#that doesn’t even allow you anymore to watch something horizontally
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#seriously why is tumblr working on new features that nobody needs#like fucking tumblr live#when most of the tools and features that are already there#aren’t even working properly most of the time#just got the new update and now as soon as I’m typing in more than two words in the tags#there are no suggestions at all#just emptiness#if I type in just one word#i get suggestions of tags I never used once#it’s impossible to tag stuff for me right now#who needs tumblr life and those fucking new video feature#that doesn’t even allow you anymore to watch something horizontally#fix the tags and the fucking search first#it’s still impossible to find a post if you don’t remember how you tagged it#rant over
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Originals Rp Meme
“To me, the very definition of the word “broken” suggests that something can be fixed.”
“No one hurts my family and lives.”
“I believe that when you love someone and that person loves you in return you’re uniquely vulnerable.”
“Death dances silently in everyone’s shadow, and she doesn’t give a damn. So why give a damn about her?”
“Let’s make one thing clear, you’ll never have this - loyalty. You can’t buy it, you can’t own it, you can’t force it, it comes only out of love and respect for the people who believe in you”
“All of us live with a demon inside.”
“Some days you control your demon, and sometimes it controls you.”
“If I tell you who I really am and you refuse to believe me then I can hardly be blamed for your disappointment.”
“You rant and rave about the monster I have become, but you are the author of everything I am.”
“If the definition of insanity is doing the same thing repeatedly and expecting different results then surely my quest for your salvation ranks me as one of the maddest of men.”
“Every family has a legacy, and this is mine. I intend to fight for always and forever, even if it destroys me.”
“Everything we love, we turn to ash”
“I can give you a list of people who’ve underestimated me. None of them have done it a second time. “
“You can’t trust me, which means you cannot love me. Not as I love you.”
“In that case, you best kiss me before I go.“
“It must really suck to have to be you all the time.”
“In every moment a choice exists. We can cling to the past or embrace the inevitability of change and allow a brighter future to unfold before us.”
“Hurting the ones we love, it’s just what we do.”
“You’ll find bourbon on basically every horizontal surface.”
My family’s about to be pulled apart and there’s literally nothing I can do about it.”
“I actually pity you. Over the course of our long lives together, I could see you were broken. I used to think it was my fault, but in time, I learned your ability to love died long ago”
“A man can’t be defined by anyone but himself.”
“Always and forever.”
“Sometimes the things you want aren’t worth the price.”
“I’ve known you a thousand years and this is the first time you have ever done the right thing.”
“I hereby pledge my allegiance to you. You have the keys to my kingdom. It’s yours. “
“It seems you’re always willing to watch the world burn as long as you survive.”
“You pretend to be so confident, but I know the truth. You’re afraid everyone can see what you really are - an animal. A beast. Why don’t you show us your real face?”
“I can help build peace or I can burn our enemies to the ground.”
“I’m not a little girl anymore. I don’t run from anyone.”
“Sorry I would like to help but I am busy mourning another boyfriend.”
“Sometime, whats more important is not who you are siding with but who you are siding against.”
“Family does define you even if it requires sacrifice.”
“Might I recommend you release him before I opt to release you from your mortal coil.”
“Loneliness. It’s a reminder that in the end we are left infinitely and utterly alone.”
“There are consequences for those that care. I will not have you pay the price.”
“I loved her and you have broken me.”
“Sometimes, he needs her in ways even he does not understand.”
“You are the legacy this family always desired.”
“You are the promise we fought to protect.”
“We will be heroes or villains?”
“Family is power.”
“Which one of us is the people person?”
“Sod off.”
“you could have been nicer to people or leave less survivors.”
“oh I had that nightmare once.”
“What a nice normal family gathering.”
“I used to find it insulting I was barred from your precious little club.”
“I had that nightmare once.”
“This family makes me want to murder people.”
“Isn’t that the point of a fortress? to stay with in it’s walls”
“we need to talk.”
“do we indeed.”
“children please.”
‘When did I get elected supernanny?”
“As a devout feminist, I refuse to say you hit like a girl.”
“You have hit your complaint quota for today.”
“well thats going well.”
“Are there anymore inopportune deaths you would like to throw in my face.”
“The one time I needed you.”
“Am I supposed to go to the toy store and pick up a slingshot?”
“He finds all work demeaning.”
“I will use you as a shield.”
“shh, grown ups are talking.”
“Perhaps try a different approach. Fewer references to murder.”
“It is about time you brought a gentleman home to meet the family.”
“on a scale of one to ten. how much am I gonna despise this plan of yours?”
“Mabye after she reads your palm, she will let you palm her.”
“never underestimate the allure of indoor plumbing.”
“To be absolutely clear, he definitely could go alone.”
“My most disappointing minion.”
“I thought I smelled swamp.”
“I’m quite happy to stand here and watch you die or you could invite me in.”
“should we discuss a dowry?”
“touch me again and I will tear your arm straight off.”
“Old friend? old acquaintance.”
“I’m the prettiest urgent problem you will ever meet.”
“Are you saying that leaving me felt like the end of the world?”
“You look ravishing.”
#open to all#open to anyone#open rp#ask meme#rp meme#open meme#open to anybody#roleplay meme#ask prompt#memes#plot musings#wanted musings#plot musing#rp musing#roleplay musings#musings#plot inspo#rp plot#the originals#originals rp#cw#open tvd roleplay#open tvd starter#open tvd rp#tvdu#tvd verse
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spooky/autumn Jerena prompt: Jamie and Serena’s first Halloween together
This isn't exactly Halloween night, but it's their first October together. I know these are supposed to be drabbles so I'm sorry that this turned out to be over 2,000 words.
The best summer of Jamie’s life had come to an end. With Serena having summers off, it gave them an opportunity to spend every moment of their free time together－as long as Serena was home by the time the streetlights went on. Now that Olivia was 11, she was allowed to go for bike rides with her best friend Elliot and have other outside adventures with her friends without parental supervision the entire summer; however, just as Serena had a summer curfew, so did Olivia. Jamie had yet to meet Serena’s daughter, but it warmed her heart to hear Serena talk about her.
She had met Serena in late April and, although they had been seeing each other for five months now, she still found herself in disbelief that Serena was really hers to kiss whenever she wanted. Jamie admired how intelligent and sophisticated she was－mixing designer labels with vintage finds and always looking straight out of a magazine with perfectly applied makeup and not a strand of hair out of place. Serena had traveled to more places before age five than she had in her entire life and Jamie loved hearing stories about the places she had been and even the stories about her day-to-day life as a professor. Jamie was in awe of this woman and, it was during a picnic in the park one summer afternoon, that Jamie realized she was in love with this woman－even if she wasn’t officially her girlfriend yet.
She hadn’t heard much from Serena throughout the past week and Jamie had chocked it up to Serena being busy with work and Olivia’s after school activities now that the summer was over. Olivia was her priority and Jamie was never upset about Serena having to cancel a date because Olivia wasn’t feeling well or she had a last-minute emergency, but with Serena cancelling a second date, Jamie worried she had done something to upset her.
Jamie was ready to apologize even if she wasn’t sure what to apologize for, so she picked up some flowers and made her way over to Serena’s apartment. She was going over unannounced and she wasn’t sure if Serena would be receptive, but she didn’t care. She missed her and, if there was a possibility that she was sick, Jamie wanted to be the one to take care of her.
Jamie knocked on the door, flowers in hand, ready to surprise her, but when Serena opened the door it was Jamie that received the surprise of her life.
She looked wide-eyed at the woman who answered the door in black sweatpants and a Texas Chainsaw Massacre hoodie. Her curly hair was in a messy ponytail, but the icing on the cake were the black framed glasses and retainer she was wearing. “Serena?”
Serena looked at her in absolute terror before motioning for her to come in. She hadn’t said a word regardless of how much Jamie tried to talk to her. Instead she reached for her phone and texted, “Have a seat. I’ll be right back.”
Jamie looked around at the Halloween decor in Serena’s apartment. She had expected her Halloween decorations to look like the ones she saw in magazines－minimalist and classy. Instead she saw fake blood smeared in random places, some demonic-looking statue in the corner, and the crowning jewel: a replica of Leatherface’s chainsaw with the words ‘The Saw is Family’ engraved on it. It may not have had a chain on it but it still scared the hell out of Jamie. Who is this woman?
Serena was gone for a little over a minute, but when she came back, Jamie noticed she was no longer wearing her glasses and retainer. She cuddled up to Jamie on the couch, wrapping an arm around her waist and resting her head on her shoulder. “Thanks for the flowers.” They were now lying next to the chainsaw and Jamie found the contrast between the two funny.
“Oh, now you’re talking to me,” Jamie teased. “I’m curious though. How would ‘thanks for the flowers’ sound with your retainer?”
Serena playfully pinched Jamie’s side. “When you’re dating a woman, you’re supposed to warn her before you come over. You don’t just drop by unannounced, but now that you’ve seen my true form, I’m going to have to kill you.”
Jamie looked around. “Judging by all the blood everywhere, I doubt I’m the first person you’ve killed today. Is that why you didn’t text me back this morning? Too busy hiding the body?”
“Dismembering it in the bathtub,” Serena said nonchalantly. “I guess you can say it’s a regular bloodbath in there.”
Jamie couldn’t help rolling her eyes, especially when she saw how pleased Serena looked with herself. “I’m trying not to humor you because I know it’ll only encourage you, but I can’t get over this.”
“Get over what?”
“How you look right now.” Jamie leaned in to kiss her. “I know you’re usually immaculately dressed but I like this version of you. You’re so relaxed and cute. Where’s Olivia? I hope I’m not ruining some mother/daughter time.”
“She’s at a sleepover with some girls from her volleyball team. I just broke our date because I felt like being alone today.”
“Oh,” Jamie tried to hide her disappointment. “I can go. I was just worried that－”
“No, don’t,” Serena interrupted her. “I haven’t been in the best mindset and I think it’d be better if you were here with me.”
What she was going through, Jamie didn’t know, but those big hazel eyes pleading with her to stay, there was no way Jamie was going to leave her. “Of course, baby. I’ll stay as long as you want me to.”
Jamie didn’t know what they’d spend the rest of their time doing, but she decided to let Serena take the lead. It was early October and, although it wouldn’t last until Halloween, Serena decided it was time for them to carve pumpkins. Jamie used a scooper, but when she looked over at Serena she noticed her scooper was untouched and she was taking out the insides with her bare hands.
“I love the feeling of pumpkin guts,” Serena told her and Jamie had to admit she looked adorable with her hands all slimy and full of seeds and pumpkin insides, so adorable that she became distracted and touched her fingertips to a small knife they used for carving instead of a scooper.
“Ow!” Jamie immediately rushed over to the sink to rinse the blood.
“Let me get you a Band-Aid.”
“No, it’s fine,” Jamie insisted once she realized how she must look right now. She had always tried to be tough around Serena, but she could no longer hide that blood made her squeamish.
Serena rushed over to wrap her arms around her from behind. “You’re squeamish, aren’t you?”
“No,” Jamie scoffed, but she could tell Serena wasn’t buying it. “Yes, a little. Judging by your decor, I take it blood doesn’t bother you.”
“Not really,” Serena led her back to the table. “I’m the mother of a tomboy. Olivia is always coming home with some type of new injury. Plus, I was a really rambunctious kid, myself.”
“You?” Jamie asked in disbelief. “I don’t believe it.”
Serena lifted up one of the legs of her sweatpants just slightly above the knee. “This looks way smaller than it did when I was 10, but I got this from falling off a skateboard.”
“You know how to skate?”
“No,” Serena rolled her pant leg down. “Hence the scar.”
“Okay, I got one for you,” Jamie lifted the hem of her t-shirt a few inches. “My cousins and I were taking turns pushing each other in a shopping cart and we were going so fast that it toppled over and that’s how I got this scar.”
“Impressive,” Serena smiled at her. “I love a woman who walks on the wild side.” She took off her hoodie and pointed out a round scar on her arm that Jamie had seen before but never asked how she had gotten it. “I got this from a roman candle on the fourth of July when I pretended to be the Statue of Liberty.”
“Your parents let you play with fireworks as a kid?”
“Not exactly,” Serena chuckled. “It was three years ago and I was drunk off my ass.”
They continued trying to one-up each other until Jamie noticed a deep horizontal scar on Serena’s left wrist. Serena usually wore a watch or bracelets and, because she didn’t want to get it ruined by the ‘pumpkin guts’ she had taken it off. She had told Jamie stories about skateboarding, pretending to be the Statue of Liberty and the many scars she had gotten from performing her own Jackass stunts with her siblings when they were in middle school, so Jamie knew this deep scar had to have a good story to go along with it. She’s probably saving the best for last. Jamie gently grabbed Serena’s wrist and pointed out the scar. “What’s this one from, babe?”
“Jamie, stop,” Serena mumbled, trying to pull her wrist away.
“Can I take a guess?”
“Stop!” Serena forcefully pulled her wrist away from Jamie’s grasp and rolled her sleeve down. “I knew this wasn’t a good idea. I think you should go home.”
She had never seen Serena upset before and Jamie didn’t know how to react. She was covering her face with her hands, but Jamie could tell she was crying. “I’m not going anywhere.”
“Get out!” Serena yelled. “I don’t want to see you anymore!”
But Jamie didn’t leave her. Instead, she walked over to Serena and sat down in the chair next to her. “I’m not going to touch you until you give me permission to and if you really want me to leave I’ll leave.”
Serena reached for her hand and Jamie noticed the pleading look in her eyes. “Please don’t leave.”
“I’m not going anywhere. I promise.”
Jamie laid on the couch with Serena on top of her. The woman who was so vibrant just moments ago now looked so fragile and all Jamie wanted to do was hold her for as long as she’d allow.
“Girls aren’t supposed to do it this way.”
“What, baby?” Jamie asked as she caressed her back.
“I heard it on some stupid TV show that girls take pills and boys slit their wrists. I was 13. I didn’t know how to swallow pills yet. The only way I could swallow pills was if my mom put them in ice cream. This seemed like the logical alternative.”
“Babe, you don’t have to answer this,” Jamie gently caressed her. “But, what was the－”
“You’re going to ask what my reason was,” Serena interrupted her. “I’ll tell you that in time. For now, I’ll just say something happened to me repeatedly when I was 13 and I felt like this was the only way to get him to stop. My brother Kyle was the one who found me. He was only 11 and it took years for him to get the image out of his mind. I’ll never forgive myself for the damage I caused him.”
“Baby, no,” Jamie tried to hold back her own tears. “I’m sure he’s just glad you’re okay. I’m sure we all are. Is there anything I can do to make it all better for you?”
Serena lifted her head up so she could kiss Jamie’s tears. “I’m okay now, Jay. I promise. It takes me awhile to open up. Sometimes I live inside my head and need to be alone, but I’m the happiest I’ve ever been. I have my family, my career, my Olliegator who is my entire world, and now I have you. I know the pace I’ve set for us is slow, but I want to be your girlfriend someday if you still want me to be.”
“There’s no one I’d rather have as a future girlfriend. We can take as much time as you need. I’ll always be here for you.”
Jamie spent the rest of the night holding her as they watched movies and talked. The woman she had gotten to know over the summer was just an act because she thought she had to be perfect, but that day she met the real Serena and, as she fell asleep in her arms, Jamie knew without a doubt that this was the woman she wanted to spend the rest of her life with.
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it was always you
summary: in a twisted turn of events, you find yourself naked in the bed of your best friend, Mark Tuan
one (m) | two | three (m) | four | five (m) | six | seven (m) | eight (m) | nine | ten - final | epilogue - one (m) | epilogue - two |
“You okay? You were in there for awhile,” Mark said rubbing your arm up and down to comfort you. In the corner of your eyes, you could feel Sana burn you with her stare.
You gave Mark a subtle smile, “Yeah, I’m fine,” you said walking away from him. You sat down at the fancy dinner table where your name tag was. JB came over to sit next to you.
“You alright?” he asked rubbing your back. You felt disgusted by his touch - something about knowing his intentions were manipulated by Sana didn’t sit right with you. It wasn’t entirely his fault, you were the one who allowed him so easily into your life, but you could never see yourself with him.
You moved away from his touched, “I’m fine. I wished everyone would stop asking me that,” you snapped at him. Maybe if you were mean to him, he’d get the hint to leave you alone. JB’s eyebrows furrowed together, worried that something had happened.
“Did Sana say something to you?”
Were you really about to expose Sana right here at the rehearsal dinner? You didn’t have the balls to do that.
“I don’t want to talk about it here.”
JB nods and quietly sits beside you. You play with your fingers, wanting this night to be over but time was passing by so slowly.
More and more people arrived at the rehearsal dinner - even Mark’s parents who flew all the way from the States. You wanted to greet them, but you wanted to preserve what little dignity you had left so you sat idle.
People took there seats as the food started coming out of the kitchen. Mark and Sana of course was sitting in the middle of table, horizontally from the rest of the guests. Sana looked as if nothing happened; as if she didn’t just confront you. You applaud her for that, wishing it was something you could do.
Sana tapped her wine glass with her fork, getting everyone’s attention, “I would like to thank everyone for coming tonight. It truly is a blessing to have everyone who loves us here to share our special moment.” She lifted her wine glass up to cheers everyone; everyone followed and took a sip after raising their glasses.
Then it was Mark’s turn to make a toast. You watched him carefully as he stood up fixing his suit jacket, picking up his wine glass. He clears his throat getting everyone’s attention - all eyes were on him now.
“Thank you everyone, for coming today. Um,” he lets out a big sigh before continuing. “I don’t even know where to begin,” he chuckles before taking a sip of his wine. Sana smiles at him, giving his hand a slight rub, encouraging him to continue.
It was unlike him to be nervous in a room full of people. He was always good at speaking in front of crowds.
“Sana and I met in university. We actually met through a really good friend of mine, my best friend, Y/N,” he looks at you, giving you a small smile. “Y/N is the oldest friend I have. She’s been through everything with me - big or small. She was always like a little sister to me. Sometimes she was annoying, but most of the time she was my rock. When we found out she was attending the same university as me, she was estactic because we could finally be together again, but inside I was more excited than her because school was never the same without her.”
His eyes never left yours as he spoke. Tears began to form in your eyes as you reminisce all the happy times you and Mark shared. It was true, you’ve been through everything with Mark - big or small.
He was your rock too.
“When I told her I thought her friend, Sana, was cute, she quickly set us up on a date,” Mark peaked down at Sana who had a big smile on her face. “I guess what I’m trying to say is Y/N gave me my happiness...she is my happiness.”
The tears in your eyes formed into little pearls as you tried to contain them from falling. People around you were whispering, not understanding where the speech was going.
Sana glared at you. She looked pissed.
Mark chugs the remainder of his wine and sets his glass down, “She’s my happiness,” he repeated before turning to Sana. “Which is why I can’t marry you.”
You and Sana both turned to look at him not believing what he just said. She quickly stood up, “Babe, this is not funny,” she says through her teeth, holding onto his arm.
“I’m not trying to be funny,” he said moving her hand away from him. “I was selfish. I wanted you and I wanted Y/N,” Mark confessed.
You were just as shocked as everyone else. How could he be doing this in front of everyone? Your tears quickly fell from your eyes and onto your lap.
“Mark, please...” you begged him with tears rolling down your cheeks. “Don’t do this here,” you whispered.
He looks at you, “Because of my selfish behavior, I didn’t realize how much you were hurting, Y/N.”
“What about me?” Sana said with tears in her eyes. You can’t believe this was happening. “I’m hurting too.”
“I was selfish because I loved you both. Y/N gave me my happiness, but Sana, you were my happiness. You showed me what love was and what it felt like to be in love and I will never forget that.”
Sana reaches for both his hands as she quietly sobbed, “Then what has to change? Why can’t we be like before?”
“Everything changed when I stopped seeing Y/N as a little sister. I don’t know how or when it happened, but it did. Everything she did was engraved into my head. She consumed my thoughts, my everything.”
You never knew that. He never told you.
“I tried to pretend like it wasn’t like that. I spent more time with you and less with her. She never once blamed me for being a bad friend.”
“We can try harder. We can move out of town, away from her. We can make it work,” Sana was hysterical now. You knew how much she loved him.
“I tried! I’ve been trying this whole time! Can’t you see?” you could hear his voice grow upset. “I thought if I kept telling myself to stay with you, I’d eventually believe that I really wanted to be with you.”
You kept your eyes on Mark, afraid to look anywhere else. JB reaches for your hand, comforting you. You quickly moved your hand away from his grip, still remembering what Sana had just told you.
"I was never going to say anything about my relationship with Y/N,” he looks at Sana. “If I didn’t hear what I heard today, I might have married you.”
It was like everything froze in that moment. He knew.
He knew she confronted you. He knew how she used you to get to him. He knew about the video.
“You used Y/N to get to me,�� he said as his neck grew red, veins visible. “All this...meeting me, getting me to like you was all a game,” You saw his eyes glistened with tears. “How can I marry someone whose intentions were never pure?”
“No...” she begged, holding onto his arms again. “Yes, I planned it, but it was only because I liked you so much. I’ve been trying to get you to notice me for weeks, but you didn’t even bat an eye towards me.”
“So you befriended Y/N to get to me? Pretended to be a version of someone I would like just so I would like you?”
“That’s not true! I never pretended to be someone I’m not!”
“When will you stop lying to me?” Mark shouted as tears fell from the corner of his eyes.
Sana shakes her head, “I’m not lying.”
“You were never nice to Y/N because you liked her. You were only nice to her because you wanted her to set us up. You pretended to be her friend because you knew that if I ever had to chose between you and her it would always be her and you didn’t want to risk that. You needed to be on her good side so she would feel guilty about loving me.”
He figured out everything - how much you were suffering for loving him whilst being her friend and how guilty you felt for being the other woman. He knew everything.
“My love for you was always pure. Doesn’t that count for anything?”
“Your sick game is scary,” Mark said shaking his head in disbelief, “You’re scary. I don’t even know who you are.”
“Please Mark...” Sana sobbed. “Please don’t do this,” she begs while reaching for her stomach, slightly caressing it.
“Don’t you dare use the baby to make me stay.”
The whispers in the room grew louder. It seemed like no one knew about this baby; not even their parents. You quickly glanced at Mark’s parents who seemed upset and embarrassed about the situation. They were always nice to you; treating you like you were their own daughter. You felt guilty for this - for all of it.
“Do you want the baby to be raised in a broken home?” Sana asked giving him an ultimatum.
“The day you told me you were pregnant, I planned on telling you I was going to leave you,” Mark confessed. “But you already knew that didn’t you?”
Sana kept quiet. How could she have known?
“You put cameras in my house to watch Y/N and I. You taped us...”
Sana lied to you. The camera was setup way before she confronted you. She was watching you this whole time. You felt your stomach flip, disgusted.
“I was suspicious on how things could played out so untimley. So I called your doctor to set up an appointment for an ultrasound.”
Sana’s eyes widen, “How could you do that for me?”
“Why can’t I if I’m the baby’s father?” Mark retorted. “The doctor was confused on why I was calling because you were never pregnant,” he scoffed. “You were willing to lie about being pregnant so that I would stay with you.”
You couldn’t believe what you were hearing. Sana manipulated and planned all this just so Mark would marry her.
“Do I need to say anymore or do you now realize I will never ever marry you?” Mark spatted.
“Why does it have to be her?”
“It was always her,” Mark said. “I was too stupid to realize that, but I’m not going to make the same mistake twice.”
“God, you stupid bitch! You ruined everything,” Sana said angrily as she came for you. “You slut! You fucking slut! I will ruin you!” she screams. JB quickly stood up blocking her way to you, telling her to calm down.
You slowly stood up from your seat as all eyes watched you. You finally looked up, your eyes meeting Mark’s and then his parents. “Mr. and Mrs. Tuan, I’m so sorry about all this,” you said as tears rolled down your face. “There’s nothing I can say to make up for how disappointed and embarrassed I made you feel...I’m so sorry,” you sobbed before running out the venue.
You needed to get out of there. You couldn’t deal with the stares and the whispers.
“Y/N, wait!”
You hear someone chase after you, but that only makes you run faster. Your five inch heels weren’t helping though because JB quickly caught up to you.
“Y/N, where are you going?” he said catching his breath.
“Anywhere but here.”
“Let me come with you,” he offered. You flicked his arm off you.
“Stop,” you said sternly with tears still in your eyes. “Stop pretending.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Sana told me everything. She asked you to go to the club that night to find me - to make me fall in love with you.” You can see from his expression that he didn’t intend on you finding out.
“Yes, that’s true, but-”
You cut him off, “Would you have talked to me that night at the club if Sana hadn’t told you to do so?” you asked. He kept his head low, eyes avoiding yours. “Answer me!”
“No, no I wouldn’t have.”
“You’re just as bad as she is!” you screamed at him angrily.
“I never lied to you. I told you it wasn’t a coincidence I saw you at the club,” he clarified. You’ve had enough of all the lies and the manipulation.
You slapped him across the face, “You used me and now you’re arguing over wording?! Are you fucking kidding me?”
“Look, I’m sorry.”
“All that stuff about seeing me at the vending machine was a lie?” you asked in which he responds with a nod.
“That was a story between my ex-girlfriend and I.”
“Oh god, I feel sick...” you said holding onto your stomach. Everything was going fuzzy and you don’t know how long you could hold yourself up anymore.
You hear Mark calling for you from a distance, “Don’t ever fucking talk to me again,” you spatted as you continued to run out of the venue.
You weren’t ready to speak with him yet. Everything was too much and you needed time for yourself - to clear your thoughts, to calm down. All that mattered was he wasn’t going to marry Sana and that was enough for you to leave.
You were thankful that you were able to quickly catch a taxi on your way out.
“Where to, Miss?” the taxi driver asked.
“Can you just drive?”
The taxi driver nods, driving off. You kept your head down to avoid speaking with him. “Hey, do you know those guys?” the taxi driver asks. You turned back to see JB and Mark fighting on the streets.
“N-no I don’t,” you lied. If you stopped now, you knew they would be able to convince you to stay and you didn’t want to. You wanted to forget all this - forget about meeting Sana and JB, forget about being the other woman, forget about the tapes.
“Have you decided where to go?”
“The airport.”
--
One Year Later
“Mom, I’m home,” you called out as you stepped inside your home with your suitcase. “Mom!” you called again. This time hearing footsteps approaching the door.
“Oh sweetheart! You’re here!” she said giving you a big hug.
“I can’t breathe,” you jokingly complained.
“I don’t care. You didn’t come home for a year and I practically had to beg you to come home for my birthday,” she said finally letting you go.
You gave her a subtle smile, “I’m sorry mom. Happy birthday,” you tell her, pulling her in for another hug.
“I understand honey,” she said stroking your head. “You’ll always be my little girl.”
You smiled at her. It felt good to finally be home with your family.
It’s been a year since you saw Mark; since the incident happened. A year of traveling around the world all by yourself. It was peaceful and it helped mend your open wounds. The time spent by yourself helped you grow as a person.
You were stronger.
“Where’s unnie?”
“She’s at the park with kids. Why don’t you go meet her?”
The park wasn’t far from your house. You and your sister grew up playing in the park and now she was taking her kids there. You remembered hanging out with Mark at the park all the time when you were kids.
“Unnie,” you called waving at her. She waves back, gesturing you to come to her.
“I found you,” you hear someone say behind you. You held your breath, stopping in your steps. You recognized that voice.
You exhaled, “How’d you know where I was?”
“Did you forget my mom’s birthday is the same as yours? We used to celebrate their birthdays together,” Mark said coming up next to you. “And your mother helped - she told me you were at the park.”
You nodded realizing how stupid your question was. Of course, your mother told him. She loved him like a son.
“You finally came home,” he said turning to look at you. You finally had the courage to face him. One year and he hasn’t changed one bit - still handsome as ever. You thought maybe after one year, your feelings would have subsided, but it hasn’t. He still made your heart race.
And you still loved him more than anything.
“You didn’t answer my calls, wouldn’t tell anyone where you were going until you were leaving that location. Do you know how hard it was to find you?”
You shook your head. Mark pulls something out from his back pocket; his passport. “I followed you to all 15 countries.”
You grabbed the passport from him and flipped through the pages. Every stamp you had on your passport, he had on his. You can’t believe he followed you all over the world.
“You idiot,” you said with tears in your eyes as you gently hit his chest. You didn’t expect him to chase you. If you had known, you wouldn’t have ran.
“I’m your idiot,” Mark said pulling you into his arms. “Y/N, I’m so sorry for everything.”
You hugged him back, breathing in his scent. You never stopped thinking about him, never stopped missing him. He wraps his arms tightly around you, giving your forehead a slight peck.
“I missed you,” he said, lips still on your forehead.
“Don’t think I didn’t miss you, Mark. I missed you more than anything. If I had known you were following me, I wouldn’t have ran.”
“I know. I didn’t want you to know. I wanted to give you all the time you needed.”
He pulls you slightly away from him to look at you. “Remember that tree over there?” he asked. You nodded turning your gaze away from him and towards the tree. “The year I was leaving for college, we promised each other something. Do you remember?”
You bit your lip, thinking about that day he left for college. The both of you were saying your goodbyes and the both of you made one promise to each other.
“If we’re still single in 10 years, we would be together,” you whispered, smiling at the silly promise you both made, 9 years ago.
“I spent the whole year thinking about the exact moment when I realized I loved you,” he cups your cheeks in his hands, pulling your face close to his. “And then I realized, it was that day we made the promise. It was always you.”
Tears fall from your eyes and he quickly wiped them away. He pulls your face close to his and connects his lips with yours. In that moment you also realized, it was always him.
a little note from jennie: anddd that’s a wrap! a sweet little ending for you and Mark - just kidding, i’m already thinking of writing an epilogue (1-2 chapters) because it isn’t your life if something doesn’t go wrong. stay tuned for more drama ;)
also, i introduced a new series in the last chapter. i wasn’t really feeling the plot so i wrote something new, something different. please check out my new series, deal.
#got7#got7 imagine#got7 scenarios#got7 fanfic#got7 mark#mark tuan#got7 jaebum#im jaebum#got7 bambam#bam bam#got7 jinyoung#park jinyoung#got7 angst#got7 fluff#got7 youngjae#choi youngjae#got7 jackson#jackson wang#got7 yugyeom#kim yugyeom#not by the moon#kpop fanfic#kpop scenarios#kpop smut#got7 smut#kpop au#got7 au#kpop imagines#igot7withgot7#ahgase
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Hurt Me
John Ryder (The Hitcher 2007) x F Reader (NSFW)
Summary: Your car breaks down along a deserted stretch of road. The man that stops to pick you up might be the best or worst thing to ever happen to you.
There is a disturbing lack of content for this man and I intend to remedy that.
Warnings: Dubcon, masochistic reader, mention of family death, knife play, blood play, fear play, fingering, slapping, violence, blood, creampie
~~
Smoke billows from under the hood of your 1999 Piece of Garbage Accord. You curse under your breath, hitting the steering wheel with your palms as though that will stop the inevitable death of the engine. With a final, guttering sigh, the car rolls to a stop along the endless stretch of New Mexican highway.
Stupid fucking car.
You’d done as the signs had instructed. You hadn’t run the air conditioning all day, instead leaving the windows down so miserably hot, desert air could blow your hair into a rat’s nest. Still, your shitty car had decided to die anyway.
After banging your head against the steering wheel for a solid minute, you pop the hood and slip out of the car. You stare at the innards of your smoking vehicle, wondering why the hell you’re even bothering. You know nothing about cars. You don’t even know what’s wrong let alone how to fix it.
The sun had set about two hours ago, and the heat had gone with it. The thick layer of sweat that had accumulated over your entire body like a slimy shell is now chilling you to the bone, your thin jacket doing little to keep you warm. A breeze picks up too, making you shiver and hunch down further in your coat.
Scrubbing a hand down your face, you walk to the yellow line along the side of the highway, looking despairingly back and forth. You are alone, the rushing of wind and chirping of crickets the only sound. You’d maybe only seen about three cars all day and even if someone drove by, the likelihood they would stop to pick you up is minimal. No one picks up hitchhikers anymore.
Your cell phone had croaked last week and you had yet to acquire enough funds to replace it. So, your options are to walk until you find a gas station or wait in your car for…for what? A miracle?
Decision made for you, you retrieve your keys and wallet and head east. You can’t remember what the last sign had said about the next service station, but you have a sneaking suspicion it is much farther than you’re comfortable walking. You wore the wrong shoes for this.
Hours passed and you’re still plodding along down the road. Your hips and knees ache and your shoes have rubbed your ankles raw. You’re just beginning to hope a pack of coyotes will come and kill you when you hear it; the rumbling of an engine careening down the road toward you.
You twist around and see a set of headlights approaching quickly. You wave your arms and try to look as distressed as you can. Please, please, please stop….
The car slows. You can feel the noisy roar of the engine vibrating in your own chest. A black Trans Am rolls to a stop ahead of you.
“Jesus, thank you, thank you,” you repeat, running to the open window. Bending to peek inside you find a lone middle-aged man, caramel colored hair trimmed short, copious stubble peppering a strong jaw. He flashes you a disarming smile, white teeth almost abnormally straight.
“You okay? Was that your car I saw back there?” he asks, voice deep and smooth like bourbon. Your eyes flick to the wedding ring on his finger. If he’s married that might cut down on the chance of him being a murderer.
“Yeah, the old bitch died on me.” The man chuckles and you can’t help the smile that pulls at your lips.
“Hop in, I’ll take you to the next gas station.” He seems nice enough, but that’s how they get you, isn’t it? But what choice did you have? Keep walking until your feet bleed or until you freeze to death? What are the odds he’ll hurt you, anyway?
“Thank you so much, I really appreciate it.” You slip into the passenger seat, slamming the door shut. The engine roars and you’re off, speeding down the road at a speed you’re not entirely comfortable with. You’re loath to say anything, though, lest you lose your ride. You buckle your seatbelt instead.
“I’m John,” he says, quickly throwing another charming smile your way before turning his eyes back to the road. You tell him your name and fight the blush creeping across your cheeks. He’s handsome, no denying that, but something feels a bit off. It’s his eyes. They’d looked…empty. The smile hadn’t reached them.
It’s warm in the cab, much warmer than outside. You slip out of your jacket, John unabashedly watching as you do. Married, you’re married, dude….
“Where you headed?” he asks, fiddling with the stereo. Some sappy love song croons through the speakers. John switches it off, instead letting the hum of the engine fill the car.
“Amarillo. My, uh…my aunt passed. Her funeral’s tomorrow.”
“Oh, sorry to hear.”
“Thanks. How about you?” You’re anxious to change the subject before you recall too much of the conversation with your mother you’d had earlier in the week. John hums in thought at your question.
“Wherever I end up.” You find that answer odd. What about the wedding ring? Doesn’t he have a wife?
“No one…no one to get home to?” you inquire, unease beginning to settle in your belly. Out of the corner of his eye, he catches you glancing at his ring. His lips twitch up in a smirk.
“No.”
“Oh,” is all you can come up with. You swallow, regretting your decision to get in this car. So, he doesn’t have a wife? Or something happened to her? You don’t understand, but you’re afraid to ask, afraid to know the answer.
Glancing at the passenger side door, you find there is no door handle. Your heart stutters. There’s no visible lock either. John must notice because he chuckles again, low and dark.
You shriek when he slams on the breaks, your seatbelt catching you hard in the chest but saving you from smashing into the dash. John cranks the wheel, whipping the car onto a dirt side road. Your nails dig into the seat as the car thunders down the uneven path before skidding to a stop.
There’s nothing around you but an endless stretch of moonlight desert, no one around for miles and miles. No one to save you. You’re alone, completely alone with this man. Get out, run.
You scrabble at your seatbelt but as soon as it slips off your shoulder there’s a click to your left. You freeze when cool steel meets your throat. A knife. You release a tremulous exhale through your nose and settle back into your seat, your heart slamming against your ribs so loud you think he can probably hear it.
“Good girl,” John purrs, killing the engine and unbuckling his own seat belt. The sudden silence is unnerving, no noise around you but for your shallow breaths. He reaches under his seat and pulls the lever, sliding the seat back as far as it can go. “C’mere,” he says, spreading his legs and patting his thigh.
You stare at him fearfully, eyes wide. You can’t believe this is happening, can’t believe your shit luck. Out of all the people in this entire state to pick you up, it had to be this psycho.
You hiss when he presses the knife into your skin just hard enough to prick and draw blood. It’s a warning. As scarlet trickles down past the collar of your shirt, you suppress the shiver the stinging pain brings, clench your thighs to stop the pleasure that zings up between them. Not now. That is the last thing you need.
Sweat beading along your brow, you clamber over the center console to straddle his legs and settle into his lap. That smile is back, friendly, pleasant but for his eyes. His eyes are dead, empty as he drags them down your figure. You quickly look away, not wanting him to see the flush in your cheeks.
Out of the corner of your eye, you watch John’s eyes narrow curiously. Knife still pressed against your flesh, he grips your chin with his free hand, turning your head until you’re looking at him again. You tremble in his grip, two parts terrified of him, one part fearful he’s going to discover your little secret.
He knows something is up. You can see it in the way his eyes study your rosy cheeks and heaving chest. Leisurely, he drags the knife lightly down your sternum, between your breasts, past your waist before lifting the hem of your shirt with the blade. You squeak when he exposes your bra before stuffing the edge of your shirt in your mouth.
“Hold that,” he orders before turning his attention to your abdomen. In a flash he cuts you, blade slicing horizontally through your flesh, deep crimson spilling down your stomach and soaking into your jeans. As hot, sharp pain morphs into sticky pleasure, your muffled scream tapers off into a warbly moan. You flush a dark red, hating yourself for allowing that noise to escape you.
“Interesting,” he murmurs before ripping your shirt from your mouth, sawing through the fabric and tearing it away from your body. You screech and thrash, falling still when the knife returns to your neck. The metallic scent of your blood fills the cab, sharp and pungent in your nose.
Once again, blade meets flesh and John carves a sloppy line under your collar bone. You grunt and try your best to stifle the mewl that slips off your tongue, but he hears it anyway. John lets out a breathy laugh, smearing the blood leaking from the newest slash up your neck with the palm of his hand.
“Never seen that before,” he comments, more to himself than you. Tears prick at the corners of your eyes, your bottom lip quivering under his bloody thumb when he caresses the skin. He continues, speaking directly to you now, “You like it.”
You shake your head, another scream ripping from your throat when he traces a rib with the blade, splitting your flesh open until you’re leaking crimson. You can’t mask the shaky moan, the “Please,” that sneaks from your mouth and you hang your head in shame. Between your thighs, you’re burning, soaking your underwear, quivering and needy. Desperate for friction, you grind down into his lap, pulling a startled grunt from him.
“Fuck,” John mutters, fisting a hand in your hair and yanking your head back, latching onto your neck and dragging his tongue through the blood smeared across your skin. He bites you under the jaw, hard, probably hard enough to break the skin. You whine and arch into his mouth, hand flying to the window to brace yourself.
“How far have you taken this?” he asks, tilting your head back down until you’re looking into his dead eyes. There’s a spark there now, curiosity and a little heat. You release a haggard breath and shake your head to calm your racing thoughts.
“U-um, I…have—haven’t, really,” you stammer. Why are you telling him this? John’s eyes narrow. He’s connecting the dots.
“No one knows,” he says, mouth splitting into a grin, “Do they?” It isn’t a question. He can read you like a fucking book. He groans under his breath when you look away, blinking away the tears pooling along your bottom lid.
“It’ll be our secret,” he murmurs, tapping the flat of the knife against your lips. He releases your hair, fingers going to the button of your shorts and snapping them open. You tense and whimper when he pushes his hand inside to drag his fingers along your drenched slit.
“Fucking Christ,” he exclaims, pulling his hand from your panties and forcing you to look at your slick coating his fingers. He meets your heavy-lidded gaze and sucks the wet digits into his mouth. You inhale sharply, biting the inside of your cheek.
His hand returns to your underwear and he pushes two fingers past your folds, curling them delightfully. You keen, hips bucking into his hand when he massages that tender spot within you. His other hand goes to your hip, urging the roll of your hips.
“Fuck yourself, good, like that,” he instructs, hand leaving your hip to slip the knife under your ear. You can help the pleased little noises that escape you as you grind down onto his fingers. Delicious heat curls in your gut and, deliriously, you wonder how many shades of fucked up you are to be enjoying this.
“You want me to hurt you?” John asks, pulling your face down until your lips are inches from his own. You pant, only hesitating a moment before you nod. “Ask me,” he says through gritted teeth, huffing quietly when your wet cunt squelches around his fingers.
“P-Please…please h-hurt me, John,” you whisper. Christ, what if he kills you? Had you just signed your own death certificate?
“Polite,” John comments. Lightning fast, he twists and sinks the blade into the hand you have splayed out on the center console. You scream, tensing, riding out the putrid agony as it immobilizes your arm and groaning noisily as the pain is slowly replaced with feverish pleasure. You clench around the fingers inside you, feeling the heat curling into tight pressure.
“Jesus, you’re gonna cum, aren’t you?” He sounds shocked and almost…excited. You don’t hear what he says next as that pressure within you implodes, shock waves wracking your core. You sob, bowing forward as your hips twitch through mind-numbing climax.
John gives you no time to come down from your high. He rips the knife from you hand, pulling another shriek of pain from your throat. You cradle your mangled palm to your chest as he throws the car door open.
He shoves you hard and you tumble out the door with a muffled cry, sprawling on your ass in the dirt. John quickly follows, digging a hand in your hair and hauling you to your feet with the other hand under your armpit. Half shoving, half dragging, he forces you to the front of the car and shoves you down over the hood. The metal is still warm under your uninjured palm as you brace for the inevitable. Your heart races in your chest and you know you would beg for it if he wanted you to.
John rips your shorts off your hips. You hear the hasty slide of his zipper and the rustle of clothing and then you feel him at your entrance, hot and hard. One forceful thrust and he buries his cock completely within you.
You shout, the sweet ache of such a sudden intrusion making your stomach muscles clench. John wastes no time in hammering you into the hood of his car, heedless of any pain you might be feeling. He’s trying to hurt you, after all.
“Fuck, that’s tight,” John groans, using the hand in your hair to wrench your neck back painfully, too far. Your grunts of pain turn high and girlish, every brutal snap of his hips making the line between pleasure and pain blur until you can’t tell which is which anymore.
Drool and tears spill from you face onto the golden wings of the Firebird beneath your palms. You feel John’s fingers sneaking up your waist. He digs his nails into the gash on your ribs and your scream echoes across the quiet desert. Your vision narrows to pinpoints and your head lolls, falling against the hood with a quiet thud.
“No, not yet,” John growls, pulling out of you and flipping you onto your back. He slaps you across the cheek and your eyes snap open. You blink wildly, trying to orient yourself, but he’s already throwing your legs over his shoulder and lining up again.
“Look at me,” he orders, gripping your jaw and forcing your gaze to his. You see stars when he fucks into you, pitiful whimpers spilling from your parted lips.
“Yeah, yes, please, John, please, god, god, oh god—
You’re speaking, you think, but you’re not sure what you’re saying. Maybe you cum again, but the pain is finally starting to win out, your torso and hand throbbing in time with your fluttering heart. You’re dizzy, the Earth lurching horribly when you turn your head. You’ve lost too much blood you think, or maybe you’re still reeling from the orgasm.
Finally, John’s hips meet yours with one final, harsh thrust. Distantly, you hear him moan your name, feel the warmth in your cunt as he paints it white. Your eyelids droop and you reach out to clumsily pat his forearm.
John drops your legs. Without him to hold you up, you slip off the hood, landing in the dirt a second time with a grunt. You shiver, the ground cold against your bare skin. Cold, and so, so tired….
**
You awake to bright, piercing light behind your eyelids. You blink, scrunching your eyes. There’s an IV pole above you, bags dripping into a pump. You follow the line down to your arm. Scratchy hospital sheets grate against your legs, the stiff gown sagging down your shoulder. You ache in so many places, the deepest of which is between your legs.
“Officer, she’s awake!” Blearily, you look up as two cops enter the room. They look uncomfortable, glancing to one another, silently deciding who will speak first.
Memory hits you like a punch in the gut. John. He hadn’t killed you after all. What happened after you passed out?
The officers kindly explain you were assaulted and dumped, bloody and half-dead behind a motel along the highway. They ask if you remember anything. You tell them the wrong make and model of vehicle. You say you were unconscious the rest of the time. You don’t remember.
“Nothing at all?” You shake your head. They ask a few more questions, none of which you answer with anything useful. Once you’re alone again, you lift up the gown to inspect the stiches on your abdomen, gently tracing the wound along your ribs. You flinch when it stings and a small smile creeps across your face.
#john ryder#john ryder x reader#the hitcher#the hitcher 2007#n sfw#dubcon#masochistic reader#reader insert#slasher fandom#slasher x reader#blood#violence#my writing#family member death
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Hii could I request something with the lost boys having a s/o that does aerial silks? I really like your work.
Here you go!!!
Poly!Lost Boys x S/O That Does Aerial Silks
You actually manage to date the boys for awhile before it gets brought up. David had asked where you went during the day. It was mostly just out of curiosity, and only minor possessiveness, and you revealed you did aerial silks
¾ of the boys just went, "Oh, that's cool." While Paul specifically made the realization of, "Oh, so that's why you're so flexible." Cue him getting slapped in the back of the head because that's not what he was supposed to take away from that reveal
The boys were extremely curious. They'd been to their fair share of carnivals, so they knew what it was. They just wondered how it had changed over the years. Luckily, your gym was open at night.
You weren't necessarily supposed to bring guests, but you figured it'd be fine if they sat on the bleachers. The boys were utterly entranced as they watched you climb up the silks, hang upside down and completely horizontal, and do various types of flips and falls
The music was too loud in the gym to hear any of the remarks Paul made, and the boys were a little bit more aggressive in telling him to shut up. While aerial silks are cool, they're also dangerous. If you get distracted, you could fall. Paul is usually given something like a lollipop or some other type of food to keep his mouth busy and Marko bites his thumbnail the entire time
They'll be honest, they liked everything except the falls. There's something about watching the silk unravel and you head straight for the ground that doesn't sit well with them, even if you've securely tied yourself so you wouldn't fall completely
Do they tell you that? Hell no! David might mention something about you being careful, but they know this isn't the 1800s anymore. They can't force you to do anything, and it's not like they really want to. They just want at least one of them to be at your gym whenever you go to make sure nothing bad happens
This leads to you having to change your practice schedule for night-time and you swear that they're lucky you love them
Paul was the only one that wasn't allowed to go alone with you at first, because he's considered the most distracting. There has to be at least one other boy there to remind him that he can't heckle you. The one time he did and you almost lost your footing was enough to make sure that he kept his mouth shut. After that, surprisingly, he was given the green light to accompany you alone. He always starts clapping and hooting loudly the second you're back on solid ground though. King of screaming, "That's my baby! Look at how hot she is!" In the middle of the gym. Doesn't matter if there's other people there, you look hot and he wants you to know. The boy definitely gets turned on just from seeing you all sweaty, and you have to remind him that we're in public, Paul
Dwayne takes on the role of your own personal cheerleader. He carries your gear, comes with you to buy gym-clothes, and holds your water bottle while you do your thing. He watches you quietly and knows not to clap for the sake of the other gym users. He always lets you come to him and he'll press a kiss to your forehead as you drink from your water bottle. This boy is so soft for you, he'll even give you a shoulder massage during your breaks. He always tells you that you did well, even if you tell him to be honest with his criticism. "I am being honest." He'll tell you. He makes you protein shakes and smoothies back at your house at the beginning of the night, and you have to try to guess what he put in it.
David likes to watch from the bleachers, and he'll take his smoke breaks whenever you're taking a break. The two of you will stand outside and enjoy the cool evening sir instead of the heat from inside the gym. He won't carry your gym bag for you or anything, but he'll memorize your schedule and keep you up to date with all your upcoming events. He's the only one that will give you actual criticism. He takes interest enough to watch some of the other performers, and has a general idea of when something is good or not. Even if you could've done something better, he still thinks you're the best. If he hears anyone commenting negatively about your ability, don't expect to see them at the gym anymore
Marko is a total gym-boyfriend. Not only does he want to see you practice, he wants to come with you when you go to the gym. He thinks it's super cool that aerial silks mixes athleticism and art, and he constantly tells you that you're the latter. Marko wants you to tell him everything you know about it, until he's practically an expert himself. He becomes familiar with the names of a bunch of different moves, and the others stare at him when the two of you talk about how "That straddle was really good. And your candlestick? Definitely better than last week's." Even if he knows all the moves, he still won't tell you if something could be improved. Everything you do is good. Everything all the other gym-goers could do? Not so much
Marko talks mega-shit on other gym goers and the rest of the boys always join in once they come to pick the two of you up. You have to remind them to keep their voices down, but it's not their fault! You're just better than everyone else. Hands have to be clapped over Paul's mouth when he starts dropping names
The boys become pretty well known at the gym, especially when they start bringing food for you. They bring you lots of carbs to give you energy for your practices, but not so much that you'll feel like falling asleep. This is how the boys end up meeting the other performers at the gym, but they make it pretty clear that they're all with you. Especially Dwayne (curse him for never wearing a shirt)
David and the boys have genuine conversations about how they think this will affect your future flying ability. It takes a few days to really get the hang of it, but David wonders if you'll simply be a natural after having a hobby that involves spending so much time in the air. He can't wait to find out
If you have a hammock to practice on back at your place, expect to give the boys tons of private shows
Overall, they all think it's super cool (albeit a little dangerous) and they support your interests
#the lost boys 1987#the lost boys#the lost boys david#the lost boys dwayne#the lost boys marko#the lost boys paul#david the lost boys#dwayne the lost boys#marko the lost boys#paul the lost boys#the lost boys x reader#the lost boys imagines
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Portrait of a Lady on Fire: An Interview With Céline Sciamma
I finally found that old interview that Céline did back in August 2019, that i had read many months ago and that I wanted to share with you all because it’s a pretty great one. So here’s the whole translation of it.
Portrait of a Lady on Fire: An Interview With Céline Sciamma
18th century. Marianne (Noémie Merlant) is a young painter who is commissioned to paint a portrait of Héloïse (Adèle Haenel), fresh out of the convent, in order to "present" her as well as possible to her future husband. The previously hired painter had not succeeded in completing the requested portrait, as the model did not want to submit to the exercise. In her fourth feature film, Céline Sciamma offers a reflection on the artist's gaze. She does not, however, overlook the romance and passion of the artist's gaze. And her characters embody themselves more than ever, with force. Meeting with the director at the Angoulême Film Festival.
From the very first shots, with these brush strokes, you seem to wonder about your own work. The film is called "Portrait" and, very quickly, a character asks Marianne: "Do you think you will manage to paint her?" Is this also your questioning as a director? The difficulty of a good portrait?
Céline Sciamma: Yes, but I don't know if I would call it a difficulty: I would call it research. The film very quickly, from the beginning, puts the question of the gaze. The first line of the painter's character does not so much evoke the question of her own gaze but evokes more the gaze of others. The very first line of the film is: "Take the time to look at me". The film is extremely playful with its means. It asks the question of what it is to look, in two places at once: the dialogue of love, and then the dialogue of creation, which brings into play the question of the gaze and allows us to renew the reflection around this question.
Marianne, the character played by Noémie Merlant, is almost in the voyeur's posture, she begins by observing in secret. Does this question you as a filmmaker?
Yes it raises the question of cinema.
Do we always have to question that?
I think we have to stay within this dynamic of interrogation. Not as something elusive, but as something that renews itself, that provides new ideas, new pleasures. In all my films, there is only one point of view, one main character, even if it's often not the dominant character. It is indeed difficult to create a hierarchy in this film, to affirm that there would be a first and a second role: there is one who is in all the scenes, in all the shots, and the other one is not, but I find that the film, strangely enough, manages to reopen the question of the hierarchy between them.
I always make films where the characters, female characters, are observant. In this one, the movement lies in the fact that the dynamics of infiltration of the gaze have changed. The pitch of the film could be: she looks at her in secret because she doesn't consent to be looked at, then she consents. The dramatic shift means that, very early on, the characters will look at each other. We're not in a voyeuristic dynamic, but in the illusion of a one-way scrutinizing. Heloise's gaze is oriented. In fact, one of Heloise's first glances is a look to camera, it indicates the fact that she sees everyone; she is looked at, and we, spectators, look at her too.
You talk about main and supporting roles and, indeed, in the title, there is mention of a lady. However, isn't the portrait to be taken in the plural?
Absolutely !
An idea that is illustrated in the two last shots, a shot/ reverse shot between two portraits, one freeing the other in a way. How is this shot made? How do you direct it, what do you say to your actresses?
Indeed, this plan raises a lot of questions. It is the last shot/ reverse shot of the film, and here we're back with a character who is watched without knowing it. The difficulty of the shot - which is also its purpose - is that it is a two and a half minute sequence shot, and of great technical complexity. The idea was to get close to a face, to successfully make the focus in an Italian-style theatre, while asking the actress to give a very big performance. You can't do that fifty times!
How many takes did you do ?
Three takes! Based on a fairly precise partition, a choreography basically, of which we had identified a few tipping points with the music. Adèle made the emotional journey.
What did you say to her ?
I told her in advance that there was a journey, made up of five or six steps, and that it was up to her to interpret them as she wished. That shot was never rehearsed. There was something written, quite literary even, there was this material in the script, but then it was reduced to five words, five steps - a path that she had to interpret.
During the first few seconds, you watch Heloise, but then, I think, very quickly, you end up watching Adèle Haenel, the actress, acting. This distance - which reminds us that this is cinema - leaves room for the spectator, and reminds them that they are also in a theatre seat. That they are watching a film.
Weren't you afraid to cross that line?
No, I think it's always important to ask yourself how you say goodbye to the film, with what very intimate feelings you want people to leave the theatre. I think about that all the time. Making room for people to think about their own stories. For me, creating an active viewer is part of the project. And it's true that sequence shots have that ability, because of the time, the tension and the danger they create. The viewer's gaze is what keeps the shot going, but it's also the shot that keeps the viewer going.
The spectator as subject is very important, especially for this film, which is obsessed with this question: how do you film only subjects? To film people, women, as subjects? We are often filmed as objects, we are educated to that, we take pleasure in it. It's a question of re-educating our gaze and creating new pleasures. And, even as a practitioner, I'm not here to lecture people: I place myself at the center of this issue.
Your films are all about identity, the individual at the center of a particular environment, conflictual or not. Is the individual always the core of the stories?
In any case there is always the desire of a character who is often isolated and who seeks to enter a group. And also a love dynamic. But this time, this dynamic is really at the center.
It wasn’t the case in your other films
No, it wasn't love stories that was experienced, it was love that was felt, and we were more in the story telling. But I believe that there is always, in love or friendship, a dynamic of emancipation. When you're with children or teenage characters, there's necessarily the idea of growth, but also, already, this dynamic. The individual is indeed at the center, but as a point of view. I don't make hyperlink films, there is always only one person watching.
As you've made your films, you've shown childhood, pre-adolescence, adolescence, and now it's about young adults. Do you find yourself a little bit in each of these heroines? Do you somehow feel you grew up with them?
Yes, absolutely. And it was the first time I wanted to write a story with adults, women, and a story that would have been really lived. I also wanted to work with professional actresses.
Including one who also grew up a little bit with you?
Yes, of course! That's what I wanted, and not inventing actresses. We're not in first-time stories anymore. Even if it's maybe the first time they love someone… It's another kind of intellectual dialogue, an additional expression.
How did you address the issue of language? Since the story takes place in the 18th century?
I wanted more literary dialogues, but I also wanted it to remain a fairly straightforward language, without any affinities, without seduction. The way it's set up creates a kind of shift, a movement - and it's pretty sexy... Then the actresses' tone, the rhythm they create, the way they use their voices, hold them in place or, on the contrary, cause them to overflow, and it's a score they played very finely.
I also enjoyed imagining verbal jousting, and above all imagining a dialogue in which there would be no intellectual domination - neither class nor language. On the contrary, there would be a horizontality, an equality in the exchange which, for me, beyond the political aspect, could be exciting because it’s not already written. It’s also because it’s a women's story that it’s not already written.
The sincerity of a project raises a question for Marianne in the film, especially in relation to the social conventions she has to integrate into her painting. As this is your fourth film, and as they are always quite intimate projects, do you also ask yourself this question?
It was less the artist's doing than the fact that she was asked the question. She answers with sincerity, but she is also stung to the core. It was more about the dialogue between them and the idea of collaboration. I'm quite collaborative in my way of working, so the idea of an authority being questioned is not necessarily the subject. It was a way of showing this dialogue between the actress and the director, between the painter and the model. It was a lively debate at the time, and it may still be relevant today: does the portrait rather require enhancement, or a resemblance, is it frozen for eternity? Is it a morbid thing that is enough to preserve from death? The portrait was a debate of the Enlightenment, so for me it was a way of being at the heart of the philosophical ideas that animated the time. But it wasn't necessarily an exploration of conscience on the issue.
Does this work of observing actors and actresses - experienced or not - seem inexhaustible to you?
I hope so! For this film, it was about filming someone with whom I have an ongoing, powerful, important dialogue, and whom I know well. At the same time, there was also that desire to meet someone new.
Did you film them the same way?
Yes.
You almost don't recognize Adèle Haenel at the end...
That was really part of the desire of the film: to present a new Adele, to look at her differently, with everything I knew about her, everything we know about her, but also everything that remains to be discovered. It's the only time when there's a form of romanticism: the one that consists in filming faces. It's still very mystical.
What did you want to do with this ghost figure, who appears through Héloïse dressed as a bride?
There are two timelines in the film: this chronicle of a love that is born in the present, and which we look at patiently, and the timeline of memory, the memory of this love. And the contagion of these two timelines is through this ghost. Marianne is - even though we are in the present tense - already haunted by the last image she will see of Heloise.
The film is a flashback, but aren't all love stories already haunted by their end? Isn't that what makes us live and fear them at the same time?
Is the next portrait already in you? Have you already started working on it?
No, I haven't. I have a project for a children's film, an animated film, so it's necessarily a long-term project. But otherwise, I don't know yet: as long as the films are not released in the world, I have a hard time seeing what happens next.
I'm waiting to see the dialogue that the film will have with the world, the effect it will have. Then there is that moment when you allow yourself to dream, and that daydreaming is always a bit long with me. You have to collect ideas, images that sometimes have nothing to do with each other. At a given moment, there is a synthesis that takes place, and that makes you want to go there.
#portrait of a lady on fire#portrait de la jeune fille en feu#sorry i had to repost it because it didn't appear in the tag :))))#the interview is in the source!#anyway that interview was great#only women journalists should be allowed to interview céline#also can't wait to see what her new animated film is about !!#sometimes i translate things#festival d'angoulême#charlotte bénard
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lay it on me
Chusheng keeps touching him and Lu Yao tries not to lose his goddamn mind.
(Or, Lu Yao obsesses over Chusheng’s hands. His hands on his skin, in particular.)
---
Qiao Chusheng likes to touch Lu Yao. A lot.
He doesn’t think much of it at first. Sure, Chusheng wiped at the crumbs on the side of his mouth with a gentle thumb once, but Lu Yao called him his boyfriend first, even if it was in jest. Other instances, however, remain fresh in Lu Yao's memory - Chusheng grabbing at his arms and tugging at him until he sat down, or even that really embarrassing incident at the expensive Western restaurant for couples, where Chusheng insisted on putting on the watch for him. Not to mention that one time Lu Yao complained of a headache half jokingly while reading a doctor’s handwriting, and the man trapped him between the table and himself while reading aloud for him.
Chusheng doesn’t touch him for a while after as they get caught up in inter-gang wars and conflict with the British, and then with Lu Miao hell-bent on removing Lu Yao from Shanghai. All is well in the end, however, and with only a slight warning from the British ambassador, Lu Yao is allowed to stay in Shanghai, running around solving cases with Youning at his heels, and Chusheng at his side.
Lu Yao puts this little nugget of information on Chusheng out of his head by then, certain that the inspector was either half fucking with him or just a really affectionate person to people when he first gets to know them.
(He realizes how pitiful the second excuse sounds, much later. Qiao Chusheng, affectionate to strangers? He must be mad.)
Then it all kind of snowballs from there.
===
“Lao Qiao! Would it kill you to be gentler?!” Lu Yao hisses, almost snatching his hand back.
Chusheng’s hold is careful but firm, and with a warning look, he brings Lu Yao’s hand closer to him again, in the midst of applying antiseptic and bandages around his long fingers.
It’s a late night and there’s no one else at the station but the both of them. The next time Chusheng dabs the cotton wool ball around the cuts on Lu Yao’s fingers, he uses much lesser force and Lu Yao quiets with a sulk. Chusheng is focused on cleaning Lu Yao’s cuts, however, and isn’t paying much attention to Lu Yao’s face.
“Look at you, didn’t I say not to go back and get the necklace?” he rebukes, but there’s no heat in his words. “The entire fish tank exploded into pieces and you still dug your hand into the broken glass pieces to find it. Do you love expensive things that much?”
Glaring at the fool of a detective, Chusheng says through gritted teeth, “San Tu, I really should teach you a lesson.”
“Lao Qiao, the necklace is a crucial piece of evidence! I didn’t get it because I wanted it,” Lu Yao says, incredulous.
Chusheng looks up right at that moment with a deadpan. A few seconds pass, and then Lu Yao visibly deflates, “Okay, so I do like the necklace, but even if I liked it do you think I would risk getting hurt all because I wanted an expensive necklace? You know how afraid I am of pain and-“
Lu Yao hisses when Chusheng applies pressure on the largest cut around his index finger with a cloth, trying to stop the bleeding.
“Lao Qiao-“
Chusheng doesn’t even look up at him, and Lu Yao is about to clean the wound himself when Chusheng lifts his hand up and puts Lu Yao’s finger in his mouth, and sucks.
Lu Yao flinches as the sensation hits him right in his abdomen and flustered, he struggles to get his hand back, “Qiao Chusheng, what are you doing? This is so unhygienic-“
“Be good,” Chusheng soothes when he’s finally not eating at Lu Yao’s finger anymore. “Just tolerate it for a bit longer, I’m almost done.”
Lu Yao’s hand throbs, but he’s not quite sure if it’s throbbing in pain, or at Chusheng’s touch. Still reeling from what Chusheng did, Lu Yao sits quietly and obediently as Chusheng cleans at every little cut on his left hand with a single-minded focus.
They don’t talk about what Chusheng did with his mouth, and Lu Yao doesn’t mention how he still felt the warmth of Chusheng’s hands all over the skin on his hand when he went home after.
===
He really needs to throw up, and all he wants is to go home.
“Sir? Sir, are you alright?” someone asks.
Lu Yao flops over a counter top and looks around blearily until he finds what he’s looking for. The receptionist is too stunned to stop him, and so Lu Yao grabs at the phone successfully, swiping at the numbers in a sequence he knows by heart, and waits for it to connect.
“Hello, Inspector’s office,” a familiar voice sounds through the other end of the phone.
“Lao Qiaoooo~ Lao Qiao, I don’t… feel so good, I want to go home,” he mumbles, barely coherent.
“Sir!” a few more voices chorus and hands grab at him, trying to help him as he slips all the way down to the floor, losing the phone receiver in the process.
He refuses to move though, not until he sees Chusheng. Chusheng will know what to do with him, because right now Lu Yao can barely see straight. He doesn’t trust himself to get home like this, but seriously, what the hell did he drink earlier? Lu Yao doesn’t recall drinking more than two bottles and it usually takes him more than three to be truly sick.
He solved a case after clearing three bottles of wine once, so he would know.
Lu Yao must have put up quite a fight because all efforts to remove him from the bar lobby is for naught, and he’s left there sitting on the ground like a lost child. He must lose some time as well, for the next thing he knows, he’s being pushed into the backseat of a car. Panicking, Lu Yao wonders if someone is trying to kidnap him-
“San Tu,” a familiar voice sounds, and Lu Yao shivers, “San Tu, it’s me. Stop moving before you hurt yourself, I’m bringing you home.”
“Lao Qiao,” Lu Yao mumbles, relaxing immediately. “Lao Qiao, you came to get me-“
“You were causing a scene,” Chusheng moves into the backseat next to him and supports his head before it lolls to the side and smacks against the window. “Even if I didn’t want to, I had to. How much did you drink?!”
“Two bottles only,” Lu Yao replies, squinting into the darkness to find Chusheng even though the man is seated right next to him.
“You’re not usually this much of a lightweight,” Chusheng frowns, and then Lu Yao sighs in relief when Chusheng’s hand comes into contact with his forehead, then his neck. It’s so cool and nice and-
He whines when the touch goes away, leaning forward to chase it.
“Ah Dou, you watch him, I need to go back and talk to management for a bit,” he hears Chusheng say.
Lu Yao falls sideways until he’s laying horizontally on the seats as Chusheng leaves, mumbling incoherently.
It feels like forever before Chusheng comes back, and he looks livid from the angle Lu Yao is looking at him from when the man opens the car door again.
“Ge, is everything okay-“ Ah Dou begins, but Chusheng tells him to just drive.
Lu Yao finds his own head being lifted up and pillowed on something firm. The angle his head is lying at helps him to swallow against the nausea, which is a good thing. And then the cool touch comes back, resting on his forehead, caressing at his cheekbones and cupping at the side of his face.
“Did you get into a fight?” asks Ah Dou, but Lu Yao doesn’t know if he’s talking to him.
“Someone thought it was funny to slip a drug into Lu Yao’s drink,” Chusheng replies, and he must still sound angry because Lu Yao frowns and mumbles again. Lowering his voice, he continues, “They won’t be repeating that mistake. Drive back to the house, he’s burning up.”
“Should we get the doctor as well?”
The words get more muffled and jumbled up in his head, but Lu Yao feels anchored with the hands on his face, grounding him. They belong to someone he trusts, his favourite someone, and now that Lu Yao is safe, he lets himself be dragged into the depths of unconsciousness.
If Chusheng continues to feel for his forehead and lets his hand linger on the sides of Lu Yao’s face after he wakes up the next day, Lu Yao keeps it to himself.
===
“Are you a kid?” Chusheng chides, pressing his fingers to his temple as if he can feel a headache coming on.
Lu Yao sits on the ground a little forlornly, his knees drawn up to his chest and his head pillowed on his folded hands. Next to them, officers from the station are busy cataloguing the bags of smuggled opium in the warehouse, where it was hidden with batches of coal meant to be shipped out tomorrow morning.
When Chusheng told him to find a place to hide first when the situation turned for the worse, he probably didn’t expect Lu Yao to end up falling into a hole in the ground, a trap their smugglers left in the jungle to catch unsuspecting intruders, no doubt. It took Chusheng 20 minutes to find him, and by the end of the whole ordeal, Lu Yao is covered head to toe in dirt.
Thankfully, the genius detective is not hurt, but he is sulking.
“Don’t you look when you’re running?” Chusheng continues, exhaling in exasperation as he drags Lu Yao up by his elbow and to the car. “It’s broad daylight out here, the hole was so obvious and you just fell right into it.”
“How is this my fault?” asks Lu Yao, eyes wide as he sits down in the passenger seat. “If anything, it’s your fault. I was worried about you, so I kept turning around to check on you, that’s how I fell in!”
Shaking his head, Chusheng retrieves a handkerchief from his pockets and leans down. Lu Yao tenses, wondering what he could possibly want, when Chusheng pinches Lu Yao’s chin with his fingers and begins to wipe at the dirt on his face.
It’s been a long, long time since anyone did this for him, and once Lu Yao sees what Chusheng is doing, the tension eases out of his body. Quietly he sits and watches as Chusheng cleans his face intently, and this close, he can see every eyelash that the man has. The fingers and hand that cradle his face are gentle, as if Chusheng is holding something precious.
Lu Yao likes that a lot. It reminds him of that afternoon, after getting sick at the club so many weeks ago when he woke up in Chusheng’s bed for the first time with a hammer slamming against the insides of his skull. The man took care of him just like this too.
“Be careful next time,” Chusheng nags, meeting Lu Yao’s eyes finally. “What if I wasn’t here to find you? Then you would have been stuck in the hole for much longer. I can’t always be here to help you out.”
The thought of Chusheng not being around leaves a bitter taste in Lu Yao’s mouth.
“That’s impossible,” Lu Yao says, and he would have sounded petulant on any other day, but today, now, he’s almost imploring, his voice low and quiet.
You can’t leave me alone, he wants to say, but the words don’t leave his mouth.
After a moment of silence, Lu Yao feels Chusheng’s hand ghost over the side of his face and caress at his ear, almost unconsciously.
“Okay,” and that sounds like acquiescence and a promise all in one. Chusheng steps back and tosses Lu Yao the handkerchief. “Clean your hands. We’ll go for dumplings once everyone is done here.”
Chusheng closes the car door behind him as he leaves, no doubt to check on the progress of his men. Leaning his head out of the rolled-down window, Lu Yao raises his voice, “The spicy ones! With a side of hard-boiled eggs!”
The inspector turns around in response and rolls his eyes, but Lu Yao can see the smile tugging at Chusheng’s lips.
===
It drives Lu Yao mad, the way his eyes linger on Chusheng’s hands when they’re in the same room together after that incident.
When Chusheng peruses reports at his desk, when he picks up the damn wine glass from the table, when he reaches for his wallet and pulls out some silvers for Lu Yao to use and even when the man raises his gun and aims it at a suspect.
It’s entirely distracting, and Lu Yao doesn’t know what to do.
What makes it worse perhaps is that in recent days, Chusheng seems to have forgotten what personal space means. If Lu Yao is reading on the office’s couch, Chusheng leans over the back of it, his ear almost pressed against Lu Yao’s as he takes a peek at what Lu Yao is looking at. When Lu Yao is standing in front of floor-to-ceiling book shelves, looking for a specific book, Chusheng reaches past him to get him what he’s looking for pressed almost entirely back to front, even though Lu Yao is taller than he is.
Once, Lu Yao presses at the bridge of his nose with his fingers after looking at a sample under the microscope for too long, and the next second, those fingers are at his temples, massaging gently until his head feels less likely to snap. Even when Chusheng leaves a drink at the table for him, those hands brush past his, and Lu Yao just wants to-
He wants to tear his hair out, that’s what.
===
Within the first two minutes of the movie, Lu Yao jerks at a loud, sudden sound coming from the speakers. He would have jumped out of his seat too, if not for Chusheng’s hand around his wrist.
“What’re you doing?” Chusheng asks in a low voice, looking around to make sure Lu Yao’s movements aren’t causing much disturbance to the audience around them. “Don’t tell me you’re afraid.”
“I’m not!” Lu Yao whispers back, his cheeks heating up.
Chusheng doesn’t look convinced, but doesn’t press the issue any further. His hand leaves Lu Yao’s as he returns his attention to the movie. On the other hand, Lu Yao fidgets in his seat, trying to sit comfortably while averting his eyes from the flashing screen. He’s never going to tell Lao Qiao that he actually doesn’t like horror movies, and the only reason why he’s here is because Youning teased him when he initially turned down the invitation by Director Zhang, Shanghai’s up and rising star, known for paving the way to the horror and thriller movie scene in the country.
Lu Yao and Chusheng (and fine, Youning) cleared the man’s name after three victims were murdered in gruesome fashion according to his previous two movies, and this new one that they are watching right now. The grateful man gave them two VIP tickets for the premiere and Lu Yao wanted nothing to do with horror. He deals with enough horrifying images on a day-to-day basis.
He must have moved a little too much, for Chusheng’s fingers interlace with his in the next moment, their hands curled up together between the seats.
“San Tu, we can leave now if you don’t want to watch this,” Chusheng sighs.
“I’m staying,” Lu Yao insists, even though he’s looking at anywhere except the screen, pretending as if the movie doesn’t scare him half to death.
It’s easier to get through the rest of it, Lu Yao finds, when Chusheng’s thumb begin rubbing circles on his skin. He concentrates on the soothing movement for the remaining hour, and so intent he is on the feel of Chusheng’s hand in his that he misses the movie ending.
They stay in their seats until they’re the only ones left in the theatre, and only then does Chusheng get to his feet, pulling Lu Yao with him.
As they walk towards the exit, as they take the stairs up to the main lobby of the theatre, and as they move past everyone still milling about, Lu Yao’s hand stays firmly in Chusheng’s.
Lu Yao is beginning to think that maybe, just maybe…
…Chusheng might never let go of him.
At the car, just as they are about to separate at the car door, Lu Yao tugs at Chusheng’s hand.
Chusheng looks at him, bemused.
“Take me home?” Lu Yao asks, hoping he’s getting this right. “Not my home. Yours.”
They stand there at an impasse for a while, just staring at each other, afraid to speak next.
Whatever Chusheng sees in Lu Yao’s eyes, however, he must find what he’s looking for, because he smiles then, that specific curve of his lips that makes Lu Yao want to smile too.
“I thought you were never going to ask,” he says.
===
Much, much later, after they’re both sated and Chusheng is asleep, Lu Yao finds himself unable to drift off, even though every part of him is aching.
Aching in a good way, the best way, to be honest. If Lu Yao thought he was losing his mind when Chusheng gave him fleeting touches in the past few weeks, nothing could have prepared him for his mind simply blanking out when the hands he has been obsessing over for so long explore his body in every way possible.
Lu Yao inches closer to his… boyfriend now? Almost reverently, he reaches for Chusheng’s face, and with the lightest of touches, traces his fingers over Chusheng’s forehead. He moves on to his brows, his eyelids, and trailing down the bridge of his nose. His lips, a little swollen from how hard they kissed earlier, desperate and unforgiving. Cupping Chusheng’s cheek, the one not pressed into the pillow, Lu Yao delicately strokes at Chusheng’s cheekbone with his thumb.
He has asked for a lot of things in life — money, antiques, luxurious clothes, cars, his father’s approval and acceptance, his siblings’ recognition — but if he gets to keep just one thing, just this person in front of him for the rest of their years, Lu Yao thinks he might be willing to give the rest of it up.
Warmth engulfs his hand, and Lu Yao watches as Chusheng curls his own fingers over his, shifting slightly in bed without opening his eyes. With a deep exhale, the man turns his head slightly and kisses Lu Yao’s palm.
“Sleep, San Tu,” Chusheng murmurs.
Lu Yao cannot help but smile at that.
“I will,” he agrees, “Once you let go of my hand.”
“Never,” Chusheng returns almost immediately, so naturally.
And Lu Yao believes him.
#my roommate is a detective#mriad#民国奇探#mriad fic#chuyao#qiao chusheng#lu yao#:'D#hands and more hands#idk how many times i said fingers and hands#XD
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The Silence Between Snowflakes
(also on ao3) ~ 4/8 - A Rose Among Thorns
(extra thanks to @captmickey for helping me work through three or so variations of the breakfast scene)
~*~*~
Snow fell, fires burned weakly with a fraction of their usual fuel, and people huddled together for warmth. Alexander’s face was constantly drawn with nervousness—since he couldn’t leave the castle easily due to all the snow, he’d taken to hiding himself in odd corners again like he had in his first few weeks here, apprehensive about...something. Graham worried for his son. Maybe he feared he was somehow to blame for this bizarre storm? It felt like something Manannan would do, if he was even around to do magic anymore after whatever Alexander had done to him.
But it was just weather. Wizard or not, who had magic like this?
A memory stirred. Hagatha?
“It’s winter,” Graham said to his own thoughts. “Just winter. It happens.”
“Yes, dear,” Valanice said automatically. She tilted her head back and drained her mug, holding a book over her face with her other hand so she could continue reading at the same time. They were hunting for stories and descriptions of similar weather incidents, and so far they’d come up with…nothing much. There were a handful of droughts, and at least one surprise butterfly migration, but nothing like an eternal, endless winter storm.
The family was picking at breakfast, sitting close around the table. Yet another storm had blown up this morning and was whistling past the windows, making eerie noises as it spun through the crenellations. Alexander was downcast, turning his toast to crumbs more than eating it. Rosella was trying to convince him, without success, to challenge her to another Battle of Wits board game. Graham’s spoon knocked hollowly against his nearly empty mug. The sugar was long dissolved into his tea, which was cold by now anyway. He continued to stir absently, thinking. Planning. With no ideas.
If only there was something to plea to, or something to challenge, but this was snow. He had sent messages to the neighboring kingdoms for assistance in food and fuel, but no one had replied yet (if they’d even gotten his messages in the first place). Daventry felt cut off, standing alone. He watched the snowflakes skim almost horizontally across the window.
A flurry of knocks made Graham sit up. “Yes?”
Royal Guards Numbers One and Three entered. Heavy snow tracked behind No3 in wet clumps, a damp line in the carpet showing where she’d walked, and she seemed out of breath and shivering. No1 stood close beside her, at attention but with a certain energy that suggested he was going to reach out and catch her if she wobbled.
“Permission to report, Sire?” he asked, his gaze never leaving his subordinate.
“Granted,” Graham said, surprised. He glanced at his family—they were all staring at the guards, startled by their sudden appearance.
“We apologize for interrupting breakfast, Sire. But we appear to have a new neighbor,” No1 said briskly.
“New…neighbor?” Graham put down his spoon and shifted his chair to give them his full attention.
“Number Three, you may proceed.”
“Permission to speak informally?” she gasped. She had definitely had been running through the snow, which was practically impossible with how thick the drifts were getting out there. It was a wonder she hadn’t twisted an ankle.
“Granted,” No1 and Graham said, almost in unison.
“Okay. I was on standard patrol. In the lavender fields, to the west.” Snow dripped off her shoulders. “I was climbing the hill, you know, the one that overlooks the river? As I climbed the hill, I started getting a prickle in my fingers, through my gloves, like the temperature was dropping fast. And…” she stopped, looking at No1.
“Proceed,” he prompted, but the usual dry edge in his voice softened.
“Sir. At the top of the hill, you can see into the valley. Only. Only, there isn’t a valley anymore.” She took a deep breath. “I’m sorry, sir, who’s ever heard of a floating castle? It’s something out of a story.”
“It isn’t floating now,” No1 said. “It’s definitely landed.”
“Almost on my head,” No3 squeaked, and there was a note of hysteria in her words. No1’s hand rose ever so slightly behind her back to keep her steady.
“Wait. Are you telling me a castle just…appeared? In my field?” Graham went to the window like he could see it through the snow-crusted glass, even though that window only overlooked the kitchen herb gardens now slick with ice.
“Not entirely impossible, Graham,” Valanice murmured. “Remember?” True, though rare: Valanice had been trapped in one such moving castle twenty-some years ago, although that one had most definitely stopped moving.
Graham nodded. “But they might be here by accident. I believe that sort of transport magic is fickle and hard to control.” And twenty years ago, that had been simply a single spindly tower. It was relatively easier to enchant on a small scale, as far as he knew. But this sounded….
“It’s a full castle, perfectly enormous,” No3 continued, confirming Graham’s thoughts. “It made such a noise, like a great crashing monster, and I thought…. I had to start running back to the castle, but the storm this morning, I didn’t expect it to blow up like that, and I was. Caught out in it. I slipped on the hill trying to get back up, and I rolled, and with the snow like it was, blasting up from the ground, I…I got so turned around, I got lost, Sire, in Daventry fields, I got lost!
“And it was so loud, the castle, all groaning and creaking, and you could hear it echoing around the valley as it settled, and I…I was so sure something was going to grab me in that storm and take me away and I couldn’t even see my own glove in front of my face, and it was so cold. It just bit right into my bones even through all my layers and. I ran and I ran, and I could hear that castle the whole time, this awful sound, like you couldn’t hear if something was coming up behind you, and you couldn’t see in that storm anyway, and I don’t know how, but I found the tree line, and…”
“And she found me,” No1 said, subtly shifting so that he was between her and the royal family. “She found the trail back to the castle, found me, and I’ve dispatched scouts. Reports are clear, Sire. You have new neighbors, crushing your lavender.”
The room was still and silent for a moment, other than No3’s nervous hiccups for air.
“You didn’t hurt yourself falling, did you?” Graham asked.
“No, no, I’m. Fine. Just.”
“Shaken,” No1 interrupted.
“Didn’t want to wait before telling you, though,” she added.
“Here, let me get you some tea,” Valanice said, standing.
“No, no, I’m meant to serve you,” No3 said nervously.
“And you have done so wonderfully. Come on, sit here.”
“It could definitely be an accident,” Graham repeated, mulling it over while Valanice hunted through the mugs on the side table. “They might not have come here intentionally, especially if the storm blew them in.”
“Maybe they need directions,” Rosella chirped. “And ‘welcome to Daventry’ cookies.”
“Welcoming hot chocolate would be more appreciated,” No1 said blandly. “Reports indicate that the castle is made of ice.”
“…Ice?”
“Frozen water, yes.”
No3 was still trembling, tea threatening to spill over onto her gauntlets. She was surely thinking about getting lost in the snow, slipping and falling and hurting herself on one of Daventry’s rocky outcroppings. No1 was watching her carefully, and he radiated a bristly protective determination.
“Did you sense anyone?” Graham asked her, gently. “The castle was loud as it was landing, but…did you feel like there was anyone watching you?” For some reason he couldn’t shake the idea of ice people, which was perfectly ludicrous. But then, so was a floating castle.
“I couldn’t say, Sire,” she said. “I was too, uh. Distracted.”
“What about the scouts?”
No1 shook his head. “No one has heard so much as a word from it, but the storm is still quite bad. We can’t get close enough yet to confirm. I…” He cut himself off and resolutely refused to say whatever was still on his mind.
“Who’s out there?”
“Two and Four are on the road—I insisted on pairs, Sir, to prevent one getting lost alone. Kyle and Larry are on strict orders to report back the moment anything changes.”
(Larry’s arm had been badly broken during the attack that had taken Alexander eighteen years ago, and it had never quite healed right. But he hadn’t been much good at patrols anyway, so he and Kyle mostly ran messages together these days. Their footing was the most secure on any terrain. They’d had plenty of practice over the years, and a blizzard wouldn’t faze them.)
“I wonder. It sounds like something out of a fairy tale,” Graham said. The goblins thought fairy tales were true. He blinked, wondering where that idea had come from. “I want to see it for myself.”
No1 stiffened. “Sire,” was all he said, but so dry and sharp he could have cut someone.
“This doesn’t feel like a coincidence, a castle made of ice and this weather,” Graham said. “If I can see who’s in there, who owns the place, maybe that will help Daventry.” There was a buzzing excitement in his skin. The possibility of some action spurred him onward. Maybe they weren’t at the mercy of the skies. Maybe this castle held some answer for the storms that plagued his country—maybe finding a way to move it on would change Daventry’s predicament.
At the table, quiet and uncertain, Alexander said, “Could I come with you?”
Everyone turned, and Alexander shrank down in his chair. No1 instantly started voicing a thousand concerns, but Graham cut him off with a nod, delighted his son was taking initiative. “Absolutely.”
“Sire, please, allow me to speak freely,” No1 said.
“You may.”
“This is a terrible idea.”
“Has anyone threatened us? Does it feel harmful?” Graham asked, circumventing the concern.
“It feels cold, Sire.”
“That’s generally what ice does,” Rosella said, leaning heavily on the sarcasm to match No1, but she had a sparkle of mischief in her eyes that belayed her enjoyment.
No1 very carefully didn’t look at her. “It may be true that no one has said or done anything yet, but there is a blizzard on right now. It is highly likely whoever owns the castle is lying low until the storm passes. Simply because we have not seen any signs of actual threat yet does not mean your safety is guaranteed.”
“I think this might be a small risk,” Graham said dismissively. “If they meant us harm, they could have taken us unawares in the night. A floating castle landing on top of us would have been a threat. This probably is a mistake. They could need us.”
“I must have at least until this afternoon to confirm,” No1 said, and there was a taste of weary resignment in his words. “I will not risk more danger to your family if I can at all avoid it. You cannot travel in this blizzard in any case.”
Graham thought about it, then agreed. “Continue to watch. If anyone does respond, I want to know immediately. In the meantime, I think I’ll check the library for anything about moving castles.”
The walk to the lavender fields, several hours later, was peaceful enough. The blizzard had died back, although more clouds seemed to be gathering over the distant field, over the intruding castle’s turrets. Graham idly wondered if something inside had to rest and rejuvenate before storming again, and he laughed at the idea. They had no proof the castle had brought the snow, and it felt like a leap to imagine so. This was just an illusion brought on by his own expectation.
Nothing much had changed between the morning and now. Actually, nothing at all had changed. The castle was there, unmoving, and nothing had responded to any calls or flag waving or anything. No one really wanted to go up and knock, but the castle hadn’t opened up for anything else yet.
Number One marched a little way ahead of Graham and Alexander, watching the roads for any hint of danger, his hand on his sword hilt. Beside him was No3, guiding them along her original route to the castle so they would see it as she had. Her back was stiff, and she had fallen into the natural royal guards’ swinging gait. If she had any apprehension about returning to the place that had frightened her, she certainly didn’t show it, moving with all the trained confidence she could muster. Her fear would not be her defining memory. Graham couldn’t help but smile, proud of his team and the effort they gave.
Behind them, No2 walked a little more slowly, snuffling miserably with the start of a cold. He, too, had his hand close to his sword, just in case. Kyle and Larry were a little distance further behind, to act as part of a signal beacon, with Number Four watching them from Daventry Castle’s battlements. And that was as large a delegation as Graham wanted, at least initially. There were more guards available and ready to assist should things turn sour, but he didn’t want to tip things over into a fight unnecessarily. Too many numbers could look like a threat. They would stay outside, perhaps in the courtyard, and talk, he hoped, and determine what his new and preferably temporary neighbors wanted.
In the back of his head, Graham knew this was a foolish idea, but he was starving for action. Desperate to protect his people. This was the first thing he felt he could do. No threats had been sent from the castle. The Daventry guards had been left alone. If anything, Graham thought the floating castle residents might be hurt, struggling, unable to reply even if they wanted to.
Or at least, that’s what he told himself so that he wouldn’t think too hard about what a bad idea this might be.
It was quiet. Graham didn’t sense that anything was necessarily wrong. Winter was a quieter season. However, the air carried a strange, deadened silence to it that you tended to get only when it was actively snowing. Like the world was muffled and waiting. But it wasn’t currently snowing.
As they drew closer, the lonely silence grew. The snowpack started to give way to icy patches that made Graham’s boots, normally so grippy, skid and slide. He and Alexander had to catch themselves several times, and even the royal guards, boots currently equipped with crampons for patrols, were unsteady. The chill in the air nipped at them all the more as they drew closer. Graham’s ears ached, and he yanked his cap down further, smoothing his hair over the tips of his ears. He could feel the cold bite through his gloves.
The ice palace gleamed ahead of them, catching every scrap of light and reflecting it back. It was a thousand shimmering colors, almost impossible to comprehend. Its outer walls sparkled with white, cool grays, light blues, foamy greens, but further in, toward the heart of the castle, it took on crystalline blues, deep navy, black. The tallest tower, jutting at crazy angles out of the center of the castle, was purest white, and it was nearly translucent in places. It seemed possible to trace the hint of stairs leading up to its top.
But despite the clearness of the walls in certain places, there were no signs of humans, no colorful clothes of royalty or servants. Just endless grays and blues. Graham couldn’t be sure if some of the blue shapes were moving in the walls or if it was a trick of the light reflecting as he walked and changed his angle ever so slightly.
Finally, they approached the hollow itself where the castle sat. No1, shivering so badly that his knees knocked together, his armor clanging, bowed and gestured for Graham to lead.
It felt to Graham like he and his tiny entourage was the only life for miles. Not dangerous. Just achingly lonely.
The gates of the castle towered high above them. Icy, frostbitten, solid, and silent. Graham looked them up and down, marveling at how they had been carved. They had been given the clear marks of wood grain, of knots, of metal. It looked like a perfectly ordinary castle gate recast in ice and snow. As his gaze dropped to the base of the gates, he sighed. The castle had, indeed, simply plonked down in his fields—it was crushing the roses someone had so carefully planted in rows here. The poor bushes were twisted and curled and pressed beneath the foundation. The impact had knocked all the snow off them, and they were gnarled and broken and black looking.
Gently, Graham knocked on the gates, rapping with his gloved knuckle. The clattering echo that erupted from his knock sounded like gongs and bells striking each other, bouncing and resounding and reflecting on each other again and again. It seemed to shake the whole place. No one within would be able to ignore it, but as they waited, no one responded, either.
Graham knocked again, a little more forcefully, with the same result: a tremendous lot of noise, and no human or monster acknowledgement from within.
After a little wait, he went to knock a third time, and then he realized something odd. “You know,” he said to himself, “It doesn’t feel cold here.” He peeled off his glove and pressed his hand against the gate. It felt perfectly ordinary, like wood instead of ice, despite what his eyes insisted. It was warm, almost like it had been resting in the sun of a spring day. As he stood still, considering, he thought it felt a bit warmer, but his hand felt colder. Almost like it was leeching his warmth away, leaving a chill spreading up his arm.
Curious, he ran his bare hand down the wood, sensing the strange stealing warmth, wondering if this was magic or something more mundane—but then one of the crushed roses curled against the gate caught the side of his palm. It was much sharper and more piercing than an ordinary thorn bite should have been, and he hastily drew back his hand with a muffled yelp of surprise, half expecting to see blood pouring from a gaping wound but not seeing anything amiss. The flower itself, petals and all, was somehow still on the vine, shriveled and dead but nevertheless frozen into place on its stem.
“Are you okay, si—Dad?” Alexander asked, his voice shivering with cold or fear, Graham wasn’t sure which.
“It’s the roses,” Graham said, and rubbed his hand. “Just got nicked, wasn’t expecting it.” He leaned back and tried to see over the top of the gate. If anyone was coming to respond to his knock, it had to be soon. “I do think the guards were right. This place is empty, don’t you think? I’ve never seen a castle so still.” Still of life, anyway. The walls caught every reflection, every movement from outside, and shone it back like a broken mirror.
“It could be a really small staff,” Alexander offered, though he seemed distracted, concentrating on something Graham couldn’t detect.
“For a castle? Maybe,” Graham said doubtfully. “It takes a lot to keep one running, though. It’s not like a manor house. Still. Maybe they’ll reach out to us, since our attempts to talk to them don’t seem to be going anywhere. Hopefully we’ll learn something new by tomorrow.”
Above them, the storm clouds were starting to turn a bruised sort of gray, and No1 gestured for them to return home quickly. “Come along, Your Majesties. I shouldn’t think you want to be caught in that blizzard.”
“Shall we?” Graham said, and waved his son ahead of him. Before turning to go, Graham looked at the gate once more, and wondered what was just beyond it. What did the courtyard look like? If the gate felt like wood but was made of ice, were the carpets and tapestries the same? Torches casting off ice chips while still casting off heat in little half-melted alcoves? What about the people?
He sighed, shook his head, and followed his son up the path, rubbing his (gloved again) hand absently as he walked. His royal guards snapped back into their places, leading and following with swords at the ready, as apprehensive as ever. The wind sprang up behind them, hastening their steps like they were being chased away.
The hollow in front of the gate was quiet. No one came to the door to see who had been knocking. The rose bushes trembled in the wind. The rose that had caught Graham turned icy and cold. Frost bloomed along the shriveled petals, forcing the dead and withered rose into a second bloom, sharpening and hardening the petals, until the whole stem was solid and clear and blue and cold. It was almost part of the castle, almost frozen into silence in the gate, but the wind twirled through the hollow. The rose slammed against the door and broke into a thousand glittering shards. The sound of the impact was like another knock, ringing clear in the deepening gloom as early winter night stole over Daventry.
But this time, something deep within the castle shifted.
~*~*~*~
Valanice woke before Graham, but she didn’t want to get up. The air outside the blankets nipped her nose. The temperature had dropped again, and it didn’t feel like anyone had stoked the fireplace. Perhaps it was too early. She pressed herself against Graham—he was as cozy as a bear, a proper furnace of his own. Nice in the winter, not so nice in the summer, but right now she wanted him to hug her close and keep her warm. Sleepily, he obliged, moving his arms to hold her as she wanted.
She smiled contentedly and snuggled deeper with a sigh, but then his hand grazed her shoulder, and she flinched away, annoyed. “Graham, your hands are like ice,” she complained.
“Mmm?” He pulled her closer. “But you’re so warm.”
“No, seriously, Graham, you’re freezing. Stop that.” Valanice batted him away, sitting up in bed, properly awake now, blankets pulled up to contain the warmth.
He sat up with her, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. He stopped. Blinked. She looked at him. She looked down. He looked down.
His hand was encased to the wrist in ice. Not encased. Replaced, transformed, by ice. Deep and clear and white, like a carving. It glittered and sparkled, catching what little light there was in the room. He twisted it, bent the fingers stiffly—they could hear the ice crackle, like ice cubes dropped into lemonade on a hot day.
They looked at each other.
They screamed.
~*~*~*~
Nothing helped.
Graham nursed blazing cups of tea that no one else could touch. He wrapped his hand in a hot blanket. He drank gut-warming whiskey and poured the rest of the glass over his hand. He plunged it into a hot bath. He held it distressingly close to the fireplace flames. During this last attempt, he tried to joke that it was like roasting marshmallows for s’mores—he was already a Graham Cracker, after all. It was a terrible joke that no one laughed at. Nothing changed. The ice remained resolutely icy.
In fact, by the end of the morning, the ice had spread. Not much, not enough that anyone other than Graham would notice. It was fractionally beyond his wrist, moving up his arm. Infinitesimally slow, but creeping along nevertheless. He pressed against it with his other hand like he could stop it, and that achieved about as much as his melting attempts. Nothing.
And, gradually, a chill started to spread, too. It didn’t matter that he was sitting clothes-singingly close to the fireplace, that he was practically chugging hot tea. There was a shiver in his fingertips, and a bone deep cold ache was spreading up his arm. By noon he could feel it in his shoulder, although the ice was barely beyond his wrist. His fingers seemed to be locking up, too, getting harder to bend.
“It’s that castle,” Valanice said. Her voice shook. Graham glanced up at her. “We have to get in there and demand they reverse...whatever this is.”
“They do have quite the defense system,” Graham agreed. He tugged the blanket higher over his shoulder with his good hand, careful not to drag it through the smoldering embers on the edge of the fire.
“Sire, you cannot go there again,” No1 said sharply. He snapped into full attention, as though formality would carry him forward. “I will not permit it. I have some sway over matters of your safety, and I shall invoke those abilities now. You shouldn’t have gone in the first place. I accept blame for that decision fully, and you may retire me at any point after these events are concluded. I shall send a delegation in your place, as I ought to have insisted upon doing the first time.”
“And have Matt or Kyle or Roberta freeze like me?” Graham said, an edge to his voice, ignoring their titles in his frustration. “I think not. This already got me. I’ve got to see it through rather than risk it happening to anyone else.”
“Sire.” No1 only stood up straighter. Someone could have used him as a level to hang paintings precisely. “If they caused this injury to you yesterday, they’ll only be delighted to have you stroll back up to them so they can finish the job.”
“No one was even around to do something malicious in the first place, you know that!” Graham insisted. “I pricked myself on that rose. It was inattentiveness, not intentionality. I tripped a trap that wasn’t meant for me. It was my rose bush, for stars’ sake, part of Daventry! It’s probably a curse on the castle that infected my country, and the people inside could be as desperate for help as me!”
“You can’t know that for certain, though. This might have been a trial foray, to see if they could catch you easily. Daventry has its enemies. Perhaps more so now than ever.” No1 glanced sideways at Alexander, who was sitting ramrod straight in a chair near the door, looking for all the world like a sculpture himself. “This is a delicate time, Graham,” he said, his voice and his protocol dropping so the king alone would hear him. “Don’t risk anything unnecessarily.”
Graham held his gaze for a moment, and then looked down at the hearth, at the snapping flames. “You might be right,” he said softly.
“I’m sure I am. I’ll pull together a team now. Volunteers only: they’ll be told the risks. But, Sire, I think I’ll have more volunteers than I’ll know what to do with. They love you. They want to help you. Please, let them.”
No1 bowed smartly and left with a click of his sharpened heels. After he was gone, the rest of the royal family filtered out as well, Alexander running to find an alcove to hide in, Rosella following him, Valanice going to order more tea. Graham sat alone by the fireplace, feeling the silent emptiness of the room bearing down on his shoulders. He felt hollow, and the room felt bitter. Like he was sitting in an icy cavern even now.
The same questions.
What did that courtyard look like? The carpets, the tapestries—could they bend like fabric while still being as cold as ice? Were the torches hot despite their icy veneer? What about the people?
He wanted to go back. He wanted to see inside. He wanted to know. He yearned to know. Was everything made of it, and did it still work? Were there others with ice instead of flesh? He needed to know.
He swapped the blanket for his cloak.
#we gettin' plot now bb#i never never never ever liked graham yanking his family on a vacation with his new found traumatized son--so let's bring the castle to them#kings quest#King's Quest#King Graham#this post is protected by the royal guards#fic'ing#ch4#alexander (king's quest)
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Beaujes prompt? First kiss?
and you stood at your door with your hands on my waist,and you kissed me like you meant it.and i knew that you meant it(that you meant it)
//
“Talk to her,” Fjord says, his words dripping with more than a little frustration.
You roll your eyes and fling a handful of sand back at him.
It’s new, this thing you do together. Caduceus is so good at meditating, so comfortable with being still. But you and Fjord—the son of no one and the daughter of too many—are still struggling with it. He seems very intent on establishing himself as a proper follower of Melora, someone who takes time to consider his role and relationship with his god. Fjord is settling nicely into piety, and you simply need to learn how to exist comfortably inside yourself.
So most mornings you sit together wherever you are, even if it’s just for a few minutes. You have coats and furs when there’s snow, the shelter of trees for rain, boulders to shield against strong winds. No matter the weather, you find time to be calm with each other.
And so you find yourself on a beach in Nicodranas, sitting back-to-back with one of your first friends, watching the sun rise over the ocean. This is your favorite place in the entire world, and only slightly because of the place itself.
Fjord is breaking protocol by speaking but you’re not too bothered; you were itching to move anyway.
“It’s not—it’s stupid,” you mumble. “But I can’t.”
“Beau, if anyone can talk to Jester—and really, anyone can—it’s certainly you.”
“No, I know, but like—” You dig your hands into the sand and clam up, digging as much as you can within your reach until you find a rock. It’s a small one, and you’re too far away from the water to make it in, but you throw it anyway.
“Do you think you’ll ruin your friendship?” Fjord prods.
You’ve thought about that before, when you first told Nott about your crush on Jester. It used to worry you but it doesn’t anymore, not after spending time with Jester afterwards without noticing any changes. Certainly there were changes on your end—feelings sit differently within you once you’ve said them out loud—but Jester was the same, cheery and understanding and so, so bright. She relaxed you immediately even if she didn’t know she was doing it.
“No,” you finally reply. “But it’s like—remember how Yasha was once we got her back? Like, how it just seemed like she was waiting for one of us to beat her up and she kind of flinched whenever we smiled? It’s like that.”
“I don’t follow.”
You sigh. “Whatever she feels, Jester is going to be so nice about it, and I—I can’t handle that, man.”
“So you’re just going to suffer in silence?”
“What are you guys talking about?” Jester yells, and you’re more startled than you should be. You whip around to see that she’s maybe thirty feet away, smiling and carrying a plate of donuts.
You elbow Fjord as hard as you can without Jester noticing. “You couldn’t warn me she was coming?” you hiss. “I’m gonna make you suffer.”
“Oh, I’m quaking in my boots,” Fjord responds monotonously. But you feel him rubbing his side, and you’re soothed.
You get up and dust off your pants, walking over to Jester to take the plate from her hands. “Nothing, Jes,” you say with a smile. “Just meditating.”
“Okay.” She hugs you, squishes in closer the way she does when she’s cold and wants to steal your warmth. You can’t fight a smile even as you roll your eyes, hugging back with the hand not holding the plate. As she pulls away she presses a kiss to your cheek, leaving behind a few sugar crystals; you wonder if maybe that was closer to the corner of your mouth than she intended.
“Uh…”
“Good morning, Beau!” she chirps.
“Yeah, mornin’.”
Jester hugs Fjord with the same enthusiasm; he gives you a very deliberate look over Jester’s shoulder and you furiously shake your head.
“Are you guys about to work out or can we eat a big sugary breakfast?”
You should say no. You should stick to your training. Your body is your weapon and you can’t run the risk of letting it malfunction.
Your father and the monks trained you to be hard—for Jester, you will endure sentiment and sweetness.
“We can take a day off, I guess.”
Fjord quickly pumps his fist as the three of you sit down, plate of breakfast pastries in the middle as you all face each other. Jester immediately grabs the biggest one and smiles at you as she takes a bite, her eyes twinkling as if she knows a very good secret.
It takes everything you have not to visibly swoon. From the way Fjord coughs, you think maybe you did anyway.
Fuck, you have to talk to her.
/
But Jester sweeps you up in her energy the same way she always does, pulling you along for the ride and allowing you to forget, even for a few hours, about the part of you that is going to explode one of these days.
Every time you’re in Nicodranas, Jester wants to be outside, to do something fun or show you some special, secret place. But you’re just as happy to stay inside as long as you’re with her, so you don’t mind when it starts to rain and the two of you hole up in her bedroom.
It’s just as chaotic as Jester is, which isn’t a surprise. There are drawings and figurines shoved into drawers and shelves, worn and well-read books piled wherever there’s room. Organized chaos, but chaos nonetheless. You smile to yourself over the next few hours as you imagine Jester at the Cobalt Soul, frustrating every monk who might have tried to rein her in. Not even Dairon has that much patience, you’d wager.
As the afternoon wears on into evening and the rain doesn’t stop, both of you mellow out, setting aside card games and childhood mementos for storytelling. You never had any of this growing up, the kind of bonding that comes at night when people are relaxed and close to each other. You got along with some kids at school but your father was too protective to let you out of the house even for a night. Eventually, your friend group tightened and moved on without you.
You never really missed it until Jester, until you found someone with whom you deserved to share quiet nights.
“Beau?”
Your head bounces a little from where it rests on Jester’s stomach as she speaks. You’re both laying down—Jester vertically, her ankles crossed over each other, and you horizontally, so you can bounce a rubber ball off her wall. Using her as a pillow is just an added bonus, really, and you’re sure she would have suggested it if you hadn’t assumed.
“Hm?”
“We haven’t really talked about, well, about Kamordah, and I totally understand if you don’t want to, I really do, but—we’re best friends, right?”
“‘Course we are.”
“And best friends should be able to say everything to each other, even the hard things.”
You catch the ball and don’t throw it again. “Especially the hard things,” you say, trying very hard to calm your quickening pulse.
“Okay.”
Jester rests her hands near your head, absently tickling your hairline whenever her fingers get close enough.
“What’s up, Jes?”
“Do you think you’ll ever go back?” she asks, tripping over her words.
You crinkle your brows. “What, like to stay? Not a chance.”
“No, no; not to stay. But, family is complicated and I know your dad is a shitbag. He doesn’t deserve you, any part of you, and I wanted to punch him so much…” Jester takes a calming breath or two; you turn your head and look up at her, at the way she consciously works to relax her pursed lips. You can’t help laughing when she catches your eye.
She smiles back and scratches your forehead on purpose this time.
“You would be such a good big sister,” Jester says, her eyes soft and sincere. “You’re so good, Beau—you’re so, so good—and you deserve the chance to give that to someone.”
“What do you think I keep you around for?” you tease.
By the way she looks at you, you think maybe Jester didn’t take it as teasing.
“Right,” she says, laughing halfheartedly. “It’s stupid; I shouldn’t tell you how to feel about your family.” She sits up on her elbows and looks out of the window, sighing when the rain doesn’t stop. “Sorry we’ve been stuck inside all day.”
You hum, just a little noise to show you’re there, that you’re listening. You want to pull her fingers down and tangle them with yours.
“What would you do,” you ask gently, “if you had a sibling?”
“Oh my gosh.” Jester huffs out a large breath; you can practically see the swirl of images and fantasies that must be playing in her mind. “I would teach them so much, like how to steal food from the kitchen or sneak up on Bluud or how to prank Mama’s clients, except I would make sure they were better at it than I was so they wouldn’t get caught.”
“You’d still want to get caught?”
“Well, yah,” Jester says, like it’s the most obvious answer. “If I hadn’t gotten caught, Mama wouldn’t have sent me away and I wouldn’t have found you. It’s like, I guess it’s like you and the Cobalt Soul only with less kidnapping.”
“Mm. Yeah, that’s a good thing to not have in your life.”
“Maybe I wouldn’t have needed the Traveler if I had a sibling,” Jester muses. Maybe the Traveler wouldn’t have needed you, you think, but that’s a conversation for another day.
“That’s okay, though,” she continues. “I found most of this stuff on my own anyway.” She gestures to the knick-knacks that litter the room. “I guess it sounds stupid, when I put it like that. Wanting a sibling just so I can show them pranks.”
“Are you kidding? That’s exactly what siblings are made for.” You sit up and try not to jostle Jester too much. You look around the room, taking stock of all the stolen trinkets and homemade crafts. “Here, okay.” You stand and reach for a music box on Jester’s bedside table. “This? This is the coolest fucking thing I’ve ever seen.”
You cross the room and reach for a figurine on top of Jester’s bookcase that seems to be made of dried fruit and noodles. “This?” you say, pointing to it with an exaggerated finger. “Also the coolest fucking thing. And this?” You reach for a small ceramic owlbear, holding it between two knuckles as the noodle-man rests in your palm. “Absolutely fucking rad. This whole room is full of memories, Jes. Even if you only wanted a sibling just to share this stuff….what a gift, man. There’s like—” You flip the owlbear into the air and catch it on the back of your hand. “I could spend a whole day in here, just to listen to you tell me the stories of how you got all these things.”
You shove your hands in your pockets and look around at the piles and stacks of brightly colored novelties. Something buzzes inside your chest, a forgotten yearning. “Maybe I will go back again,” you mutter, mostly to yourself.
But Jester is waiting for you when you turn back around. She’s standing so close you’re not sure how you didn’t hear her sneaking up on you.
“Do you mean that?” she whispers. Your face falls at the heaviness in her cheeks, the worry and wet in her eyes.
“What, about Kamordah? I dunno,” you shrug. “Not for my parents, but TJ—”
“No.” Jester shakes her head. “No, not Kamordah. About—about all these stupid things.”
“Oh. Well, yeah.” You rock back on your heels a little. “Nothing’s stupid when it’s yours, Jes.”
She looks at you like she might cry, like she’s carrying entire worlds behind her eyes and they’re on the verge of spilling out. You think about the few people you’ve looked at like that—you wonder, just a little—but no—
Jester kisses you just as you’re trying not to get your hopes up.
It’s clumsy, little more than just a firm press of her lips, but it’s so—Jester is everywhere else, insistent and enveloping. She walks you backwards and your surprised when your back hits her door—surely you were floating a moment ago.
Jester rests her hands on your hips; she’s unsure where to put them, you can tell. You also couldn’t care less, and you wrap your arms around her and kiss her until you run out of breath.
“Fuck, Jes,” you huff, at the same time that she heaves and “Oh my god, Beau.”
Both of you laugh, quiet and special and only for each other.
“Well.” You lick your lips, cup her cheek and swipe your thumb gently over the bridge of her nose. “We have some things to talk about.”
“Mhm.”
“But maybe, we could nap first?”
Jester smiles and nods, takes your hand and leads you back to her bed. You realize when you lie down that you’re still holding the two toys.
Jester lifts up her covers and waits for you to settle against her. You balance the owlbear and pasta-creature on her stomach and laugh as they immediately fall over.
“I’m gonna fall asleep soon,” you yawn, “but tell me a story first.”
Jester’s voice is just as warm as her arms, and when you sleep, you dream of her.
#critical role#jestergard#beaujester#jester lavorre#beauregard lionett#cr: regular nein#tumblr fic#anon i hope you're still around five hours later!!#and many many thanks for the prompt :)#long post
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Vampire Shawn, Part One
Happy Halloween loves! Part two coming soon.... send me any ideas or comments you have for the series!! 🎃🎃
“Hey. Do you need someone to walk you home?”
His eyes are kind. They remind you of your dog’s eyes a little; innocent yet slightly mischievous. You smile to yourself— comparing a handsome boy’s eyes to your dogs’ probably means you’ve had too much to drink.
“I’m fine, actually. Thanks though,” you tell him, handing him your now empty solo cup. “If you could toss that into the trash can behind you, that’d be great.”
He looks slightly confused but takes the cup anyways and quickly deposits it in the large plastic garbage bin that somehow belongs perfectly fine in this dump of a frat house. There are cigarette butts and crushed beer cans underneath each of your steps as you make your way back to your friends in the kitchen.
“Um,” you hear him start again, and you wonder how he caught up to you so fast. “I was just asking because I noticed that the guy you were talking to earlier left with my friend.” You turn to face him. His kind eyes look a little sad now. “He shouted something at you but I don’t think you noticed. Something about ubering?”
“Fuck,” you mutter. It’s not entirely unlike Freddie to leave without you. In fact, it’s starting to become the norm.
“So, like I said, I can walk you home. I got left behind too so…” he drifts off, shrugging.
You look at him for only a few moments before deciding that, yeah, this kid looks trustworthy enough. The alcohol flowing through you is starting to make your eyelids feel heavy and if Freddie is already gone then there’s nothing else for you here. The booze is gone, the house is getting too crowded to move easily, and you’re bored.
“Sure.”
He smiles and you can’t help but return it with one of your own. He nods and leads you out of the party, one gentle hand on your wrist.
You break out into the front lawn of the house and you finally feel like you can breathe properly without the humid, stinking air of the fraternity. The boy looks over at you happily as you dramatically sigh and say “40 degrees never felt so nice”.
“You more of a cold-weather person?”
“Yeah. Love when the leaves change and the snow comes. Best part of the year.”
“I’m a winter person too,” he replies, and you hum a response as you remember how cold his fingers were on your wrist earlier.
You’re a few steps in front of him as you rattle off the directions to your apartment. The two of you start to talk about the guy who was screaming the lyrics to Wrecking Ball by Miley Cyrus when he suddenly stops. You don’t recognize that he isn’t right beside you anymore until he says “wait just a second.”
He takes a step off of the sidewalk and into the grass. Fall leaves crunch underneath his shoes as he peeks into the dense wall of trees right ahead of him. You shift nervously from one foot to the other. “Is something wrong?”
“Do you hear that?” He asks, looking back at you for a moment with an inquisitive look. “Sounds like an animal is hurt.”
You don’t wanna sound like an asshole, but part of you wants to say F it to whatever animal is in there and just get along with your walk. It’s getting chillier and chillier and all you have on is your stupid, skimpy nurses costume. “Is this some Halloween prank?” You ask. “Because it’s not very funny.”
“No, no,” he says. “C’mere. Can you hear that?”
You step forward a bit but are still a ways behind him. You strain your ear to try and hear what he’s hearing.
“I can’t hear anything.”
“Oh,” he says, taking a step back. There’s a shift in his attitude. If you weren’t so drunk maybe you would’ve noticed that he’s suddenly impatient, walking quickly ahead of you.
You are almost out of breath when you see your apartment complex come into view. The boy hasn’t said anything since he stopped to check on the animal. “Um, hey,” you start, “it was really nice of you to walk me back but I’ve got it from here.”
His energy shifts yet again, now back to his happy-go-lucky frat boy persona. He flashes a brilliant smile and starts to undo his flannel. You realize that he went as some kind of lumber jack for Halloween as your gaze follows from where his fingers are loosening a button all the way to his large, tan work boots. “If you won’t let me walk you back, at least let me give you this. You’re shivering.” He hands you his flannel, smile still stretched wide across his pretty features. You absentmindedly wonder why he didn’t offer it earlier but take it anyways, grateful for the extra warmth.
“Thanks,” you say, draping it around your shoulders. He reaches forward and starts to do up the buttons for you. You feel a strong pull towards his body, like you could just melt right into him. Once he has the last one done, the one right at your neck, you two share a laugh and he starts to step backwards, beginning his walk back to wherever he lives. “Nice meeting you!”
“You too,” he replies.
You scramble to find a suitable goodbye, but he’s already walking quickly away from you. You stammer out, “wait, I never got your name!”
He looks over his shoulder, lips quirked up at the ends. “My name’s Shawn.”
And then the night swallows him up.
🖤🖤🖤🖤
Weeks pass and you forget about Shawn. You scold Freddie for leaving you at the party but you aren’t really mad. Although Shawn was slightly odd, nothing happened. There was nothing memorable about the walk back, really, besides that scene with the wounded animal that you couldn’t hear. But you chalk that up to him just being a sympathetic drunk— it’s not a bad thing to want to help another living thing.
You come home from class one day and sling your backpack down on the floor as you flop onto the couch. Your roommates are all gone this weekend visiting family since you have a few days off in the beginning of next week, giving you a whole 4 days to yourself. You sigh happily and turn on a movie.
Rain is pounding on the roof and you’re almost asleep when someone knocks on the door. You’re startled awake by the noise. Quickly, you smooth down your hair with your palms and straighten your shirt before opening the door to reveal…
“Shawn?”
He smiles that signature smile. “Hey. I was just wondering if you had that flannel from a while ago? I have an event and we’re all supposed to wear one.”
You’re taken aback by the surprise, but you hurry to accommodate him since you have had the flannel way too long. You just didn’t know how to find him again. After a quick chat with Freddie you knew that he was a frat brother, but you weren’t going to trek all the way over there just to drop off a shirt. So you say, “yeah of course. Let me just go grab it.”
“Am I allowed to come in?” He asks.
“Oh, yeah! Yes, of course.”
It seems to take him an unnecessary amount of time to actually step into your apartment, but once he does you rush off to grab the flannel that you’re sure has just been bunched up in your closet somewhere.
When you return, he’s still standing by the door. You hand him the shirt and let out the breath you didn’t know you were holding. “There ya go. Sorry it took me so long to get it back to you.”
“No worries,” he assures.
You assume this is the part where he leaves, but he stays put. You rock back awkwardly on your heels.
Suddenly his eyes take on a concerned look. He takes a few steps forward with his hands outstretched, almost like he’s about to catch you. “Woah, are you feeling okay?”
You feel completely fine, though as soon as his hand makes contact with your shoulder you feel heavy and leaden, your eyes already drooping.
You feel only a small pinch before you fall asleep.
🖤🖤🖤🖤
When you wake up, you’re back on your couch, but this time you’re laying horizontally across the cushions with an ice pack on your forehead. You can faintly hear Shawn’s voice coming from the kitchen.
“I don’t know, I don’t know,” you think you hear him saying. “I don’t know what to do.”
You try to sit up but when you do, all the blood rushes from your head and you start to feel dizzy.
“I can’t just do that. She’ll never go for that.”
You try to tune him out. You remember passing out and start to comb through the reasons why you would suddenly lose consciousness. You were nervous, that’s for sure, but you’ve never passed out from that. You haven’t had water in a while. Maybe that’s what it was.
Shawn must’ve ended his phone conversation because he comes into the living room and immediately sits on the floor beside the couch, leaning back on his palms casually. He takes a deep breath. “So,” he starts, “I need to tell you something.”
“I know I passed out.”
He laughs a little, though you can tell he didn’t think it was funny. His face has taken on a worried undertone and he keeps running his hand through his now tousled curls.
At his sudden nervousness, you feel a bloom of your own anxiety crawl up your throat. “What is it?” You ask quietly.
“Have you ever read Twilight?”
The severity of the situation contrasted with the stupidity of his question makes you laugh. “I watched the movies,” you tell him.
“You know how he’s like, all pale and stuff? And he is just really fuckin’ weird?”
You laugh again. “Sure.”
“Real vampires aren’t really like that.”
The smile starts to fall from your face. This doesn’t sound like a joke. “Shawn, what are you even talking about?”
He clears his throat, now moving so he’s a bit further away, leaning his back against the bottom of your lounge chair. “I’m being completely serious when I say this, OK?”
“Okay.”
“I’m a vampire.”
You fight to keep a straight face. A mix of disbelief and anger is starting to show on your features— your eyebrows start to shift towards the middle of your face and your jaw falls open a bit. You want to laugh but you also kinda want to cry. “What?”
“I wouldn’t have told you but, uh,” he pauses, clearing his throat, “something came up when I bit you.”
“You… bit me?”
He clears his throat again, a nervous tick. “So, there’s something that happens when a vampire is… hungry… Um, and basically I can make you fall asleep just by touching you and when you wake up you don’t remember the bite itself. But, yeah. So, when you fell asleep I bit you. You can probably still feel it.”
You don’t move. Shawn blinks at you a few times, then takes your hand gently and leads it to the junction of your neck and shoulder where there is unmistakable soreness. You don’t stop looking at him, in shock.
“Anyways,” he continues, “does that make sense?”
You look down to where the flannel hung over a chair by the door. It’s snowing now. It shouldn’t be snowing, you idly think. It’s only November 1st.
“Y/N?”
You jolt back to life. “How do you know my name?”
Shawn looks surprised at the question. Of course, there are many other questions you could’ve asked, but this is the one that popped into your head at a time where there is little you can make sense of. He runs a hand through his hair. He says, “I did a little research.”
“How?”
“I put in your address on the auditor’s website.”
Well. That makes sense. Part of you was expecting some kind of magic spell he cast to find out this information.
Shawn stands and offers you his hand. You look at it and blink. He says, “can I show you something?”
You nod and take his hand. You should probably run or ask Shawn if he’s on hard drugs but you don’t. You let him keep your hand in his as he leads you to the bathroom.
As soon as the two of you step in the mirror, you see them. Two puncture wounds, identically shaped and on a backdrop of a dark blue-ish bruise. You gasp out loud, your hands immediately drifting to the spot. You knew that it was sore from when Shawn drew your attention to it earlier, but you didn’t know that it would look like this. This is a bite. An unmistakable bite from someone with two long incisors and a thirst for blood.
And if Shawn’s telling you he’s a vampire, you’re having a hard time refuting it now.
Part Two
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@chordbound sent: Motor - Our muses having sex in a car – modern nieyao B) [NSFW]
They were just going to talk BUSINESS, that was the plan, the whole intention behind this meeting. Maybe Nie Mingjue is lying to himself a little bit when he thinks that - but it really doesn’t fucking matter what his intentions were at any point of the night when Meng Yao is sitting in his lap, grinding down on his already growing erection and whispering sweet obscenities into his ear. He could be saying just about anything; when they’re together like this the sound of his voice alone is enough to get Mingjue’s blood pumping. His hands are roaming, stroking over the smooth fabric of Yao’s shirt and feeling the heat of his skin underneath it. It makes him want to tear it off, just rip it to shreds and ravage him.. but that’s not so simple.
“Back,” Mingjue grunts as he breaks away from kissing Yao for a moment, deciding, after hitting his knee on the steering wheel - twice - and his hand on the gear shift, that doing this in the driver’s seat is simply IMPOSSIBLE. Meng Yao says something that sounds suspiciously like ‘bossy’ but complies regardless, demonstrating a noteworthy flexibility by climbing out of Mingjue’s lap and into the back of the car through the gap between the driver and the passenger seat without any trouble. Nie Mingjue only considers following suit for a second before he decides that he is too old for this and gets out of the car through the driver’s door to join Meng Yao on the backseat the old-fashioned way.
He’s over him in a heartbeat, pressing him down into the leather seats with the weight of his own body, their lips back to kissing HUNGRILY, like they’ve both been craving this for months. (It hasn’t been months, but weeks. What else but intense longing could make them behave like horny teenagers, getting it on in a car in the relative darkness of the company’s underground carpark?) Meng Yao’s hands are moving over Mingjue’s body nimbly, loosening his tie and unbuttoning his shirt, pulling it from his pants after opening the button there too. Mingjue is far less elegant about it, just tears Yao’s shirt open after failing to open the last few buttons without looking down. It earns him a scolding look and a sigh but he only counters it with an unusually mischievous smile.
“I’ll buy you a new one,” he whispers against Meng Yao’s lips and for a moment he feels the other’s hand on his arm tighten. “I can buy my own shirts, Mr. Nie,” Yao says and a shiver runs down Mingjue’s spine at the way he addresses him. Meng Yao is doing it on purpose and he knows exactly what it does to him. Nie Mingjue is sure of that, mostly because he’s heard his first name from Yao’s lips before - albeit gasped and barely intelligible. (A good memory.)
Meng Yao’s hands are in his hair, his lips on his jaw, and Mingjue tries to get out of his pants, at least partially, bumping into the driver’s seat with his elbow and into the door behind him with his foot. A frustrated groan escapes him that makes Yao pause for a moment and look up.
“Something wrong?” he asks and Mingjue swears the look on his face is the same one he’s seen there whenever a point of disagreement comes up in the negotiations and Yao goes straight into fixing it mode. It’s equally as entertaining as it is impressive. “I’m too big,” he explains, pushing himself up a bit by resting his hands next to Yao’s body. The look on Meng Yao’s face turns into a lewd smile. “I’ve found you to fit quite perfectly, Nie Mingjue..” he says with the voice of an angel and Mingjue’s cheeks heat up with a blush that the darkness inside the car luckily swallows.
“For the car,” he explains even though he has no doubt that Meng Yao understood exactly what he meant. “Oh.. we could--” Yao starts but Mingjue doesn’t let him finish. Moving one arm under his body he pulls him against his chest while shifting from hovering horizontally into sitting on the backseat the way it was actually designed, with Yao in his lap.
“Much better.” Nie Mingjue takes a moment to admire the man sitting on him, his mussed up hair and his big dark eyes that catch the glow of a faint light outside the car. He’s so beautiful it makes Mingjue’s heart roar with love and desire and an ugly violent need, somewhere deep down, to POSSESS him. He shouldn’t feel this way. This can’t be more than what it is now; a string of stupidly careless meetings somewhere in the dark, a temporary weakness, an indulgence. And yet.. to think that this is going to end and he won’t be allowed to touch Meng Yao anymore.. it makes Mingjue’s heart sting.
“What are you looking at?” Meng Yao asks, his hand brushing over Mingjue’s cheek, thumb stroking over his lower lip. Mingjue opens his mouth and takes it between his lips for a moment, brushing his tongue against the tip. Everything I ever wanted, Mingjue thinks and, “You,” he says. Meng Yao smiles and withdraws his hand as he leans in. The kiss they share is sweeter than the ones who came before, slower and gentler somehow, but the heat and desperation returns to their touches not long after. Mingjue’s hands tug at Meng Yao’s pants until he lifts off his lap to slip out of them (and his underwear), pushing them down his legs until he can get one of them free. As tempting as it is to sit back and watch the show, Nie Mingjue uses the time to push his own pants down to his knees, finally freeing his cock, which is achingly hard by now. Meng Yao seems PLEASED by the sight, judging by the smile that flashes over his face as he moves back on Mingjue’s lap, not quite sitting down yet but being close enough their bodies touch and draw a gasp from him.
He seems to consider teasing Mingjue for a second, his hand reaching between them to curl around him and give him a few slow strokes, but it’s apparent he doesn’t have the patience for it anymore either. Remembering something, he reaches for his discarded pants and produces a bottle of lube that brings back memories of their last encounter.
“Planned ahead?” Nie Mingjue asks and Meng Yao shoots him a look that implies he, too, is thinking of last time. Yao shuffles closer, his knees on the seat next to Mingjue’s thighs, and pours some lube onto his palm. Mingjue notices some of it dribbling onto the leather between his legs but can’t find it in himself to care. His mouth goes a little dry when he watches Yao’s fingers, slick with lube, move between his legs and push inside him without any hesitation. It’s not the first time they do this and realistically neither one of them has the patience to draw this out, but Mingjue can’t help feel a light pang of disappointment over the fact that he won’t get to watch Meng Yao prepare himself properly. It’s just his fingers pushing in and out a few times before his hand withdraws and wraps around Mingjue’s dick instead, the gel nice and warm from Yao’s hand as he spreads it on him. (His treatment is equally short, Meng Yao’s impatience quite palpable.)
The hand is wiped clean on Mingjue’s shirt - some kind of payback he assumes - and then finally - Meng Yao sinks down on him and Mingjue’s head falls back against the car seat. He stays still until he’s bottomed out, Yao’s thighs flat on his, but his hands move to his hip and ever so slightly pull him down more. Meng Yao is hot and tight and the way he arches his back is driving Mingjue crazy. He’s not sure if Yao actually needs the time he takes before he moves or if he’s doing it just to TORTURE him, but it’s all he can do to stay still and wait. When Yao finally moves again it draws a breathy curse from Nie Mingjue’s lips.
They move at a steady but fast pace right away, the car moving comically beneath them, but neither of them care. Mingjue’s fingers dig into the soft flesh at Yao’s hip, pulling every time he comes down to thrust up a little harder. He’s not the one who sets the pace but it gives him some semblance of control - not that he NEEDS it. Meng Yao’s hands grab the edge of the backrest behind Mingjue, fingers digging into the leather as he holds on for better leverage, riding him hard enough it takes both their breath away. The air is filled with their gasps and the sound of skin on skin, the windows of the car fogging up around them. If anyone walked by them in this moment there would be no doubt about what’s going on inside, but that thought is not a conscious one in Mingjue’s head at this moment.
He doesn’t need long to feel hot white pleasure building inside him, every time Meng Yao sinks down on him bringing him closer to the edge, but he barely pays attention to himself. He’s mesmerized watching Yao move in his lap, the way his body moves and his muscles tighten, seeing the little crease on his forehead that forms when he closes his eyes with that look of concentration on his face that he gets when he’s chasing his own pleasure like this, fucking himself on Mingjue’s cock as determinedly as he does everything else. It’s almost better than reaching his own climax, watching Yao lose his composure for a moment and his movements lose rhythm when Mingjue’s hand slips between them and curls around him, giving him a few rough dry strokes, just enough to push him over. His back arches and the sweetest sound comes over his lips as he spills himself all over Mingjue’s stomach and chest, clenching down around him involuntarily.
“Fuck..” Mingjue groans, his hand moving back to Yao’s hip. If it were anyone else he’d expect them to slow down now, float on their own high, but Meng Yao is not anyone else. He only takes a moment to collect himself before he picks up where he left off, riding him as if he didn’t just come, and Mingjue finds himself lost in thoughts about HOW LONG Yao could keep going like this, when he’s gripped by his own orgasm that hits him like a train. His hands pull Yao down as he thrusts up one last time, a low moan on his lips as he comes. It feels better than it should to come inside Meng Yao and Mingjue is aware that he is going to have to make up for it somehow.
They’re both left panting and slowly coming down from their high, Mingjue’s heartbeat beginning to normalize again. Meng Yao falls forward against him and Mingjue’s arms warp around his back. He places a few kisses on his neck, tasting a bit of salt on his skin.
“Maybe.. some day I’ll actually get to have you in my bed.”
#chordbound#m. chordbound#m. nie mingjue#nmj. chordbound#v. sleeping with the enemy#.nsfw#.ic asks#.replies#.drabble#vaguely referencing a LAST TIME we haven't even written but it's very vivid in my head#js
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Tumultuous | part 02 (ft. Jimin)
→ pirate!jimin x mermaid!reader
→ 3.3k words, warning for slow burn, and so much back and forth between mean captain!jimin and sweet captain!jimin you’ll get whiplash
part 01 | part 02
I hope you guys remember this drabble I wrote over a year ago. I was reading through it and I just got re-inspired to at least continue the storyline, so I’ll be revamping this as a drabble series, and this part 2 will pick up right after the drabble! Unfortunately, I don’t think I’m completely ready yet to start writing full fledged oneshots as of yet, just because I haven’t gotten completely in the habit of writing and planning for so long. But nonetheless, I hope you guys enjoy. Love you.
(Disclaimer: I know there is another writer @fireheart-namjoon who wrote Mangata, a story about the same exact prompt and member. We discussed this after the similarity between her story and my initial drabble was brought to our attention back in August 2018, and turns out the anon just asked us both to write the same prompt! :) So please do not assume/accuse either of us of plagiarism. The direction of our stories were way too different to be considered copied! Writers support other writers! Unfortunately, her URL is currently unavailable, and I was unable to locate her or her story on tumblr anymore...but nonetheless please keep this in mind! Best wishes to wherever she is!)
Previously...
He lets you go and you shudder as you strain against the ropes binding your wrists to the stake, your breath catching in your throat.
As he leaves, he turns, meeting your fearful gaze from behind your hair. He mutters to his men, “Get her some clothes. She sleeps in my quarters tonight.”
It surprises you that the shirt’s material isn’t a rough and disgusting pile of sewage linen, but instead a soft flowing blend that settles gently on your stinging skin. It’s quite the comforting touch, in contrast to the rough manhandling your new body has been experiencing as of late.
You should have never gone to the surface. Your sisters had warned you of all the horrors that lie in the photic zone. Humans, with dry, disgusting skin and rough hands that drove knives through mermaids’ tails and lured them into traps just to take them away. The mermaids who were caught were never seen again.
Jungkook, one of Captain Jimin’s men, mumbles an introduction before taking a dagger and snipping the harsh ropes securing your wrists to the stake. Multiple men grab your shoulders and arms, hoisting you up roughly onto the cold, hard rock surrounding the pool. You curl your arms into your torso as soon as the light hits you, shivering and cowering in fear. He offers you the linen, and you bundle yourself up in it, and he gives you a nod before slipping his arms underneath you to pick you up. He isn’t rough. The normality of his hold and the security of his arms around you is a small luxury that you choose to hold onto in this time of torture. Perhaps not all the men aboard this ship of horrors were absolute goons and barbarians like your sisters had described.
He carries you from the island back to the small rowboat and silently places you down, and begins rowing you both back to the Dionysius. The waters are silent, save for the calming pitter of the waves lapping at the edges of the boat. You strain to see across the water, where you see a few other rowboats also slowly making their way back to the main ship.
“What is he going to do with me?” You mutter, so soft that it’s almost carried away by the wind. But Jungkook seems to catch it, as his arms falter, the rowing of the oars slowing the tiniest fraction. You turn back to him, holding the white shirt tighter against your body. “Answer me, weather boy. What is his plan?”
Jungkook’s eyes flicker up, and then around on the water line, as if he’s looking for anyone eavesdropping. “I...I think he plans to sail to where your tail is by skirting the freshwater coastline.”
You frown. “Why?”
“Obviously your sisters would know the minute we hit open saltwater, and rush to rescue you. Right?”
You bite your lip, frowning. “I...I’m not sure if they can hear me. I’ve never been in this form before. I don’t know what I can and can’t do.”
“If you don’t mind telling me,” he begins, pursing his lips carefully, “I’m very interested in Sirenology. My father studied your migration patterns for years to help predict the fishing harvest. How do you and your sisters usually communicate in the water? I assume you can’t speak like this underwater.”
“No,” you say, eyes closing at the reminder. “We don’t speak like this. I don’t really know how to describe it, and I can’t seem to demonstrate it right now. But...it’s a...burst of feeling? When I speak and send signals, it seems to originate from deep within. And then...it spreads.”
“Interesting,” Jungkook’s eyes widen as he rows. “So, almost like the ways dolphins seem to communicate with clicks and squeals. Like sound waves traveling through water.”
You nod slowly, “I’m not sure how you humans call it. But yes, dolphins use a similar language.”
His eyes widen. “You can communicate with them?”
You nod, “Yes, easily. We communicate with all of sea life.”
A smile flits on Jungkook’s lips, “What abou---” He’s startled and cut off by the boat slamming into something and jumping back from the brute force. Both you snap your heads up to see Captain Park’s rowboat inches away from yours, and his boot menacingly perched on the edge of yours.
“What,” he growls, leaning in close to your hardened gaze, “Is so interesting about this weather boy, that you finally decide to speak?” His voice is low, and unwavering. It holds a tension so strong and intimidating that despite maintaining a stone-cold face, your stomach churns.
At your silence, he smirks, removing his foot from your boat and extending a hand to you.
You glare at the hand, and he laughs at you darkly as Jungkook, the men behind him in his rowboat, and the men already waiting above in the main ship, all watch you two in fearful silence. “Take it,” he hisses, “You need to go up.” He points a finger mockingly upward and you follow it’s line to see a few men hoisting down a small platform, only a foot wide and long, held by 4 ropes that keep it horizontal. There was no way you were going to be able to stand on that with your new legs, much less stay balanced enough for the men above to hoist you all the way up to the main deck. The only other way up was a ladder hammered into the side of the boat, which you obviously couldn’t do on your own.
“Your weather boy will take me.” You demand, squaring your jaw and glaring up at him in defiance.
Some men snicker, and Jungkook even lets out a quiet snort. “Sorry, but I’m not allowed to go up there after dark. I’m just a weather boy.”
Your heart flips nervously and your gaze returns to the pirate captain, who waits, arm still extended, but instead with a smug smirk. You square your jaw at the jeers from the men around you and stand with wobbly legs up from the rowboat. A few whistles and snickers from the men send gross shivers down your spine. Glaring at them, and rounding your anger at the captain, you hold your ground. “I do not ask for help.”
You slap away his hand and take a hold of the rope on one side of the tiny wooden square, and take a shaking breath before stepping up and gripping the ropes with white knuckles. Immediately, the platform begins to shudder and twist as the men above hoist it up inch by inch. But the wobbling is much too unstable for you, your energy too drained to hold you up, and your hands already tired from the ropes used to bind you earlier, that everything gives way all at once. One moment, you’re shivering in the cold sharp air of the ocean whipping at your naked legs, and then another moment, you’re swallowed whole by the black ocean. You let out a scream at the cold, piercing water that laps around you.
You’re no longer covered by a thick, powerful tail, or your scales that protect you from the sharp salty cold of the sea. Your legs don’t have enough muscles in them to be able to kick, and you no longer have an air bladder that helps you rise or sink. With your new appendages and limbs unaccustomed to swimming without a tail, you immediately begin drowning. Water fills your lungs in a way unimaginably unwelcome, and all you see is black, black, black, and black. The salt stings your eyes, and you screw them shut by instinct, and your mouth opens in a scream that’s heard by no one in the thick water.
But then suddenly, an arm wraps around your waist and yanks you up harshly, pushing the remaining air out of your lungs, and up into the air. Your breath grates against your throat as you gasp for air and blink away the water in your eyes. When you come to, Captain Park is glaring down at you in the water with similar droplets dripping from his hairline and a permanent scowl on his face. He motions for the platform to be lowered again, and the wooden square slaps as it hits the water again.
He somehow maneuvers his foot on it, and pulls you close. “Stay close, unless you want to die in your own home,” he growls, and you cower, whimpering as you shiver in fear and shock and press yourself as close to him as you can. His arm comes strongly around your waist, and pulls you hard against his chest, and he motions his men to hoist you up.
You dangle in his hold as you both are pulled up into the colder air and pulled up to the deck. It’s masked in a golden glow of lamps, and you shiver as the air up bites you harder on your bare legs and shoulders. The captain first grips the lapels of the shirt tighter against your chest, and you gasp as his fingers come dangerously close to your breasts. But he doesn’t even give a second glance as he buttons it so that it stays closed. He then removes his own, unbuttoning his own white shirt and wrapping it around the one you already have.
He moves too close for comfort as he wrings it out and wraps it around your shoulders, naked sinews of skin and bronze shoulders and chest approaching you within inches as he focuses on buttoning up this one as well.
When he finishes, his gaze flickers up to your fearful ones before softening a bit. He blinks twice, and clears his throat, and turns away. His men lower their gazes as he turns, and they cower in reverence at their fearful leader.
“From now on, the mermaid is property of the captain. No man who wishes to keep his life will touch her, look at her, or even think about her without my permission.” He announces, and a few men glance a forlorn last look at your bare legs before averting their gaze. You shrink further into the two shirts wrapped around your figure.
The captain then turns, and leads you into a room. You hear the clamber of other mean hoisting up their rowboats and their shipmates onto the deck. Seemingly like a well-watered shoal, the men fall into step and line as they return to their duties for the night. The lanterns light up the quaint Captain’s quarters in a soft glow.
In one corner, is a large bed tucked away with clean white linens. In another, lies a tub with freshwater. The rest of the walls are lined with shelves lined with hundreds of books. You gawk at the sight, and are distracted for long enough for him to lead you in and shut the door behind you both. The slam catches your attention and you turn your surprised gaze back onto the fearful man.
“What do you plan on doing with me?” You ask, but this time your voice shakes despite your efforts to keep it steady and menacing. You’re so cold.
He doesn’t say anything, just gives you a firm look and then turns away to open a door hidden in the wall. He grabs a soft fluffy type of linen, and hands it to you.
“Wash yourself,” he instructs, “the saltwater will damage your skin. You’re no longer protected anymore, so you must clean and prepare like a human does.”
You take the towels hesitantly. He clears his throat, and his eyes dart around, as if trying not to look at you. Was the fearful captain pirate nervous? Really? Captain Park Jimin, the man who ruled the seven seas and had dominated all pirate ships and culture since the moment he took over? The man who had fearlessly taken down Kingdoms and ransacked nations with just a group of a few pirate men?
“I’ll be outside. When you’re finished, you may get some rest tonight in the bed.” He gestures there, and you glance at the linens that look clean, but nonetheless slept-in.
“Where will you sleep?” Your voice comes out softer, and calmer this time.
He glances around the room for a moment, before gesturing to the floor. “Here.”
He sees the quirk in your brow at your confusion, and answers again. “That way I can make sure you don’t run away and jump ship at night. Go,” he says, and turns away, “I will wait outside. There are clothes in the closet, dress yourself once you are finished.”
You nod, and the door shuts behind him. Finally loosening your grip on the shirts around your shoulders, you let them fall to the ground as you step into the tub of water. The cool, clean water immediately starts washing away the sting of the salt on your skin, and you enjoy the sound of the water lapping at your arms as you finish rinsing yourself off. Your hair begins to untangle as the salt washes out, and you rinse your eyes out of all the day’s horrendous work.
The red on your wrists are gone, and the only things remaining on your skin are a few pink stripes across the flesh. You sigh, and rest your back against the edge until a knock startles you.
“Y-yes?” you stammer, rushing to get out of the tub and wrap yourself in the towel.
“Are you finished?” His voice sounds.
“One moment,” you manage, and you wipe yourself off hastily as you clamber towards his closet and grab the first similar dry white shirt you can grab. You hastily pull it around your torso.
When you tell him you’re finished, the door slowly creaks open and a freshly washed, changed captain peers into the room. He sets his eyes on you standing nervously there, and lets out a sigh. “I never taught you how to use human clothes. Here, let me show you.”
He crosses the room, the door swinging shut behind him. He begins to fiddle with the small little circles on his shirt, and slowly his chest is revealed. You watch him carefully, tensing up to prepare for anything he tries. But he stops a few steps away from you and gestures for you to follow.
“These,” he points at the curious little circles, “Are called buttons. You pass them through the corresponding hole on the other side.” He demonstrates with one at the bottom. “And then, you just keep going up, and then you’re finished.”
You follow suit, your fingers dumbly fiddling with the circle until you’ve finished, but as you go up, you realize the buttons are completely mismatched. He chuckles at your frown, and steps closer. “If you may, let me.”
You stand silently as he carefully undoes each one and re-does it in the proper place, hands deftly passing over each button until the shirt sits properly on your figure, albeit a little loose. He steps back and surveys his work and nods to himself. Turning away, he rummages through the closet before producing an item of clothing similar to the ones he wears on his legs.
“These are pants,” he explains, handing them to you, “we wear them to cover our legs. These used to be our weather boy’s, until he grew up twice his size. Try them on. You should put your leg in each hole and pull it up to your waist here.”
You take the pants, and peer at the two peculiar holes before lifting a leg to step into them. But your legs are much too weak, and you’re not coordinated enough to stand on both for too long, much less just one. You tumble back, and fall on the hard wood, and the captain sighs as he extends a hand to help you up.
You take it and he swiftly pulls your arm up so you can stand, and points at the bed. “Sit,” he says gruffly, frowning a bit, “I will help you. Only because,” he points out, “you need to be dressed to sleep, and we have a full day ahead of us.”
Nodding, you silently sit. You’re much too fatigued to fight this man. He kneels on the ground in front of you, and takes the pants to thread your legs through them. When his rough fingers touch the skin of your lower leg, you jump, and his eyes dart up to yours.
“Are you hurt?”
You shake your head.
“Then why do you startle?” He asks, curiously, his fingers still hovering near your skin.
“I am...” you swallow, “not used to having legs.”
He chuckles a bit, and then guides your leg through one pants leg. “I assume so. I watched you transform.”
Of course. He’d watched you almost suffocate in the glass coffin that he’d prepared to trap you in once he’d caught you in his nets. Then when one of the men holding the coffin had tripped and dropped the coffin, it had shattered, and you’d tumbled out, no longer with the safety of saltwater to keep you from transforming. Without the necklace that held the magic of your tail, and without the saltwater around your body, you’d transformed completely, scales falling and melting off and tail dissolving before everyone’s horrified gazes into two legs.
As he grips your other leg, he pauses, eyes settling on a cut most likely induced from the shattered glass you tumbled out on when the coffin broke. You watch as his jaw hardens and he is a bit more gentle when guiding your leg through the pant leg. When he’s finished, he shows you how to pull them up around your waist with averted eyes, and how to tie them properly so they don’t slip.
“Wait,” he instructs, and grabs a small box from his closet. “You’re hurt there.”
You stay seated on the edge of the bed as he kneels again at your side, lifting one of your feet onto his knee and spreading some kind of paste onto your cut. It stings and you hiss at the feeling, but his fingers wrapped around your ankle firmly hold you in place. “Hold still,” he grits, “or else the wound will get infected.”
“Infected?” You echo.
He nods. “When humans get hurt, there are many diseases and bad things floating around in our air. If a wound gets badly infected here on the ocean...there is not much to be done for his life. We have very little help, so we must keep ourselves clean and our wounds cleaner.”
“Infection,” you hum, and he flickers his gaze up to yours for a moment before closing the box and standing up.
He returns, somehow, to the fearful and intimidating captain from one moment to the next. “Sleep,” he instructs with a hardened glare, pointing at the bed. And he turns away, replacing the box in the closet and closing the doors. He picks up the wet clothes you dropped near the tub and rings them out before exiting the room and returning without them. He brings out a set of linens, similar to the ones already on the bed you’re sitting on, and fashions them into a sort of bed at the foot of the door to his quarters. He blows out the lantern, and you can hear him shuffling back to his bed and laying down on them.
You do the same, putting some of the linens over your body and laying your head on the soft thicker fluffy things at the head of the bed. The boat creaks and groans, but you can distinctly hear the soft lullaby of the water lapping calmly against the edge of the boat. Murmurs and footsteps of other men walking around and preparing for sleep on the deck create a soft lull, and if you strain, you can hear the sounds of the captain breathing, a small distance away from you.
And before you know it, you enter the first sleep of your life on land, with a ferocious and deadly pirate sleeping at your feet.
#bts fics#bts smut#jimin fanfic#jimin smut#jimin angst#bts fanfics#bts fanfic#bts angst#bts fluff#writing#mine#fics#fun fact i was going to call this fic ocean eyes and even made a header for it but it looked too similar to the poseidon demigod fic drain#so i changed it back i hope u guys like it
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The T-Shirt: Part 2
Summary: Y/N lives with her boyfriend (Steve) and their roommate (Bucky). Steve catches Bucky eyeing up his girl while wearing a his t-shirt.
Pairing: Established Relationship of Steve Rogers x Female Reader x Bucky Barnes
Warning(s): Smut 18+, MMF threesome, kissing, cursing, fingering vaginal and anal, oral sex (female receiving), rimming, vaginal sex, anal sex, dom!steve (sorta)
Word Count: 2,922
Notes: Congrats @whirlybirbs for hitting that 6.5K! I tried to tie nostalgia in amongst the relationships between both Bucky and the reader and Bucky and Steve. Thank you for hosting the challenge! :)
It’s finally time for part 2, guys!!!! I had no idea part 1 would have left y’all so hungry for more. It literally made my cheeks blush and my heart sing. Thanks again for @supersoldiersruined-me, light of my life and absolute sweetie, for giving this a look over. Hope this lived up to the expectations.
Previous: “Can I take your semi-hard cock as a yes?” Steve says with a mischievous smirk plastered on his face, eyeing up the prominent bulge in Bucky’s lap. “We both know what this t-shirt does to you.”“That obvious?” he sighs; a grin now breaking through the shock. “Let’s go do something about that, boys.” Y/N says leading the two men by the hand back to the bedroom; glasses of water and cereal bowl left forgotten on the counter.
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Bucky had been in their room countless times; but that was before Y/N had moved in. He used to barge in as if he owned the place to wake Steve for runs or missions. Hell, he’d slept in the same bed as Steve for the first three months after they’d moved in. The new location had triggered a whole onslaught of nightmares and Steve didn’t mind; reminded him of the old days. He hadn’t been in the room since-
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Steve had been on a three-week mission in god knows where. Bucky had asked her if she wanted a pizza night about two weeks into Steve’s absence.
“The usual?”
“Duh”
“If you put in the order, I can pick it up on the way home from the compound.”
“Sounds good, Buck.”
“Catch up on our show?”
“Of course, sweetheart.”
He’d walked in the apartment like he had the past two weeks. Keys go in the cute bowl by the door. Shoes go on the shoe rack. That had taken him some getting used to when she moved in.
Before the bowl, he and Steve had spent hours trying to find whatever vague placed they’d thrown their keys before. He’d eyed the shoe rack fondly; seeing your smaller pairs lined up neatly on your rack, which was sandwiched by his above and Steve’s below. The apartment was the closest to a home he’d felt since the 40’s. At least, that’s what he’d thought. When she moved in, he realized how good a home could feel.
“Y/N, I’m home! He called down the hall in a lengthy breath. “With pizza!”
That’s all it takes for him to hear the faint squeak of the mattress. She had run and slid around the corner, socked feet aiding the pursuit of dinner. The near childlike clumsiness had always been endearing to him. She was wearing the t-shirt with a baggy set of sweats. Back then, she’d still been too shy to go without pants near him.
“Gimme gimme gimme!” Snatching the pizza box from his hand, already turning to go back down the hall.
“I resent being demoted to pizza delivery boy!” His attempt to be serious had been thwarted by the throaty chuckle which always seemed to pop up when he was around Y/N.
“A very cute pizza delivery boy.” She set down the slice, two bites missing out of it, and slid back to stand in front of him. “Thank you, love.”
She’d kissed him on the cheek. He’d frozen. She may have noticed but was already running back down the hall to the room she shared with Steve.
“Can we please have a more horizontal pizza and movie night? You know how much the couch hurts my back,” she called back behind her.
Bucky had walked to the bedroom shell-shocked from the kiss. He remembered having to think about the gross way Sam chews his gum to keep his cock from stirring. The attempt was nearly successful, until he stood in the doorway. The site of her frame in that shirt, sitting cross-legged on the bed, the shared show already queued up made his heart swell and shatter.
It was so easy to forget in moments like this. You were Steve’s girl. Not his. The guilt had gnawed at his stomach the entire night. She’d noticed. His supersoldier-appetite seemed absent all evening. He couldn’t remember much of the plot. The guilt hadn’t stopped him from letting her fall asleep in his arms. He’d queued another episode, so the silence didn’t stir her. For one episode you were his girl.
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The room hadn’t changed a ton since the last night he’d been there; enough changes to see your influence but still it was recognizable. The bed had moved from the east wall to the north. Perhaps that’s why he could hear the moans more graphically. In one of the corners, there was now a compact dressing table littered with makeup brushes, jewelry, and feminine looking perfume bottles. He knew what those bottles would smell like.
It would be the same intoxicating scent which rolled off her in invisible waves; calling him in closer as she led him over to the large bed. The bedspread was one he recognized from shopping trip with him last month. At the time, he’d never have guessed he would have the pleasure of you pushing him back into the soft fabric; sultry smirk on your face as he relaxed back into the pillows. He was too afraid to speak. It was as if any extra words would shatter the illusion.
“Ground rules.” Steve says eyeing up his best friend with an expression Bucky can’t quite read. “What Y/N says goes. Otherwise, I’m fine with everything. Babe?”
“I want this to be as much about you two enjoying one another as enjoying me.”
Bucky sputters out some hybrid of a strangled cough and a moan.
“Buck, I already know Steve’s hard no’s. I’m assuming you do as well?” He still can’t find it in him to form words. She takes his profuse blushing as a yes. “Any triggers for you?” He stares at her in stunned disbelief.
It makes sense Y/N knows about their past sexual contacts; but he had never guessed Steve would be so explicit with her. Bisexual acceptance wasn’t something Bucky had ever experienced back in the day. Nowadays, he was lucky to make it past the first conversation with someone he was interested in. If he had made it further, he doubted they would be okay with him lusting after his best friend of 100 years and his girlfriend.
Steve gives Bucky a chance to answer but senses the need to take charge. “He doesn’t like anything near his neck. No choking. No restraints.”
Y/N sees the two of them make eye contact; speaking without words as they often do. Her heart swells seeing the love they have for one another. Something shifts in Bucky as if he’s accepting the reality of the situation. He nods once to Steve and again to Y/N.
“I can kiss her?”
Steve smacks Y/N’s ass playfully as she crawls up the bed towards the brunette. “I’d be offended if you didn’t.”
Y/N straddles Bucky’s lap. She could feel his semi-hard cock through the thin material of his sleep shorts. She could also feel-
“Buck-what’s in your pocket?”
“Is that a happy to see me joke?” Steve interjects, clearly amused. Bucky adjusts enough so he’s able to pull the bright orange ear plugs from his pocket.
“Sorry. Just these.” He grins sheepishly tossing them off the side of the bed.
“Are those ear plugs? Why didn’t you ever tell us, Buck? We would have kept it down.”
“It’s not a big deal. I don’t wear them much anymore.” His cock twitches knowing full well he’s lying by omission. Y/N feels the gentle pulse against her core.
She leans in close; lips ghosting over his neck and up to his ear. She uses her tongue to trace the shell before whispering, “Why don’t you wear them anymore, Buck?”
Another twitch. Another pulse of blood. He’s holding his breath in hopes of holding in his confession. She’s not gonna let him off easy. His hands clench the duvet, still unsure of what’s allowed and terrified he’s about to get caught for his eavesdropping.
Steve’s settled into the chair in the corner, facing the bed. He can smell Y/N’s arousal. He knows the game she’s playing with Buck and is content to watch as it plays out.
“Do you like listening?” She can feel his rapid heartbeat against her own chest. Guiding his large palms to rest on her ass she continues, “Who do you like listening to better? Stevie? Me?” She pauses waiting for his body to give him away. “Both of us?” Bucky’s hips jut against her warm core as if controlled by some invisible force. Y/N smiles like a wolf stalking prey. “You hear that, Stevie? Bucky’s been listening to you fucking me. What do you do when you listen, sweetheart?”
The tense silence as Bucky contemplates his reply is shattered by a feral growl from the depth of Steve’s chest. Bucky’s eyes go wide, fearing his best friend is about to chastise him.
“Answer her, Buck. Do you fist your beautiful cock in time with our moans? I can picture you, all flush and needy. Is that what you do, baby?”
Y/N’s grinding freely along Bucky’s hard cock along to Steve’s words. The brunette’s eyes are clamped shut but breathy whimpers escape from his plump lips. “Tell us, Bucky.”
“I don’t know who turns me on more; hearing you both. Even with the ear plugs, I’m hard in seconds.”
“What do you do when you get hard, baby?” Steve’s palming and groping at his own erection through his sweatpants.
“I listen. Nearly every fucking night.” He’s pushing and pulling Y/N’s hips, dragging her heated cunt up and down his length. “I cum the hardest when I think of you both. I rut into my pillow, with my plug in my ass.”
“That’s disgusting, Buck.” Steve says; his tone indicating he thinks it’s anything but disgusting. He’s torn off his top and is working his sweats down and over his erection. Bucky eyes it greedily while Y/N continues to dry hump him. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”
“The only thing that’s disgusting is we haven’t done this sooner.” Y/N whines hoping to speed the two men along. She raises her ass off Bucky long enough to strip him of his clothes and shimmy her own panties off. “Can I fuck him, sweetheart? He feels so good against me.”
Steve’s enjoying the control from his perch in the chair. “Not yet, my love. Why don’t you get her nice and ready, Buck? Tease the shit out of her.”
Y/N’s eyes meet Bucky’s in a desperate plead for relief. His surges forward, devouring her mouth with hot, desperate kisses. He palms and kneads her ass, dragging her soaked slit against his shaft. Y/N can’t help but cry out. He’s sliding against her nub deliciously; her juices providing the lubrication for every vein and ridge along his cock to massage where she needs it most. With her lips parted his tongue dips and caresses inside her mouth. Bucky’s in awe of the sounds coming from Y/N he almost forgets about his best friend.
The bed dips and Bucky feels Y/N being pulled from him. They both whine, angry from the loss of delicious friction. “Hush, you two. Or do you not want me to continue?”
Steve swipes his palm through the collection of slick pooling between his girlfriends’ lips and uses it to pump up and down Bucky’s length. Steve’s other hand gives her supple bottom a squeeze before dipping into her juices and pushing into her tight hole.
“Look down. Both of you.” Steve commands. “Watch him fuck my hand all lubed up with your juices while I finger your cute ass.”
Y/N and Bucky are moaning messes. Steve nips love bites into Y/N’s neck, sure to leave marks the next morning. Bucky can see the delicious flush gracing her chest under the translucent fabric of the t-shirt. Something about having the t-shirt on during all of this turns him on more than if she were bare.
Steve must have sensed the both of them getting dangerously close to their respective releases. He pulls back his hands and kisses Bucky full on the mouth.
“Holy fuck. You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to see you two kiss.”
Steve sucks the bottom lip of his best friend into his mouth as he pulls back. Bucky moans at the gentle sting from the bite. It’s been so long since he’s tasted Steve. He’d almost forgotten how perfect his mouth fits his own.
“Switch you two.”
Y/N eyes her boyfriend confused but lays back against the pillows at the head of the bed. The position change has Bucky feeling awkward and needy. He couldn’t figure out what was up Steve’s sleeve. The awkwardness dissolves and the neediness takes over completely when Y/N opens her legs wide to allow him to see the soaked mess he’d made out of her cunt. As if on autopilot, he kneels in front of her and kisses her inner thighs.
“There’s my boy.” Steve praises. “How about you show our girl some of your charm you had back in the 40’s, sweetheart.” Bucky looks back at Steve knowing full well what he’s telling him to do but he still needs to ask. “Devour her, Buck.”
Bucky dives in without needing to be told twice. She tastes better than he had imagined; sinfully delicious with each lap of her folds. He’s drawn deeper and deeper into her like a moth to a flame.
Steve has his own work to do. He’s managed to reach for the nightstand while Y/N and Bucky are occupied to grab the hidden bottle of lube. Hoping not to startle Bucky away from his girlfriend’s core, he massages the back of the man’s thighs before giving more attention to his ass. He lays in a position similar to Bucky’s with Y/N. The three of them in a long train of pleasure across the giant bed.
The anticipation to jump back into his best friend is irresistible but he has no idea how long it’s been since Bucky’s been with a man. The blonde kisses and nips over each cheek before spreading him wide and licking a long stripe over Bucky’s puckered hole. He can’t see his reaction, but he can feel it. Bucky’s skin erupts into chills and his hips buck and grind into the bed below hoping to get some relief. His moans flow freely out his mouth and reverberate into Y/N’s core.
Steve drizzles a large bead of lube over his hole and starts with a single finger. The blonde works his best friend open as he finger-fucks into Y/N relentlessly. It’s not long before she’s clenching around his fingers riding out the high of her orgasm. Bucky is wantonly pushing his hips back into the fingers Steve has buried in his tight channel.
Y/N looks down between her legs to see Bucky’s face beaming up at her; mouth, chin, and beard thoroughly soaked and glistening. His eyes are half lidded, still immersed in the pleasure Steve’s fingers are giving him. The adoration and joy rolling off him is something she’s never seen on his face. She places a hand on each side of his cheeks and brings him up to taste herself from his lips. Steve looks on, truly wondering why the three of them had waited so long to do this.
“Stevie, can I taste you?” he whines.
“I have a better idea, Buck.” Steve’s face is smug as he rearranges Y/N and Bucky’s limbs into the proper position. “Darling, you still want Bucky to fill you up?”
“Fuck yes.”
“I want Bucky to fuck your beautiful cunt while I fuck him.” Steve’s voice carries such a deep timbre his two partners are both in awe. “Do I need to tell you again?” He says with a slap on Bucky’s ass cheek.
Y/N widens her legs allowing to Bucky slip into her wetness. Each of them hisses with pleasure; stilling to adjust. Steve kneels behind Bucky and watches his cockhead disappears into the brunette’s ass.
Bucky nearly finishes right then and there. His ass is filled once more by the man he’s been in love with his entire life and his cock is sheathed in a woman he never dreamed would be moaning his name.
Steve’s worked his cock all the way into Bucky and builds up a rhythm. Bucky is too blissed out to have a massive level of control over his hips. They’re moving to their own primal coding in response to the immense pleasure. Each snap of Steve’s hips presses Bucky into Y/N’s wetness. The three of them move together like a well-oiled machine. It’s not long until they’re all begging for release.
Bucky, with the dual pleasure, comes first; head nuzzled into the crook of Y/N’s neck while Steve bites his shoulder tenderly. Y/N comes next, over stimulated from the previous orgasm; gushing around Bucky’s still semi-hard cock. Steve’s the last to cum. He’s managed to hold out as long as he can, watching his two favorite people come apart in front of him. He pumps stream after stream of his cum deep into Bucky’s ass once ensuring they’re both satisfied.
They collapse into a sweaty heap of limbs. The room smells filthy of sex, but everyone is sated. Y/N nestles down in between the two men and her body is wracked with a fit of giggles.
“What?!” The two men say in unison.
“We need to frame this goddamn t-shirt. It’s fucking magical.”
#Stucky x female reader#Stucky x reader#birbsec2019#Bucky x reader#Steve Rogers x reader#bucky x female reader#Steve Rogers x female reader#Steve Rogers#Bucky Barnes#Marvel#MCU#my writing#my fics#The T-Shirt#The T-Shirt Part 2#Masterlist#no tags post
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The first story in my Batman Bingo 2020 writing! For the card above, Red is completed, and blue is requested. Another huge thanks to @batmanbingo2020 for making it! Feel free to ask for a prompt!
1.Sleep Deprivation
Arkham breakouts were bad. Rogue level breakouts were really bad. Gotham knew it, the bats knew it, even the Justice League knew it, if just from the strict instructions to not call on any bat within three days of returning all escapees to their cells. With a necessary exception of world ending circumstances, no matter how much everyone hated it.
Unfortunately, these were world ending circumstances.
According to the clock on the Batcomputer, it hadn’t even been an hour since they started the Do Not Call countdown in the Watchtower’s systems. Far too early for the emergency transmission to send alarms blaring through every bat-associated device the house.
Clicking the button for the video call to patch through, they’re met with a disheveled looking Flash with a grim expression on his face, no other leaguers in sight.
“What.” The growl had been forming during the small loading period, but the Flash didn’t waver in his stance.
When he speaks just a second later, it’s sped up as much as he trusts the bats to understand. “Batman, the League needs your help. Send all available backup, you’ll meet Justice League Dark at the site..” He rattles off a set of coordinates and is gone again, the trail of his image heading off in the direction of the Zetas.
Batman scans over his children, the wounds both new and days old being nursed in the medbay and the bodies flopped onto any surface they deemed comfortable enough to sleep on. More than half of them were just lying down on the floor, which, okay, but they’re children of a billionaire, they’re supposed to have standards. Apparently these standards don’t involve not sleeping on the floor in full vigilante gear.
Tim, looking up from his designated spot on the next chair over, makes very pointed eye contact with Bruce. A simple nod is all that meets him. Already mourning the loss of a relaxing afternoon filled with cartoons, sleep, and lots of food, he pulls up the League’s initial reports on the issue. The burning behind his eyes was a later Tim problem. There’s not much there, but he sets to work as Bruce rises to call the others to action.
~^~^~
Maybe Dick going on this world-saving escapade was a bad idea. Yeah, he kicked some ass, and yeah, he was the one to actually get his hands on the device that let the world-enders of the week wreak their havoc, but he kinda feels like his legs are going to drop out from under him and it may or may not have been four days since he last slept. Sue him, it was a rogue-level Arkham breakout. Measures had to be taken. Caffeine pill measures.
And if those measures ended up with him more spaced out than present during the after-victory conversation with the Titans, well, it’s not like he hasn’t done worse to himself in the past.
And no, bad Dick, that’s neither a healthy nor productive way of thinking. He forces himself to focus back in on what Wally was saying, only to see that the entire circle he was in was looking at him with various concerned expressions. Wally had placed a hand on his shoulder. Huh. Dick didn’t remember that happening.
“Dude, are you okay? We’ve been calling your name for at least a minute and a half.” He doesn’t even bother hiding the concern in his voice, which, fine, it is Wally, but Dick’s torn between wanting to yell at him for putting himself in unnecessary danger during the fight, and just wanting to go eat enough carbs to kill an elephant. “How long have you even been awake?” Oh, he must have given up on reality for another second there, because Wally decided it was time to talk again. This time, Dick was pretty sure he was collected within himself enough to answer. Maybe.
Pulling one hand up to rub at his face and almost, almost hitting his own nose in the process, Dick finally opens his mouth. “Since the breakout started. So… a hundred n’ twenty-six hours? Somethin’ like that.”
Wally closes his eyes extremely pointedly, and opens them to make direct eye contact with both hands on Dick’s shoulders. “Dick. You are going to go home, and you are going to sleep. Do you need someone to be there for you?” The caring is familiar, but it still sends warmth through his chest after all these years.
“Yeah. To the manor?”
“To the manor.” In less than a second, Wally’s arms are around him in a familiar hold, and he’s being hoisted up into the air. By the time Wally sets him down on his bed in the manor, he’s asleep.
~^~^~
“Tim.” Kon takes one look at Tim after they finish the battle, and immediately goes from grinning manically as he punches villains into the ground to hovering in front of Tim and calling Cassie and Bart.
“Yes, Kon?” He ignores the fact that he can feel the concern and disappointment in Kon’s gaze, and focuses on the wrist computer projection of the rapidly lowering energy readings in the area.
“Tim.” And oh, this was going to be an Actual Conversation now. Tim looks up from his projection, unsurprised that Cassie and Bart are both already there. When Kon’s satisfied by the level of eye contact, he speaks again. “Tim, did you sleep at all during that breakout?”
Tim spends less than a second debating with himself before shrugging. “I got knocked out at one point. Killer Croc doesn’t exactly pull his punches.” Watching the looks going his way grow slightly darker wasn’t foreign, at this point, but the curl of uncomfortability in his gut could probably be blamed on exhaustion at this point.
“Tim. Buddy. That started four days ago. Were you checked for a concussion?” It’s Bart that speaks this time, having appeared behind Tim’s back to place one hand down and try to guide him towards some rubble that looks vaguely chair-height. Tim doesn’t move.
A small sigh escaping his lips, Tim shakes his head and stands his ground. “Yes, it did start four days ago, and no, I’m not concussed. World ending circumstances override our protocol. I’m fine.”
Tim’s pretty sure if any of Young Justice had a say in it, he’d be at home asleep already, because even he could admit (to himself) that maybe he’s not entirely fine. Unfortunately for them, and fortunately for Tim, he thinks, Tim is technically their leader so they can’t kick him out. Probably. He notes to check if they can kick him out for lack of self care and moves on.
The next thing he knows, he’s yelping and scrambling for handholds as the ground disappears beneath him. “What the shit, Kon?” From his awkward half-dangling place, he can see Cassie fly up to meet them, Bart in her arms.
He’s shifted to a slightly more secure hold, but it’s painfully clear that if he makes a move to leave Kon’s arms or if Kon drops him, he would be in for a decidedly Not Fun Time. So they’re trying to coerce him. Threaten him? Maybe both.
“Dude, you’re even glitching. Take a nap or something.” Bart shouts at him from maybe five feet away, which is unnecessary, but Tim appreciates the effort to account for possible wind. If only there was any more than none.
“Seriously, you’re spacey and clearly exhausted. You didn’t note anything from those readings until the third rotation, you’re not exactly keeping up with the field work. I could even take you over to the farm or your apartment or something if you don’t want to go back to the cave. But find somewhere to go pass out.” And okay, fine, Kon might be right about the readings. But he can’t just leave-
“Nobody’ll fault you for leaving dude.” Tim immediately curses Bart and his uncanny ability to understand Tim’s anxieties.
“And if anyone does, then we’ll make sure to have a little chat.” He can almost hear the sound of Cassie’s fist hitting her palm, and as much as he wants to accept…
“Thanks guys, really, but I need to keep up on my own responsibilities.” His tone his regretful, and he really can’t leave the rest of his family without warning.
“Tim, you’re our responsibility, so go home and take a nap.” And Kon is not allowed to make sense when Tim’s this tired anymore. But, ever the adamant one, Tim opens his mouth to speak again. “I-“
“Tim, go home.” It’s simultaneous, and manages to effectively shut Tim up.
Heaving one last exasperated sigh, Tim accepts. “Fine, just drop me off at the nearest Zeta.”
Kon gets that manic grin on his face again, and Tim’s internal monologue consists entirely of ‘oh no’. “I can do you one better.” Tim is going to get murdered. “Gotham, here we come!”
~^~^~
Bruce was still fighting as his GPS reported family leaving the area. He felt like his limbs were moving like slugs, his eyes were burning with every blink, and every little noise sent waves of rage through his very soul, but he was still fighting. The last of today’s havoc wreakers were still raring to go, and where evil stands, the Justice League rises to meet them.
As one final punch sends his last opponent to the containment area, Bruce lets his shoulders slump. The past few days have been unbearably long, and he just wants to sleep for a week wherever he can find a horizontal surface. His kids might have the right idea about the floor, at this point. His wounds are throbbing, he can feel his mind succumbing to exhaustion, and he just wants to rest. For once. He should extend the protocol before the next breakout.
Clark touches down next to him, and he immediately braces for a complaint about something, even though this is Clark, and he’s pretty sure Clark hasn’t complained about a thing in his life. Or maybe he just really needs to sleep. Despite all his training, it’s hard to tell.
“Batman. I think it’s time you took a rest. You’ve had some long days.” There’s a kind pressing in his voice.
Bruce suppresses a growl, though he’s sure Clark can hear what escapes from his throat. “I can continue.”
“But you don’t need to. Batman, the kids you brought are already gone, you’re the only one here. Hood and Robin are home with broken bones, you’re needed there more than here.” He smiles, and lowers his voice. “Go home, Bruce, rest up. We’ll see you for the meeting next week.” He takes off, nothing but a gust of wind that aggravates the burning sensation in his eyes.
An hour later, Bruce is pulling himself out of the Batmobile and shedding his suit. As he turns the corner to the main area of the cave, he’s met with his children, huddled together asleep and surrounded by blankets and pillows. A small smile creeps onto his face, the warmth of seeing each of his children here, safe, and soon to be better rested. He moves to go past them, move up to the master bedroom and get some rest himself.
A hand catches at his wrist, pulling down. He glances to the source, and can’t help but worry when he’s met with Jason, eyes still closed and broken leg elevated on a stack of floor pillows. “Br’ce.”
“Yeah, Jaylad?” The nickname wouldn’t fly most times, but his own exhaustion made it slip by.
“Stay, w’ll you?” He tugs again, harder this time, and Bruce lets himself be pulled down to sit on his heels. Dick almost immediately shimmies over to throw himself over Bruce’s legs, and he supposes that’s that. He lightly lifts Dick to lay his legs down flat. Cass’ arm to pull his shoulders down onto the blanket nest isn’t unexpected, and it’s not a surprise when the rest of his children stir enough to drape themselves over one body part of his or another.
As Alfred stands on the foot of the stairs, a dish towel drying his hands, he can’t help but smile. Maybe this way his wards would actually rest for once.
#batman#batfam#tim drake#dick grayson#bruce wayne#batman bingo 2020#sleep deprivation#blanket nests#this is fluff#basically just fluff
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9. Positive Reinforcement
Fic Title: First Blood
Rating: E
Length: 9/33 chapters, ~128k
Tags: Slow Burn, Idiots to Lovers, Trans Character (gavin), Autistic / Asexual / Non-binary Character (nines), BDSM, learning to use good etiquette and safe words, Dom Nines / Sub Gavin, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort
Chapter Tags: hospitals, hurt/comfort, domestic, Nines takes care of Gavin, caring Dom Nines, Gavin has a mood swing / shouting episode but there’s no partner abuse, using BDSM instead of therapy (not recommended btw)
Link on AO3
***
Hospitals suck ass.
Gavin repeats this mantra to himself like one of those meditation techniques. It's not enough to block out how his hip keeps slipping between the three chairs he's trying to lay on horizontally or how fucking cold it is in nothing but jeans and Nines' stupid fucking Cyberlife jacket or the bright fucking florescent—
"Detective."
Gavin squints up at Nines' sudden appearance like he's looking at a miracle—inherently suspicious and wondering what the fucking catch is. He's woozy and tired and somehow also hungry, the nurse took four tries to find his vein, and Tina didn't answer any of his calls from the courtesy phone because who the hell answers phone calls?
"What are you doing?" Nines asks in the sort of tone normally reserved for walking in on someone trying to suck their own dick.
Not that Gavin's ever tried.
"I'm sleeping, fuck off."
"On three separate chairs?"
"You know what?" Gavin sits up and stabs a finger against the android's steel fucking stomach. "I'm tired, I don't have a phone or my wallet, I can't pay for a cab, Tina isn't answering, and I don't—"
The finger-stabs turn into punches.
"Have. Any. Other. Friends!"
Nines stands there, letting Gavin punch him until the bruised knuckles aren't worth it anymore. The waiting room starts to sway. Fuck, he really needs a snack or something right now. One free cookie and a juice box just isn't going to cut it.
"Here."
The inside of the jacket suddenly begins to warm up. Nice to know it could have done that the entire FUCKING time. Nines also produces Gavin's cellphone from his pants' pocket and offers it to him. Gavin snatches it back and stares at the screen.
"Can't phcking read this," he mutters.
Nines produces his headphones too. When all Gavin does is take them back and hold them stupidly in his other hand, Nines crouches down in front of him. His fucking head hurts so bad, Gavin actually sits quietly and doesn't complain while Nines plugs in the headphones and then puts the earbuds inside his ears.
Your jacket is at the dry cleaners. Nines' voice sounds in his head at a mercifully low volume. I have brought your truck and ordered you a large number five meal with a strawberry milkshake.
Gavin slumps forward and lets his head rest on Nines' shoulder so he doesn't cry. He punches the android's arm and chest a few more times for good measure. It doesn't even crinkle his fancy black dress shirt. Nines stays perfectly still and allows this too.
Your food is becoming cold, detective.
Gavin grunts. He'll get up in a second.
Nines decides he'll get up right now. Those ridiculous fucking yaoi hands grabbing his thighs is the only warning he gets before he's hoisted in the air and held against Nines' chest. Which—fuck, that's hot, but not here!
"Fuck off tin can, leggo!"
Gavin puts up a fight against his partner's gay shit because there are people watching. He can see them right over Nines' shoulder, the nurse at the front desk and the six other people in the waiting room. Yeah, shit's a lot better for gay people now, but that doesn't mean he wants the entire hospital to know what a bottom bitch he is.
"Don't fucking hold me like a fucking child," he complains as they reach the automatic doors.
A second later, Nines shifts him into his arms bridal style, like that's any better.
"Hold me like a man, god damn it!"
Then he's slung over Nines' shoulder in a fireman's hold. Between the giving blood wooziness and suddenly being upside down, he has to stop yelling and just focus on breathing for a second. The rush of cold air when they get out to the parking lot helps.
Even better, when he opens his eyes again, he's greeted by an up-close view of Nines' ass in tight dress pants. Best of all are the thick, powerful thighs right beneath it, marching away. A little bit lower, and he could just bury his face between those thighs and suffocate the way God intended.
Car tires crunch against the asphalt in front of them and Gavin's pretty sure he recognizes the blurry, upside-down image of his truck between Nines' legs. Has the automated driving feature always been capable of being remote controlled, or is that just some freaky shit that Nines did to it?
He doesn't get a chance to think any more about it before he's flipped upright, set inside his truck, and buckled into the passenger's seat like a toddler. It's a miracle he hasn't dropped his phone or had his headphones ripped out of his ears yet.
"I hate you," he tells Nines, just to make sure the android knows.
Nines takes the bag of fast food off the dash and sets it in his lap.
Occupy your mouth.
Gavin makes a face at him. Why's everything he say have to sound so ominously dominating? The passenger door shuts in his face before he can think of something smarter than I'll occupy your mouth though, so he settles for grabbing his milkshake and making loud slurping noises. Nines gets in on the driver's side and immediately takes the milkshake from him, so he counts it as a success. He's too hungry and tired of hurting his hands to try hitting him for it, so he digs into the food bag.
A large number five, fried chicken club sandwich, none of that stupid special sauce, extra ketchup.
Gavin really can't help the moan he makes when he bites into it. But there's only so much toxic masculinity even he can handle, and he'll moan like a bitch if he wants to moan like a bitch. As long as it's just the two of them.
"Mmphfgh. So."
Swallow.
Shit. Fuck, his headphones are still in. Gavin rolls his eyes to try to shake off how he jumped, but he does still swallow his bite before talking again.
"How'd you know to come get me? Tina never answered."
I know the location of the Henry Ford Medical Center, detective.
"Yeah, but who told you to come get me?"
It was an independent decision.
Gavin takes another huge bite of his sandwich to think that over. Some ketchup squirts out the other side onto his fingers, and he sucks it off as obnoxiously loud as possible. Nines flashes red in his peripheral vision. Well, he can't actually see the LED because it's on the wrong side, but he can see his partner's reflection in the driver's side window.
"You find the perp loitering nearby?" he finally asks.
No.
Gavin tries to think of any other reason Nines would come get him but comes up empty.
"So, why did you …?"
He takes another long drink of his milkshake to avoid putting whatever this is into words. Take care of me makes him sound like a child and do the nicest shit anyone's done for me in years (or maybe ever) just sounds pathetic.
We need to get back to work. Humans need food after donating blood. Your jacket needed to be cleaned.
All right, those are simple explanations. Yeah. Maybe that's just how Nines sees it. He doesn't have a social module, so he was probably just solving a series of problems, completing his task list or whatever. Not like. Actually caring.
Except then Nines turns and says out loud with soul-searing intensity, "You are my partner."
Gavin does the only reasonable thing and stuffs an entire handful of fries in his mouth so he doesn't have to look at those pretty blue eyes staring at him like he's important. Or do some gay shit, like cry.
He's not going to cry. It's just been a long day, that's all. He makes the mistake of looking at the dashboard clock.
11:36 am
Fuck.
***
(9 hours later …)
Mmm warm good smell. Food smell. Gavin takes another greedy inhale and feels the warm thing touch his lips. He instinctively takes a bite before he even finishes waking up. It tastes good and kind of chewy, if a little bland. He snuffles and licks the fingers that fed it to h—
Wait, fucking whom'st fingers is he licking right now?
"Fascinating."
Gavin swats the hand away and glares up at Nines hovering over him. "What the fuck did you just make me eat?"
Nines cocks his head to the side. He looks more like a creepy animatronic owl than the cute puppy eyes Connor gives when he does it.
"Can you not tell?" the android asks.
"Can you blow me?"
"I tried that on a banana," Nines says casually, as if that mental image makes any kind of sense.
"Whuh—wh—"
Gavin smacks his lips together and tries to figure out what his mouth tastes like right now. Kind of … cheesy? Like pasta maybe, but without any flavor. Whatever he swallowed was dry at least, so no sauce or anything.
"Why?"
"To know if I could," Nines replies. "My combat protocols automatically activated and my jaw locked shut."
"OK, so you can't eat bananas, but what the fuck did I eat?" Gavin demands.
"Technically, I did eat the banana," Nines says. "Partially. My jaw snapped shut after taking a bite of it inside my oral cavity."
Gavin's dick starts listening to the conversation. It's because of karma and maybe some sort of android fucking witchcraft that now his dick gets hard listening to the bitchiest most stuck up Alexa ever say the words "oral cavity."
Of course Nines notices the reaction right away. Because fuck his whole entire life, that's why. Nines stares down at his crotch and Gavin can practically hear a zzzzzz as his eyes zoom in on his traitor dick.
"Fascinating."
"Tell me what you fucking fed me or I swear to God, I'll—"
"One cheese ravioli."
Gavin stares at him. "A cheese … did it even have sauce?"
"No, I washed that off."
Gavin opens his mouth, stares harder at that completely serious face, and shuts it again. He pinches the bridge of his nose instead, rubbing over the thick gnarl of scar tissue there.
"Why …"
But that's all he can bring himself to say. For once, Nines is the one who has no trouble with speaking.
"So it wouldn't drip on the carpet," he says, like that's obvious.
"You really think a bit of Prego is gonna be the worst this carpet's ever seen?" Gavin asks.
Nines' face darkens into a scowl that would be terrifying if Gavin didn't know this was his version of pouting. "Do not remind me. I have deleted fifty-seven analysis reports this last hour alone."
Gavin rolls his eyes. "Well, why'd you feed me a cheese ravioli?"
"To save the beef ravioli as a higher value treat."
Gavin looks him over. His left arm hangs down casually by his side, but his hand presses slightly behind his crouched thigh. It looks like he's holding something in one of those magician's grip that makes his hand appear loose and open while something is secretly tucked into his palm.
"You may have the beef ravioli if you sit at the table," Nines tells him.
He stands up and takes a few steps backwards toward the kitchen, raising up his hand to reveal the ravioli. Gavin gets off the couch and marches toward him to kick his ass, but the android matches his pace exactly to step backwards until they're right next to the table. He opens his mouth to start yelling, which immediately proves to be a mistake.
Nines shoves the ravioli directly into his open mouth. Gavin automatically bites down, but the android's reflexes are too quick for him, and he gets his fingers clear before being bitten. Instead, Gavin only bites into delicious beefy filling.
And he would spit it out. He really would, right onto Nines' perfectly shined shoes.
Except it's been a long ass day filled with paperwork about what happened with the reporter and no other goddamn leads and he has no idea how late it is since he fell asleep on the couch, but it's definitely past suppertime and he's hungry as fuck.
(Also, maybe he remembers the consequences of the last time he tried to spit at Nines, and his traitor-dick needs to Shut Up about that.)
Gavin chews the beef ravioli with the angriest face he can muster. It doesn't help that it's really fucking good, way better than the takeout and ramen he usually lives on. Nines opens the lid of the to go box sitting on the kitchen table, and the best smell his trash apartment has ever encountered steams out.
Gavin sits his angry ass down and starts to eat. Fuck him if he's going to waste good food. Most of the ravioli is beef, but there's some cheese-filled ones too, mixed in with the rest in a thick meaty sauce. Nines sits in the seat across the table to stare at him while he eats. Fucking creeper. Always one step behind him, staring at him, following him back home like they're friends or something.
"Why the fuck are you still here?" he deliberately asks with his mouth full.
"Juarez is currently our best lead to identifying the shooter," Nines answers. "As she may wake from her coma at any time, it is most efficient for me to stay with you in the event we are called during off duty hours."
Gavin chews his food. His partner is real fucking good at coming up with totally logical answers that he can't argue against without looking stupid even though he just knows that's bullshit.
"Whatever," he says. "I'm not paying you back for this. Or the chicken sandwich."
Nines keeps staring at him with those blank, lizard eyes. "I did not ask you to."
Gavin pushes back his chair and slams his hands on the table, yelling "Fuck you!" before he even knows what hits him. His moods are like that sometimes.
Nines doesn't even blink.
Usually, that sort of shit would just set him off even more. The lack of response sure as hell drove him to push harder and harder when they first got assigned as partners. Now Gavin just feels stupid, shouting at someone just sitting there.
Stupid. Fuck, he always does this shit. He knows this. He <i>knows</i> this.
"I don't …" Gavin forces himself to exhale slowly out through his teeth, gripping the edge of the table so he doesn't throw something. "Need. Your charity."
Stupid stupid stupid.
"You are my partner," Nines says.
Monotone. Four words and not a single inflection. When Gavin finally makes himself look up from panting at the grain of the fake-wooden table, Nines' face is just as blank. It should probably trigger some sort of uncanny valley lurch in his stomach, but without any micro-expressions for his brain goblins to pick up on and start screeching about, Gavin's anger starts slipping away like resin on tarp.
He looks back down at the table so he doesn't have to see his partner's face.
"If you cannot accept your own rule that partners look out for each other, consider this an investment to ensure you are recovered for our next shift tomorrow."
Gavin exhales again. Then inhales. Stupid. Exhale. At least he didn't throw anything. Inhale. This time.
"Also, I am applying Pavlovian training to encourage behaviors convenient to me."
Gavin sits back down and rubs both hands through his hair. "You're dog training me?"
"Positive reinforce—"
"You can't fix this," Gavin growls out, then gestures to himself and the kitchen at large. "This! Me. Anyone can read a fucking psychology book, dipshit—I already know what's wrong with me. If I could just good behavior myself into getting better, I would have done it already."
Nines' composure finally breaks as he blinks. "I am not a KL-nine-hundred unit, detective. I have absolutely no intention of—"
Gavin groans because he knows the air quotes are coming. Nines looks him dead in the eyes and does them anyway.
"—'fixing' you."
"I hate you."
"I only want to encourage relevant behaviors," Nines continues without acknowledging the outburst. "Such as doing your own paperwork rather than playing games on your phone."
Gavin grunts and manages to take another bite now that he's settled down some. Sure, maybe he'd been dumping all his paperwork on Nines now that the android has proven he knows how to do it properly. But he gets it done way faster and trying to make letters hold still on a bright ass computer screen gives him the worst headaches. God, he probably needs reading glasses at this point but he'd rather his entire head split open than wear that kind of shit at the station.
"Listening to my input at crime scenes."
"Hhegh," Gavin says around a mouth full of beef.
"Basic table manners."
Gavin swallows. "Hey. Fuck off, I do listen to you. I have been, so don't fucking sit there and try to tell me—"
"You have been," Nines says.
Gavin stops with his mouth hanging open. Dammit, he was just getting good and pissed off again, and then the bastard goes and agrees with him. What the hell is he supposed to say to that? It's definitely a trap. Like sarcasm, or some sort of passive aggressive ...
Something.
"Throughout our current case, you have taken note of my input," Nines says. "I was not implying otherwise, simply that I would start rewarding you for doing so."
Gavin narrows his eyes at him. "Yeah? Why?"
"I was forced to work with other humans at the Juarez residence." Nines finally finds some inflection to say other humans like he means radioactive screaming toddlers. "It was not ideal. And while I certainly will not beg for your continued cooperation, I am not above bribery as a means to ensure I can do my work in peace rather than relying on … the kindness of your heart."
Gavin grunts again and goes back to his food. Eating slightly cold ravioli is easier than making eye contact with his partner right now. He might have been a teensy bit better lately, but obviously he's not some kind of android rights activist. If Nines is worried he's going to flip back to being an asshole on a whim or a bad day or because other people were watching, well.
That's pretty fucking fair, to be honest.
"Dog training though?" he mutters after a minute. "Really?"
"I have read many human psychology books." Nines pauses, then adds, "Dipshit."
Gavin snorts and lets the insult pass.
"I can recite them. I understand the words. But they are merely words to me," Nines admits slowly. "Dog training books are much more simple."
"Is this a kink thing?"
Nines rolls his eyes. "Gavin, would you care to explain to me in honest and personal detail why offering food triggered such an immediate and violent reaction? Please include at least three references to your childhood."
Gavin shoves more ravioli in his mouth and smacks as loudly as possible as he chews.
"Then perhaps you would prefer a simpler way of relating to one another," Nines speaks over the noise. "No emotional sharing, no childhood details, no sad sob stories about what made you like this. You behave, you get food. That is all."
"What if I don't behave?" Gavin immediately challenges.
"Then you do not receive any food or treats."
"You gonna punish me, sir?"
Nines glares down his perfectly sculpted nose at him. "If you had listened to my explanation on the benefits of positive reinforcement, you would already know why it is the more effective training method."
Gavin resists the urge to repeat thE MorE eFFeCtIve TrAInInG MeTHoD back at him.
"Also," Nines continues. "You are far too much of a needy little painslut to be truly punished by corporeal means."
Gavin focuses very hard on mopping up the rest of the meat sauce with his side of garlic bread instead of answering that. Even when they know better, he's never met a Dom he couldn't piss off into beating the shit out of him just like he wanted. Technically, if they're counting their little "scene" in the DPD's men's bathroom, Nines hasn't proven himself to be an exception, either.
"Well." He stands up and leaves the mess on the table. "Good luck with your totally not a kink pet play. I'm gonna go watch funny youtube videos until my brain dies."
"Cat videos?" Nines asks as he passes him, raising one perfect eyebrow. "Am I to assume those are not also a pet play ki—"
Gavin flips him off and slams his bedroom door shut.
***
***
1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / 6 / 7 / 8 / 9 / 10 / 11 / 12 / 13 / 14 / 15 / 16 / 17 / 18 / 19 / 20 / 21 / 22 / 23 / 24 / 25 / 26 / 27 / 28 / 29 / 30 / 31 / 32 / 33
I also have a Patreon for this fic, if you want to support me! $1 gets you access to chapters a week early, $2 gets bonus content and deleted scenes, and $3 gets short chapters from two AUs I’m writing: an A/B/O heatfic and reverse!AU
by the way, Nines totally posted a video of himself feeding asleep-Gavin the ravioli to his blog and it has a weird overly formal title like Human (36M) Instinctively Eats Ravioli During the Course of REM Sleep. all of his posts are like that because they’re meant to be “educational” “”experiments”” and the text posts are just black text on a white background
meanwhile, Connor’s blog consists exclusively of super cute pictures featuring either him and Hank on dates or cuddling on the couch, and Sumo of course. Nines thinks it’s disgusting and dumb and is lowkey (actually highkey) upset that Connor’s blog gets way more views than his
It isn’t even educational!! >:(
#reed900#reed900 fic#gavin reed#dbh#dbh fic#my writing#ch 9#the patreon supports my transition and I have my first HRT appointment in 11 days!!
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