!” exclaimed Gigi, pulling away and clapping her hands together in excitement, before embracing Crystal in a hug, throwing her arms around her neck. Crystal was a little taken aback, but she found herself sliding her arms around Gigi’s waist, squeezing her tightly as the two of them started giggling.

She didn’t really want them to pull apart, but if the hug had been any longer, Crystal was positive that she would’ve short-circuited.

“I knew you could do it,” Gigi said, and Crystal could tell that she meant it.

Crystal mimed tossing her hair over her shoulder. “What can I say, I have an excellent teacher,” she giggled.

Gigi beamed, and Crystal smiled back, and for just for a moment their smiles were all that mattered in the world.

***

Tennis became a regular thing for them.

They found themselves meeting each weekday afternoon on Crystal’s break, Gigi having snuck away from whatever family commitment she had and the two of them constantly on the lookout for anyone who could potentially spot them. But there were so many tennis courts scattered around the country club premises that they were rarely joined by any unwanted guests.

By day four, Crystal had managed a successful serve all by herself, even if she had hit the ball into the net at least a hundred times before that. Gigi called it progress.

At a week, they had played their first proper game. Crystal didn’t know the rules. Gigi let her win anyway.

After a few more games (in which Crystal was very outmatched in terms of skill level), their daily meet-ups became less about tennis, and more about each other. It wasn’t long before they had abandoned sport altogether, simply meeting on the tennis courts for a chat and a well needed break from Crystal’s busy work and Gigi’s hectic family life.

It became a system, and it worked well for the both of them.

And Crystal found herself falling for Gigi more and more every day.

Through their chats, they had gotten to know each other a lot better. Crystal told Gigi about her plans for art college and her favourite indie rock singers and the time she failed her driving test because she thought there was a bug in the car and she panicked. Gigi told Crystal about her love of fashion and her family drama and all of the insane rich-kid house parties she had been to.

She also told Crystal that sometimes she wished she was born into a different family, and could be normal. Crystal had disagreed pretty strongly on that last one, but she didn’t let it show.

And, though neither of them had said it outright, Crystal had worked out through their subtle hints and less-subtle discussions, that they were both gay. It was reassuring for Crystal to know that she wasn’t completely delusional, thinking that someone like Gigi Goode could possibly have an interest in her. After all, Gigi had been seemingly dropping hints left right and centre, and it would have been concerning if she hadn’t picked up on at least a few of them by now.

One time, Crystal brought ice cream.

Gigi was already sat cross-legged on the ground waiting for Crystal, mindlessly scrolling through her phone, when she arrived. Crystal plonked down beside her, two tubs of ice cream and two spoons in either hand.

“Strawberry or vanilla?”

Gigi jumped a little in surprise, but her face broke out in child-like glee at the sight of the ice cream. “Strawberry,” she said, without hesitation.

“That works out well, because vanilla’s my favourite,” Crystal replied, handing Gigi a tub and a silver spoon (that she had ‘borrowed’ from the dining hall) and popping open the lid of her own tub.

“Vanilla is your favourite flavour? Really?”

“Hey! It’s nice!”

“Boring,” Gigi droned, with an exaggerated roll of her eyes. “I’m so not a vanilla person.”

Crystal couldn’t help but pick up on the double meaning of that, and Gigi winked to drive the point home.

“I can take your ice cream back, ya know,” Crystal warned, but the threat was empty, Gigi having already started to tuck in.

“Fuck, this is so good,” she moaned, throwing her head back in bliss. “Where’d you get this?”

“We got some new orders of ice-cream in this morning, and the chef needed to make some room in the freezer.”

Gigi nodded. “Gotcha,” she responded, her spoon practically hanging out of her mouth.

They fell into a comfortable silence as they both snacked, every once in a while passing a comment about their day or the heat or how good the ice cream was. Crystal found herself totally at ease, as if she hadn’t had a hard day at work and she was just hanging out with a friend. Because that’s what Gigi was. A friend.

(Except the two of them both knew that they were a little more than friends, but neither ever decided to bring it up.)

Regardless of any of that, Crystal found that seeing Gigi made her automatically happy. It was as though a switch flipped in her brain at just the sight of her, and the most crappy day could turn into one that wasn’t so bad after all. Sure Gigi had lots of things going for her - she was gorgeous and rich and confident - but she also possessed the natural ability to make Crystal feel better in no time at all.

But today, Gigi herself didn’t seem to be so at ease.

“I have something I need to tell you,” Gigi piped up.

“What is it?”

Crystal noticed Gigi’s sharp intake of breath before she spoke. “So you know my mom’s boyfriend, James, right?”

“Yeah. Kinda.”

“Well, uh, he has this nephew. Matthew.”

With that, Crystal felt her heart plummet. Who the fuck was Matthew? She found herself automatically assuming her worst fears, jumping to conclusions straight away - that Gigi was clearly straight and had never liked her and that she was delusional for even thinking that in the first place - but then, Gigi continued.

“He’s spending a couple weeks here at the country club with my family. And my parents are trying to push us to date, and I really don’t want to, Crystal, I want you to know that.” Her eyes were wide and sincere, and she spoke fast, as though she was desperate for Crystal to believe her. And Crystal did believe her, and she felt her stomach twist with emotion.

“I’ve already told my parents that I’m not going to date him,” she went on, “but just in case they make me spend time with him - I want you to know that I’m not interested in him. At all.”

Crystal shot her a sympathetic smile, her eyes tracing Gigi’s features that were full of concern. “It’s okay,” she said calmly. “Don’t worry about it.”

Gigi caught her breath a little bit and seemed to relax, but there was still something bubbling underneath the surface, something behind her pale blue eyes that Crystal couldn’t quite put a finger on.

“I’m only interested in you, Crystal,” she said, her voice soft, barely a whisper. She ghosted her fingertips over Crystal’s hand, and Crystal felt electricity pulsing through her whole body. She clung onto Gigi’s hand, their fingers interlocking, and right now the rest of the world didn’t matter because they were together.

Their eyes met, and Gigi smiled. “I like you,” she murmured, her blue eyes tracing Crystal’s features and making her heart flutter. It shouldn’t have been a surprise, really, but Crystal couldn’t help the sudden sharp feeling in her chest, as if her heart was trying to escape from between her ribs. The shock made Crystal feel like her entire world was falling apart, but simultaneously she saw everything falling perfectly into place, like a twist in her fairytale, a new chapter in her story with Gigi.

“I like you too.”

#rpdr fanfiction #crygi #crystal methyd #gigi goode #trust fund gold tongue #peridot #lesbian au #fluff #angst #summer lovin' 2020 #day 3: ice cream #submission

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himbowelsh · 4 years

Note

Idk how itll work as a group but hh number 6 of the kiss prompts for team leckie? Sorry if this is weird one but clumsy sleepy morning kisses just scream their energy :’)

sha-la-la-la my oh my, looks like the boy’s too shy 💋 (accepting!)

6 . lazy morning kisses before they’ve even opened their eyes, still mumbling half-incoherently, not wanting to wake up

it was hard to squeeze everyone in at once, but i did my best!!

Runner and Chuckler are both early risers. This is, quite frankly, unbearable.

It wouldn’t be as much of a problem if Chuckler knew how to slip out of a bed without shaking it like it deserves its own place on the Richter scale, or if Runner didn’t make enough noise while showering to wake the entire city up. For the late sleepers of their party — that is, the sane folks — it takes genuine willpower to stay in bed past the point when their partners have left.

If Hoosier has willpower when it comes to anything, it’s his beauty sleep.

Leckie has to admire him. The man could sleep through a natural disaster. He has, when Chuckler tripped over Runner’s sneakers and brought the entire bureau down with him. A mirror shattered, Chuckler busted his knee, and the contents of numerous drawers were tossed all over the room... but Hoosier, god love him, didn’t twitch. He just burrowed deeper in his blanket nest, and let everyone else clean up the mess.

It would be fine to stay in bed this morning if he couldn’t hear Runner and Chuckler bustling around in the kitchen. Their noise has been on the periphery of his awareness for the last hour, a fuzzy chorus cradling him on the threshold of sleep. Only when the smell of waffles begins to drift through the open doorway does he stir... and the longer they lie there, the more he feels like he’s missing out. There’s only so many hours in a morning, and Leckie likes to fit breakfast somewhere in there.

Hoosier’s legs are draped over his own, pinning him down. He sleeps on his stomach in a cocoon of blankets, one arm clutching his pillow tightly; the other is draped over Leckie’s chest, like a dragon guarding his treasure. His breathing is slow and even, pulse strong where Leckie can feel it through his wrist. He’s not dead — appearances can be deceiving — but he’s sure as hell not waking up.

“Bill,” he mutters, squirming in his hold. Nothing. He digs his elbow into Hoosier’s ribcage. “Bill. Breakfast.”

Hoosier doesn’t answer. He grunts, which is something — a great, rumbling grunt, like trying to wake a sleeping giant. Leckie sighs and drapes his free arm over his back.

“Come on, Bill.” Shaking him doesn't do anything. Neither does slapping his cheek, tugging at his hair, or trying to tickle him. The tickling wins him a very lucid, “Fuck off,” but that’s the only response Hoosier’s willing to give.

“I have to piss,” Leckie protests.

“Ain’t one of my kinks,” Hoosier replies.

“Can’t you smell breakfast?”

On a good morning, if anything’s guaranteed to get Hoosier out of bed, it’s food. Today must not be a good morning — or Hoosier just has more important things on his mind, like Leckie’s body heat and the lingering haze of sleep.

Defeated, Leckie slumps back against the pillows. There are few options available to him. None, really, unless he wants to slowly slide out from Hoosier’s death grip and flop over the side of the bed like a fish. That’s presuming Hoosier doesn’t go full squid on him… which has been known to happen when he doesn’t get his way. Leckie is well-versed in Hoosier's sleeping habits; he knows his clinginess as well as Chuckler’s rumbling snores, or how Runner mutters in his sleep.

If he’s being honest with himself for once, he loves these lazy mornings.

He loves Chuckler’s cooking more.

“Waffles. I’m sure that’s waffles.”

Hoosier just grunts, pulling him closer. Leckie’s air supply is momentarily cut off, until Hoosier nestles into his chest and loosens his hold once again. Suddenly, Leckie’s even more trapped; there’s a messy blonde head against his collar, and Hoosier’s deep exhale heating his neck. It’s like being seduced by a sloth with morning breath.

Out of options, Leckie turns to his only recourse. Leaning up, he presses a kiss to the crown of Hoosier’s golden head. When this fails to win a response, he goes even further — tracing his hairline with light kisses, peppering his brow, all the way to his ear. This is Hoosier’s one weak point, as they’ve all learned from experience. He grunts, twisting just enough to shield himself… but this leaves half of his face exposed. Leckie wastes no time pressing a kiss to his inviting lips.

“Hmm. Cheating,” Hoosier mutters against him, voice still heavy with sleep. “Know exactly what you’re doing.”

“I’m appreciating you.” Leckie pecks his nose. “Is that a crime?”

“Is when you’re tryin’ to get me outta bed.”

“As though that’s possible,” Leckie replies, smirking indulgently… and Hoosier is just beginning to relax, maybe enough to even roll off of him, when their tranquility is shattered. Runner announces his entrance into the room with a loud, “Rise and shine!”, barreling through the open doorway. Behind him comes Chuckler, balancing two plates like the king’s prized juggler.

At once, Hoosier sits up. All it takes is the promise of food, and suddenly he’s wide awake. Leckie expected as much, but still feels conned.

“Aww, guys,” he mutters, pushing himself upright. “You shouldn’t have.”

Runner sets the plates he’s carrying in front of them both before clambering onto the foot of the mattress. Chuckler, well-versed by now at fitting the four of them into one bed, passes Runner one of his plates before settling carefully on the edge with the last one. He pops a strawberry slice in his mouth before offering his boyfriends a proud grin.

“Just felt like something special. Don’t get used to it, yeah?”

Hoosier takes a bite of one of the waffles, laden with powdered sugar, and says very solemnly, “I love you.”

A compliment from Hoosier is like beating God in a tennis match. Chuckler beams.

“Hey, I cut the fruit. Washed ‘em, too.” Runner moves to steal an orange slice off of Leckie’s plate, managing it before Leckie can swat him away. Betrayed, Leckie leans back against the pillows, guarding his breakfast-in-bed zealously. Hoosier nestles up at his side, but Leckie’s too wise to his tricks; even he doesn’t get close enough to steal a bite.

“You had us thinking we were gonna have to kiss you awake,” Chuckler declares.

Leckie arches his eyebrows. “Well, now, that’s still an option.”

“You’ve already got us a meal. Regular gentlemen,” Hoosier chimes.

It seems a shame to disrupt breakfast when they’ve only gotten settled down, but that’s never stopped Runner before. Smirking, he leans forward, pressing a kiss to Hoosier’s temple; Leckie’s too far away to reach, but he winks in a way that’s almost just as good. Chuckler steals Leckie’s hand, pulling it to his lips in a brief smooch before going right back to eating.

Overall, mornings in their house can be torrid… but, on ones like these, when all the world is quiet and content, Leckie wouldn't exchange them for the world.

#the pacific #team leckie #ot4 #runner conley #chuckler juergens #robert leckie #hoosier smith #my writing #Anonymous

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keanuvibe · 5 years

Text

Bodyguard (John Wick x Reader) Pt. 3

A/N: i hope you enjoy!

Words: 4.1k

Warnings: some fluff-- if you squint, sexual overtones, and minor violence.

The quiet mumble of someone's voice brought you awake with slow start. You blinked a few times, noting how your room was still dark, save for the lamp beside your bed.

“(Y/N), it’s time for training.” John’s gentle voice wafted through your ears and you let out an exaggerated sigh, rolling over to look at the man. Training. Your father, Francesco, asked John to begin training you shortly after the incident with the motorcyclists; even though you're already trained. Your tired eyes drank in the sight of John. This was-- in the month and a half you’ve known him-- the first time you’ve ever seen him not wearing a suit. Instead, he wore a simple gray t-shirt with red lettering across the front and dark toned sweats. His hair had been partially tied back in a low bun as well, with a few loose strands that covered his eyes.

“Mio dio, che ore sono?” ‘[My god, what time is it?]’ You mumbled, sitting up and rubbing your eyes. Whenever you were tired, Italian was always your default.

“Sono le sei del mattino.” ‘[It’s six in the morning.]’ John answered smoothly. You paused rubbing your face and looked at his figure, which was still looming over your bedside.

“You’ve spoken Italian this whole time?” You asked, your eyes staring into his dark ones. Never before has he mentioned that he could speak your language. Your mind now thought back to a few conversations you had with your mother, about John, In Italian while the man only stood two feet away from you.

“Yes.” He spoke with a little nod. You shook your head and climbed out of bed, the coolness of the room causing goosebumps to scatter across your body. You flipped on a few more lights now illuminating the room fully.

“Thanks for the heads up.” You answered, walking into your walk-in closet and pulling on a pair of leggings, an old t-shirt and socks with tennis shoes. John’s eyes followed your body as you trekked across the room gathering the things you'd need. Once ready, the two of you exited your room and made your way the kitchen, noting how the rest of the house was still asleep. The morning sky was beginning to wake up as well, casting a blue glow throughout the room.

“I just want some-” You paused, yawning, “Coffee.” You finished, placing some grounds into the machine. John stood near the entryway, leaning against the door frame with his arms folded. When his eyes were focused upon something else, you took the opportunity to fully enjoy his presence. Seeing John in something other than a suit made you feel weirdly domestic; with his hair tied in a low bun rather than slicked back for business and his casual stance. He almost seemed more relaxed this way. Your mind couldn't help but wonder ‘What is domestic bliss John like?’ The coffee machine beeped, taking your attention away from your bodyguard. You quietly grabbed a thermos and began pouring the hot liquid.

“Ready?” You asked, walking over to the man. He nodded, standing up straight and gesturing for you to lead the way. As you stepped passed him, your nose picked up a faint whiff of his cologne. Over the time he’s been your bodyguard-- One month, one week, and 6 days-- you found yourself falling more and more for him. John, a-- when needed-- cold-blooded assassin. It was weird; even your own brain couldn't explain it. You have never been interested in dating-- especially due to your dads stupid rule: ‘You must marry into the mafia.’ What if the criminal life isn't something you want? However, being born and raised in a crime family makes it feel impossible to escape. As far as your aware, John’s also so intertwined into the business. And leaving? Is that something he would even want; the two of you leaving for good and finding normal jobs. You liked the idea of being a teacher, an English teacher. You shook your head, not wanting to get too ahead of yourself.

John’s footsteps followed your own as you entered the stairway and tracked downstairs to the gym. You flipped on the light switch and the fluorescent LED’s crackled to life. The gym isn’t much to write home about. The floor was all yellow hardwood with a handful of blue mats scattered about for combat practice. The walls were brick but had been painted white and one wall contained a row of mirrors with a metal bar stretched across-- almost as though it was meant for dancers. There were a few exercise machines in one corner of the room; a weight display with dumbbells ranging from one pound to fifty, an elliptical, and a treadmill.

“So, what’s on the docket today?” You asked your bodyguard, turning to face him. John was nearly finished with wrapping his knuckles when the two of you made eye contact.

“Combat training.” He answered while biting the tape to cut it, followed by handing the roll over to you. You quietly wrapped your hand, observing as John began stretching. He stretched his arms first, pulling them across his chest. You bit the inside of your cheek at the sight of his biceps. He then stretched them behind his head, flexing the muscle even more. You felt your stomach gather heat and had to pinch the inside of your palm with your nails to disrupt the feeling. You two were already going to be all over each other with this training-- you really didn't want to be turned on as well. John turned to face the mirrors and you took note how he studied himself while he stretched. You finished with wrapping your hand then walked over and stood next to the man. The reflection of the pair of you in the mirror gave you chills. John towered a good ten inches over you, the top of your head reaching just below his shoulder. You didn't want to be narcissistic, but you two would make a hot couple.

“Shall we?” You asked, a cheeky grin across your face. John rolled his eyes, trying to hide his amusement. The man walked over to the blue mats and pulled a few out so you two had a soft surface. He then stood on top of them, waiting for you to also step onto the soft surface. You took a sip of your coffee then cracked your taped knuckles, getting into a defensive position. John mimicked you're stance, giving you a small smile before he quickly kicked at your legs in an attempt to knock you over. You dodged his attack by jumping over his leg and to the left of him. As he was regaining his balance, you attempted to knock his knee forward so he would fall; however, John grabbed your body and twisted you around so you landed on your back instead. You groaned, squeezing your eyes shut.

“Are you alright?” He asked, leaning over with his hands resting on his knees. You shook your head ‘yes’ and sat up, opening your eyes again. John grabbed around your bicep and helped you stand up straight, his hand lingering on your lower back. You swear you even felt him gently rub the spot; instead of keeping his hand still, as he has in the past. You quickly pushed through the pain of being thrown to the ground and got back into your defensive position. John hesitated but then copied your movements, a gleam in his eye.

This time you took the first move, going for the man's legs first. You were able to knock him down onto one knee, however when you went to finish the move John quickly grabbed your wrist, halting your arm entirely. You two made eye contact with heavy breaths. You felt your arousal from earlier spring back up into action. The way John’s large hard perfectly encompasses your entire wrist didn't help the fact, nor the way he had the upper hand. His dark eyes gazed up at yours through his lashes. Your breath hitched as John took advantage of your hesitation, once again using his momentum to flip you on your back.

“Ow.” You murmured, glaring at your bodyguard. The man shrugged and stood up from his kneeled position. He then offered you a hand, which you grabbed. You made almost no effort as John basically yanked you up on his own, standing you upright. You thanked him softly and walked over to your thermos, taking a sip of the hot coffee.

“You’re too distracted.” John’s voice echoed throughout the gym. Even though he wasn't loud, the low timber of his tone carried throughout the corners of the room.

“I've noticed.” You answered, looking over at the man. He stood with a water bottle in hand and a towel draped around his neck.

“You can’t let distractions get to you. You would be dead if I was one of D’Antonio’s idiots.” He spoke, carefully dotting his forehead of sweat with the towel end.

“So, you’re saying I'm dumber than Santino’s lackeys?” You questioned, placing your hand on your hip and twisting your head. John realized what he said and let out a quiet sigh, squeezing his eyes closed in frustration. Memories of him arguing with Helen came to thought. Their petty disagreements would last a couple of days, however, John was usually the one to end the streak. He used to make her breakfast when he was ready for Helen to forgive him-- even when the issue wasn't necessarily his fault.

“No.” He raised his head, making eye contact with you. “That’s not what I meant at all.” His voice remained monotone, for the most part. The fire in your eyes tried so hard to be intimidating, however, John didn't feel an ounce of fright when it came to you.

“Sure. Whatever, let’s just continue this lesson. I want to go lay back down and sleep.” You muttered, letting John’s comment climb under your skin. You watched as John got into position, then followed his action. The man started this time, grabbing you by your loose top with both fists. You looked up at him with a glare and began hitting your elbow onto his arms to release his hold. John’s hands let go of your jacket and as he stepped back to counter, you grabbed his arm and locked his elbow so he couldn't use it. You then crouched down bringing him with you and used your momentum to roll the man on top of you, landing him on his back.

John quickly recovered, turning himself over so he rest on one knee. Your heavy breathing covered the silence of the gym as the man looked up at you through his dark hair, which had now fallen from his bun. You felt chills crawl up your spine, your body reacting to his enticing stare. John got up from his position and hastily jogged towards you, gearing back a punch. You stopped the blow by grabbing his forearm with both hands before swiftly removing one and landing it into his gut. The man groaned, stuttering for a moment before he regained his speed and picked you up by your thighs, sending your body over his shoulder. He flipped around, throwing both himself and you onto the blue mats. You landed on your back once again and John landed right above you. Your chests barely touched as you breathed heavily, and his face was mere inches above your own. The flame of your excitement grew in size as a throb took over your crotch. You let out a soft sigh, looking into John’s eyes.

John felt as your breasts ever so lightly tapped his chest with every deep breath you took. He was steadily aware about the closeness of your bodies. His eyes scanned your face looking for any signs of a direction and caught your glances between his lips and eyes. You could feel John’s breath spread across your lips as you two leaned in closer. You could feel his beard ghosting your skin and his lips so lightly touching your own. You closed your eyes, meeting his lips to yours. You both inhaled sharply, leaning into the others body before John broke the kiss, sitting back away from you. His lips and nose were more pinky-toned due to the pressure of the kiss. You bit your lip and giggled quietly, trying to contain your glee. John and you kissed. Kissed.

“Wow.” You murmured, finally greeting John’s gaze. His intense-- but caring-- stare caused your cheeks to gather heat. He gave you a small grin in response, his ego boosting slightly over the fact that he could cause you to react in such a way.

“That’ll be all the training for today.” He murmured, giving you another endearing look before standing up and grabbing his water bottle.

——————

Two days later

You hadn't left the house in three days, and honestly, were beginning to go mad. Your father wouldn't let you leave, John as well. You'd planned to have lunch with a few friends today, the plans being made months ago-- before Santino began trying to murder you. They were from Jersey, and didn't visit the city very often-- busy with their own lives. At least once a month the three of you get together and catch up. You honestly needed someone to gossip about John with, now more than ever. And the fact that you know he speaks Italian, now, you certainly didn't want to talk with your mom about his physique anymore.

You and John currently sat in your bedroom. You were sitting at your desk, working on a few business items for your dad. John was across the room, standing next to a window with his arms crossed in front of his chest. You two hadn't spoken much since the kiss. You didn't know if it was because John considered it a mistake, or because you two were both too bashful to say anything. Whatever the reason, it made you a little sad John hadn't mentioned it. Is he expecting you to bring it up? Or sweep it under the rug? The ambiguity of it all was driving you up the wall with curiosity.

The ringtone of your cell phone caused you to jump as it echoed through your bedroom. Your eyes glanced across the room, locking with Johns as you steadily picked up the phone.

“Hello?” You answered, swallowing and looking away from the enticing man.

“(Y/N)!” Your friend, Dottie, spoke through the phone. A smile crossed your cheeks, easily recognizing her voice.

“Hi Dot.” You murmured, feeling John's eyes burn a hole in the side of your head.

“Where and when are we eating!?” Another voice called through the phone. June, your other friend. The three of you have been friends since you were school age, thirteen. You met at a private institution, due to the fact your parents wouldn't allow you to attend public school. It was too dangerous to be so seen-- especially due to your family's business.

“Um, about that…” You began, trailing off and meeting Johns gaze. You stood from your seat and made your way to the bathroom, quickly tip toeing across the floor. Once there, you closed the door.

“What do you mean ‘about that?’” Dottie asked, you could hear the frustration in her tone.

“Okay,” You whispered, “Let’s meet and Coopers.”

“Why're you whispering, (Y/N)?” June asked, concern in her voice. Dottie mimicked June’s concern with the same question.

“I'll explain at lunch.” You answered, still hushed. You eyes glanced at the clock in the bathroom, noting it was only eleven in the morning.

“Okay, weirdo.” Dot spoke, “What time?” You could hear the white noise in the background, a sign the girls were already driving. They'd probably take an hour with traffic. That gave you plenty of time to get ready, but the real hurdle was: how were you going to ditch John? You didn't want to, however, girl time sounds a lot better without a giant man looming over your shoulder. Plus, you need to talk about the kiss.

“Lets meet at twelve-thirty.” You remarked, biting your lip. The two girls agreed with the time and ended the call, you wishing them safe travels. You felt your anxiety raise a little, walking to the door and twisting the door handle to exit.

“Who was that?” John asked. You jumped, but felt relieved to find he was still by his spot at the window. He still had his arms folded and even in his suit you could see the definition of his bicep. It made your knees slightly weak.

“Oh, um, it was my friends.” You answered truthfully, making your way back to your desk. You kept your gaze on the floor, letting out a breath you'd been holding.

“What did they want?” John persisted, now unfolding his arms and beginning to saunter over to where you stood.

“Well, we were going to get lunch.” You began, mindlessly organizing papers on your desk to appear busy. Also to distract yourself from looking at John.

“Were?” John questioned. You could tell by his voice that he was closer now. He moved so smoothly, you didn't even hear his footsteps across the floor.

“I'm on house arrest. I can't go.” Your tone was pointed, in hopes to guilt trip John. Your gaze remained on your desk, however the hair on your arms pricked up as you felt Johns body now next to your own. His frame was so large it blocked some of the natural light casting on you.

“Right.” He nodded, “You can’t.” You felt frustration bubble up in your chest like you've held in a sneeze. With a huff, you finally looked up at John. His dark eyes softened a little as they met the sight of your face.

“I would rather die by Santino than be locked in my own house.” You spoke, your anger finally bubbling out. John seemed a bit taken aback by your remark, but brushed it off just as quick. His hand gently rest on your arm, causing waves of hormones to rush through your body. Even the slightest most meaningless touches got to you.

“(Y/N),” He spoke softly, “It's for your own good.” His response made you turn back to look at your desk. Your mind processed the possible exits from your bedroom. There are a few windows in your room with a roof right below, however, the bathroom window seemed the easiest and most obvious way to get out. You could toy that you were going to take a bath, maybe even run the water so it wouldn't sound suspicious. There was also your old Ipod. You could turn on an album, for even more realism. You nodded to yourself, fully listing your plan like bullet points in your head. First, get ready while the bathtub is filling. Second, successfully escape through the window without anyone noticing. Third, catch a cab to Coopers.

“Well,” You began, looking back to John. “I guess I'll just have a bath then. Since I'm not allowed to leave.” The man shifted on his feet, memories of seeing you naked from your last bath floating across his mind.

“That you can do.” He murmured, taking a step back as to give you space to get around him and go to the en suite. You shuffled by him and walked to your closet. You first grabbed the important things-- keys, phone, wallet-- from your purse, the , picked out an outfit. However, you couldn't walk to the bathroom carrying all this stuff. Your eyes scanned your closet and you saw your robe hanging. You grabbed the article and wrapped it around the items you'd gathered. Once finished with that, you exited your closet, meeting the gaze of John. An idea popped into your head, seeing the man stand to stoic across the room. If he was going to give you a hard time, then you are going to give him a hard time. You quietly set your stuff down in the bathroom before walking back out to your bedroom. You could feel the mans stares as traced your way to your bed you began to unbutton an oversized flannel you had on.

“I figured I’d undress out here, since my dirty clothes hamper is right there.” You spoke with an airy tone, pointing towards the basket. You once again looked up to meet John's eyes. The softness of them now had been abandoned. He still stood at your desk, arms folded, but carried a heavy glare. It wasn't a malice filled look, in fact it was more along the lines of ‘Daddy likes what you're teasing, baby’. You took that as a sign to continue, carefully letting the flannel fall from your shoulders as you turned to face away from him. Wearing no bra, you tossed the shirt to your hamper, your bare back now exposed to John. You swear you heard him let out a breath, but didn't let your ego boost too much as you began to unbutton your jeans. You hooked your fingers into the waist of the pants and began to move your hips, slowly shucking off the tight pair. Johns eagerness became exposed as he let out a muffled groan, seeing you bend over to remove the jeans from your feet; your ass stuck up in the air. With an innocent huff you removed the pair and tossed them into the hamper. Now standing half naked, you covered your breasts with one arm and turned around to face John once again. He was restrained, you could see he was fighting every ounce of human nature that coursed through his veins. His eyes drank in the sight of your body, gazing and adoring each curve and crease. With a satisfied smile, you slowly walked over to the man, teasingly.

“Like what you see, Jonathan?” You smirked, knowing the effect you had on the man. John took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. He held back every instinct he had to grab your form and fuck you roughly right then. Your body slowly stepped closer to him, so close that the arm covering your breasts was only an inch away from his chest.

“I do.” He responded, however his breath betrayed him, leaving his neck such an airy tone. He cleared his throat afterwards. You smiled softly, using your free hand to trace up his chest, feeling the muscular, yet soft, squish of his body.

“Hmm.” You responded, a grin growing upon your face. “Guess I’d better go shower then.” Your hand now tracing down to just above his belt. The man's breath hitched as you slid your fingers under his pant line, feeling just below his navel and above his pubic hair. His dark chocolate eyes stared into your own, but you didn't let his attempts at intimidating get under your skin. Instead you so softly ran your fingertips over his pants and across his hardening member, watching as John mildly shivered under your touch. With a satisfied smirk, you took a few steps back, noting the upset expression cross your bodyguards face.

“See you when I’m done.” You murmured, walking towards your ensuite with a swing of your hips; your half naked body on display in its full glory. Before entering the bathroom, you gave John one last look over your shoulder. His eyes met your own, allowing you to see the frustration splayed across them. You gave him a wink with a gentle bite of your lip before closing and locking the door.

You immediately got to work, first starting the bath faucet and turning on the Ipod. You then applied makeup, checking to make sure the water didn't overflow, occasionally. Once you finished a quick makeup look, the tub reached its capacity and you turned it off. The deafening silence that the faucet left was painfully evident; even with the music playing. A deep breath of courage filled your lungs and you turned the music up a few notches, then changed into the outfit you'd chosen. With one last determined look in the mirror, you turned to the bathroom window and slid it open, carefully, as to not cause any noise. You then popped your head out, checking your surroundings before using the toilet as a stepping stool. You threw your legs out first and were able to slide from the window to the roof below. It wasn't far, only a couple feet down. You used some old lattice fencing that covered the side of your house to climb down, landing on the grass with a muted thud and an impressed huff.

#john wick #john wick x reader #john wick x you #john wick fanfic #john wick fanfiction #keanu reeves #keanu reeves x reader #keanu x you #keanu reeves fanfic #keanu reeves fanfiction #fic: bodyguardAU

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benchgenderstudies · 3 years

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Iliopsoas Strains, Side Stitches and Testicle Turmoil.

//As written to the NATA News. (National Athletic Training Association).

Dear Editor

The exact cause of sidestitches during running has long eluded the profession. What has been agreed on are ways to subdue the discomfort. A letter to The Physician and Sports Medicine suggested “bending forward pressing ones fist up into the ribcage and against the liver and run 10 to 15 steps like this.” (Duncan). Less severe methods by this contributor (in order) include 1)try belly breathing rather than shallow chest breathing, 2)exhale when the foot opposite the side stitch strikes the ground, and (3) run with your hands over your head while breathing deeply. The uncomfortable circumstance seems local to endurance runners, especially novices.

Chris Webb of Moonjoggers.com echoes nearly identical advice. With a jpeg of all the muscles of the abdomini and obliques family shown on his website, Webb goes on to join the viewpoint blaming the transverse abdominus for exercise-related transient abdominal pain (ETAP)(Webb). With that in mind, make concern of two different forms of advice to 1)raise ones arms over their head. 2)concentrate on exhaling when the opposite foot of the stitch contacts the ground. The effect of each of these strategies brings passive attention to the gait. The runner is forced to concentrate on moving their footstrikes underneath them rather than behind or in such a way that their running gait is mechanically swayback.

It would be first wrong to only focus on the anterior face of the body (trunk flexors) to narrow down the culprits. The posterior zone of core stabilization includes Psoas major and iliacus (iliopsoas), longissimus thoracis, serratus anterior, latissimus dorsi, erector spinae and many others. In fact, the American public's issues with low back pain mirror sports medicine's and orthopaedic disinterest in the low back musculature as individual components.

Webb added that stopping a run to stretch trunk musculature (inclusive of the pectoralis major) could somehow relieve the ETAP pain. An athlete of enough experience to know what DOMS feels like would readily realize the pectoralis major and diaphragm could not be culprits to a side stitch. Either the stitch would replicate shooting pain down the arm or breathing would be entirely altered. Worry of a heart attack should certainly end a run. Webb and Duncan give us our clues what the underlying cause is: its deep, deep as the liver (seemingly). They suggest pressing on the point to relieve pain. We in sportsmedicine already use this method to defeat tennis elbow and patellar tendonitis: reducing the range of motion of the muscle/tendon to ease strain on the attachments with chopat straps The psoas major is a clear victim of conditioning neglect and the root of ETAP. What is the cause: bad form favoring hip hyperextension which strains the muscle while the runner already has it in a stretched position (standing upright). The psoas group is tasked with both core stabilization and run form performance posture. The iliopsoas's relaxed position occurs while sitting. A stitch is condition of a muscle under tension not yet acclimated to the jarring of running and aiding inefficient run mechanics. Whether these elements are alone painful or result in a spasm existing as a 'standing wave” are yet to be decided.

This discussion doesn't yet explain why the stitch only occurs on one side of the body. The immediate answer is ;no matter how perfect in attempt; all sports gaits are somehow assymetric. I do not choose that particular hill for my professional career to have a momentus death(or celebrity status). Instead, I favor a causal notion behind assymetry: ergonomic and physiological mechanisms of energy conservation. When two muscles occupy a redundant function, its my hypothesis the brain sends only one message and at certain times there is a dominant muscle of the pair and a subdominant. The subdominant follows the dominant. Õunpuu and Winter's EMG study confirms higher activity in dominant side plantar flexors. Their abstract directly states: “an assumption of symmetry is not valid for individual subjects” and bilaterial differences are hidden in pooled data. (Õunpuu). As early as 1989, the potential for muscles of a pair to act differently opened the door to evaluate ETAP correctly.

Side stitches are not the only difficulty an injured or strained iliopsoas/psoas can deal out. For males, a strained iliopsoas can leave one doubled over and cursing at all family members and every barking neighborhood dog. Pain is far surpassed by worry; surgical intervention worries. Do I have a varocele, testicular torsion, a hernia; what is a matter? The onset of a psoas major strain is often a long time coming. The tightness in an upper side quadrant of the abdomen is often written off as resistance exercise DOMS or a nuisance. Graduate school coursework circa 1998 had conflicting views whether stretching actually reduced potential for injury when before exercise. Sprinters and weightlifters should always expect to stretch regardless of research debating maximum muscle tendon and force. The endurance runners face a dicier gamble. I prefer to believe their best routine is stretching after a preliminary portion of their run has warmed them up to deliver preformance goals in their daily workout; when they are ready to drop the hammer on more challenging hills or paces. Othewise they should always stretch after the run or keep their goals section limited to stretch directly after and follow with a cool down run element.

For musicians/percussionists the strain will casually take place by whichever side the toms are arranged for fills while playing the drum kit. From high tom to floor tom; the daily enthusiasm to rockout first and stretch later sets a stage for serious pain radiating from the trunk down through the scrotum. Even actively trying to stretch the trunk muscles can leave an athlete or percussionist vulnerable to series of events that trigger the strain.

The trigger of a moderate iliopsoas strain (as experienced by the author) came to fruition while trying to stretch the muscle. Lying in a supine position on a press bench (at the gym) and allowing the legs to hang off each side edge while not touching the ground, the iliopsoas was put under extreme tension. That instant of posture was a rest period between doing raised-straight-leg crunches. Giving no warning to the body for a not-gradual mode of extreme tension, the psoas muscle group became insulted. The effect was not pronounced until three hours after. The effect also included an hour of elliptical cardio including a crossramp of the whole leg focus before returning home.

The sharp large-area pain of an iliopsoas strain can cause male athletes to be very concerned of testicular conditions. The pull on the inguinal ligament, internal and external oblique insertions along the pelvis floor raise due worry of conditions that require surgery. The threat of surgery amidst a condition having very little literature can compound individual sensitivity to pain. The pained area will comprise just below the pectoralis major down to the epididymis of the testicle on the same side, some central discomfort in the central low abdomen exists as well. The acute injury can be handled with rest, ice on both the epididymis, crotch, iliopsoas bursa and pained side of the abdomen. Most pain will subside in three days. Latent effects or warning symptoms include hypersensitivity to the edges of seats when the rear of the testicle brushes against them, slight oddity in latent fluid sensation at the end of the penis following ejaculation and some urinations is also telltale. These are not sensations of burning or pain nor should urination or ejaculation be painful, Otherwise you may be dealing with another situation entirely. There is a change in the chemical composition of the fluid denoting some form of stress or small scale inflammatory response.

If the athlete returns to resistance exercise before the injury is healed, they risk a slightly less painful experience providing their gym routine was unchanged and they guarded against painful postures and excessive weight. Squats were unaffected; both for quadriceps and gluteal focus. Running is also not painful nor did it result in ETAP. The author is an experienced runner so his posture may not have the quirks that would raise a disabling condition to novices with an iliopsoas strain. In this experience a few tests of the leg and abdomen were evaluated. Step sign was negative. Step sign was followed by a hip flexor test which was also negative but resulted in an internal 'snapping syndrome' sensation near the ASIS. The snapping sensation was not painful as it moved from external to internal, nor did it radiate pain to the offended/engaged testicle of the condition. General soreness following workouts did require further icing in all regions.

A test for this strain is as follows: lying supine in a resting position of yoga's bridge; begin with a wide stance with feet planted on the ground and knees at a comfortable maximum distance apart. Rotate each foot inward to about 30-40 degrees. At this point the clinician should ask the athlete to begin spreading their knees as far as possible. The motion will cause mild discomfort on the iliopsoas-pelvic pathway and can send stress down to the rear of the testicle.The athlete may notice significant details about the attachment location of the pelvic fascia to the testicle and its unlike the vas deferens.

A return to rest position will clarify if impact to the strain has been achieved by discomfort in the upper psoas major region. In no way should the discussion of an iliopsoas strain deter visiting a general physician or a urologist for concerns of genital injury. Having done extensive research it appears the misdiagnosis of this ailment has resulted in excessive and unneeded antibiotic medication, invasive testicular modifications, the false diagnosis of repeat bouts of epididymitis, routine torsion protocols, testicular removal and many wild guesses. Even well trained professionals utilizing the Arnheim & Prentice “Principles of Athletic Training”(8th Ed) undergraduate text or even the American Academy of Orthopaedic Surgeons “Athletic Training and Sportsmedicine” (2nd Ed) text would not be able to differentiate a posterior stabilizer induced discomfort from a testicular complication from the mid 1990s research absence in the area. Urologists and orthopaedic doctors should also take heed.

(Now I'm going to get back to my sore tummy and my sore man-ball).

Michael Bench graduated East Stroudsburg University's Movement Studies Program with honors and concentration in Athletic Training SportsMedicine in 1998. He was NATABOC certified in 1999 while completing a Masters Degree in Exercise Physiology and Graduate Certificate in Gender Studies; (#GoDucks) specializing in body dysmorphia. His further experiences in body modification scenes and independent work in competitive endurance (amateur) athletics, gate control theory, percussion coordination and body composition have enabled the perspective on this elusive malady. He has published two books, “This Device of Reason” and “Native Supremacy”; and many unpublished papers ranging from economics to anorexia nervosa. His current edition of research “External Motivators of Anorexia Nervosa and Anorexic Self Abuse” is available free on request.

Duncan LA (2001) Unraveling Side Stitches, The Physician and Sportsmedicine, 29:4, 66, DOI: 10.3810/psm.2001.04.733

Mole JL, Bird ML, Fell JW. (2013)The effect of transversus abdominis activation on exercise-related transient abdominal pain. J Sci Med Sport. 2013 Jul 10. pii: S1440-2440(13)00144-8. doi: 10.1016/j.jsams.2013.05.018. [Epub ahead of print]

Õunpuu S, Winter DA(1989)Bilateral electromyographical analysis of the lower limbs during walking in normal adults,Electroencephalography and Clinical Neurophysiology,Vol 72 (5), 429-438,ISSN 0013-4694,

https://doi.org/10.1016/0013-4694(89)90048-5.

Webb, C. (2013. Nov 21) Rocking on the Roads: Stitches. https://www.moonjoggers.com/rocking-roads-stiches/

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duckseamail · 3 years

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Break It - a short story

Here’s the short story I wrote for my english class!!! It’s about 2.5 k words, and kinda sad (it has a nice ending though!!!). I’m really happy with how it turned out, and would love any feedback!

Winona’s bangs are plastered to her forehead, rainwater sprinting its way past her eyes and over her lips. Her shoes slap on the saturated gray pavement.

Half a block away, she can see the faint glow of the porch lights from her apartment building. She grabs the edges of her raincoat tightly, hoping it's still wholly spread over her backpack, and sprints through the puddles and up to the front walk. Unfortunately, her face is assaulted with a smack by the large, unkempt bush that she can avoid on a good day.

With a fierce kick at the stoop, Winona pushes into the small entryway.

She makes her way through the second pair of doors and goes to the stairwell. With a sigh, she starts the trek up to the seventh floor.

When she reaches her floor, she crinkles her nose in disgust. The thin carpet is thoroughly soaked and gathering little puddles of muddy water from all the people who have been coming in during the late afternoon downpour.

She gets to her door and puts the key in the lock. It sticks a few times before finally, with much cursing and trying to force the locked door open, the locking mechanism catches and smoothly turns. Winona glares at the key as she pulls it out and enters her home.

“Yeah...yeah, waiting for the rain to clear out next week sounds do-able.” A voice coming from the kitchen says.

Winona slips her soggy tennis shoes off and into the wicker basket by the door. She should ask her mom to take her to get some new rainboots soon.

“I actually did have a couple questions about the burial to ask you, Mr. Moro.”

Winona is about to hop past the square of harsh white light illuminating the hall when an arm shoots out in front of her. Busted. Mom is still on the phone with Mr. Moro, but the way her mouth is pursed conveys the “stay there and wait for a conversation” perfectly fine without words.

Mom walks around the small kitchen as she talks. She grabs a large, pink and green mug from the rack next to the sink. Winona watches as she takes out the ceramic jar labeled “calm” in a flowing cursive script and places a teabag from it into the empty mug.

“Thanks again for your time; I’ll call you soon.” Mom hangs up. Neither of them says anything.

The high, screaming whistle of the teakettle breaks the momentary silence.

Winona wishes she’d had time to change out of her wet clothes before having this conversation. The cold and sticky feeling of the bottoms of her jeans clinging to her ankles is almost as bad as the fact that her socks are basically little swimming pools. Rivulets from her hair drip over her ears and down her neck, soaking into the shirt collar.

“I got an email from your math teacher this afternoon,” Mom says

Winona ignores the insinuation that she should be explaining herself about now and asks, “What did it say?”

Her Mom’s hands tighten around her mug, and an angry flush breaks out high on her cheekbones. She seems to be so overcome that she can’t speak, so Winona unzips her dry backpack and pulls out the failed test and hopes it will explain itself and she can leave.

“Here,” she says, handing it over.

Mom sets down her mug with a dull thunk and takes the papers.

After a minute spent flipping through them, she says, “You said you spent all of last weekend studying for this.” Mom brings a hand up and rubs across her forehead that’s lined with tired wrinkles and fixes Winona with a disappointed sort of glare.

“Yeah, well. I tried for a bit. But it’s not like anyone else cared about this test either, okay?” Winona says flippantly. She bites the edge of her hair, then continues speaking around it. “It just wasn’t the sort of test you’re supposed to study for.”

“What do you mean the sort of test you don’t study for?!” Mom asks incredulously. Her voice is creeping up, louder and louder. “You need to take responsibility. What would your grandma have to say about this if she were here?”

“ I am taking responsibility!” Winona shouts, her hair falling entirely out of her mouth and smacking her jaw.

“Obviously, you’re NOT!”

“You don’t even know how to organize a funeral! How can you talk about responsibility?” Winona yells back. All of a sudden, the frustration in her mom’s brown eyes freezes over.

“Just. Just go.” Mom says, seething. She turns her back and dumps her over-steeped tea into the sink.

Rage at this icy dismissal floods through Winona’s blood and exits in a strangled roar. Before Mom can say anything back, she spins on her heel, storms out of the kitchen, down the short hall, and into her bedroom.

Winona grips her heavy wooden door with as much strength as she can muster and slams it closed.

“WE DON'T SLAM DOORS IN THIS HOUSE!” Mom shrieks from where Winona left her in the kitchen.

“I DON’T CARE!”

Her ears ring, and she flicks the overhead light on, only to turn it back off immediately. Though the anger simmering in her body is no longer boiling over, the bright light is too cheerful. The lightning that flashes through the window, however, is perfect.

Balling her hands up, Winona thrusts them under her arms in a half-pout half-hug and paces in circles. “This isn’t even a house. It’s an apartment.” She mutters snarkily to herself. She considers opening the door to send the comment her mom’s way but decides to keep stewing on it. She can come up with something better.

On her fifth lap around, her eyes catch on her grandmother's glass figurine, sitting primly on her cluttered desk.

It’s of a young woman lying back on a log, propping herself up on her elbows. Her tiny glass face looks up with a beautiful expression of wonder; the clear eyes seem to see everything and hold infinite wisdom. They’re surrounded by minuscule eyelashes that look too fluffy to be glass. The woman’s smooth glass lips are parted like she’s just seen something she needs to share immediately (more than once throughout her life, Winona had spoken to it in the hopes that maybe one day it would talk back). The woman’s hair is long and curls gently, sitting lightly over the figure’s shoulders and bouncing a few centimeters above the top of the log.

But Winona’s favorite thing about the glass figurine isn’t her face. It’s the sloping curves of the carved dress. It folds softly down to the ankles, each sweep lined with small creases, and the hem is covered in miniature flowers. The back fabric of the dress drapes over the log's rough ridges in a fantastic clash of textures. The sense of fluidity changing into firm resolve, the cracks and knots carved into the log holding strong. It knows exactly what it is; no room for doubts. It’s a log, each uncountable twist and turn working together to hold up the woman on top of it.

It’s fitting, though, because Winona’s Grandma Helen had gotten it the day she graduated college. Winona had been told the story of her family’s most prized possession many times. It was her favorite thing to do as a kid when Grandma came to visit. She and Mom would take turns telling the story, and when it was done, Winona always begged to hear it again.

Winona’s great-grandfather had been an extremely old-fashioned man and hadn’t been willing to help send her grandma to college. It had caused a massive fight between them that ended with Grandma leaving and vowing to only come back with a diploma in hand.

So, she’d left and spent the time working towards a degree in American history.

On the day of Helen’s graduation, she’d gone home to see her parents. Now, Grandma had kept in contact with her mother, but just like she had promised, this was Helen’s first time in years seeing her father again.

He’d been sad and apologetic, begging for his daughter’s forgiveness. Apparently, there had been tears shed on both sides. And, of course, Grandma had missed her father desperately, and once she received an apology, she was quick to forgive him.

But an apology wasn't all Grandma had received. Her father also wished to congratulate her on her achievement in college. So he'd commissioned an artist to create a glass figurine of a young woman lounging on a log, looking ahead to the possibilities before her. It was based on a picture he had of Helen just before their fight, which made it all the more special.

Then, when Mom was a little kid, Grandma had given it to her. Mom brought it with her to every place she’d ever lived.

And finally, after a childhood spent pestering about when it would finally be her turn, Winona was given it for her sixteenth birthday just over seven months ago.

Winona snaps from the torrent of memories to thunder booming. She takes a few steps up to her desk and runs her fingertips over the skirt of the dress.

Mom often comes into Winona’s room just to sit and look at it for a while - never touching - a habit that’s increased in the past few weeks since Grandma died.

She must find it comforting.

The thought of her mother feeling anything but sadness and pain swirls her remaining anger into a tempest. She wants her mom to hurt, to regret what she said about the stupid test.

Her head and her heart ache, and she wants her mom to feel that.

So, Winona wraps her hand around the glass figure and picks it up.

It’s surprisingly heavy for how delicate it looks, but Winona pitches for softball in the spring and has a good arm. She faces the plain door that Mom had just yelled at her about slamming and takes aim.

One of the ridges on the log catches against her palm as the figurine launches into the air. She doesn’t feel the cut, though.

The figurine tumbles over and over in the six feet it has to travel to hit the door, glinting a bit in the dark room. Adrenaline rushes through Winona’s brain, and with a crash, it collides.

The log bursts apart, tiny glass crystals falling like snow to the carpet. The young woman’s head breaks off and drops down in three chipped and scratched pieces. The body, surprisingly, is comparatively intact. The arms are gone, shattered among the carpet fibers; the dress's light folds are broken off, and there are deep cracks along the front. There is a large chunk missing from the upper back where the shoulders used to be. But, when Winona looks at where the body of the figurine rests, she can tell that it had once portrayed someone sitting.

And for a moment, standing and looking over the wreckage, calm and satisfaction is all she feels.

Then, the reality sinks in. Her mom’s, her grandma’s, her most special possession is gone. Winona broke it, and from the way it’s spread out over the floor, it can’t be fixed.

It feels like all the air has been knocked out of her. Winona opens her mouth, but she can’t tell if any sound comes out. It’s like all her senses are covered in a staticky fuzz.

Suddenly, her bedroom door flings open, knocking aside some of the larger pieces of glass.

“Are you okay? What hap-” Mom cuts herself off abruptly, and Winona wrenches her gaze up from the floor.

Mom’s eyes are fixed at her feet. Her mouth wobbles around words that die before making it out. Winona watches the tears drip down her mother’s cheeks, and everything feels terribly wrong. This shouldn’t be happening.

“Mom,” Her throat clenches, stopping her. She tries again. “Mommy, I- I didn’t mean- I’m-”

Her mom turns and leaves the room. The door is still wide open, and light from the hallway dances among the shards.

Winona finally notices her own sobbing. She isn’t sure how she missed it before because everything about her face feels wet. Her eyelashes are clumpy, and there is no break in the water streaming down her face. It goes past her nose, collecting snot on the way, and then parts. Some tears fall off her chin, and others collect in her mouth, coating her tongue with the taste of salt.

Slowly, she takes a blanket from her bed and curls up under it on the floor. Wiping her nose with her sleeve, Winona waits for the crying to stop.

-----------------

She wakes up to a pounding headache and a hand softly shaking her shoulder. Winona shifts the blanket off her face and sees Mom peering down at her.

Arms carefully reach around Winona’s shoulders and lift her so that she’s perched on the edge of her bed. Her clothes are removed and replaced with warm, dry pajamas. They’re the fluffy, purple polka-dotted ones - her favorite.

A plastic cup of water is pressed into her hands, and she takes grateful gulps of it ‘till the cup is empty.

The bathroom sink across from her room turns on, and Winona realizes her mom has left again. It’s only briefly, however, and Mom comes back with a wet washcloth in hand.

Winona takes it when it’s held out and rubs the sticky, overwhelming feeling of dry tears off her face. The water is warm and soothing, and even after she's clean, she takes an extra moment to press the cloth to her worn-out eyes.

She hands it back, and Mom places it on the bedside table before taking Winona’s right hand in hers. Winona wonders why she’s doing this when she notices a sharp red line crossing most of her palm. A throbbing heat is building there, but quick as a flash, her mom wipes a soaked cotton pad over it and then rubs on a layer of cooling antiseptic. Lastly, she places two large bandages over the entirety of Winona’s palm. Then, Mom helps her stand up.

Walking across the room into the now dark hallway, she realizes all the glass on the floor is gone. Mom must have taken the time to thoroughly clean up every last shard and speck while she was sleeping. Winona isn’t sure why, but as she’s walked over to her mom’s bedroom, she wishes she had been able to clean it up. It was her mess, after all.

But, her brain is moving too slowly to think up the words to best express that out loud, and moments later, she’s being herded onto one side of her mom’s bed.

The digital clock blinks at her. It’s 9:53 at night. Mom tucks the covers securely around Winona’s shoulders.

“I’m so sorry, Nony. We’ll fix things in the morning, okay?” Mom’s voice is hoarse when she says this, but the time for thinking is over now. Winona nods her head sleepily in reply and closes her eyes for the night.

#my writing #short story #fiction #angst #hurt/comfort #original writing

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